THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

MACMILLAN AND CO.. LIMITED

LONDON - BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.

TORONTO

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First Edition 1890 Second Edition 1891. Reprinted 1892, 1894, 1900, 1904, 1910

Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh.

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1 NOT many months since, a propos of a certain book of epistolary parodies, the par agr aphis ts were busily discuss- ing the different aspects which the characters of fiction present to different readers. It was shoivn that, not only as regards the fainter and less strongly drawn figures — the Frank Osbaldis tones, the Clive Newcomes, the David Copperfields, — but even as regards what Gautier would have called " the grotesques " - the Costigans, the Swivellers, the Gamps, — each admirer, in his separate " study of imagination" had his own idea, which was not that of another. What is true of the intellectual perception is equally true of the pictorial Nothing is more notable than the diversities afforded by the same book ^vhen illustrated by different artists. Contrast for a moment the Don Quixotes of Smirke, of Tony Johannot, of Gustave Dore ; contrast the Falstaffs of Kenny Meadows, of Sir John Gilbert, of Mr. Edwin A.

1 Reprinted from the English Illustrated Magazine for October 1890.

viii PREFACE

Abbey. Or, to take another instance, compare the con- temporary illustrations of Dickens with the modern designs of (say) Mr. Charles Green or Mr. Frederick Barnard. The variations, it will at mice be manifest, are not the mere variations arising from ampler resource or from fuller academic skill on the part of the younger men. It is not alone that they have conquered the inner secret of Mr. du Mauriers artistic stumbling-blocks — the irreconcilable chirnney-pot hat, the " terrible trousers" the unspeakable evening clothes of the Victorian era : it is that their point of view is different. Nay, in the case of Mr. Barnard, one of the first, if not the first, of modern humorous designers, although he is studiously loyal to the Dickens tradition as revealed by " Phiz " and Cruikshank, he is at the same time as iinlike them as it is well possible to be. To this individual and personal attitude of the artist must be added, among other things, t/ie further fact that each age has a trick of investing the book it decorates with something of its own tem- perament and atmosphere. It may faithfully endea- vour to revive costume ; it may reproduce accessory with the utmost care ; but it can never look ^vith the old eyes, or see exactly in the old way. Of these positions , * the Vicar of Wakefield is as good an example as any. Between its earlier illustrated editions and those of the last fifty years the gulf is wide ; while the portraits of Dr. Primrose as presented by Rowlandson on the one hand and Stothard on the other are as strikingly in contrast as any of the cases above indicated. We shall

PREFACE ix

add ivhat is practically a fresh chapter to a hackneyed history if for a page or two we attempt to give some account of Goldsmiths story considered exclusively in its aspect as an illustrated book.

There were no illustrations to the first edition of 1766. The two duodecimo volumes "on grey paper with blunt type? printed at Salisbury in that year " by B. Collins ', for F. Newbery" were without embellishments of any kind ; and the sixth issue of 1779 had been reached before we come to the earliest native attempt at pictorial realisation of the characters. In the following year appeared the first English edition with illustrations, being two tiny booklets bearing the imprint of one J. Wenman, 0/14.4. Fleet Street, and containing a couple of poorly-executed frontispieces by the miniaturist, Daniel Dodd. They represent the Vicar taking leave of George, and Olivia and the Landlady — a choice of subjects in which the artist had many subsequent imitators. The designs have little distinction but that of priority, and can claim no higher merit than attaches to the cheap adornments of a cheap book. Dodd is seen to greater advantage in one of the two plates which, about the same date, figured in Harrison's Novelist's Magazine, and also in the octavo edition of the Vicar printed for the same publisher in 1781. These plates have the pretty, old - fashioned ornamental framezvork which the elder Heath and his colleagues had borrowed from the French vignettists. Dodd illustrates the episode of the pocket-book, while his companion Walker, at once engraver

X PREFACE

and designer, selects the second rescue of Sophia at the precise moment when BurcheWs "great stick " has shivered the small sword of Mr. Timothy Baxter. Walker's design is the better of the two ; but their main interest is that of costume -pieces, and in both the story is told by gesture rather than by expression.

So natural is it to associate the grace of Stothard with the grace of Goldsmith, that one almost resents the fact that, in the collection for which he did sc/much, the task of illustrating the Vicar fell into other hands. But as his first relations with Harrison's Magazine originated in an application made to him to correct a drawing by Dodd for Joseph Andrews, it is probable that, before he began to work regularly for the publisher, the plates for the Vicar had already been arranged for. Yet it was not long before he was engaged upon the book. In 1792 was published an octavo edition, the plates of whicJi were beautifully engraved by Basire's pupil and Blake s partner, James Parker. Stothard' s designs, six in num- ber, illustrate the Vicar taking leave of George, the Rescue of Sophia from Drowning, the Honeysuckle Arbour, the Vicar and Olivia, the Prison Sermon, and the Family Party at the end. The best of. them, perhaps, is that in which Olivia's father, with an inexpressible tenderness of gesture, lifts the half-sinking, half -kneeling form of his repentant daughter. But though none can be said to be wanting in that grace which is the unfail- ing characteristic of tJie artist, upon the whole they are not chefs - cTceuvre. Certainly they are not as good as

PREFACE xi

the best of the Clarissa series in Harrison ; they are not even better than the illustrations to Sterne, the originals of which are at South Kensington. Indeed, there is at South Kensington a circular composition by Stothard from the Vicar — a lightly -washed sketch in Indian ink — ^vhich surpasses them all. The moment selected is obscure ; but the persons represented are plainly the Wakefield family, Sir William Thornhill, and the 'Squire. The 'Squire is speaking, Olivia hides her face in her mother's lap, Dr. Primrose listens with bent head, and the ci-devant Mr. Burchell looks sternly at his nepheiv. The entire group, which is admirable in refinement and composition, has all the serene gravity of a drawing by Flaxman. Besides the above, and a pair of plates to be mentioned presently, Stothard did a set of twenty-four minute headpieces to a Memorandum Book for 1805 (or thereabouts), all of which were derived from Goldsmiths novel, and these probably do not exhaust his efforts in this direction.

After the Stothard of 1792 comes a succession of editions more or less illustrated. In 1793 Cooke published the Vicar in his Select Novels, with a vignette and plate by R. Corbould, and a plate by A nker Smith. The last, which depicts " Olivia rejecting ^vith disdain the offer of a Pttrse of Money from 'Squire Thornhill? is not only a dainty little picture, but serves to exemplify some of the remarks at the outset of this paper. Seven- and-twenty years later, the same design was re-engraved as the frontispiece to an edition published by Dean and

xii PREFACE

Munday, and the costumes were modernised to date. T/ie 'Squire Thorn hill of 1793 has a three-cornered hat and ruffles ; in 1820 he wears whiskers, a stiff cravat with a little collar, and a cocked hat set athzvart ships. Olivia, who disdained him in 1793 in a cap and sash, disdains him in 1820 in her own hair and a high waist. Cprbould's illustrations to these volumes ere commonplace. But he does better in the five plates which he supplied to Whittingham s edition of 1800, three of which, the Honeysuckle Arbour, Moses starting on his Journey, and Olivia and the Landlady, are pleasant enough. In 1808 followed an edition with a charming frontispiece by S tot hard, in which the Vicar with his arm in a sling is endeavouring to reconcile Mrs. Primrose to Olivia. There is also a vignette by the same hand. These, engraved at first by Heath, were repeated in 1813 by J. Romney. In the same year the book appeared in the Mirror of Amusement with three plates by that artistic Jack-of- all-trades, William Marshall Craig, sometime drawing -master to the Princess Charlotte of Wales. There are also editions in 1812, 1823, and 1824 with frontispieces by the Academician, Thomas Uwins. But as an interpreter of Goldsmith, the painter of the once- popular Chapeau de Brigand is not inspiriting.

In following the line of engravers on copper, soon tc be superseded by steel, we have neglected the sister art Oj engraving upon wood, of which the revival is practically synchronous with Harrison's Magazine. The firs edition of the Vicar, decorated ivith ^uhat Horace Walpol

PREFACE

mptnously called "wooden cuts" is dated Was seven designs^ three of which are by an unknown n called Eginton, and the remainder by Thomas %#il&ick, by ^vhon^ all of them are engraved. Eginton rJf be at once dismissed ; but Bewick's oivn work, not- '.' standing his genuine admiration for Goldsmith^ . *es no particular enthusiasm. He was too original ^flf ^ ittustrat°r °f other men's ideas, and his designs, Wgk fair specimens of his technique as a xylographer, ijj£poor as artistic conceptions. The most successfid is WProcession to Church, the stubbornness of Black- itfy, as may be imagined, being effectively rendered, mtispieces by Bewick also appear in editions of I 8 I o I i 8 I 2 ; and betiveen 1807 ana/ I 8 1 o the records %£&& of tJiree American issues with woodcuts by Bewick's for Atlantic imitator, Alexander Anderson. Whether were or ^vere not merely copies of Beivick, like \ of Anderson's zvork, cannot be affirmed without lion. Nor, for tJie same reason, is it possible to ivith certainty of the edition illustrated by and engraved by Bewick's pupil, Luke ell, of iv kick Mr. W. J. Lin ton speaks in his Krs of Wood Engraving as containing a "• * Mr. Ife// in the hay fie Id reading to the tivo Primrose WjLfutt °f drawing and daylight',' which should be \ seeing. Biit the triumph of woodcut copies at mdate is undoubtedly the so-called " W hittingham' s gw " of 1815. This is illustrated by thirty -seven yjfitts and tailpieces engraved by the prince of modern b

xiv PREFACE

' ' *•• • .>' wood-engravers, Jo/in Thompson. T/ie artist's name has

been modestly witJiheld, and the designs are sometiifa attributed to Thurston, but they are not entirely manner, and zve are inclined to assign them to Sanu Williams. In any case, they are unpretending little pieces, simple in treatment, and sympathetic in character. The Vicar Consoled by his little Boys, and the Two Girls and the Fortune-teller, may be cited as favourable examples. But the scale is too small for mucJi play of expression. " W hittingham' s edition " was very popu- lar, and copies are by no means rare. It was cer- tainly republished in 1822 and 1825, and probably tJiere are other issues. And so ^ve come to that most extraordinary of contributions by a popular designer to the embellishment of a popular author, the Vicar of Thomas Rowlands on.

Roivlandson was a caricaturist, and his Vicar is a caricature. He was not ^vitJwut artistic power ; he could, if he liked, draw a beautiful woman (it is /;m; that his ideal generally deserves those epithets of " plantureux, luxuriant, exuberant " which the painter in Gerfaut gives to the charms of Mile. Rcinc Gobillof) ; but he did not care to modify his ordinary style. Conse- quently he has illustrated GohlsmitJi s masterpiece as he illustrated Combes Doctor Syntax, and the result .is a pictorial outrage. The unhappy Primrose family romp through his pages, vulgarised by all sorts of indignities, and the reader reaches the last of the " twenty -four coloured plates" which Ackermann put fortli in 1817,

PREFACE xv

and again in 1823, as one escaping from a nightmare. It is only necessary to glance at S tot hard's charming little plate of Hunt the Slipper in Rogers s Pleasures of Memory of 1802 to see how far -from the Goldsmith spirit is Rowlandsoris treatment of the same pastime. Where he is most endurable, is where his designs to the Vicar have the least relation to the personages of the book, as, for example, in " A Connoisseur Mellowing the Tone of a Picture',' which is simply a humorous print neither better nor zvorse than any of the other humorous prints with which he was wont to fill the windows of the "Repository of Arts" in Piccadilly.

It is a relief to turn from the coarse rotundities of Rowlandson to the edition which immediately followed — that known to collectors as Sharpes. It contains five illustrations by Richard Westall, engraved on copper by Corbould, Warren, Roniney, and others. WestalVs designs are of the school of Stothard — that is to say, they are graceful and elegant rather than humorous ; but they are most beautifully rendered by their engravers. The Honeysuckle Arbour (George Corbould], where the girls lean across the table to watch the labouring stag as it pants past, is one of the most brilliant little pictures we ever remember to have seen. In 1829, William Finden re-engraved the whole of these designs on steel, slightly reducing them in size, and the merits of the two methods may be compared. It is hard to adjudge the palm. Finden s fif tli plate especially, depicting Sophias return to the Vicar in Prison, is a miracle of executive finesse.

xvi PREFACE

Goldsmith's next illustrators of importance are Cruikshank and Mulready. The contributions of the former are limited to two plates for Vol. X. (1832) of Roscoe's Novelist's Library, They are not successes. The kindly Genius of Broadgrin is hardly as vulgar as Roivlandson, but his efforts to make his subject " comic" at all risks, are not the less disastrous, and there is little of the Vicar, or Mrs. Primrose, or even Moses, in the sketch with which he illustrates the tragedy of the gross of green spectacles ; while the most salient characteristic of the somewhat more successful Hunt the Slipper is the artists inveterate tendency to make the waists of his women (in the words of Pope's imitation of Prior] "fine by defect, and delicately weak" Mulready s designs (1843), excellently interpreted by John Thompson, have a far greater reputation, — a reputation heightened not a little by the familiar group of pictures which he elaborated from three of the sketches. Choosing the Wedding Gown, the Wkistonian Controversy, and Sophia and Burchell Haymaking, with their unrivalled rendering of texture and material, are among the painter's . most successful works in oil ; and it is the fashion to speak of his illustrated Vicar as if all of its designs were at the same artistic level. This is by no means the case. Some of them, e.g. Olivia measuring herself with the 'Squire, have playfidness and charrn, but the majority are not only crowded in composition, but heavy and unattractive. Mulready's paintings, however, and the generally dif- fused feeling that the domestic note in his work should

PREFACE xvn

make him a born illustrator of Goldsmith, have given him a prestige which cannot now be gainsaid.

After Mulready follows a crowd of minor illustrators. One of the most successful of these was the clever artist George Thomas ; one of the most disappointing, because his gifts were of so high an order, was the late G. J. Pinwell. Of Absolon, Anelay, Gilbert, and the rest, it is impossible to speak here, and we must close this rapid summary with brief reference to some of the foreign editions.

At the beginning of this paper, in enumerating certain of the causes for the diversities, pleasing or otherwise, which prevail in illustrated copies of the classics, we purposely reserved one which it is more convenient to treat in connection with those books when "embellished" by foreign artists. If, even in the country of birth, each age (as has been well said of translations} " a eu de ce cote son belvedere different," it follows that every other country will have its point of view, which will be at variance zvith that of a native. To say that no book dealing with human nature in the abstract is capable of being adequately illustrated except in the country of its origin, would be to state a proposition in imminent danger of prompt contradiction. But it may be safely asserted, that, except by an artist ^vho, from long residence or familiarity, has enjoyed unusual facilities for assimi- lating the national atmosphere, no novel of manners (to which class the Vicar undoubtedly belongs) can be illustrated with complete success by a foreigner. For this

xviii PREFACE

reason, it will not be necessary here to do more than refer briefly to the principal French and German editions. In either country the Vicar has had the advantage of being artistically interpreted by draughtsmen of marked ability ; but in both cases the solecisms are thicker than the beauties.

It must be admitted, notwithstanding, for Germany, that it was earlier in the field than England. Wen- man's edition is dated 1780 ; but it was in 1776 that August Mylius, of Berlin, issued the first frontispiece of the Vicar. // is an etching by the Berlin Hogarth, Daniel Chodowiecki, prefixed to an English reprint of the second edition, and represents the popular episode of Mr. Burchell and the pocket-book. The poor Vicar is transformed into a loose- lipped, heavy-jowled German pastor in a dressing-gown and slippers, while Mr. Burchell becomes a slim personage in top-boots, and such a hunts- man's cap as stage tradition assigns to Tony Lumpkin. In the Almanac Genealogique for 1777 Chodowiecki returned to this subject, and produced a series of twelve charming plates — little marvels of delicate execution — upon the same theme. Some of these, e.g. the " Conversa- tion brillante des Dames de la ville " and " George sur le Teatre (sic) reconnoit son Pere " — are delightfully quaint. But they are not illustrations of the text — and there is no more to say. The same radical objection applies to the illustrations, full of fancy, ingenuity, and playful- ness as they are, of another German, Ludwig Richter. His edition has often been reprinted. But it is sufficient

PREFACE xix

to glance at his barefooted Sophia, making hay with her straw hat at her back, in order to decide against it. One crosses out " Sophia " and writes in " Frederika" She may have lived at Sesenheim, biit never at Wakefield. In like manner, the insular mind recoils from the spectacle of the patriarchal Jenkinson studying the Cosmogony in company ivith a tankard of a make unmistakably Teutonic.

In France, to judge by certain entries in Cohen's invaluable Guide de TAmateur de Livres a Vignettes, the book seems to have been illustrated as early as the end of the last century. Huot and Texier are mentioned as artists, but their works have escaped us. The chief French edition, however, is that which belongs to the famous series of books " aux images incrustees en plein texte" (as Jules Janin says), inaugurated in 1835 by the Gil Bias of Jean Gigoux. The Vicaire de Wakefield (Bourgueleret, 1838), admirably paraphrased by Charles Nodier, was accompanied by ten engravings on steel by William Finden after Tony Johannot, and a number of small woodcuts, entetes and culs-de-lampe by Janet Lange, Charles Jacque, and C. Marville} As composi- tions, Johannofs contributions are effective, but highly theatrical, while his types are frankly French. Of the woodcuts it may be sufficient to note that when the Vicar and Mrs. Primrose discuss the prospects of the family in • the privacy of their own chamber, they do so (in the picture]

1 To the edition of 1843, which does not contain these woodcuts, is added one by Meissonier.

xx PREFACE

from tivo separate four-posters with tivisted uprights, and a crucifix betzveen them. The same eccentricities, tJiongh scarcely so naively ignorant, are not absent from the work of two muck more modern artists, M. V. A. Poirson and M. Adolphe Lalauze. M. Poirson (Quantin, 1885) who, in his own domain, has extra- ordinary skill as a decorative artist, depicts 'Squire TJwrnhill as a gay young French chasseur with many- buttoned gaiters and a fusil en bandouliere, while the hero of the Elegy on a Mad Dog appears in those " wooden shoes " (with straw in therri) which for so long ivere to English cobblers the chief terror of a French invasion. M. Lalauze again (Jouaust, 1888), for ^vhose distinguished gifts (in their place) we have the keenest admiration, promotes the whole Wakefield family into the haute noblesse. An elegant Dr. Primrose blesses an elegant George with the air of a Rochefou- caidt, wJtile Mrs. Primrose, in the background, vvith the Bible and cane, is a grande dame de par le monde. Under the same treatment, the scene in the hayfield becomes a fete galante after the fashion of Lancret or Watteau.

Upon the whole, dismissing foreign artists for the reason given above, one is forced to the conclusion that Goldsmith has not hitherto found his fitting pictorial interpreter. Stothard and Mulready ' have accentuated his graver side ; Cruikshank and Rowlandson have • exaggerated his humour. But no single artist in 'the past, as far as we are aware, has, in any just proportion,

£

PREFACE

xxi

combined them both. By the delicate quality of his art, by the alliance in his work of a grace and playfulness ^vk^ch has a kind of parallel in Goldsmiths literary style, the late Mr. Randolph Caldecott seemed always to suggest that lie could, if he would, supply this want. But, apart from the captivating play -book of the Mad Dog and a frontispiece in the Parchment Library, Mr. Caldecott contributed nothing to the illustration of Goldsmith's novel.

AUSTIN DOB SON.

E A LING, October 1890.

Goldsmith's Chair and Cane.

South Kensington Musettm.

CHAPTER I

PAGE

The Description of the Family of Wakefield, in which a kindred

Likeness prevails, as well of Minds as of Persons . . I

CHAPTER II

Family Misfortunes. TJie Loss of Fortune only serves to increase

the Pride of the Worthy . . . . . .10

CHAPTER III

A Migration. The fortunate Circumstances of our Lives are gener- ally found at last to be of our own procuring . . .20

CHAPTER IV

A Proof that even the humblest Fortune may grant Happiness,

which depends, not on Circumstances, but Constitution . 31

CHAPTER V

A new and great Acquaintance introduced. What we place most

Hopes upon, generally proves most fatal . . -39

xxiv CONTENTS

CHAPTER VI

PAGE

The Happiness of a Country Fireside . . . . -47

CHAPTER VII

A Town Wit described. The dullest Fellows may learn to be

comical for a Night or Two . . . . -55

CHAPTER VIII

An Amour which promises little good Fortune yet may be pro- ductive of much . ...... 62

CHAPTER IX

Two Ladies of great Distinction introduced. Superior Finery ever

seems to confer superior Breeding . . . 71

CHAPTER X

The Family endeavour to cope with their Betters. The Miseries of

the Poor, when they attempt to appear above their Circumstances 78

CHAPTER XI The Family still resolve to hold up their Heads . 87

CHAPTER XII

Fortune seems resolved to humble the Family of Wakefield.

Mortifications are often more painful than real Calamities . 96

CHAPTER XIII

Mr. Burchell is found to be an Enemy, for he has the confidence to

give disagreeable Advice . . . . .106

CONTENTS XXV

CHAPTER XIV

PAGE

Fresh Mortifications, or a Demonstration that seeming Calamities

may be real Blessings . . . . , .in

CHAPTER XV

All Mr. Burchell's Villainy at once detected. The Folly of being

overwise . 122

CHAPTER XVI

The Family use Art, which is opposed with still greater . .129

CHAPTER XVII

Scarcely any Virtue found to resist the Power of long and pleasing

Temptation . . . . . . 137

CHAPTER XVIII

The Pursuit of a Father to reclaim a Lost Child to Virtue . . 148

CHAPTER XIX

The Description of a Person discontented with the Present Govern- ment and apprehensive of the Loss of our Liberties . • I55

CHAPTER XX

The History of a philosophic Vagabond, pursuing Novelty, but

losing Content . . . . . . .167

xxvi CONTENTS

CHAPTER XXI

PAGE

The short continuance of Friendship amongst the vicious, which is

coeval only with mutual satisfaction . . . .189

CHAPTER XXII

Offences are easily pardoned, where there is Love at bottom . 202

CHAPTER XXIII

None but the Guilty can be long and completely miserable . . 209

CHAPTER XXIV Fresh Calamities . . . . . . .216

CHAPTER XXV

No Situation, however wretched it seems, but has some sort of

Comfort attending it ...... 224

CHAPTER XXVI

A Reformation in the Gaol : to make laws complete, they should

reward as well as punish . . . . .232

CHAPTER XXVII The same Subject continued ... . . 241

CHAPTER XXVIII

Happiness and Misery rather the Result of Prudence than of Virtue in this Life ; temporal Evils or Felicities being regarded by Heaven as things merely in themselves trifling, and unworthy its care in the distribution . . . . . 247

CONTENTS

XXVll

CHAPTER XXIX

PAGE

The Equal Dealings of Providence demonstrated with regard to the •jaftappy and the Miserable here below. That, from the nature Sgjpf Pleasure and Pain, the Wretched must be repaid the balance of their Sufferings in the Life hereafter .... 262

CHAPTER XXX

Happier Prospects begin to appear. Let us be inflexible, and Fortune

will at last change in our Favour .... 268

CHAPTER XXXI

Former Benevolence now repaid with unexpected Interest

. 280

CHAPTER XXXII

Conclusion

300

Olivia ......

Dedication .....

Heading to Preface ....

^Goldsmith's Chair and Cane . Heading to Contents ....

Tailpiece to Contents ....

Heading to List of Illustrations Tailpiece to- List of Illustrations Advertisement ....

Heading to Chapter I. ...

"We had an elegant house" . " To taste our gooseberry wine " ." Tp lend him a riding-coat " . " In the most pathetic parts of my sermon " . " Would bid the girls hold up their heads " . Tailpiece to Chapter I. ...

Heading to Chapter II.

An Exhortation to Matrimony

Mrs. Primrose's Epitaph

" On fine days rode a-hunting "

" And then gazed in the glass "

" With the music-master's assistance "

" The completing a tract "

The great Whiston Controversy

Tailpiece to Chapter II.

Heading to Chapter III.

Frontispiece

vn xxi

. xxiii . xxvii . xxix . xxxiv . xxxv

2

3 4 6 8

9 10 ii

12

14

• 15

. 16

17

. 18 19

20

xxx LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

" To spare an old broken soldier " . " •• . . • • 23

" Mr. Burchell and I bringing up the rear" . . . 25

" Pointing to a magnificent house " . . . . .26

The Rescue of Sophia . . ' . .29

.Up in the Clouds ..... -3°

Heading to Chapter IV. . .31

"Came out to meet their minister " . . . . .32

"Our little habitation" . . . . . -33

" The Cruelty of Barbara Allen " . . . . -34

' ' To read the lessons of the day " . . . . -35

" In all their former splendour " . . . . . 36 .

" With an important air " . . . . . -37

Tailpiece to Chapter IV. .... .38

Heading to Chapter V. .... -39

" And enjoy the breeze that wafted both health and harmony " .40

" Come sweeping along " . . . . . 41

"With a careless superior air " . . .42

" Which she returned with a curtsey " . . .43

" Lifting up the flaps of his pocket-holes " . . .44

Tailpiece to Chapter V. . . . . .46

Heading to Chapter VI. . ... 47

" Little Dick reached him a chair" . 48 " The history of Patient Grissel " . ... 49

" A lump of sugar each " . . . . . .50

" To whose child he was carrying a whistle " . . 51

" This was said without the least design " . . . -53

" Seemingly by accident " . . . . .54

Heading to Chapter VII. . . . -55

" Mr. Thornhill came with a couple of friends " . . .56

" Winked on the rest of the company " . . . • 57 "

" No, Sir, there I protest you are too hard for me " . -59

Tailpiece to Chapter VII. . . .61

Heading to Chapter VIII. .... .62

" Our family dined in the field " . . . . .63

' ' Bursting through the hedge^" . . . . .69

'

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxxi

PAGE

Tailpiece to Chapter VIII. . . . . 70

Heading to Chapter IX. . . . . . 71

" Our landlord and two young ladies richly dressed " . -72

" Returned with my neighbour Flamborough's rosy daughters " . 73

4 ' Two fiddles, with a pipe and tabor " . . . .74

' ' As pat to the music as its echo " . . . . -75

" Kept up beyond the usual time" . . . . -77

Heading to Chapter X. . . . . . 78

" I was tired of being always wise " . . . . -79

" True-love-knots lurked in the bottom of every teacup " . . 81

" With looks that betrayed a latent plot " . . .82

Blackberry and the Colt . . . . -83

" I walked on to the church " . . . . .84

" I waited near an hour" . . . . . 85

" At first refused to move from the door " . . . .86

Heading to Chapter XI. . . . . . -87

" His manner of telling stories " . . . . .88

" Jernigan ! Jernigan ! bring me my garters " . . -91 "Fudge" ........ 93

Tailpiece to Chapter XL . . . . . -95

Heading to Chapter XII. . . . . .96

" Pitting out Moses for the fair " . . . , . .98

Moses starting for the Fair . . . 99

" And gave the messenger sevenpence halfpenny " . . . 100 11 Moses came slowly on foot "..... 102

" Dear mother, why won't you listen to reason ? " . 103

Tailpiece to Chapter XII. ... . 105

Heading to Chapter XIII. .... .106

" I'll take my leave therefore " ... . 109

Tailpiece to Chapter XIII. ... . no

Heading to Chapter XIV. . . . . . . 1 1 1

c c To advise me, in a whisper " . . . .112

At the Fair ... . . 113

" Wholly intent over a large book " . .114

" The modest youth shed tears" . . • TI5

xxxn LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

" Go and get gold for this " . . . . . .118

" He read it twice over " . . . . . .120

Tailpiece to Chapter XIV. . . . . . .121

Heading to Chapter XV. . . . . . .122

" Found on the green " . . . . . . 123

" Mr. Burchell was approaching " . . . . .124

Tailpiece to Chapter XV. . . . . . .128

Heading to Chapter XVI. ...... 129

"Setting my two little ones to box " . . . . .130

" Drawn together in one large historical family piece " . -132

Mr. Spanker . . . . . . 135

Heading to Chapter XVII. . . . . . . 137

" But he persuaded her again " . . . . .144

"They drove off very fast" ...... 146

Tailpiece to Chapter XVII. ... . . 147

Heading to Chapter XVIII. ... .148

" I was met by a person on horseback " . . 149

" A very well-dressed gentleman " . . 153

Tailpiece to Chapter XVIII. . ... . 154

Heading to Chapter XIX. • J55

" The player, with a wink " ... 156

"'What!' cried he". . . . . . .161

" Welcomed me with most cordial hospitality ' -163

Tailpiece to Chapter XIX. . 166

Heading to Chapter XX. ... 167

" But cheerful as the birds that carolled by the road " 168

" Drew out a bundle of proposals " I71

"A young gentleman approached me" • 174

"Are you the bearer of this here letter ? " .178

Mr. Crispe .... 180

" All you have to do is to teach the Dutchmen English" . 181

" This amazed me " .... -183

" I played one of my most merry tunes " .184

Tailpiece to Chapter XX. . 188

Heading to Chapter XXI. . • 189

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xxxiii

PAGE

" Informed me, with a whisper " ..... 190

" He replied by drinking her health " .... 194

" Caught the dear forlorn wretch in my arms" . . . 196

" I burst from him in a rage" ..... 200

Tailpiece to Chapter XXI. ...... 201

Heading to Chapter XXII. ...... 202

" I strove to calm her sorrows" ..... 203

" While the family stood, with silent agony ". . . . 205

" Here, dear papa, here we are " ..... 206

Tailpiece to Chapter XXII. . ... 208

Heading to Chapter XXIII. . . . . . .209

" With the kindest condolence " . . . .210

" In the grandest equipage " . , . . . .213

Tailpiece to Chapter XXIII. . . . . . .215

Heading to Chapter XXIV. . . . . . .216

" ' Avoid my sight, thou reptile,' cried I " . . . .218

" To demand my annual rent " . . ... .221

" They came in " ....... 223

Heading to Chapter XXV. ...... 224

" And walked on slowly " ...... 225

" You talk of the world, Sir ". ..... 228

" To call over the prisoners' names ". .... 230

Tailpiece to Chapter XXV. . . . . .231

Heading to Chapter XXVI. . . . . . .232

" Perfectly merry upon the occasion " 235

" Swearing that I was a very honest fellow " . . . . 236

" And loved the ladies " .... . 239

" He slapped his forehead " ...... 240

Heading to Chapter XXVII. . . . . . .241

Tailpiece to Chapter XXVII. . . 246

Heading to Chapter XXVIII. . . . 247

" Leaning on her sister's arm "..... 248

"Who were using all their innocent efforts to comfort me " . . 252

" And delivered the letter " ...... 254

"The keeper entered " ...... 259

xxxiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

Heading to Chapter XXIX. ...... 262

Tailpiece to Chapter XXIX. . . . . . .267

Heading to Chapter XXX. .... .268

11 With oaths and menaces drew his sword " . . . .271

" Climbed up Sir William's knee" ... . 278

Tailpiece to Chapter XXX. .... . 279

Heading to Chapter XXXI. ...... 280

" Hauling in a tall man " . . . 283

' ' She learned from him " ...... 286

" To make a genteel appearance " . ... 289

" Received by the shouts of the villagers " .... 298

Tailpiece to Chapter XXXI. ...... 299

Heading to Chapter XXXII. . . . . . .300

" Learning to blow the French horn" . . . 303

" At which jest " ... . 304

Tailpiece to Chapter XXXII. . ... 305

J£^svn.g&-£>

. J§<£t &-& - ffiC na.m.troUff error**, of tf>nay 6e very di

"t/3. tf-rte. greatest c&ra?f<?r<r ufan. car^/fj XI w a/rce

waru. and i&j*ai£<iY cfajawfy. 3fe <j aTrawrv a^ ready io teacR,

ecncfnacfy id o£y; atT4Jiyt4r6i cT/^cencp, ancf-majecrfe i^aif-

isdain, /ram, i^e tftrnA/tctfy of Aiif Ccit-rCtry ^fire-side, c/£<vC otr rft rija/cfry j6r /Mmoar, wWfincCno Cvit~in

e c£efjidrecr ofcernfbrf'cire

t (n. coi a <ti as ofJertonf.

ever of opinion, that the honest man who married and brought up a large family did more service than he who continued single, and only talked of population. * From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year before >egan to think seriously of matrimony, and chose .« B

2 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

my wife, as she did her wedding-gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but for such qualities as would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable woman ; and, as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could show more. She could read any English book without much spelling ; but for pickling, preserving, and cookery, none could excel her. She

prided herself also upon being an excellent contriver in housekeeping ; though I could never find that we grew richer with all her contrivances.

However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fondness increased as we grew old. There was, in fact, nothing that could make us angry with the world or each other. We had an elegant house situated in a fine country, and a good neighbourhood. The year was spent in a moral or rural amusement, in visiting our rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo ;

i DESCRIPTION OF THE FAMILY 3

all our adventures were by the fireside, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown.

As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great reputation ; and I profess, with the

veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of them find fault with it. Our cousins, too, even to the fortieth remove, all remembered their affinity, without any help from the heralds' office, and came very frequently to see us. Some of them did us no great honour by thesefc claims of kindred ; as we had the blind, the maimed, and the halt amongst the number. However,

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

my wife always insisted that, as they were the same flesh and blood, they should sit with us at the same table. So that, if we had not very rich, we generally had very happy friends about us ; for this remark will hold good through life, that the poorer the guest, the

CAJ u?7i5 n im. cc rcdCcny G)u&

I J \ 'J

better pleased he ever is with being treated : and as some men gaze with admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wing of a butterfly, so I was, by nature, an admirer of happy human faces. However, when any one of our relations was found to be a person of very bad character, a troublesome guest, or one we desired

I DESCRIPTION OF THE FAMILY 5

to get rid of, upon his leaving my house I ever took care to lend him a riding-coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes an horse of small value, and I always had the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return them. By this the house was cleared of such as we did not like ; but never was the family of Wakefield known to turn the traveller or the poor dependant out of doors.

Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness, not but that we sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value of its favours. My orchard was often robbed by school- boys, and my wife's custards plundered by the cats or the children. The Squire would sometimes fall asleep in the most "pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return my wife's civilities at church with a mutilated curtsey. But we soon got over the uneasiness caused by such accidents, and usually in three or four days began to wonder how they vexed us.

My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without softness, so they were at once well-formed and healthy ; my sons hardy and active, my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in the midst of the little circle, which promised to be the supports of my declining age, I could not avoid repeating the famous story of Count Abensberg who, in Henry the Second's progress through Germany, while other courtiers came with their treasures, brought his thirty -two children, and presented them to his sovereign as the most valuable offering he had to bestow. In this manner, though I had but six, I considered them as a very valuable present made to my country, and consequently looked upon it as my

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

debtor. Our eldest son was named George, after his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our second

of rw

child, a girl, I intended to call after her aunt Grissel ; but my wife, who during her pregnancy had been reading romances, insisted upon her being called Olivia.

I DESCRIPTION OF THE FAMILY 7

In less than another year we had another daughter, and now I was determined that Grissel should be her name ; but a rich relation taking a fancy to stand godmother, the girl was, by her directions, called Sophia ; so that we had two romantic names in the family ; but I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next, and, after an interval of twelve years, we had two sons more.

It would be fruitless to deny exultation when I saw my little ones about me ; but the vanity and the satisfaction of my wife were even greater than mine. When our visitors would say, " Well, upon my word, Mrs. Primrose, you have the finest children in the whole country ; " — " Ay, neighbour," she would answer, "they are as Heaven made them, handsome enough, if they be good enough ; for handsome is that handsome- does." And then she would bid the girls hold up their heads ; who, to conceal nothing, were certainly very handsome. Mere outside is so very trifling a circumstance with me, that I should scarce have remembered to mention it, had it not been a general topic of conversation in the country. Olivia, now about eighteen, had that luxuriancy of beauty with which painters generally draw Hebe ; open, sprightly, and commanding. Sophia's features were not so striking at first, but often did more certain execution ; for they were soft, modest, and alluring. The one vanquished by a single blow, the other by efforts successfully repeated.

The temper of a woman is generally formed from the turn of her features : at least it was so with my daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers; Sophia to secure one. Olivia was often affected, from too great

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

a desire to please ; Sophia even repressed excellence, from her fears to offend. The one entertained me with her vivacity when I was gay, the other with her sense when I was serious. But these qualities were never carried to excess in either, and I have often seen

them exchange characters for a whole day together. A suit of mourning has transformed my coquette into a prude, and a new set of ribands has given her younger sister more than natural vivacity. My eldest son George was bred at Oxford, as I intended him for one of the learned professions. My second boy Moses, whom I designed for business, received a sort of

I DESCRIPTION OF THE FAMILY 9

miscellaneous education at home. But it is needless to attempt describing the particular characters of young people that had seen but very little of the world. In short, a family likeness prevailed through all, and, properly speaking, they had but one character, — that 9 of being all equally generous, credulous, simple, and inoffensive.

JirWcf fe increase ifa </r('c&

temporal concerns of our family were chiefly committed to my wife's manage- ment ; as to the spiritual, I took them entirely under my own direction. The profits of my living, which amounted to but thirty-five pounds a year, I made over to the orphans and widows of the clergy of our diocese ; for, having a fortune of my own, I was careless of temporalities, and felt a secret pleasure in doing my duty without reward. I also set a resolution of keeping no curate, and of being acquainted with every man in the parish, ex- horting the married men to temperance, and the bachelors to matrimony : so that in a few years it was

FAMILY MISFORTUNES

II

a common saying, that there were three strange wants at Wakefield, a parson wanting pride, young men wanting wives, and ale-houses wanting customers.

Matrimony was always one of my favourite topics,

and I wrote several sermons to prove its happiness : but there was a peculiar tenet which I made a point of supporting ; for I maintained with WhistprL that it was unlawful for a priest of the Church of England, after the death of his first wife, to take a second, or, to express it in one word, I valued myself upon being a strict monogamist.

I was early initiated into this important dispute, on which so many laborious volumes have been written. I published some tracts U}5on the subject myself, which,

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

as they never sold, I have the consolation of thinking were read only by the happy feiv. Some of my friends

called this my weak side ; but alas ! they had not, like me, made it the subject of long contemplation. The more I reflected upon it, the more important it appeared. I even went a step beyond Whiston in dis-

ii FAMILY MISFORTUNES 13

playing my principles : as he had engraven upon his wife's tomb that she was the only wife of William Whiston, so I wrote a similar epitaph for my wife, though still living, in which I extolled her prudence, economy, and obedience till death ; and having got it copied fair, with an elegant frame, it was placed over the chimney-piece, where it answered several very useful purposes : it admonished my wife of her duty to me, and my fidelity to her ; it inspired her with a passion for fame, and constantly put her in mind of her end.

It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so often recommended, that my eldest son, just upon leaving college, fixed his affections upon the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman, who was a dignitary in the church, and in circumstances to give her a large fortune. But fortune was her smallest accomplishment. Miss Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all (except my two daughters) to be completely pretty. Her youth, health, and innocence were still heightened by a complexion so transparent, and such- a happy sensibility of look, as even age could not gaze on wixth indifference. As Mr. Wilmot knew that I could make a very handsome settlement on my son, he was not averse to the match ; so both families lived together in all that harmony which generally precedes an expected alliance. Being convinced by experience that the days of courtship are the most happy of our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen the period ; and the various amusements which the young couple every day shared in each other's company seemed to increase their passion. We were generally awaked in the morning by music, and on fine days rode a-hunting. The hours between breakfast and

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

dinner the ladies devoted to dress and study ; they usually read a page, and then gazed at themselves in the glass, which even philosophers might own often presented the page of greatest beauty. At dinner my

wife took the lead ; for, as she always insisted upon carving everything herself, it being her mother's way, she gave us upon these occasions the history of every dish. When we had dined, to prevent the ladies leaving us, I generally ordered the table to be removed ; and

ii FAMILY MISFORTUNES 15

sometimes, with the music-master's assistance, the girls would give us a very agreeable concert. Walking out, drinking tea, country-dances, and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without the assistance of cards, as

j

I hated all manner of gaming, except backgammon, at which my old friend and I sometimes took a two- penny hit. Nor can I here pass over an ominous cir- cumstance that happened the last time we played together. I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce ace five times running.

Some months were elapsed in this manner, till at

16 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the

. nuptials of the young couple, who seemed earnestly to

desire it. During the preparations for the wedding, I

need not describe the busy importance of my wife, nor

the sly looks of my daughters : in fact, my attention fixed on another object, — the completing a tract, w I intended shortly to publish, in defence of my favourite principle. As I looked upon this as a masterpiece, both for argument and style, I could not, in the pride of my

FAMILY MISFORTUNES

, avoid showing it to my old friend Mr. Wilmot, as 1 m£.de no doubt of receiving; his approbation : but not till too late I discovered that he was most violently

ii ched to the contrary opinion, and with good reason ;

r he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife.

'Ills, as may be expected, produced a dispute, attended

i some acrimony, which threatened to interrupt our

c

i8

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP,

intended alliance ; but, on the day before that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the subject at large.

It was managed with proper spirit on both sides ; he asserted that I was heterodox ; I retorted the charge :

he replied, and I rejoined. In the meantime, while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by one of miff relations, who, with a face of concern, advised me IB* give up the dispute, at least till my son's wedding wjBl over. " How," cried I, " relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be a husband, already driven to the very verge of absurdity ? You might as well advise me to give up my fortune as my argument." — " Your fortune,"

II FAMILY MISFORTUNES 19

returned my friend, " I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in town, in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound. I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till after the wedding : but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the argument ; for, I suppose, your own prudence will enforce the ne- cessity of dissembling, at least till your son has the young lady's fortune secure." — " Well," returned I, " if what you tell me be true, and if I am to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or induce me to disavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the company of my circumstances : and, as for the argu- ment, I even here retract my former concessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will allow him now to be a husband in any sense of the expression."

It would be endless to describe the different sensa- tions of both families when I divulged the news of our misfortune : but what others felt was slight to what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr. Wilmot, who seemed before sufficiently inclined to break off the match, waSj by this blow, soon determined : one virtue he had in perfection, which was prudence, too often the only one that is left us at seventy-two.

Cfcafifrer y

c?f JKjiyratiori. 3Ke/* ^f fiances of cur fives are generafifu dot (cut to 6z&rour ocon

only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortune might be malicious or premature ; but a letter from my agent in town soon came, with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to myself alone would have been trifling ; the only uneasiness I felt was for my family, who were to be humbled with- out an education to render them callous to contempt.

Near a fortnight had passed, before I attempted to restrain their affliction ; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow. During this interval, my thoughts were employed

CHAP, in A MIGRATION 21

on some future means of supporting them ; and at . last a small cure of fifteen pounds a year was offered me, in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy nay principles without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully closed, having determined to in- crease my salary by managing a little farm.

Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the wrecks of my fortune ; and, all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention, therefore, was now to bring down the pride of my family to their circumstances ; for I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. " You cannot be ignorant, my children," cried I, " that no prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune ; but prudence may do much in disappointing its effects. \ . We are now poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids usy conform to our humble situation. Let us then, without repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy. The poor live pleasantly without our help ; why, then, should not we learn to live without theirs ? No, my children, let us from this moment give up all pretensions to gentility : we have still enough left for happiness if we are wise, and let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune."

As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him to town, where his abilities might contribute to our support and his own. The separation of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful circumstances attendant on .pemirv^ The day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave of his mother and the restf

22 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

who mingled their tears with their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow. " You are going, my boy," cried I, " to London on foot, in the manner Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me the same horse that was given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff, and take this book, too, it will be your comfort on the way : these two lines in it are worth a million, — ' I have been young, and now am old ; yet never saw I the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread.' Let this be your con- solation as you travel on. Go, my boy ; whatever be thy /fortune, let me see thee once a year ; still keep a good j heart, and farewell." As he was possessed of integrity / and honour, I was under no apprehensions from throwing him naked into the amphitheatre of life ; for I knew he ^would act a good part whether vanquished or victorious. His departure only prepared the way for our own, which arrived a few days afterwards. The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours of tranquillity was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude itself could suppress. Besides, a journey of seventy miles, to a family that had hitherto never been above ten from home, filled us with apprehension ; and the cries of the poor, who followed us for some miles, contributed to increase it. The first day's journey brought us in safety within thirty miles of our future retreat, and we put up for the night at an obscure inn in a village by the way. When we were shown a room, I desired the landlord, in my usual way, to let us have his company, with which he complied, as what he drank would increase the bill next morning. He knew,

Ill

A MIGRATION

however, the whole neighbourhood to which I was re- moving, particularly Squire Thornhill, who was to be my landlord, and who lived within a few miles of the place. This gentleman he described as one who de- sired to know little more of the world than its pleasures,

being particularly remarkable for his attachment for the fair sex. He observed that no virtue was able to resist his arts and assiduity, and that scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles round but what had found him successful and faithless. Though this account gave me some pain, it had a very different effect upon

24 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

my daughters, whose features seemed to brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph : nor was my wife less pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue. While our thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to inform her husband that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in the house, wanted money, and could not satisfy them for his reckoning. " Want money ! " replied the host, " that must be impossible ; for it was no later than yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle to spare an old broken soldier that was to be whipped through the town for dog-stealing/' The hostess, however, still persisting in her first assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would be satisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord would introduce me to a stranger of so much chanty as he described. With this he complied, showing in a gentle- man who seemed to be about thirty, dressed in clothes that once were laced. His person was well formed, and his face marked with the lines of thinking. He had something short and dry in his address, and seemed not to understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon the landlord's leaving the room, I could not avoid ex- pressing my concern to the stranger at seeing a gentle- man in such circumstances, and offered him my purse to satisfy the present demand. " I take it with all my heart, Sir," replied he, " and am glad that a late oversight in giving what money I had about me has shown me there are still some men like you. I must, however, previously entreat being informed of the name and residence of my benefactor, in order to repay him as soon as possible." In this I satisfied him fully, not only mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but

Ill

A MIGRATION

the place to which I was going to remove. " This," cried he, " happens still more luckily than I hoped for, as I am going the same way myself, having been detained here two days by the floods, which I hope by to-morrow will be found passable." I testified the

pleasure I should have in his company, and my wife and daughters joining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay supper. The stranger's conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive, induced me to wish for a continuance of it ; but it was now high time to retire and take refreshment against the fatigues of the following day.

26

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

The next morning we all set forward together : my family on horseback, while Mr. Burchell, our new com- panion, walked along the footpath by the road-side, observing with a smile that, as we were ill mounted, he would be too generous to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods were not yet subsided, we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted on before, Mr. Burchell and I bringing up the rear. We lightened the fatigues of

the road with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to understand perfectly. But what surprised me most was, that though he was a money borrower, he defended his opinions with as much obstinacy as if he had been my patron. He now and then also informed me to whom the different seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the road. " That," cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which stood at some dis- tance, "belongs to Mr. Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a large fortune, though entirely dependent on the will of his uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a

in A MIGRATION 27

gentleman who, content with a little himself, permits his nephew to enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in town." — " What ! " cried I, " is my young landlord then the nephew of a man, whose virtues, generosity, and singularities are so universally known ? I have heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of the most generous yet whimsical men in the kingdom ; a man of consummate benevolence." — " Something, perhaps, too much so," replied Mr. Burchell ; " at least he carried benevolence to an excess when young ; for his passions were then strong, and as they were all upon the side of virtue they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim at the qualifications of the soldier and the scholar : was soon distinguished in the army, and had some reputation among men of learning. Adu- lation ever follows the ambitious ; for such alone receive most pleasure from flattery. He was surrounded with crowds, who showed him only one side of their character ; so that he began to lose a regard for private interest in universal sympathy. He loved all mankind ; for fortune prevented him from knowing that there were rascals. Physicians tell us of a disorder, in which the whole body is so exquisitely sensible that the slightest touch gives pain : what some have thus suffered in their persons, this gentleman felt in his mind : the slightest distress, whether real or fictitious, touched him to the quick, and his soul laboured under a sickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus disposed to relieve, it will be easily conjectured he found numbers disposed to solicit ; his profusions began to impair his fortune, but not his good -nature — that, indeed, was seen to increase as the other seemed to decay : he grew improvident as he grew poor ; and though he talked

28 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

like a man of sense, his actions were those of a fool. Still, however, being surrounded with importunity, and no longer able to satisfy every request that was made him, instead of money he gave promises. They were all he had to bestow, and he had not resolution enough to give any man pain by a denial. By this he drew round him crowds of dependants, whom he was sure to disappoint, yet wished to relieve. These hung upon him for a time, and left him with merited reproaches and contempt. But, in proportion as he became con- temptible to others, he became despicable to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adulation, and, that'* support taken away, he could find no pleasure in the applause of his heart, which he had never learnt to ••reverence. The world now began to wear a different aspect : the flattery of his friends began to dwindle into simple ^approbation ; approbation soon took the more friendly form of advice ; and advice, when re- jected, produced their reproaches. He now therefore found that such friends as benefits had gathered round him, were little estimable : he now found that a man's own heart must be ever given to gain that of another. I now found that — that— I forget what I was going to observe : in short, Sir, he resolved to respect himself, and laid down a plan of restoring his falling fortune. For this purpose, in his own whimsical manner, he travelled through Europe on foot ; and now, though he has scarce attained the age of thirty, his circumstances are more affluent than ever. At present, his bounties are more rational and moderate than before ; but still he preserves the character of an humorist, and finds most pleasure in eccentric virtues."

My attention was so much taken up by Mr.

Ill

A MIGRATION

29

Burchell's account, that I scarce looked forward as he went along, till we were alarmed by the cries of my family ; when, turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in the midst of a rapid stream, thrown from her horse, and struggling with the torrent. She had sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage myself in time to bring her relief. My sensations were even too violent to permit my attempting her rescue : she must have certainly perished had not my companion,

perceiving her danger, instantly plunged in to her relief, and, with some difficulty, brought her in safety to the opposite shore. By taking the current a little farther up, the rest of the family got safely over, where we had an opportunity of joining our acknowledgments to hers. Her gratitude may be more readily imagined than described : she- thanked her deliverer more with looks than with words, and continued to lean upon his arm, as if still willing to receive assistance. My wife also hoped one day to have the pleasure of returning his kindness at her own house. Thus, after we were

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP. Ill

refreshed at the next inn, and had dined together, as Mr. Burchell was going to a different part of the country, he took leave, and we pursued our journey ; my wife observing, as he went, that she liked him extremely, and protesting, that if he had birth and fortune to entitle him to match into such a family as ours, she knew no man she would sooner fix upon. I could not but smile to hear her talk in this lofty strain ; but I was never much displeased with those harmless delusions that tend to make us more happy.

Jroof tfivt even tfa >fi

, tufacti depends, not on (urcc(.msfcxnv& , 6tit~

il€ place of our retreat was in a little neigh- bourhood, consisting of farmers, who tilled their own grounds, and were equal strangers to opulence and poverty. As they had almost all the conveniences of life within themselves, they seldom visited towns or cities in search of superfluity. Remote from the polite, they still retained the primeval simplicity of manners ; and, frugal by habit, they scarce knew that temperance was a virtue. They wrought with cheerfulness on days of labour ; but observed festivals as intervals of idleness and pleasure. They kept up the Christmas carol, sent true love knots on Valentine morning, ate pancakes on Shrovetide, showed their wit on the first of April, and religiously cracked nuts on Michaelmas eve. Being apprised of our approach," the whole neighbourhood came out to meet their minister, dressed in their finest clothes, and preceded by a pipe and tabor. A feast

32 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

also was provided for our reception, at which cheerfully down ; and what the conversation wanted in wit was made up in laughter.

Our little habitation was situated at the fc sloping hill, sheltered with a beautiful underwood behind, and a prattling river before ; on one meadow, on the other a green. My farm c< of about twenty acres of excellent land, having given an hundred pounds for my predecessor's good-wilf.

Nothing could exceed the neatness of my enclosures, the elms and hedge-rows appearing inexpressible beauty. My house consisted of bi story, and was covered with thatch, which ga\v air of great snugness ; the walls, on the inside, nicely whitewashed, and my daughters under adorn them with pictures of their own de Though the same room served us for park kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besid« was kept with the utmost neatness, the dishes, pi

iv.. i HUMBLEST FORTUNE MAY GRANT HAPPINESS 33

.

I coppers being well scoured, and all disposed in

ght rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably re-

^red, and did not want richer furniture. There were

: other apartments ; one for my wife and me,

her for our two daughters within our own, and the

., with two beds, for the rest of the children.

| The little republic to wrrjqh I gave laws, was

.regulated in the following manner : By sunrise we all

nbled in our common apartment, the fire being

|viously kindled by the servant. After we had

:ed each other with proper ceremony — for I always

nought fit to keep up some mechanical forms of good

ding, without which freedom ever destroys friend-

— we all bent in gratitude to that Being who

\ us another day. This duty being performed,

ISson and I went Ito pursue our usual industry

flbfed, while my wife and daughters employed them-

JPes in providing breakfast, which was always ready

cfe certain time. I allowed half an hour for this

at and an hour for dinner ; which time was taken

n innocent mirth between my wife and daughters,

D

34

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

and in philosophical arguments between my son and me.

As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our labours after it was gone down, but returned home to the expecting family, where smiling looks, a neat hearth, and pleasant fire, were prepared for our recep-

tion. Nor were we without guests : sometimes farmer Flamborough, our talkative neighbour, and often the blind piper, would pay us a visit, and taste our goose- berry wine, for the making of which we had lost neither the receipt nor the reputation. These harmless people had several ways of being good company ; while one played, the other would sing some soothing ballad,— Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-night, or the Cruelty of

HUMBLEST FORTUNE MAY GRANT HAPPINESS

35

Barbara Allen. The night was concluded in the manner we began the morning, my youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of the day ; and he that read loudest, distinctest, and best, was to have a half- penny on Sunday to put into the poor's box.

When Sunday came, it was indeed a day of finery, which all my sumptuary edicts could not restrain,

How well soever I fancied my lectures against pride had conquered the vanity of my daughters, yet I still found them secretly attached to all their former finery : they still loved laces, ribands, bugles, and catgut ; my wife herself retained a passion for her crimson paduasoy, because I formerly happened to say it became her. .

The first Sunday, in particular, their behaviour served to mortify me. I had desired my girls the

36 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

preceding night to be dressed early the next day ; for I always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of the congregation. They punctually obeyed my directions; but when we were to assemble in the morning at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters, dressed out in all their former splendour ;

their hair plastered up with pomatum, their faces patched to taste, their trains bundled up in a heap behind, and rustling at every motion. I could not help smiling at their vanity, particularly that of my wife, from whom I expected more discretion. In this .exigence, therefore, my only resource was to order my son, with an important air, to call our coach. The girls were amazed at the command ; but I repeated it

iv HUMBLEST FORTUNE MAY GRANT HAPPINESS

37

with more solemnity than before. " Surely, my dear, you jest," cried my wife ; " we can walk it perfectly well : we want no coach to carry us now." — " You mis- take, child," returned I, "we do want a coach ; for if we walk to church in this trim, the very children in the parish will hoot after us." — " In- deed," replied my wife, " I always imagined that my Charles was fond of seeing his children neat and hand- some about him." — " You may be as neat as you please," interrupted I, " and I shall love you the better for it ; but all this is not neatness, but frippery. These rufflings, and pinkings, and patchings will only m'ake us| hated by all the wives of our neighbours. No, my children," continued I, more

cur

gravely, " those gowns may

be altered into something of a plainer cut ; for finery is very unbecoming in us, who want the means of decency. I do not know whether such flouncing and shredding is becoming even in the rich, if we consider, upon a moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the indigent -L world might be clothed from the trimmings of the vain." J

This remonstrance had the proper effect : they went with great composure, that very instant, to change their

38 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP, iv

dress ; and the next day I had the satisfaction of finding my daughters, at their own request, employed in cutting up their trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, the two little ones ; and, what was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed improved by this curtailing.

dttcecf. WfUxf cue ftface. 7nojfJ&fte<s U./IOYI,

J a small distance from the house, my predecessor had made a seat, over- shadowed by a hedge of hawthorn and honeysuckle. Here, when the weather was fine, and our labour soon finished, we usually sat together, to enjoy an extensive landscape in the calm of the evening. Here, too, we drank tea, which now was become an occasional banquet ; and, as we had it but seldom, it diffused a new joy, the preparations for it being made with no small share of bustle and ceremony. On these occasions, our two little ones always read for us, and they were regularly served after we had done. Sometimes, to give a variety to our amusements, the girls sang to the guitar ; and while they thus formed a little concert, my wife and I would stroll down the sloping field, that was em- bellished with blue -bells and centaury, talk of our children with rapture, and enjoy the breeze that wafted both health and harmony.

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

In this manner we began to find that every situation in life may bring its own peculiar pleasures : every morning waked us to a repetition of toil ; but the [ evening repaid it with .vacant hilarity.

It was about the beginning of autumn, on a holiday

v A NEW ACQUAINTANCE INTRODUCED 41

— for I kept such as intervals of relaxation from labour — that I had drawn out my family to our usual place of amusement, and our young musicians began their usual concert. As we were thus engaged, we saw a stag bound nimbly by, within about twenty paces of where we were sitting, and by its panting it seemed pressed by the hunters. We had not much time to reflect upon the poor animal's distress, when we per- ceived the dogs and horsemen come sweeping along at some distance behind, and making the very path it had taken. I was instantly for returning in with my family ; but either curiosity, or surprise, or some more hidden motive, held my wife and daughters to their seats. The huntsman who rode foremost passed us with great swiftness, followed by four or five persons more, who seemed in equal haste. At last, a young gentleman of more genteel appearance than the rest came forward, and for a while regarding us, instead of pursuing the chase, stopped short, and giving his horse

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

to a servant who attended, approached us with a care- less superior air. He seemed to want no introduction, but was going to salute my daughters as one certain of a kind reception ; but they had early learnt the lesson

^'•$ii@fa»4m>e* • - 3t< •

^X',Stw Hnte&..^^Suwy

of looking presumption out of countenance. Upon which he let us know that his name was Thornhill, and that he was owner of the estate that lay for some extent round us. He again therefore offered to salute the female part of the family, and such was the power of fortune and fine clothes, that he found no second

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE INTRODUCED

43

repulse. As his address, though confident, was easy, we soon became more familiar ; and, perceiving musical instruments lying near, he begged to be favoured with a song. As I did not approve of such disproportioned acquaintances, I winked upon my daughters in order to prevent their compliance ; but my hint was counter- acted by one from their mother ; so that, with a cheerful air, they gave us a favourite song of Dryden's.

Mr. Thornhill seemed highly delighted with their performance and choice, and then took up the guitar himself. He played but very indifferently ; however, my eldest daughter repaid his former applause with interest, and assured him that his tones were louder than even those of her master. At this compliment he bowed, which she returned with a curtsey. He praised her taste, and she commended his under- standing ; an age could not have made them better

44 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

acquainted : while the fond mother too, equally happy, insisted upon her landlord's stepping in, and tasting a glass of her gooseberry. The whole family seemed earnest to please him : my girls attempted to enter- tain him with topics they thought most modern ; while

Moses, on the contrary,, gave him a question or two from the ancients, for which he had the satisfaction of being laughed at. My little ones were no less busy, and fondly stuck close to the stranger. All my endeavours could scarce keep their dirty fingers from handling and tarnishing the lace on his clothes, and lifting up the flaps of his pocket-holes, to see what was

v A NEW ACQUAINTANCE INTRODUCED 45

there. At the approach of evening he took leave ; but not till he had requested permission to renew his visit, which, as he was our landlord, we most readily agreed to.

As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council on the conduct of the day. She was of opinion, that it was a most fortunate hit ; for she had known even stranger things than that brought to bear. She hoped again to see the day in which we might hold up our heads with the best of them ; and concluded, she protested she could see no reason why the two Miss Wrinklers should marry great fortunes, and her children get none. As this last argument was directed to me, I protested I could see no reason for it neither, nor why Mr. Simpkins got the ten thousand pound prize in the lottery, and we sat down with a blank. " I protest, Charles," cried my wife, " this is the way you always damp my girls and me when we are in spirits. Tell me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think of our new visitor ? Don't you think he seemed to be good- natured ? " — " Immensely so, indeed, mamma," replied she : " I think he has a great deal to say upon every- thing, and is never at a loss ; and the more trifling the subject, the more he has to say." — " Yes," cried Olivia, " he is well enough for a man ; but, for my own * part, I don't much like him, he is so extremely impudent and familiar ; but on the guitar he is shocking." These two last speeches I interpreted by contraries. I found by this, that Sophia internally despised, as much as Olivia secretly admired him. " Whatever may be your opinions of him, my- children," cried I, " to confess the truth, he has not prepossessed me in his favour. Disproportioned friendships ever terminate in

46

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

disgust ; and I thought, notwithstanding all his ease, that he seemed perfectly sensible of the distance between us. Let us keep to companions of our own rank. There is no character more contemptible than a man that is a fortune-hunter ; anjd I can see no reason why fortune-hunting women should not be con- temptible too. Thus, at best, we shall be contemptible if his views are honourable ; but if they be otherwise ! —I should shudder but to think of that. It is true, I have no apprehensions from the conduct of my children ; but I think there are some from his character." I would have proceeded, but for the interruption of a servant from the Squire, who, with his compliments, sent us a side of venison, and a promise to dine with us some days after. This well-timed present pleaded more powerfully in his favour than anything I had to say could obviate. I therefore continued silent, satisfied with just having pointed out danger, and leaving it to their own discretion to avoid it. That virtue which requires to be ever guarded is scarce worth the sentinel.

Chapter VI.

Jfa tftjt/ifiw&s of a (oarfay

we carried on the former dispute with some degree of warmth, in order to accommodate matters, it was universally agreed that we should have a part of the venison for supper ; and the girls under- took .the task with alacrity. " I am sorry," cried I, u that we have no neighbour or stranger to take part in this good cheer : feasts of this kind acquire a double relish from hospitality." — " Bless me," cried my wife, " here comes our good friend Mr. Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run you down fairly in the argu- ment." — " Confute me in argument, child ! " cried I. " You mistake there, my dear ; I believe there are but . few that can do that : I never dispute your abilities at making a goo^e-pier and J^ beg you'll leave argument to me." ^As"l spoke, poor Mr. Burchell entered the house, ""and was welcomed by the family, who shook him heartily by the hand, while little Dick officiously reached him a chair.

I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for

48

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

two reasons : because I knew that he wanted mine, I knew him to be friendly as far as he was able. was known in our neighbourhood by the character i the poor gentleman, that would do no good when he was young, though he was not yet thirty. H< at intervals talk with great good sense ; but, in general,

he . was fondest' of the company of children, whom he used ' to call harmless little men. He was famous, I foand, for singing them ballads, and telling them stones, and seldom went out without something in his pockets for th piece of gingerbread, or an halfpenny wb He generally came a few days into our neighbourhood once a y -.< lived upon the neighbours' hospitality. He sat supper among us, and my wife was not sparing gooseberry wine. The tale went round ; he sun songs, and gave the children the story of the Beverland, with the history of Patient Grissel, th( tures of Catskin, and then Fair Rosamond's Our cock, which always crew at eleven, now told u was time for repose ; but an unforeseen difficulty starte about lodging the stranger — all our beds were taken up, and it was too late to send him to the alehouse. In this dilemma, little Dick offered him hi» part of the bed, if his brother Moses would let I with him : " And I," cried Bill, " will give Mr.

HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY FIRESIDE

49

part, if my sisters will take me to theirs." — " Well

>, my good children/' cried I, " hospitality is one of

the first Christian duties. The beast retires to its shelter,

the bird flies to its nest ; but helpless man can only

refuge from his fellow -creature. The greatest

Iranger in this world was He that came to save it. i never had a house, as if willing to see what hos-

Pality was left remaining among us. Deborah, my ar," cried I to my wife, " give those boys a lump of gar each ; and let Dick's be the largest, because he x>ke first."

:'n the morning early I called out my whole family

50 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

to help at saving an aftergrowth of hay, and our guest offering his assistance^, he was accepted among -the number. Our labours went on lightly ; we turned the swath to the wind. I went foremost, and the rest followed in due succession. I could not avoid, however, observing the assiduity of Mr. Burchell in assisting my

daughter Sophia in her part of the task. When he had finished his own, he would join in hers, and enter into a close conversation ; but I had too good an opinion of Sophia's understanding, and was too well convinced of her ambition, to be under any uneasiness from a man of broken fortune. When we were finished for the day, Mr. Burchell was invited as on the

vi HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY FIRESIDE 51

night before, but he refused, as he was to lie that night at a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a whistle. When gone, our conversation at supper

turned upon our late unfortunate guest. " What a strong instance," said I, " is that poor man of the miseries attending a youth of levity and extravagance. He by no means wants sense, which only serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor forlorn creature !

52 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

where are now the revellers, the flatterers, that he could once inspire and command ! Gone, perhaps, to attend the bagnio pander, grown rich by his extravagance. They once praised him, and now they applaud the pander : their former raptures at his wit are now converted into sarcasms at his folly : he is poor, and perhaps deserves poverty ; for he has neither the ambition to be independent, nor the skill to be useful." Prompted perhaps by some secret reasons, I delivered this observation with too much acrimony, which my Sophia gently reproved. " Whatsoever his former conduct may have been, papa, his circumstances should exempt him from censure now. His present indigence is a sufficient punishment for former folly ; and I have heard my papa himself say, that we should never strike one unnecessary blow at a victim, over whom Providence holds the scourge of its resentment." — " You are right, Sophy," cried my son Moses ; " and one of the ancients finely represents so malicious a conduct, by the attempts of a rustic to flay Marsyas, whose skin, the fable tells us, had been wholly stripped off by another. Besides, I don't know if this poor man's situation be so bad as my father would represent it. We are not to judge of the feelings of others by what we might feel in their place. However dark the habitation of the mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the apart- ment sufficiently lightsome. And, to confess a truth, this man's mind seems fitted to his station ; for I never heard any one more sprightly than he was to-day, when he conversed with you." — This was said without . the least design ; however, it excited a blush, which she strove to cover by an affected laugh, assuring him that she scarce took any notice of what he said to

HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY FIRESIDE

53

her, but that she believed he might once have been a very fine gentleman. The readiness with which she undertook to vindicate herself, and her blushing, were

tf\e (east design.

symptoms I did not internally approve ; but I repressed my suspicions.

As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife went to 'make the venison pasty. Moses sat reading, while I taught the little ones. My daughters seemed equally busy with the rest ; and I observed them for a good while cooking something over the fire. I at first supposed they were assisting their mother, but little

54 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP, vi

Dick informed me, in a whisper, that they were making a wash for the face. Washes of all kinds I had a natural antipathy to ; for I knew that, instead of mending the complexion, they spoil it. I therefore approached my chair by sly degrees to the fire, and grasping the poker, as if it wanted mending, seemingly by accident overturned the whole composition, and it was too late to begin another.

may (earn to 6e comtcaCjor a

the morning arrived on< which we were to enter- tain our young landlord, it may be easily supposed what provisions were exhausted to make an appearance. It may also be conjectured that my wife and daughters expanded their gayest plumage on this occasion. Mr. Thornhill came with a couple of friends, his chaplain and feeder. The servants, who were numerous, he politely ordered to the next alehouse : but my wife, in the triumph of her heart, insisted on entertaining them all ; for which, by the by, our family was pinched, for three weeks after. As Mr. Burchell had hinted to us the day before, that he was making some proposals of marriage to Miss Wilmot, my son George's former mistress, this a good deal damped the heartiness of his reception : but accident in some measure relieved our embarrassment ; for one of the company happening to mention her name, Mr. Thornhill observed with an oath, that he never knew anything more absurd than calling such a fright a beauty ; " For, strike me ugly," con-

56 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

tinued he, " if I should not find as much pleasure in choosing my mistress by the information of a lamp under the clock of St. Dunstan's." At this he laughed, and so did we : the jests of the rich are ever successful. Olivia, too, could not avoid whispering, loud enough to be heard, that he had an infinite fund of humour.

After dinner, I began with my usual toast, the

Church : for this I was thanked by the chaplain, as he said the Church was the only mistress of his affections. " Come, tell us honestly, Frank," said the Squire, with his usual archness, " suppose the Church, your present mistress, dressed in lawn sleeves, on one hand, and Miss Sophia, with no lawn about her, on the other, which would you be for ? " — " For both, to be sure," cried the chaplain. " Right, Frank," cried the Squire ; " for

VII

A TOWN WIT DESCRIBED

57

may this glass suffocate me, but a fine girl is worth all the priestcraft in the creation ! For what are tithes and tricks but an imposition, all a confounded im- posture, and I can prove it." — " I wish you would," cried my son Moses ; " and I think," continued he, " that I should be able to answer you." — " Very well, Sir/' cried the Squire, who immediately smoked him,

' a

and winked on the rest of the company to prepare us for the sport ; " if you are for a cool argument upon that subject, I am ready to accept the challenge. And, first, whether are you for managing it analogically or dialogically ? " — "I am for managing it rationally," cried Moses, quite happy at being permitted to dispute. "Good again," cried the Squire; " and, firstly, of the first, I hope you'll not deny, that whatever is, is. If

58 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

you don't grant me that, I can go no further." — " Why/' replied Moses, " I think I may grant that ; and make the best of it." — " I hope, too," returned the other, " you'll grant that a part is less than the whole." — " I grant that too," cried Moses ; u it is but just and reasonable." — " I hope," cried the Squire, " you will not deny, that the two angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones." — " Nothing can be plainer," returned t'other, and looked round with his usual importance. — " Very well," cried the Squire, speaking very quick, " the premisses being thus settled, I proceed to observe, that the con- catenation of self-existences, proceeding in a reciprocal duplicate ratio, naturally produce a problematical dialogiscn, which, in some measure, proves that the essence of spirituality may be referred to the second predicable." — " Hold, hold ! " cried the other, " I deny that : do you think that I can thus tamely submit to such heterodox doctrines ? " — " What ! " replied the Squire, as if in a passion, " not submit ! Answer me one plain question : Do you think Aristotle right when he says that relatives are related ? " — " Undoubtedly," replied the other. — " If so, then," cried the Squire, " answer me directly to what I propose : Whether do you judge the analytical investigation of the first part of my enthymem deficient secundum quoad, or quoad minus ; and give me your reasons — give me your reasons, I say, directly." — " I protest," cried Moses, " I don't rightly comprehend the force of your reasoning ; but if it be reduced to one simple proposition, I fancy it may then have an answer." — " Oh, Sir," cried the Squire, " I am your most humble servant ; I find you want me to furnish you with argument and intellects too. No, sir, there I protest you are too hard for me."

A TOWN WIT DESCRIBED

59

This effectually raised the laugh against poor Moses, who sat the only dismal figure in a group of merry faces ; nor did he offer a single syllable more during the whole entertainment.

But though all this gave me no pleasure, it had a very different effect upon Olivia, who mistook it for humour, though but a mere act of the memory. She thought him, therefore, a very fine gentleman ; and such as consider what powerful ingredients a good figure,

fine clothes, and fortune are in that character, will easily forgive her. Mr. Thornhill, notwithstanding his real ignorance, talked with ease, and could expatiate upon the common topics of conversation with fluency. It is not surprising then, that such talents should win the affections of a girl who by education was taught to I value an appearance in herself, and consequently to set a value upon it in another.

Upon his departure, we again entered into a debate upon the merits of our young landlord. As he directed

60 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

his looks and conversation to Olivia, it was no longer doubted but that she was the object that induced him to be our visitor. Nor did she seem to be much dis- pleased at the innocent raillery of her brother and sister upon this occasion. Even Deborah herself seemed to share the glory of the day, and exulted in her daughter's victory as if it were her own. " And now, my dear," cried she to me, " I'll fairly own, that it was I that instructed my girls to encourage our landlord's addresses. I had always some ambition, and you now see that I was right ; for who knows how this may end?" — " Ay, who knows that indeed!" answered I, with a groan : " for my part, I don't much like it ; and I could have been better pleased with one that was poor and honest, than this fine gentleman with his for- tune and infidelity ; for depend on't, if he be what I suspect him, no freethinker shall ever have a child of mine."

" Sure, father," cried Moses, " you are too severe in this ; for Heaven will never arraign him for what he thinks, but for what he does. Every man has a thousand vicious thoughts, which arise without his power to suppress. Thinking freely of religion may be involuntary with this gentleman ; so that, allowing his sentiments to be wrong, yet, as he is purely passive in his assent, he is no more to be blamed for his errors than the governor of a city without walls for the shelter he is obliged to afford an invading enemy."

" True, my son," cried I ; " but if the governor invites the enemy there, he is justly culpable. And such is always the case with those who embrace error. The vice does not lie in assenting to the proofs they see ; but in being blind to many of the proofs that offer. So

vii A TOWN WIT DESCRIBED 61

that, though our erroneous opinions be involuntary when formed, yet as we have been wilfully corrupt, or very negligent in forming them, we deserve punishment for our vice, or contempt for our folly."

My wife now kept up the conversation, though not the argument ; she observed that several very prudent men of our acquaintance were freethinkers, and made very good husbands ; and she knew some sensible girls that had skill enough to make converts of their spouses. " And who knows, my dear," continued she, " what Olivia may be able to do : the girl has a great deal to say upon every subject, and, to my knowledge, is very well skilled in controversy."

" Why, my dear, what controversy can she have read ? " cried I. " It does not occur to me that I ever put such books into her hands : you certainly overrate her merit." — " Indeed, papa," replied Olivia, " she does not ; I have read a great deal of controversy. I have read the disputes between Thwackum and Square ; the controversy between Robinson Crusoe anth-E^iday the savage ; and I am now employed in reading the con- troversy in Religious Courtship." — " Very well," cried I, " that's a good girl ; I find you are perfectly qualified for making converts, and so go help your mother to make the gooseberry pie."

r coftucfi promote (<ttfe good c

next morning we were again visited by Mr. Burchell, though I began, for certain reasons, to be displeased with the frequency of his return ; but I could not refuse him my company and fireside.^ It is true, his labour more than requited his entertainment ; for he wrought among us with vigour, and, either in the meadow or at the hay -rick, put himself foremost. Besides, he had always something amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so out of the way, and yet so sensible, that I loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only dislike arose from an attachment he dis- covered to my daughter. He would, in a jesting manner, call her his little mistress, and when he bought each of the girls a set of ribands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume the superior airs of wisdom.

Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather reclined, round a temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheerfulness

CHAP, viii AMOUR WHICH PROMISES LITTLE GOOD 63

Nto tK& feast. To heighten our satisfaction, two black- birds answered each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. " I never sit thus," said Sophia, " but I think of the two lovers so sweetly described by Mr.

who were struck dead in each other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the description, that I have read it an hundred times with new rap- ture."— " In my opinion," cried my son, " the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet under- stands the use of contrast better ; and upon that figure, artfully managed, all strength in the pathetic depends."

64 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

— " It is remarkable," cried Mr. Burchell, " tl the poets you mention have equally contributed to introduce a false taste into their respective c by loading all their lines with epithet. Men of 1 genius found them most easily imitated in their clef and English poetry, like that in the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination of luxuriant images, without plot or connection — a si < of epithets that improve the sound without carrying on the sense. But perhaps, Madam, while I thu hend others, you'll think it just that I should them an opportunity to retaliate ; and, indeed made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad which, what be its other defects, is, I think, at least free from tl; I have mentioned."

A BALLAD.

" Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale,

And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.

" For here forlorn and lost I tread,

With fainting steps and slow, Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go."

" Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.

" Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open still ; And, though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.

AMOUR WHICH PROMISES LITTLE GOOD 65

" Then turn to-night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows ; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose.

t( No flocks that range the valley free

To slaughter I condemn ; Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them :

" But from the mountain's grassy side

A guiltless feast I bring ; ' A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied.

And water from the spring.

" Then, pilgrim, turn ; thy cares forego ;

All earth-born cares are wrong : Man wants but little here below,^A/ Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heaven descends

His gentle accents fell : The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay, A refuge to the neighbouring poor,

And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch

Required a master's care ; The wicket, opening with a latch,

Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire

To take their evening rest, The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer' d his pensive guest :

And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily press'd, and smiled ; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

F

66

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAf.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries, The cricket chirrups on the hearth,

The crackling fagot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe ;

For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the Hermit spied, With answering care oppress'd : And " Whence, unhappy youth," he cried, " The sorrows of thy breast ?

" From better habitations spurn'd,

Reluctant dost thou rove ? Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love ?

"Alas ! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay ; And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they.

" And what is friendship but a name,

A charm that lulls to sleep ; A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep ?

" And love is still an emptier sound,

The modern fair one's jest ; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.

" For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush.

And spurn the sex," he said ;

But while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view ; Like colours o'er the morning skies,

As bright, as transient too.

AMOUR WHICH PROMISES LITTLE GOOD 67

The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms • The lovely stranger stands confess'd

A maid in all her charms.

And, " Ah ! forgive a stranger rude —

A wretch forlorn," she cried ; "Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where Heaven and you reside.

" But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray ; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.

" My father lived beside the Tyne,

A wealthy lord was he ; And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me.

" To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd suitors came, Who praised me for imputed charms, And felt, or feign'd, a flame.

" Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove ; Amongst the rest, young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love.

" In humble, simple habit clad,

No wealth nor power had he ; Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me.

"And when, beside me in the dale,

He carolPd lays of love, His breath lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove.

" The blossom opening to the day, *

The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display To emulate his mind.

68 .THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

" The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine : Their charms were his, but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine.

" For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain ; And, while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain :

" Till, quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride ;

And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he died.

" But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay ; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.

" And there, forlorn, despairing, hid,

I'll lay me down and die ; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I."

" Forbid it, Heaven ! " the Hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast : • The wondering fair one turn'd to chide— • 'Twas Edwin's self that pressed !

" Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee.

" Thus .let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign : And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine ?

" No, never from this hour to part,

We'll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too."

AMOUR WHICH PROMISES LITTLE GOOD

69

While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun just by us, and, immediately after, a man was seen bursting through the hedge, to take up the game he had killed. This sports- man was the Squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the black- birds that so agree- ably entertained us. So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters ; and I could perceive that Sophia in the fright had thrown herself into Mr. BurcheH's arms for protection. The gentleman came up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sat down by my youngest daughter, and, sportsman -like, offered her what he had killed that morning. She was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother soon induced her to correct the mistake, and accept his present, though with some reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing, that

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP. VIII

Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the Squire. I suspected, however, with more probability, that her affections were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr. Thornhill had provided music and refreshments ; and intended that night giving the young ladies a ball by moonlight, on the grass plat before our door. " Nor can I deny," continued he, but " I have an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with Miss Sophia's hand as a partner." To this my girl replied that she should have no objection, if she could do it with honour ; u But here," continued she, " is a gentle- man," looking at Mr. Burchell, "who has been my com- panion in the task for the day, and it is fit he should share in its amusements." Mr. Burchell returned her a compliment for her intentions, but resigned her up to the chaplain ; adding, that he was to go that night five miles, being invited to a harvest supper. His refusal appeared to me a little extraordinary ; nor could I con- ceive how so sensible a girl as my youngest could thus prefer a man of broken fortunes to one whose expecta- tions were much greater. But as men are most capable of distinguishing merit in women, so the ladies often form the truest judgments of us. The two sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and are furnished with different abilities, adapted for mutual inspection.

wtfwfacntf Jfifier

oo gcfaj

eoercreerns to confer

BURCHELL had scarce taken leave, and Sophia consented to dance with the chaplain, when my little ones came running out to tell us, that the Squire was come with a crowd of company. Upon our return, we found our landlord, with a couple of under gentlemen and two young ladies richly dressed, whom he introduced as women of very great distinc- tion and fashion from town. We happened not to have chairs enough for the whole company ; but Mr. Thornhill immediately proposed that every gentleman should sit in a lady's lap. This I positively objected to, notwithstanding a look of disapprobation from my wife. Moses was therefore despatched to borrow a couple of chairs ; and as we were in want of ladies to make up a set at country dances, the two gentlemen went with him in quest of a couple of partners. Chairs and partners were soon provided. The gentle- men returned with my neighbour Flamborough's rosy daughters, flaunting with red top -knots ; but an un- lucky circumstance was not adverted to, — though the

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

Miss Flamboroughs were reckoned the very best dancers in the parish, and understood the jig and roundabout to perfection, yet they were totally un- acquainted with country dances. This at first dis- composed us : however, after a little shoving and dragging, they at last went merrily on. Our music consisted of two fiddles, with a pipe and tabor. The moon shone bright. Mr. Thornhill and my eldest daughter led up the ball, to the great delight of the spectators ; for the neighbours, hearing what was going forward, came flocking about us. My girl moved with so much grace and vivacity, that my wife could not avoid discovering the pride of her heart by assuring me that, though the little chit did it so cleverly, all the steps were stolen from herself. The ladies of the town strove hard to be equally easy, but without success. They swam, sprawled, languished, and frisked;

LADIES OF GREAT DISTINCTION INTRODUCED

73

but all would not do : the gazers indeed owned that it was fine ; but neighbour Flamborough observed that Miss Livy's feet seemed as pat to the music as its echo. After the dance had continued about an hour,

the two ladies, who were apprehensive of catching cold, moved to break up the ball. One of them, I thought, expressed her sentiments upon this occasion in a very coarse manner when she observed, that, by the living

74

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

jingo, sJie was all of a muck of sweat. Upon our return to the house, we found a very elegant cold supper, which Mr. Thornhill had ordered to be brought with him. The conversation at this time was more reserved than before. The two ladies threw my girls into the shade ; for they would talk of nothing but

high life, and high-lived company ; with other fashion- able topics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses. Tis true they once or twice mortified us sensibly by slipping out an oath ; but that appeared to me as the surest symptom of their dis- tinction (though I am since informed that swearing is perfectly unfashionable). Their finery, however, threw a veil over any grossness in their conversation. My

ix LADIES OF GREAT DISTINCTION INTRODUCED 75

daughters seemed to regard their superior accomplish- ments with envy ; and what appeared amiss, was ascribed to tip - top quality breeding. But the con- descension of the ladies was still superior to their accomplishments. One of them observed, that had Miss Olivia seen a little more of the world, it would greatly improve her ; to which the other added, that a single winter in town would make her little Sophia quite another thing. My wife warmly assented to both ; adding, that there was nothing she more ardently wished than to give her girls a single winter's polishing. To this I could not help replying, that their breeding was already superior to their fortune ; and that greater refinement would only serve to make their poverty ridiculous, and give them a taste for pleasures they had no right to possess. " And what pleasures," cried Mr. Thornhill, " do they not deserve to possess, who have so much in their power to bestow? As for my part," continued he, " my fortune is pretty large ; love, liberty, and pleasure are my maxims ; but curse me, if a settlement of half my estate could give my charming Olivia pleasure, it should be hers ; and the only favour I would ask in return would be to add myself to the benefit." I was not such a stranger to the world as to be ignorant that this was the fashion-

76 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

able cant to disguise the insolence of the basest proposal ; but I made an effort to suppress my resent- ment. " Sir," cried I, " the family which you now condescend to favour with your company has been bred with as nice a sense of honour as you. Any attempts to injure that may be attended with very dangerous consequences. Honour, Sir, is our only possession at present, and of that last treasure we must be particularly careful." I was soon ' sorry for the warmth with which I had spoken this, when the young gentleman, grasping my hand, swore he commended my spirit, though he disapproved my suspicions. " As to your present hint," continued he, " I protest nothing was farther from my heart than such a thought. No, by all that's tempting ! the virtue that will stand a regular siege was never to my taste ; for all my amours are carried by a coup-de-main."

The two ladies, who affected to be ignorant of the rest, seemed highly displeased with this last stroke of freedom, and began a very discreet and serious dialogue upon virtue : in this, my wife, the chaplain, and I, soon joined ; and the Squire himself was at last brought to confess a sense of sorrow for his former excesses. We talked of the pleasures of temperance, and of the sun- shine in the mind unpolluted with guilt. I was so well pleased, that my little ones were kept up beyond the usual time to be edified by so much good conversa- tion. Mr. Thornhill even went beyond me, and demanded if I had any objection to giving prayers. I joyfully embraced the proposal ; and in this manner the night was passed in the most comfortable way, till at last the company began to think of returning. The ladies seemed very unwilling to part with my daughters,

LADIES OF GREAT DISTINCTION INTRODUCED

77

for whom they had conceived a particular affection, and joined in a request to have the pleasure of their company home. The Squire seconded the proposals, and my wife added her entreaties ; the girls, too, looked upon me as if they wished to go. In this perplexity, I made two or three excuses, which my daughters as readily removed ; so that at last I was obliged to give a peremptory refusal, for which we had nothing but sullen looks and short answers the whole day ensuing.

ofamfd'to a/fear crnceer*

NOW began to find that all my long and painful lectures upon temperance, simplicity, and contentment were entirely disregarded. The distinctions lately paid us by our betters awakened that pride which I had laid asleep, but not removed. Our windows, again, as formerly, were filled with washes for the neck and face. The sun was dreaded as an enemy to the skin without doors, and the fire as a spoiler of the complexion within. My wife observed that rising too early would hurt her daughters' eyes, that working after dinner would redden their noses ; and she convinced me that the hands never looked so white as when they did nothing. Instead therefore of finishing George's shirts, we now had them new- modelling their old gauzes, or flourishing upon catgut. The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their former gay companions, were cast off as mean acquaintance, and the whole conversation ran upon high life, and high-

CHAP, x ENDEAVOUR TO COPE WITH THEIR BETTERS 79

lived company, with pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.

But we could have borne all this, had not a fortune- telling gipsy come to raise us into perfect sublimity. The tawny sibyl no sooner appeared, than my girls

came running to me for a shilling apiece to cross her hand with silver. To say the truth, I was tired of being always wise, and could not help gratifying their request, because I loved to see them happy. I gave each of them a shilling ; though for the honour of the

8o THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

family it must be observed, that they never went \vi out money themselves, as my wife always generously let them have a guinea each, to keep in their pockets, but with strict injunctions never to change it. After they had been closeted up with the fortune-teller for some time, I knew by their looks, upon their returning, that they had been promised something great. "Well, my girls, how have you sped ? Tell me, Livy, has the fortune-teller given thee a pennyworth ? " — " I protest, papa," says the girl, " I believe she deals with some- body that's not right ; for she positively declared, that I am to be married to a Squire in less than a twelve- month !" — "Well, now, Sophy, my child," said I, "and what sort of a husband are you to have?" — " Sir," replied she, " I am to have a Lord soon after my sister has married the Squire." — "How," cried I, " is that all you are to have for your two shillings ? Only a Lord and a Squire for two shillings ? You fools, I could have promised you a Prince and a Nabob for half the money."

This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended very serious effects : we now began to think ou .designed by the stars to something exalted, and air- anticipated our future grandeur.

It has been a thousand times observed, and I observe it once more, that the hours we pas happy prospects in view, are more pleasing than thos crowned with fruition. In the first case, we cook th< dish to our own appetite ; in the latter, Nature cod for us. It is impossible to repeat the train of agreeable reveries we called up for our entertainment looked upon our fortunes as once more rising ; au; the whole parish asserted that the Squire was in J

x ENDEAVOUR TO COPE WITH THEIR BETTERS Si

with my daughter, she was actually so with him ; for

they persuaded her into the passion. In this agreeable

interval my wife had the most lucky dreams in the

world, which she took care to tell us every morning

with great solemnity and exactness. It was one night

a coffin and cross-bones, the sign of an approaching

wedding ; at another.

time she imagined

her daughters' pockets

filled with farthings, a

certain sign of their

being shortly stuffed"

with gold. The girls"

themselves had their -

omens. They felt

strange kisses on^

their lips ; they saw"

rings in the candle ;

purses bounced from the fire, and true-love-knots lurked

in the bottom of every teacup.

Towards the end of the week we received a card from the two ladies, in which, with their compliments, they hoped to see all our family at church the Sunday, following. All Saturday morning I could perceive, in consequence of this, my wife and daughters in close conference together, and now and then glancing at me with looks that betrayed a latent plot. , To be sincere, I had strong suspicions that some absurd proposal was preparing for appearing with splendour the next day. In the evening they began their operations in a very regular manner, and my wife undertook to conduct the siege. After tea, when I seemed in spirits, she began thus : — " I fancy, Charles, my dear, we shall have a

G

82

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

great deal of good company at our church to-morrow." — " Perhaps we may, my dear," returned I, " though you need be under no uneasiness about that ; you shall have a sermon whether there be or not." — " That is what I expect," returned she ; " but I think, my dear,

With looks that betrayed a latent plot.

we ought to appear there as decently as possible, for who knows what may happen ? " — " Your precautions," replied I, " are highly commendable. A decent behaviour and appearance in church is what charms me. We should be devout and humble, cheerful and serene." — " Yes," cried she, " I know that ; but I mean we should go there in as proper a manner as possible ; not altogether like the scrubs about us." — "You are

ENDEAVOUR TO COPE WITH THEIR BETTERS

83

quite right, my dear," returned I, " and I was going to make the very same proposal. The proper manner of going is to go there as early as possible, to have time for meditation before the service begins." — " Phoo, Charles," interrupted she, " all that is very true ; but not what I would be at : I mean, we should go there genteelly. You know the church is two miles off, and I protest I don't like to see my daughters trudging up

to their pew all blowzed and red with walking, and looking for all the world as if they had been winners at a smock race. Now, my dear, my proposal is this : there are our two plough-horses, the Colt that has been in our family these nine years, and his companion Blackberry, that has scarce done an earthly thing for this month past. They are both grown fat and lazy. Why should not they do something as well as we ? And let me tell you, when Moses has trimmed them a little, they will cut a very tolerable figure."

To this proposal I objected that walking would be

84 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

twenty times more genteel than such a paltry convey- ance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the Colt wanted a tail ; that they had never been broke to the rein, but had a hundred vicious tricks ; and that we had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house. All these objections, however, were overruled ; so that I was obliged to comply. The next morning I perceived

them not a little busy in collecting such materials as might be necessary for the expedition ; but, as I found it would be a business of time, I walked on to the church before, and they promised speedily to follow. I waited near an hour in the reading desk for their arrival ; but not finding them come as expected, I was obliged to begin, and went through the service, not without some uneasiness at finding them absent. This was increased when all was finished, and no appearance

x -ENDEAVOUR TO COPE WITH THEIR BETTERS 85

of the family. I therefore walked back by the horse- way, which was five miles round, though the footway was but two, and, when got about half-way home,

perceived the procession marching slowly forward to- wards the church ; my son, my wife, and ,the two little ones exalted on one horse, and my two daughters upon the other. I demanded the cause of their delay ; but I soon found by their looks they had met with a

86 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP, x

thousand misfortunes on the road. The horses had at first refused to move from the door, till Mr. Burchell was kind enough to beat them forward for about two hundred yards with his cudgel. Next, the straps of my wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged to stop

to repair them before they could proceed. After that, one of the horses took it into his head to stand still, and neither blows nor entreaties could prevail with him to proceed. It was just recovering from this dismal situation that I found them ; but perceiving every- thing safe, I own their present mortification did not much displease me, as it would give me many oppor- tunities of future triumph, and teach my daughters more humility.

-rt>e happening on the next day, we were invited to burn nuts and play tricks at neighbour Flamborough's. Our late mortifications had humbled us a little, or it is probable we might have rejected such an invitation with contempt : however, we suffered ourselves to be happy. Our honest neighbour's goose and dumplings were fine, and the lamb's -wool, even in the opinion of my wife, who was a connoisseur, was excellent. It is true, his manner of telling stories was not quite so well. They were very long, and very dull, and all about himself, and we had laughed at them ten times before : however, we were kind enough to laugh at them once more.

Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, was always fond of seeing some innocent amusement going forward, and

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

set the boys and girls to blind-man's buff. My wife, too, was persuaded to join in the diversion, and it gave me pleasure to think she was not yet too old. In the meantime, my neighbour and I looked on, laughed at

His manner of telling stories.

every feat, and praised our own dexterity when we were young. Hot cockles succeeded next, questions and commands followed that, and, last of all, they sat down to hunt the slipper. As every person, may not be acquainted with this primeval pastime, it may be

xi STILL RESOLVE TO HOLD UP THEIR HEADS 89

necessary to observe, that the company at this play plant themselves in a ring upon the ground, all except one, who stands in the middle, whose business it is to catch a shoe, which the company shove , about under their hams from one to another, something like a weaver's shuttle. As it is impossible, in this case, for the lady who is up to face all the company at once, the great beauty of the play lies in hitting her a thump with the heel of the shoe on that side least capable of making a defence. It was in this manner that my eldest daughter was hemmed in, and thumped about, all blowzed, in spirits, and bawling for fair play, fair play, with a voice that might deafen a ballad-singer, when, confusion on confusion ! who should enter the room but our two great acquaintances from town, Lady Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs ! Description would but beggar, therefore it is unneces- sary to describe, this new mortification. Death ! To be seen by ladies of such high breeding in such vulgar attitudes ! Nothing better could ensue from such a vulgar play of Mr. Flamborough's proposing. We seemed struck to the ground for some time, as if actually petrified with amazement.

The two ladies had been at our house to see us, and finding us from home, came after us hither, as they were uneasy to know what accident could have kept us from church the day before. Olivia undertook to be our prolocutor, and delivered the whole in a summary way, only saying, " We were thrown from our horses." At which account the ladies were greatly concerned ; but being told the family received no hurt, they were extremely glad ; but being informed that we were almost killed by the fright, they were vastly sorry ;

90 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

but hearing that we had a very good night, they were extremely glad again. Nothing could exceed their complaisance to my daughters : 4heir professions the last evening were warm, but now they were ardent. They protested a desire of having a more lasting acquaintance. Lady Blarney was particularly attached to Olivia ; Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs (I love to give the whole name) took a greater fancy to her sister. They supported the conversation between themselves, while my daughters sat silent, admiring their exalted breeding. But as every reader, however beggarly himself, is fond of high-lived dialogues, with anecdotes of Lords, Ladies, and Knights of the Garter, I must beg leave to give him the concluding part of the present conversation.

" All that I know of the matter," cried Miss Skeggs, " is this, that it may be true or may not be true ; but this I can assure your "Ladyship, that the whole rout was in amaze : his Lordship turned all manner of colours, my Lady fell into a sound, but Sir Tomkyn drawing his sword, swore he was hers to the last drop of his blood."

" Well," replied our Peeress, " this I can say, that the Duchess never told me a syllable of the matter, and I believe her Grace would keep nothing a secret from me. This you may depend upon as fact, that the next morning my Lord Duke cried out three times to his valet -de - chambre, Jernigan ! Jernigan ! Jernigan ! bring me my garters."

But previously I should have mentioned the very impolite behaviour of Mr. Burchell, who, during this discourse, sat with his face turned to the fire, and, at the conclusion of every sentence, would cry out

xi STILL RESOLVE TO HOLD UP THEIR HEADS 91

fudge, an expression which displeased us all, and, in some measure, damped the rising spirit of the con- versation.

" Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our Peeress, " there is nothing of this in the copy of verses that Dr. Burdock made upon the occasion." — Fitdge !

" I am surprised at that," cried Miss Skeggs ; " for he seldom leaves anything out, as he writes only for his own amusement. But can your Ladyship favour me with a sight of them ? " — Fudge !

" My dear creature," replied our Peeress, " do you think I carry such things about me ? Though they are very fine, to be sure, and I think myself something

92 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

|

of a judge — at least I know what pleases myself. In- deed, I was ever an admirer of all Dr. Burdock's little pieces ; for, except what he does, and our dear Countess at Hanover Square, there's nothing comes out but the most lowest stuff in nature ; not a bit of high life among th'em." — Fudge !

"Your Ladyship should except," says the other, " your own things in the Lady's Magazine. I hope you'll say there's nothing low-lived there ? But I suppose we are to have no more from that quarter ? " — Fudge !

" Why, my dear," says the lady, " you know my reader and companion has left me, to be married to Captain Roach, and as my poor eyes won't suffer me to write mysejf, I have been for some time looking out for another. A proper person is no easy matter to find ; and, to be sure, thirty pounds a year is a small stipend for a well-bred girl of character, that can read, write, and behave in company : as for the chits about town, there is no bearing them about one."- Fudge !

" That I know," cried Miss Skeggs, " by experience. For of the three companions I had this last half year, one of them refused to do plain-work an hour in the day ; another thought twenty-five guineas a year too small a salary ; and I was obliged to send away the third, because I suspected an intrigue with the chap- lain. Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney, vi^tue_js_. worth any _jDricej but where is that to be found?" Fudge !

My wife had been, for a long time, all attention to this discourse, but was particularly struck with the latter part of it. Thirty pounds and twenty -five

XI

STILL RESOLVE TO HOLD UP THEIR HEADS

93

guineas a year, made fifty-six pounds five shillings English money, all which was in a manner going a- begging, and might easily be secured in the family.

She for a moment studied my looks for approbation ; and, to own a truth, I was of opinion, that two such places would fit our two daughters exactly. Besides, if

94 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

the Squire had any real affection for my eldest daughter, this would be the way to make her every way qualified for her fortune. My wife, therefore, was resolved that we should not be deprived of such advantages for want of assurance, and undertook to harangue for the family. " I hope/' cried she, " your Ladyships will pardon my present presumption. It is true, we have no right to pretend to such favours ; but yet it is natural for me to wish putting my children forward in the world. And, I will be bold to say, my two. .girls have had a pretty good education and capacity ; at least the country can't show better. They can read, write, and cast accounts ; they understand their needle, broad- stitch, cross and change, and all manner of plain-work ; they can pink, point, and frill, and know something of music ; they can do up small clothes, work upon catgut ; my eldest can cut paper, and my youngest has a very pretty manner of telling fortunes upon the cards." — Fudge !

When she had delivered this pretty piece of elo- quence, the two ladies looked at each other a few minutes in silence, with an air of doubt and importance. At last Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs con- descended to observe that the young ladies, from the opinion she could form of them from so slight an acquaintance, seemed very fit for such employments. " But a thing of this kind, Madam," cried she, address- ing my spouse, u requires a thorough examination into characters, and a more perfect knowledge of each other. Not, Madam," continued she, " that I in the least suspect the young ladies' virtue, prudence, and dis- cretion ; but there is a toj^fa in these things, Madam j — there is a form."

STILL RESOLVE TO HOLD UP THEIR HEADS

95

My wife approved her suspicions very much, observ- ing that she was very apt to be suspicious herself, but referred her to all the neighbours for a character ; but this our Peeress declined as unnecessary, alleging that her cousin Thornhill's recommendation would be sufficient ; and upon this we rested our petition.

are often wore p

we were returned home, the night was dedicated to schemes of future con- quest. Deborah exerted much sagacity in conjecturing which of the two girls was likely to have the best place, and most opportunities of seeing good company. The only obstacle to our preferment was in obtaining the Squire's recommendation ; but he had already shown us too many instances of his friendship to doubt of it now. Even in bed, my wife kept up the usual theme : " Well, faith, my dear Charles, between ourselves, I think we have made an excellent day's work of it." — " Pretty well ! " cried I, not knowing what to say. " What, only pretty well ! " returned she : " I think it is very well. Suppose" the girls should come to make acquaintances of taste in town ! This I am assured of, that London is the only place in the world for all manner of husbands. Besides, my dear, stranger things happen every day : and as ladies of quality are so taken with my daughters, what will not men of quality be ? Entre nvus, I pro-

ii FORTUNE HUMBLES THE FAMILY 97

[ like my Lady Blarney vastly — so very obliging.

I ^er, Miss Carolina Wilelmina Amelia Skeggs has

irm heart. But yet, when they came to talk

places in town, you saw at once how I nailed them.

e, my dear, don't you think I did for my children

— " Ay," returned I, not knowing well what to

'hink ->f the matter ; " Heaven grant they may be both

the better for it this day three months !," This was

those observations I usually made to impress

e with an opinion of my sagacity: for if the girls

ceded, then it was a pious wish fulfilled ; but if any-

ig unfortunate ensued, then it might be looked

•n as a prophecy. All this conversation, however,

was only preparatory to another scheme ; and indeed I

dreaded as much. This was nothing less than that, as

yere now to hold up our heads a little higher in the

. it would be proper to sell the Colt, which was

Did, at a neighbouring fair, and buy us a horse

>uld carry a single or double upon an occasion,

! make a pretty appearance at church, or upon a

This at first I opposed stoutly ; but it was

defended. However, as I weakened, my

(onist gained strength, till at last it was resolved

with him.

the fair happened on the following day, I had ntions of going myself; but my wife persuaded me lad got a cold, and nothing could prevail upon permit me from home. " No, my dear," said ir son Moses is a discreet boy, and can buy and i very good advantage : you know all our great 5 are of his purchasing. He always stands out {gles, and actually tires them till he gets a

H

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I was willing enough to entrust him with this commission : and the next morning I perceived his sisters mighty busy in fitting out Moses for the fair ; trimming his

hair, brushing his buckles, and cocking his hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over, we had at last the satisfaction of seeing him mounted upon- the Colt, with a deal box before him to bring home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that cloth they call

FORTUNE HUMBLES THE FAMILY

99

thunder-and-lightning, which, though grown too short, was much too good to be thrown away. His waistcoat was of a gosling green, and his sisters had tied his hair with a broad black ribbon. We all followed him several paces from the door, bawling after him, " Good luck ! good luck ! " till we could see him no longer.

He was scarce gone, when Mr. Thornhill's butler came to congratulate us upon our good fortune, saying that he overheard his young master mention our names with great commendation.

Good fortune seemed resolved not to come alone. Another footman from the same family followed, with a card for my daughters, importing that the two ladies had received such pleasing accounts from Mr. Thornhill of us all, that after a few previous inquiries they hoped

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

. to be perfectly satisfied. " Ay," cried my wife, " I now see it is no easy matter to get into the families of the great ; but when one once gets in, then, as Moses says, one may go to sleep." To this piece of humour, for she intended it for wit, my daughters assented with a loud laugh of pleasure. In short, such was her satis- faction at this message, that she actually put her hand in her pocket, and gave the messenger sevenpence halfpenny.

This was to be our visiting day. The next that came was Mr. Burchell, who had been at the fair. He brought my little ones a pennyworth of gingerbread

xii FORTUNE HUMBLES TftE FAMILY 101

each, which my wife undertook to keep for them, and give them by letters at a time. He brought my daughters also a couple of boxes, in which they might keep wafers, snuff, patches, or even money, when they got it. My wife was usually fond of a weasel-skin purse, as being the most lucky ; but this by the by. We had still a regard for Mr. Burchell, though his late rude behaviour was in some measure displeasing ; nor could we now avoid communicating our happiness to him, and asking his advice : although we seldom followed advice, we were all ready enough to ask it. When he read the note' from the two ladies, he shook his head, and observed, that an affair of this sort demanded the utmost circumspection. This air of diffidence highly displeased my wife. " I never doubted, Sir," cried she, " your readiness to be against my daughters and me. You have more circumspection than is wanted. However, I fancy when we come to ask advice, we will apply to persons who seem to have made use of it themselves." — "Whatever my own conduct may have been, Madam," replied he, " is not the present question : though, as I have made no use of advice myself, I should in conscience give it to those that will." As I was apprehensive this answer might draw on a repartee, making up by abuse what it wanted in wit, I changed the subject, by seeming to wonder what could keep our son so long at the fair, as it was now almost nightfall. " Never mind our son," cried my wife ; " depend upon it he knows what he is about I'll warrant we'll never see him sell his hen of a rainy day. I have seen him buy such bargains as would amaze one. I'll tell you a good story about that, that will make you split your sides with laughing.

-io£ THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

—But, as I live, yonder comes Moses, without a horse, and the box at his back."

As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and sweating under the deal box, which he had strapt round his shoulders like a pedlar. " Welcome, welcome, Moses ! well, my boy, what have you brought

us from the fair ? " — " I have brought you myself/' cried Moses, with a sly look, and resting the box on the dresser. " Ay, Moses," cried my wife, " that we know; but where is the horse?" — "I have sold him," cried Moses, " for three pounds five shillings and two- pence."— " Well done, my good boy," returned she ; " I knew you would touch them off. Between ourselves, three pounds five shillings and twopence is no bad

XII

FORTUNE HUMBLES THE FAMILY

103

day's work. Come, let us have it then." — " I have brought back no money," cried Moses again. " I have laid it all out in a bargain, and here it is," pulling out a bundle from his breast : " here they are ; a gross of

green spectacles, with ^Iver rims and shagreen cases."- " A gross of green spectacles ! " repeated my wife, in a faint voice. " And you have parted with the Colt, and brought us back nothing but a gross of green paltry spectacles ! " — " Dear mother," cried the boy, " why won't you listen to reason ? I had them a dead bargain,

104 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

or I should not have brought them. The silver rims alone will sell for double the money." — " A fig for the silver rims," cried my wife, in a passion : " I dare swear they won't sell for above half the money at the rate of broken silver, five shillings an ounce." — " You need be under no uneasiness," cried I, " about selling the rims, for they are not worth sixpence ; for I perceive they are only copper varnished over."---" What !" cried my wife, " not silver ! the rims not silver ? " — " No," cried I, "no more silver than your sauce-pan." — "And so," returned she, " we have parted with the Colt, and have only got a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims and shagreen cases ? A murrain take such trumpery ! The blockhead has been imposed upon, and should have known his company better." — " There, my dear," cried I, " you are wrong ; he should not have known them at all." — " Marry, hang the idiot ! " returned she, "to bring me such stuff: if I had them I would throw them in the fire." — " There again you are wrong, my dear," cried I ; " for though they be copper, we will keep them by us, as copper spectacles, you know, are better than nothing."

By this time the unfortunate Moses was undeceived. He now saw that he had been imposed upon by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, had marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the circumr stances of his deception. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked the fair in search of another. A reverend- looking man brought him to a tent, under pretence of having one to sell. " Here," continued Moses, " we met another man, very well dressed, who desired to borrow twenty pounds upon these, saying that he wanted money, and would dispose of them for a third

FORTUNE HUMBLES THE FAMILY

105

of the value. The first gentleman, who pretended to be my friend, whispered me to buy them, and cautioned me not to let so good an offer pass. I sent for Mr. Flamborough, and they talked him up as finely as they did me ; and so at last we were persuaded to buy the two gross between us."

family had now made several attempts to be fine; but some unforeseen disaster demolished each as soon as projected. I endeavoured to take the advantage of every disappointment to improve their good sense, in proportion as they were frustrated in ambition. " You see, my children," cried I, " how little is to be got by attempts to impose upon the world in coping *" with our betters. Such as are poor, and will associate \ with none but the rich, are hated by those they avoid, and despised by those they follow. Unequal combina- tions are always disadvantageous to the weaker side : the rich having the pleasure, and the poor the incon- veniences that result from them. But come, Dick, my boy, and repeat the fable you were reading to-day, for the good of the company."

CHAP, xiii MR. BURCHELL AN ENEMY 107

"Once upon a time," cried the child, "a Giant and a Dwarf were friends, and kept together. They made a bargain that they would never forsake each other, but go seek adventures. The first battle they fought was with two Saracens, and the Dwarf, who was very courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry blow. It did the Saracen but very little injury, who, lift- ing up his sword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in a wroful plight ; but the Giant, coming to his assistance, in a short time left the two Saracens dead on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the dead man's head out of spite. They then travelled on to another adventure. This was against three bloody - minded Satyrs, who were carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was not quite so fierce now as before ; but for all that struck the first blow, which was returned by another that knocked out his eye ; but the Giant was soon up with them, and, had they not fled, would certainly have killed them every one. " They were all very joyful for this victory, and the damsel who was relieved fell in love with the Giant, and married him. They now travelled far, and farther than I can tell, till they met with a company of robbers. The Giant, for the first time, was foremost now ; but the Dwarf was not far behind. The battle was stout and long. Wherever the Giant came, all fell before him ; but the Dwarf had like to have been killed more than once. At last the victory declared for the two adventurers ; but the Dwarf lost his leg. The Dwarf had now lost an arm, a leg, and an eye, while the Giant was without a single wound ; upon which he cried out to his little companion, * My little hero, this is glorious sport ! let us get one victory more, and then

io8 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

we shall have honour for ever.' — ' No,' cries the Dwarf, who was by this time grown wiser, ' no, I declare off ; I'll fight no more : for I find in every battle that you get all the honours and rewards, but all the blows fall upon me.' "

I was going to moralise this fable, when our atten- tion was called off to a warm dispute between my wife and Mr. Burchell, upon my daughters' intended expedition to town. My wife very strenuously insisted upon the advantages that would result from it : Mr. Burchell, on the contrary, dissuaded her with great ardour ; and I stood neuter. His present dissuasions seemed but the second part of those which were received with so ill a grace in the morning. The dispute grew high ; while poor Deborah, instead of reasoning stronger, talked louder, and at last was obliged to take shelter from a defeat in clamour. The conclusion of her harangue, however, was highly displeasing to us all : she knew, she said, of some who had their own secret reasons for what they advised ; but, for her part, she wished such to stay away from her house for the future. " Madam," cried Burchell, with looks of great composure, which tended to inflame her the more, " as for secret reasons, you are right : I have secret reasons, which I forbear to mention, because you are not able to answer those of which I make no secret ; but I find my visits here are become troublesome ; I'll take my leave there- fore now, and perhaps come once more to take a final farewell when I am quitting the country." Thus saying, he took up his hat, nor could the attempts of Sophia, whose looks seemed to upbraid his precipitancy, prevent his going.

When gone, we all regarded each other for some

MR. BURCHELL AN ENEMY

109

minutes with confusion. My wife, who knew herself to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with a forced smile, and an air of assurance, which I was willing to reprove. " How, woman," cried I to her, " is it thus we treat strangers ? Is it thus we return their kindness ? Be assured, my dear, that these were the harshest words,

and to me the most unpleasing, that ever escaped your lips ! " — " Why would he provoke me, then ? " replied she ; " but I know the motives of his advice perfectly well. He would prevent my girls from going to town, that he may have the pleasure of my youngest daughter's company here at home. But, whatever happens, she shall choose better company than such low-lived fellows as he." — •" Low-lived, my dear, do you call him ? " cried

i io THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP, xin

I ; "it is very possible we may mistake this man's character, for he seems, upon some occasions, the most finished gentleman I ever knew. Tell me, Sophia, my girl, has he ever given you any secret instances of his attachment? " — " His conversation with me, Sir," replied my daughter, " has ever been sensible, modest, and pleasing. As to aught else — no, never. Once, indeed, I remember to have heard him say, he never knew a woman who could find merit in a man that seemed poor." — " Such, my dear," cried I, " is the common cant of all the unfortunate or idle. But I hope you have been taught to judge properly of such men, and that it would be even madness to expect happiness from one who has been so very bad an economist of his own. Your mother and I have now better prospects for you. The next winter, which you will probably spend in town, will give you opportunities of making a more prudent choice."

What Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion I cannot pretend to determine ; but I was not displeased at the bottom that we were rid of a guest from whom I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went to my conscience a little ; but I quickly silenced that monitor by two or three specious reasons, which served to satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The pain which conscience gives the man who has already done wrong is soon got over.*5^* Conscience is a coward ; and those jajjlts it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom has justice enough to accuse.

journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr. Thornhill having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by letter of their behaviour. But it was thought indispensably necessary that their appearance should equal the greatness of their expecta- tions, which could not be done without expense. We debated therefore in full council what were the easiest methods of raising money, or, more properly speaking, what we could most conveniently sell. The deliberation was soon finished : it was found that our remaining horse was utterly useless for the plough without his companion, and equally unfit for the road, as wanting an eye : it was therefore determined that

112

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

we should dispose of him for the purpose above mentioned, at the neighbouring fair ; and, to prevent imposition, that I should go with him myself. Though this was one of the first mercantile transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. The opinion a man forms of his own

prudence is measured by that of the company he keeps : and as mine was most in the family way, I had conceived no unfavourable sentiments of my worldly wisdom. My wife, however, next morning, at parting, after I had got some paces from the door, called back to advise me, in a whisper, to have all my < about me.

XIV

FRESH MORTIFICATIONS

I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, put my horse through all his paces, but for some time had no bidders. At last a chapman approached, and after he had for a good while examined the horse round, finding him blind of one eye, he would have nothing to say to him ; a second came up, but observ- ing he had a spavin, declared he would not take him

for the driving home ; a third perceived he had a wind- gall, and would bid no money ; a fourth knew by his eye that he had the bolts ; a fifth wondered what a plague I could do at the fair with a blind, spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a dog kennel By this time, I began to have a most hearty contempt for the poor animal myself, and was almost ashamed at the approach of every customer ; for

I

114

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

though I did not entirely believe all the fellows told me, yet I reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong presumption they were right ; and St. Gregory, upon Good Works, professes himself to be of the same opinion.

I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother

clergyman, an old acquaintance, who had also business at the fair, came up, and, shaking me by the hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house, and taking a glass of whatever we could get. I readily closed with the offer, and entering an alehouse, we were shown into a little back room, where there was only a vener-

XIV

FRESH MORTIFICATIONS

able old man, who sat wholly intent over a large book, which he was reading. I never in my life saw a figure that prepossessed me more favourably. His locks of silver grey venerably shaded bis temples, and his green old age seemed to be the result of health and benevo- lence. However, his presence did not interrupt our conversation : my friend and I discoursed on the various turns of fortune we had met ; the Whistonian controversy, my last pamphlet, the archdeacon's reply, and the hard measure that was dealt me. But our attention was in a short time \ taken off, by the appearance of a youth, who, entering the room, respect- fully said something softly to the old stranger. "Make no apologies, my child," said the old man ; " to do good is a duty we owe to all our fellow- creatures : take this, I wish it were more ; but five pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome." The modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his gratitude was scarce equal to mine. I could have hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me so. He continued to read, and we resumed our con- versation, until my companion, after some time, re- collecting that he had business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon back ; adding, that he always desired to have as much of Dr. Primrose's company as possible. The old gentleman, hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me with attention for

n6 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

some time ; and when my friend was gone, most respectfully demanded if I was any way related to the great Primrose, that courageous monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the Church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture than at that moment. u Sir,3' cried I, " the applause of so good a man as I am sure you are, adds to that happiness in my breast which your benevolence has already excited. You behold before you, Sir, that Dr. Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been pleased to call great. You here see that unfortunate divine, who has so long, and it would ill become me to say, successfully, fought against the deuterogamy of the age." — " Sir/' cried the stranger, struck with awe, " I fear I have been too familiar, but you'll forgive my curiosity, Sir : I beg pardon." — " Sir," cried I, grasping his hand, " you are so far from dis- pleasing me by your familiarity, that I must beg you'll accept my friendship, as you already have my esteem." — " Then with gratitude I accept the offer," cried he, squeezing me by the hand, "thou glorious, pillar of unshaken orthodoxy ! and do I behold "- I here

interrupted what he was going to say ; for though, as an author, I could digest no small share of flattery, yet now my modesty would permit no more. However, no lovers in romance ever cemented a more instant- aneous friendship. We talked upon several subjects : at first I thought he seemed rather devout than learned, and began to think he despised all human doctrines as dross. Yet this no way lessened him in my esteem, for I had for some time begun privately to harbour such an opinion myself. I therefore took occasion to observe, that the world in general began to be blameably indifferent as to doctrinal matters, and followed human

xiv FRESH MORTIFICATIONS 117

speculations too much. " Ay, Sir," replied he, as if he had reserved all his learning to that moment, " Ay, Sir, the world is in its dotage ; and yet the cosmogony, or creation of the world, has puzzled philosophers of all ages. What a medley of opinions have they not broached upon the creation of the world ! Sancho- niathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, which imply that all things have neither beginning nor end. Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebuchadon- Asser— Asser being a Syriac word, usually applied as a sur- name to the kings of that country, as Teglat Phael- Asser, Nabon- Asser — he, I say, formed a conjecture equally absurd ; for, as we usually say, ek to biblion kubernetes, which implies that books will never teach the world ;

so he attempted to investigate But, Sir, I ask

pardon, I am straying from the question." — That he actually was ; nor could I, for my life, see how the creation of the world had a'nything to do with the business I was talking of ; but it was sufficient to show me that he was a man of letters, and I now reverenced him the more. I was resolved, therefore, to bring him to the touchstone ; but he was too mild and too gentle to contend for victory. Whenever I made an observa- tion that looked like a challenge to controversy, he would smile, shake his head, and say nothing ; by which I understood he could say much, if he thought proper. The subject, therefore, insensibly changed from the business of antiquity, to that which brought us both to the fair : mine, I told him, was to sell a horse, and very luckily, indeed, his was to buy one for one of his tenants. My horse was soon produced ;

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

and, in fine, we struck a bargain. Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he accordingly pulled out a thirty pound note, and bid me change it. Not being in a capacity of complying with this demand, he ordered his footman to be called up, who made his appearance in a very genteel livery. "Here, Abraham," cried he, " go and get gold for this ; you'll do it at neighbour

Jackson's, or anywhere." While the fellow was gone, he entertained me with a pathetic harangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I undertook to improve, by deploring also the great scarcity of gold ; so that, by the time Abraham returned, we had both agreed that money was never so hard to be come at as now. Abraham returned to inform us, that he had been over the whole fair, and could not get change,

xiv FRESH MORTIFICATIONS 11$

though he had offered half-a-crown for doing it. This was a very great disappointment to us all ; but the old gentleman, having paused a little, asked me if I knew one Solomon Flamborough in my part of the country. Upon replying that he was my next-door neighbour : " If that be the case, then," returned he, " I believe we shall deal. You shall have a draft upon him, payable at sight ; and, let me tell you, he is as warm a man as any within five miles round him. Honest Solomon and I have been acquainted for many years together. I remember I always beat him at three jumps ; but he could hop on one leg farther than I." A draft upon my neighbour was to me the same as money ; for I was sufficiently convinced of his ability. The draft was signed, and put into my hands, and Mr. Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man Abraham, and my horse, old Blackberry, trotted off very well pleased with each other.

After a short interval, being left to reflection, I began to recollect that I had done wrong in taking a draft from a stranger, and so prudently resolved upon following the purchaser, and having back my horse. But this was now too late ; I therefore made directly homewards, resolving to get the draft changed into money at my friend's as fast as possible. I found my honest neighbour smoking his pipe at his own door, and informing him that I had a small bill upon him, he read it twice over. " You can read the name, I suppose," cried I, — " Ephraim Jenkinson." — " Yes," returned he, " the name is written plain enough, and I know the gentleman too, — the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven. This is the very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he not a venerable-looking man,

120

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

with grey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes ? And did he not talk a long string of learning about Greek, and cosmogony, and the world ? " To this I replied with a groan. " Ay," continued he, " he has but that one piece of learning in the world, and he always talks

it away whenever he finds a scholar in company ; but I know the rogue, and will catch him yet."

Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my greatest struggle was to come, in facing my wife and daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of returning to school, there to behold the master's visage, than I was of going home. I was determined, however, to anticipate their fury, by first falling into a passion myself.

xiv FRESH MORTIFICATIONS 121

But, alas ! upon entering, I found , the family no way disposed for battle. My wife and girls were all in tears, Mr. Thornhill having been there that day to inform them that their journey to town was entirely over. The two ladies, having heard reports of us from some malicious person about us, were that day set out for London. He could neither discover the tendency nor the author of these ; but whatever they might be, or whoever might have broached them, he continued to assure our family of his friendship and protection. I found, therefore, that they bore my disappointment with great resignation, as it was eclipsed in the greatness of their own. But what perplexed us most, was to think who could be so base as to asperse the character of a family so harmless as ours ; too humble to excite envy, and too inoffensive to create disgust.

evening, and a part of the following day, was employed in fruitless attempts to discover our enemies : scarcely a family in the neighbourhood but incurred our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our opinions best known to ourselves. As we were in this perplexity, one of our little boys, who had been playing abroad, brought in a letter-case, which he found on the green. It was quickly known to belong to Mr. Burchell, with whom it had been seen, and, upon examination, contained some hints upon different subjects ; but what particularly engaged our attention was a sealed note, superscribed; the copy of a letter to be sent to the ladies at Thorn- hill - Castle. It instantly .occurred that he was the base informer, and we deliberated whether the note

CHAP, xv MR. BURCHELL'S VILLAINY DETECTED 123

should not be broken open. I was against it ; but Sophia, who said she was sure that of all men he would be the last to be guilty of so much baseness, insisted upon its being read. In this she was seconded by the rest of the family, and at their joint solicitation I read as follows :—

. " Ladies,— The bearer will suffi- ciently satisfy you as to the person from whom this comes : one at least the friend of innocence, and ready to prevent its being seduced. I am informed for a truth, that you have some intention of bringing two young ladies to town, whom I have some knowledge of, under the character of companions. As I would neither have simplicity imposed upon, nor virtue contaminated, I must offer it as my opinion, that the impropriety of such a step will be attended with dangerous consequences. It has never been my way to treat the infamous or the lewd with severity ; nor should I now have taken this method of explaining myself, or reproving folly, did it not aim at guilt. Take, therefore, the admonition of a friend, and seriously reflect on the consequences of introducing infamy and vice into retreats where peace and innocence have hitherto resided."

v Our doubts were now at a end. There seemed, indeed, something applicable to both sides in this letter, and its censures might as well be referred to those to whom it was written, as to us ; but the malicious meaning was obvious, and we went no farther. My wife had scarcely patience to hear me to the end, but railed at the writer with unrestrained resentment.

I24

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

Olivia was equally severe, and Sophia seemed perfectly amazed at his baseness. As for my part, it appeared to me one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I had ever met with ; nor could I account for it in any other manner, than by imputing it to his desire of detaining my youngest daughter in the country, to have ^ the more frequent oppor-

tunities of an interview. In this manner we all sat rumi- nating upon schemes of ven- geance, when our other little boy came running in to tell us that Mr. Burchell was ap- proaching at the other end of the field. It is easier to conceive than describe the complicated sensations which are felt from the pain of a recent injury, and the pleasure of approaching ven- geance. Though our inten- tions were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude, yet it was resolved to do it in a manner that would be perfectly cutting. For this purpose we agreed to meet him with our usual smiles ; to chat in the beginning with more than ordinary kindness, to amuse him a little ; and then, in the midst of the flattering calm, to burst upon him like an earthquake, and over- whelm him with a sense of his own baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife undertook to manage the business herself, as she really had some talents for such an undertaking. We saw him approach : he entered, drew a chair, and sat down. " A fine

xv MR. BURCHELL'S VILLAINY DETECTED 125

day, Mr. Burchell." — " A very fine day, Doctor ; though I fancy we shall have some rain by the shooting of my corns."—" The shooting of your horns ! " cried my wife, in a loud fit of laughter, and then asked pardon for being fond of a joke. " Dear Madam," replied he, " I pardon you with all my heart, for I protest I should not have thought it a joke had you not told me." — " Perhaps not, Sir," cried my wife, winking at us ; " and yet I dare say you can tell us how many jokes go to an ounce." — " I fancy, Madam," returned Burchell, " you have been reading a jest book this morning, that ounce of jokes is so very good a conceit ; and yet, Madam, I had rather see half an ounce of understanding."' — " I believe you might," cried my wife, still smiling at us, though the laugh was against her ; " and yet I have seen some men pretend to understanding that have very little." — " And no doubt," returned her antagonist, " you have known ladies set up for wit that had none." I quickly began to find that my wife was likely to gain but little at this business ; so I resolved 'to treat him in a style of more severity myself. " Both wit and under- standing," cried I, " are trifles, without integrity ; it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant without fault, is greater than the philosopher with many ; for what is genius or courage without an

heart ?

"' An honest man's the noblest work of God.'"

" I always held that hackneyed maxim of Pope," returned Mr. Burchell, " as very unworthy a man of genius, and a base desertion of his own superiority. As the reputation of books is raised, not by their freedom from defect, but the greatness of their beauties ; so should that of men be prized^ not for their exemption

126 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

from fault, but the size of those virtues they are possessed of. The scholar may want prudence, the statesman may have pride, and the champion ferocity ; but shall we prefer to these the low mechanic, who laboriously plods through life without censure or applause ? We might as well prefer the tame correct paintings of the Flemish school to the erroneous but sublime animations of the Roman pencil."

" Sir," replied I, " your present observation is just, when there are shining virtues and minute defects ; but when it appears that great vices are opposed in the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character deserves contempt."

" Perhaps," cried he, " there may be some such monsters as you describe, of great vices joined to great virtues ; yet in my progress through life, I never yet found one instance of their existence : on the contrary, I have ever perceived, that where the mind was capacious, the affections were good. And indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in this, particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish the power where there is the will to do mischief. This rule seems to extend even to other animals : the little vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, whilst those endowed with strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle."

<( These observations sound well," returned I, " and yet it would be easy this moment to point out a man," and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon him, " whose head and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay, Sir," continued I, raising my voice, " and I am glad to have this opportunity of detecting him in the midst of his

xv MR. BURCHELL'S VILLAINY DETECTED 127

fancied security. Do you know this, Sir, this pocket- book ? " — " Yes, Sir," returned he, with a face of im- penetrable assurance, " that pocket-book 'is mine, and I am glad you have found it." — " And do you know," cried I, " this letter ? Nay, never falter, man ; but look me full in the face : I say, do you know this letter ? " — " That letter ? " returned he ; " yes, it was I that wrote that letter." — " And how could you," said I, " so basely, so ungratefully presume to write this letter ? " — " And how came you/' replied he, with looks of unparalleled effrontery, " so basely to presume to break open this letter ? Don't you know, now, I could hang you all for this ? All that I have to do is to swear at the next Justice's that you have been guilty of breaking open the lock of my pocket-bookr and so hang you all up at his door." This piece of unex- pected insolence raised me to such a pitch, that I could scarce govern my passion. " Ungrateful wretch ! begone, and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness ! begone, and never let me see thee again ! Go from my door, and the only punishment I wish thee is an alarmed conscience, which will be a sufficient tormentor ! " So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which he took up with a smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost composure, left us, quite astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife was particularly enraged that nothing could make him angry, or make him seem ashamed of his villainies. " My dear," cried I, willing to calm those passions that had been raised too high among us, " we are not to be surprised that bad men want shame : they only blush at being detected in doing good, but glory in their vices.

" Guilt and Shame, says the allegory, were at first

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companions, and, in the beginning of their journey, inseparably kept together. But their union was soon found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both. Guilt gave Shame frequent uneasiness, and Shame often betrayed the secret conspiracies of Guilt. After long disagreement, therefore, they at length consented to part for ever. Guilt boldly walked forward alone, to overtake Fate, that went before in the shape of an executioner ; but Shame, being naturally timorous, returned back to keep company with Virtue, which in the beginning of their journey they had left behind. Thus, my children, after men have travelled through a few stages in vice, Shame forsakes them, and returns back to wait upon the few virtues they have still remaining."

might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits now became more frequent, and longer. Though he had been dis- appointed in procuring my daughters the amuse- ments of the town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with those little re- creations which our retirement would admit of. He usually came in the morning ; and, while my son and I followed our occupations abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by describing the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. He could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the playhouses, and had all the good things of the high wits by rote, long~ before they made their way into the jest books. The intervals between conversation were employed in

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

CHAP.

teaching my daughters piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little ones to box, to make them sharp^ as he called it : but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law in some measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It must be owned, that my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him ; or, to speak more tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by Olivia ;

if the gooseberry wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering : it was her fingers which gave the pickles their peculiar green ; and, in the composition of a pudding, it was her judgment that mixed the ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes tell the Squire, that she thought him and Olivia ex- tremely of a size, and would bid both stand up to see which was tallest. These instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, who

xvi THE FAMILY USE ART* 131

gave every day some new proofs of his passion, which, though they had not arisen to proposals of marriage, yet we thought fell but little short of it ; and his slow- ness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon after, put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of our family; my wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.

My wife and daughters happening to return a visit to neighbour Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us ; and, notwith- standing all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures done too.

Having, therefore, engaged the limner, — for what could I do ? — our next deliberation was to show the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven oranges, — a thing quite out of taste, no variety in life, no composition in the world. We desired to have something in a brighter style ; and, after many debates, at length came to a unanimous resolution of being drawn together, in one large historical family piece. This would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel ; for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same manner. As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent historical figures.

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My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side ; while I, in my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whis- tonian controversy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a

green Joseph, richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing ; and Moses was to be dressed out with a hat and white feather. Our taste so much pleased the Squire, that he insisted on being put in as one of the family, in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be introduced into the family, nor could we

xvi THE FAMILY USE ART 133

refuse his request. The painter was therefore set to work, and, as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece was large, and, it must be owned, he did not spare his colours ; for which my wife gave him great enco- miums. We were all perfectly satisfied with his perform- ance ; but an unfortunate circumstance which had not occurred till the picture was finished, now struck us with dismay. It was so very large, that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to dis- regard so material a point is inconceivable ; but certain it is, we had been all greatly remiss. The picture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it to Robin- son Crusoe's long-boat, too large to be removed ; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle : some wondered how it could be got out, but still more were amazed how it ever got in.

But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effect- ually raised more malicious suggestions in many. The Squire's portrait being found uriited with ours was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually disturbed by persons, wrho came as friends, to tell us what was said of us by enemies. TheSe reports we always .resented with becoming spirit ; but scandal ever improves by opposition.

We once again, therefore, entered into a consultation upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too much cunning

134 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

to give me entire satisfaction. It was this : as our principal object was to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to sound him by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of a husband for her eldest daughter. If this was not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon this occasion, if he did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such was the scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not entirely approve.

The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls took care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an opportunity of putting her scheme in execution ; but they only retired to the next room, from whence they could overhear the whole conversation. My wife artfully introduced it, by observing, that one of the Miss Flamboroughs was like to have a very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the Squire assenting, she proceeded to remark that they who had warm fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands : " But Heaven help," continued she, " the girls that have none ! What signifies beauty, Mr. Thornhill ? or what signifies all the virtue, and all the qualifications in the world, in this age of self- interest ? It is not, What is she ? but, What has she ? is all the cry."

" Madam," returned he, " I highly approve the justice, as well as the novelty, of your remarks ; and if I were a king, it should be otherwise. It should then, indeed, be fine times with the girls without fortunes:

XVI

THE FAMILY USE ARf

'35

fa-t

our two young ladies should be the first for whom I would provide."

" Ah, Sir," returned my wife, " you are pleased to be facetious : but I wish I were a queen, and then I know where my eldest daughter should look for a husband. But, now that you have put it into my head, seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you re- commend me a proper husband for her ? She is now nineteen years old, well grown and well edu- cated, and in my humble opinion, does not want for ^parts."

" Madam," replied he, " if I were to choose, I would find out a person possessed of every accom- plishment that can make an angel happy. One with prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity; such, Madam, would be, in my opinion, the proper hus- band."—"Ay, Sir," said she, " but do you know of any such person?" — "No, Madam," returned he, " it is impossible to know any person that deserves to be her husband : she's too great a treasure for one

136 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP, xvi

man's possession ; she's a goddess ! Upon my soul, I speak what I think — she's an angel ! " — " Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl : but we have been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a manager ; you know whom I mean, — Farmer Williams ; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able to give her good bread, and who has several times made her proposals " (which was actually the case) ; " but, Sir," concluded she, " I should be glad to have your approbation of our choice." — " How, Madam," replied he, " my approbation ! — my approbation of such a choice ! Never. What ! sacrifice so much beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing ! Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice. And I have my reasons." — " Indeed, Sir," cried Deborah, " if you have your reasons, that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those reasons." — " Excuse me, Madam/' returned he, " they lie too deep for discovery " (laying his hand upon his bosom) ; " they remain buried, riveted here."

After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted passion ; but I was not quite so sanguine : it seemed to me pretty plain, that they had more of love than matrimony in them ; yet, whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of Farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses.

JcarcaCy any l&rfcee jountf & resis and fifacftry ^

\oT I only studied my child's real happiness, the assiduity of Mr. Williams pleased I me, as he was in easy circumstances, prudent, and sincere. It required but very little en- couragement to revive his former passion ; so that in an evening or two he and Mr. Thornhill met at our house, and surveyed each other for some time with looks of anger ; but Williams owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded his indignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to perfection, if that might be called acting which was her real character, pretending to lavish all her tenderness on her new lover. Mr. Thornhill appeared quite dejected at this preference, and with a pensive air took leave, though I own it puzzled me to find him in so much pain as he appeared to be, when he had it in his power so easily to re- move the cause, by declaring an hon-

138 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

•j

ourable passion. But whatever uneasiness he seemed to endure, it could easily be perceived that Olivia's anguish was still greater. After any of these inter- views between her lovers, of which there were several, she usually retired to solitude, and there indulged her grief. It was in such a situation I found her one evening, after she had been for some time supporting a fictitious gaiety. " You now see, my child," said I, " that your confidence in Mr. Thornhill's passion "was all a dream : he permits the rivalry of another, every way his inferior, though he knows it lies in his power to secure you to himself by a candid declaration." — " Yes, papa," returned she ; " but he has his reasons for this delay : I know he has. The sincerity of his looks and words convinces me of his real esteem. A short time, I hope, will discover the generosity of his sentiments, and convince you that my opinion of him has been more just than yours." — " Olivia, my darling," returned I, " every scheme that has been hitherto pursued to compel him to a declaration has been proposed and planned by yourself; nor can you in the least say that I have constrained you. But you must not suppose, my dear, that I will ever be instrumental in suffering his honest rival to be the dupe of your ill- placed passion. Whatever time you require to bring your fancied admirer to an explanation shall be granted ; but at the expiration of that term, if he is still regardless, I must absolutely insist that honest Mr. Williams shall be rewarded for his fidelity. The character which I have hitherto supported in life demands this from me, and my tenderness as a parent shall never influence my integrity as a man. Name, then, your day ; let it be as distant as you think proper ; and in the meantime,

xvn PLEASING TEMPTATION SCARCELY RESISTIBLE 139

take care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exact time on which I design delivering you up to another. If he really loves you, his own good sense will readily suggest that there is but one method alone to prevent his losing you for ever." This proposal, which she could not avoid considering as perfectly just, was readily agreed to. She again renewed her most positive promise of marrying Mr. Williams, in case of the other's insensi- bility ; and at the next opportunity, in Mr. Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed upon for her nuptials with his rival.

Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr, Thornhill's anxiety : but what Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle between prudence and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every opportunity of solitude was sought, and spent in tears. One week passed away; but Mr. Thornhill made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The succeeding week he was stilL_assiduous ; but not more open. On the third, he discontinued his visits entirely, and instead of my daughter testifying any impatience, as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own part, I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to be secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently applauded her resolution, in preferring happiness to ostentation.

It was within about four days of her intended nuptials, that my little family at night were gathered round a charming fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for the future : busied in forming a thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. " Well, Moses," cried I, " we shall soon,

r4o THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

my boy, have a wedding in the family : what is your opinion of matters and things in general ? " — " My opinion, father, is, that all things go on very well ; and I was just now thinking, that when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams we shall then have the loan of his cider-press and brewing-tubs for nothing."- — " That we shall, Moses," cried I, " and he will sing us Death and the Lady, to raise our spirits into the bargain." — " He has taught that song to our Dick," cried Moses ; " and I think he goes through it very prettily." — " Does he so ? " cried I ; " then let us have it : where is little Dick ? let him up with it boldly." — " My brother Dick," cried Bill, my youngest, " is just gone out with sister Livy : but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and I'll sing them for you, papa. Which song do you choose, The dying Swan, or the Elegy on the death of a mad dog? " — " The elegy, child, by all means," said I ; " I never heard that yet : and Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry ; let us have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept so much at all sorts of elegies of late, that without an enlivening glass I am sure this will overcome me ; and Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in with the boy a little."

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

GOOD people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran,

Whene'er he went to pray.

xvii PLEASING TEMPTATION SCARCELY RESISTIBLE 141

A kind and gentle heart he had.

To comfort friends and foes ; The naked every day he clad,

When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends ;

But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

«>

Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wond'ring neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad

To every Christian eye ; And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,

That show'd the rogues they lied : The man recover'd of the bite —

The dog it was that died.

" A very good boy, Bill, upon my word ; and an elegy that may truly be called tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a bishop ! "

" With all my heart/' cried my wife : " and if he but preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family, by the mother's side," could sing a good song : it was a common saying in our country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight before them, nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle ; that there were none of the Gro-

I42 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP

grams but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but could tell a story." — " However that be," cried I, " the most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes, and things that petrify us in a single stanza, — productions that we at once detest and praise. — Put the glass to your brother, Moses. — The great fault of these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that give the sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her- fan, or her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the disaster."

" That may be the mode," cried Moses, " in sub- limer compositions : but the Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in the same mould : Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together ; he gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay ; and then they go together to church, where they give good advice to young nymphs and swains to get married as fast as they can."

" And very good advice too," cried I ; " and I am told there is not a place in the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there : for as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife ; and surely that must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what we want, and supplied with it when wanting."

" Yes, Sir," returned Moses, " and I know but of two such markets for wives in Europe, — Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is open once a year; but our English wives are saleable every night."

" You are right, my boy," cried his mother : " Old

xvn PLEASING TEMPTATION SCARCELY RESISTIBLE 143

England is the only place in the world for husbands to get wives." — " And for wives to manage their husbands," interrupted I. " It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the Continent would come over to take pattern from ours ; for there are no such wives in Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life ; and, Moses, give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to Heaven for thus bestowing tran- quillity, health, and competence ! I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fireside, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old ; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live, they will be our support and our pleasure here ; and when we die, they will transmit our honour untainted to posterity. Come, my son, we wait for a song : let us have a chorus. But where is my darling Olivia? that little cherub's voice is always sweetest in the concert." Just as I spoke Dick came running in. " O papa, papa, she is gone from us, she is gone from us ; my sister Livy is gone from us for ever ! " — " Gone, child ! " — " Yes, she is gone off with two gentlemen in" a post-chaise, and one of them kissed her, and said he would die for her: and she cried very much, and was for coming back ; but he persuaded her again, and she went into the chaise, and said, c Oh, what will my poor papa do when he knows I am undone I" — " Now, then," cried I, " my children, go and be miserable ; for we shall never enjoy one hour more. And oh, may Heaven's everlasting fury light

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THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD

upon him and his ! — thus to rob me of my child ! And sure it will, for taking back my sweet innocent that I was leading up to Heaven. Such sincerity as my child was possessed of! But all our earthly happiness is now over ! Go, my children, go and be

Oe/

miserable and infamous ; for my heart is broken within me ! " — ~" Father," cried my son, " is this your fortitude?" — " Fortitude, child ? — yes, he shall see I have fortitude ! Bring me my pistols. I'll pursue the traitor — while he is on earth I'll pursue him. Old as I am, he shall find I can sting him yet. The villain — the perfidious villain ! " I had by this time reached down my pistols.

xvn PLEASING TEMPTATION SCARCELY RESISTIBLE 145

when my poor wife, whose passions were not so strong as mine, caught me in her arms. " My dearest, dearest husband ! " cried she, " the Bible is the only weapon that is fit for your old hands now. Open that, my love, and read our anguish into patience, for she has vilely deceived us." — " Indeed, Sir," resumed my son, after a pause, " your rage is too violent and unbecoming. You should be my mother's comforter, and you increase her pain. It ill suited you and your reverend character thus to curse your greatest enemy : you should not have cursed him, villain as he is." — " I did not curse him child, did I ? " — " Indeed, Sir, you did ; you cursed him twice." — " Then may Heaven forgive me and him if I did ! And now, my son, I see it was more than human benevolence that first taught us to bless our enemies : Blessed be His holy name for all the good He hath given, and for all that He hath taken away. But it is not — it is not a small distress that can wring tears from these old eyes, that have not wept for so many years. My child ! to undo my darling ! — May confusion seize — —Heaven forgive me ! what am I about to say ! — you may remember, my love, how good she was, and how charming : till this vile moment all her care was to make us happy. Had she but died ! But she is gone, the honour of our family contaminated, and I must look out for happiness in other worlds than here. But, my child, you saw them go off: perhaps he forced her away ? If he forced her, she may yet be innocent." — " Ah, no, Sir," cried the child ; " he only kissed her, and called her his angel, and she wept very much, and leaned upon his arm, and they drove off very fast." — " She's an ungrateful creature," cried my wife, who could scarcely speak for weeping, " to use us

L

146 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CHAP.

thus. She never had the least constraint put upon her affections. The vile strumpet has basely deserted her parents without any provocation, thus to bring your grey hairs to the grave ; and I must shortly follow."