F R A N C I S,
THE
PHILANTHROPIST:
AN
UNFASHIONABLE TALE.
PRINTED FOR L. WHITE, No. 86, DAME-STREET.
M,DCC, LXXXVI.
TO
LADY WILLIAMS-WYNNE.
MADAM,
THAT I am urged by an impulse, which I cannot resist, to lay at your Ladyship’s feet the production of hours devoted by sinister events to involuntary retirement, will, I am apprehensive, prove an apology very inadequate to my presumption; it is in your Ladyship’s goodness that I must seek an excuse; nor will I despair of finding it in that benign disposition, which is the theme of universal admiration.
IF your Ladyship shall be of opinion, that the following volumes are calculated, as they are intended, to promote the cause of virtue, I shall not in vain solicit your Ladyship’s protection for them; nor will the want of merit in the work, or the obscurity of the author, prevent its being sanctioned by that approbation, which will stamp on it a value above the reach of critical censure or popular depreciation:——to deserve from the good the praise of having meant well is my utmost ambition, to receive it from your Ladyship would be my highest gratification.
VAIN would be the efforts of my pen to trace the faintest sketch of your Ladyship’s character, and useless would be the attempt; it is engraven on the grateful hearts of multitudes, and recorded by that Being who can alone reward your virtues.
IT is a philanthropist, humble, diffident, and unassuming, who claims not, but sues to your Ladyship for, patronage; condescend then to inspire him with hope, and to receive the poor, but only, return in his power, the most respectful acknowledgements of
Your LADYSHIP’S
most devoted
and obedient servant,
August, 1785.
THE AUTHOR.
F R A N C I S,
THE
PHILANTHROPIST.
CHAPTER I.
Which
may serve as an introduction to this book as well
as any other, and to any other as well as this.
AS it has been an invariable custom, for the book-makers of every denomination, from the voluminous editor of Chancery reports to the equally-improving collector of little stories for masters and misses, to give account, at the tribunal of the public, by what particular motives he is influenced to commence author, and with what particular views and expectations he ventures among the rocks of censure and the quicksands of criticism, we hold ourselves bound to conform to a rule long since established by prescription; and, considering ourselves as now standing at the dread bar where we must either be justified or condemned, we shall endeavour to deserve the lenity of the court, by a full, ample, and unreserved disclosure, under each head of examination.
But, as the wisdom of the law, for purposes, which, though by us incomprehensible, are unquestionably wise and good, not only admits of, but encourages, fiction, and the pleas of Good right and No right are as acceptable in the sight of my lords the king’s justices, as those of Harrison and Thompson, we shall avail ourselves of this notable privilege, and make confession in the following short story.
During the
rage of the last continental war in
His route lay through the states of neutral and contending powers. He landed in Holland, passed the usual examination, but, insisting that the affairs which brought him there were of a private nature, he was imprisoned,—and questioned,—and sifted;—and, appearing to be incapable of design, was at length permitted to pursue his journey.
To the officer of the guard, which conducted him to the frontiers, he made frequent complaints of his treatment, and of the loss he should sustain by the delay; he swore it was uncivil,—and unfriendly,—and injurious;—five hundred Dutchmen might have travelled through England without a question;—they never questioned strangers in Great Britain,—nor stopped them,—nor imprisoned them,—nor guarded them.—
Roused from his native phlegm, by these reflections on the policy of his country, the officer slowly drew the pipe from his mouth, and, emitting the smoke, “Mynheer,” says he, “when you first set your foot on the land of the Seven United Provinces, you should have declared that you came hither on affairs of commerce;”—and, replacing his pipe, he relapsed into immoveable silence.
Released from this unsocial companion, he soon arrived at a French post, where the centinel of the advanced guard requested the honour of his permission to ask him for his passports; and, on his failing to produce any, he was intreated to pardon the liberty he took of conducting him to the commandant, but it was his duty, and he must, however reluctantly, perform it.
Monsieur le Commandant received him with cold and pompous politeness; he made the usual inquiries, and our traveller, determined to avoid the error which had produced such inconvenience to him, replied, that commercial concerns drew him to the continent.
“Ma foy, says the commandant, c’est un négotiant, un bourgeois;—take him away to the citadel, we will re-examine him to-morrow; at present we must dress for the comédie—Allons!”
“Monsieur,”
says the centinel, as he reconducted
him to the guard room, “you should not have mentioned commerce to Monsieur
le Commandant; no gentleman in
Proceeding on his journey, he fell in with a detachment of German chaffeurs. They demanded his name, his quality, and his business in that country. He came, he said, to learn to dance,—and to sing,—and to dress.—“He is a Frenchman.” says the corporal; —“a spy,” cries the serjeant; and he was directed to mount behind a dragoon, and carried to the camp.
The officer, whose duty it was to examine prisoners, soon discovered that our traveller was not a Frenchman, and that, as he did not understand a syllable of the language, he was totally incapable of being a spy; he therefore discharged him, but not without advising him no more to assume the frippery character of a Frenchman:—“We Germans,” says he, “eat, and drink, and smoke, these are our favourite employments; and, if you had but informed the party that you followed no other business, you would have saved them, me, and yourself, trouble.
He now soon
approached the Prussian dominions, where his examination was still more strict: to the most scrutinizing enquiries he gave no
other answers, than that his only designs were to eat, and to drink, and to
smoke.—“To eat! and to drink! and
to smoke!” exclaimed the officer, with astonishment, “sir, you must be
forwarded to
But the acute and penetrating Frederic soon comprehended the character of our traveller, and gave him a passport, under his own hand, to pursue his journey through his territories without interruption:—“It is an ignorant and innocent Englishman,” says the veteran; “the English are unacquainted with military duties; when they want a general, they borrow him of me.”
At the
barriers of
A second
examination at
“Your
business in
“For the love of God,” says the worried traveller, “take pity on me! I have been imprisoned in Holland, for being desirous to keep my own affairs to myself; I have been confined all night in a French guard-house, for declaring myself a merchant; I have been compelled to ride seven miles behind a German dragoon, for professing myself a man of pleasure; I have been carried fifty miles in Prussia, as a prisoner, for acknowledging my attachment to ease and good living; and, I have been threatened with assassination in Poland, for avowing myself a warrior; and, therefore, if you will have the goodness to let me know how I may render such an account of myself as may not give offence, I shall consider you as my friend and my preserver.”
And as, in all human probability, different motives may be ascribed to us by our different readers, and we are extremely unwilling to incur the fate of the traveller, by entering into disputes at our outset, we intreat those who may be of opinion that the merit of the work depends on the views of the author, to assign for us those by which they would themselves be actuated, and, if they should all happen to be wrong, we promise not to be offended.
CHAPTER II.
Very necessary for
such as mean to read the book, but use-
less to those who only intend to dip into it.
SIR William Fairborn derives his birth from a family, which, in a long course of descent, had been equally eminent for virtue and riches. The first of his ancestors, who bore the title, attached himself to the cause of his misguided and unfortunate sovereign, with a zeal which lessened his fortunes, and involved him in difficulties; but his son, and immediate successor, by prudent management and an advantageous marriage, restored the estate to its former magnitude, and the family to its ancient dignity; and, from that period, both had rather increased than diminished, till the commencement of our history, when the sixth baronet of the name succeeded to honours which derived additional lustre from the character and conduct of the possessor.
Though an unincumbered estate of 8,000l. a year, and a seat in the British parliament, acquired neither by influence or corruption, might have been pretences for the baronet to aspire to the first alliances in the kingdom, without the adventitious, and, in general, disregarded, aids of a pleasing person, an unimpeached reputation, and mental qualifications of the first class; and though such alliances had been tendered to him form parents of the highest consideration; yet Sir William Fairborn remained uncaptivated by the advantages of birth and connexion, and, with a resolution equally wise and virtuous, determined, that, in the choice of a wife, he would rather be directed by beauty and merit, than by the extrinsic endowments of illustrious titles and splendid fortunes.
With such sentiments, it may be easily conceived that he did not hastily fix on a partner for life; it was, in his estimation, a subject of too much importance to be discussed with impetuosity, because not only his own happiness was involved in it, but that of the object of his addresses, as he was too much a man of honour to marry where he could not bestow his whole affections, and much too delicate to receive the hand of any woman on earth, unless he could, from the nicest observation, satisfy himself, that it was accompanied by a heart warmed with a passion, pure, animated, and unlikely to change.
For three or four years after his return from his travels, in the course of which his acquirements were very different from those of the most of his contemporaries, he betrayed no particular inclination to engage in a state, into which he frequently professed a determination to enter, but at the same time, used to declare he would never make it a matter of business, or seek the occasion till it happily presented itself. His employments were of the most rational kind, and he enjoyed all the pleasures of life, without satiety, disgust, or intemperance. In the metropolis he attended his duty as a senator with regularity and attention: what fell from his lips in parliamentary debate was marked with decency, propriety, and moderation; the diffidence of youth, and the consciousness of inexperience, rendered him amiably timid and modestly indecisive; and; though he applied the most powerful arguments to the subject he meant to enforce, his language seemed rather to call for information to himself, than to claim the attention, or challenge the conviction, of his hearers.
In the country he acted as a magistrate, with candour, unrightness, patience, and temper: unwarped by prejudice, and unbiassed by preference, he heard and determined with equal satisfaction to himself and those who appealed to his authority; petty disputes vanished under his discouraging frown, and oppression shrunk from his equal and discriminating judgment.
Having discharged his public functions, he indulged himself in every amusement which could be regulated by taste, and enjoyed with reputation: he visited public places, and mixed in the assemblies of the gay and the fashionable, but he was neither a gamester, and adulterer, or an avowed debauchee. He joined in the diversions of the chace and the field without being a professed fox-hunter, or assuming the dress or manners of a groom; and he entered into scenes of conviviality without commencing a toper, a glutton, or a reveller.
In private life he was social, liberal, and benevolent; a gentle master, a kind landlord, a warm friend, and an agreeable companion; so inoffensive in his manners and conversation as never to have made an enemy, and so dignified and manly in his carriage and appearance as never to have received an insult. If, on a portrait so generally perfect, the smallest shade could be discovered, it was the pride of ancestry; but even this might have been allowed to have been a justifiable foible, as the subject, though never officiously obtruded, afforded him an opportunity of displaying his gratitude, in recapitulating the exploits and enumerating the virtues of those, to whose superior qualities he was indebted for the favourable circumstances of hereditary rank and fortune.
Such was Sir William Fairborn; and as virtue, however unfashionable the practice of it may be, fails not to excite the admiration, even of those whose lives and actions are diametrically opposite to all its rules, so the dissolute and the dissipated were awed by his presence into decency and respect, and courted his companionship as a source whence they might borrow reputation, with the value of which they were well acquainted, though they wanted resolution to endure those restraints which were necessary to establish it in their own characters.
By those of kindred souls, and similar manners, it is unnecessary to say that his acquaintance was esteemed the highest gratification, and his friendship held inestimable; but, though in the performance of every kind, humane, and benevolent office, his attention was unbounded, yet that uncircumscribed confidence and communication, which constitutes the soul of friendship, was confined to few; nor did he ever form this intimate connection, till he had received more than common proofs of perfect worth and reciprocal regard.
Among those who were thus intitled to his peculiar favour, Mr. Ellison stood foremost. He had been his play-fellow at school, his friend at the university, and his companion in his travels: never were two human beings so completely formed for each other’s society; and if a small abatement, on the score of talents, be made on the part of Mr. Ellison, the same description of character will serve for each of this pair of brothers.
A match provided for Mr. Ellison, by his father, with a young lady to whom he was distantly related, took place almost immediately after his return from abroad; and, contrary to the fate of most marriages of this sort, both parties were so pleased with each other when they first met, which was not till after a considerable progress had been made in preparation for the wedding, that the contract of convenience was immediately converted into a band of love, which cohabitation had ripened into a friendship, pure, lively, and unalloyed with one debasing passion.
As Mrs. Ellison had in three years after her marriage become the mother of as many children, and, as neither she or her worthy husband were content with being the nominal parents of their offspring, they had gradually declined mixing a great deal in those pleasures which are pursued in places of public entertainment; but, as they were both of dispositions too social, too cheerful, too contented, to live wholly either to, or for, themselves, their house was the rendezvous of those, who, like its inhabitants, were capable of tasting the untumultuous enjoyments of rational society, and of deriving satisfaction from amusements, which were neither purchased with vice, folly, pain, or extravagant expence, or attended in the retrospect by disgust, satiety, or regret.
Nor, however such an opinion may militate against the current of popular judgment, or the ideas of fashionable life, do we scruple to persuade our readers, that many such societies, as those we have just described, do still actually exist, even amidst the present tide of luxury, and in spite of the torrent of dissipation, which has long threatened to deluge every virtue, and drown every noble exertion. We trust we shall, in the course of this work, be enabled to point out many bright and glorious examples of the most illustrious and dignified characters, emerging from the general inundation of folly, and rising superior to the too prevalent customs of the world, and the too-justly-lamented depravity of the times; and we shall hold them up as stars in the dark firmament of corruption, to light the struggling, but not yet devoted, victim, and direct him to shun the paths of destruction, and guide him in the road, which leads to virtue, honour, and reputation.
CHAPTER III.
In which the
history advances by the usual and natu-
ral progression.
AS a batchelor, Sir William Fairborn was precluded from making his own house the seat of the same domestic comfort which he so highly enjoyed at his friend’s: but Mr. Ellison’s house was his second home; it was there he unbent his mind, after it had been engaged in the most arduous attention to the cares of his public station; it was to this mansion of peace and virtue that he retreated from the fatiguing rounds of pleasure and the toilsome solicitations of folly; and it was there that he constantly found a society, equally capable of dispelling the gloom of melancholy, when the misfortunes of mankind had depressed the most susceptible of minds, and of heightening the relish of satisfaction, when he had been the happy instrument of assisting, by his advice, or relieving, by his benevolence, the unfortunate objects of oppression, penury, or affliction.
Among the constant visitors at Mr. Ellison’s was Mr. Thompson, a merchant not more distinguished by the extent of his commerce than by the probity, regularity, and universal reputation with which he conducted his mercantile concerns, and the generosity, liberality, and humanity, which marked his private life; all conspiring to render him one of the most valuable members of society.
Mr. Thompson had the misfortune to lose a beloved wife at the moment which gave birth to her first child; and to this infant, a daughter, who bore the name as well as resemblance of her mother, did Mr. Thompson transfer all his affection, and, far from suffering a second love to divide his heart, his regards, his attentions, his hopes, his fears, and his wishes, all centered in this offspring of his first, his unabated passion, the representative of his amiable, his ever-regretted, Amelia.
Emily Thompson was now in her eighteenth year; and, though by no means a complete beauty, yet was her composition, taken altogether, so delightfully pleasing, that every attempt to point out a blemish was sure to end in the discovery and praise of some hitherto-unnoticed charm. Her eyes were not strikingly brilliant, but they possessed that mildness of lustre, which, like the declining sun, gilded every object around them, and softened it into harmony and grace: though the turn of her face was not perfectly Grecian, yet its inclination to roundness was lost in the thousand dimples which every smile provoked;—though her complexion boasted not the dazzling whiteness of marble, yet it was pure, transparent, and delicately healthful;—and, though her height was very little above the middle size, yet her whole figure was so exquisitely proportioned, that it bespoke admiration and commanded respect.
Her mind was in perfect unison with the frame we have described. Her excellent understanding acted under the restraints of modesty, diffidence, and humility;—her spirits, naturally lively, were guided by the strictest decorum;—her temper, naturally warm, was checked by such a degree of discretion, that it never exceeded the bounds of animation. She was prone to friendship, but correct in her choice, open, affable, and undesigning, untainted by vanity, uninfected by folly, unused to modern dissipation.
Such was Amelia Thompson, the supposed heiress of immense wealth, and the mistress of every polite accomplishment, the darling of her father, the delight of her friends, the admiration of her acquaintance; for, whilst she shone superior to most of her sex, unconscious of pre-eminence, she neither excited envy by an assuming air, nor malice by even an implied comparison.
Sir William Fairborn’s heart had hitherto resisted every impression, it was to Emily Thompson that he surrendered it; and, perfectly convinced, that with her, he should taste the purest joys of conjugal felicity, he sought not to resist the pleasing impulse, but having, with the utmost delicacy, prevailed on the fair Amelia to listen to his suit, and betrayed her into acknowledgements flattering to his hopes, he, with her permission, communicated his wishes to her father, and obtained his consent to win and wed the object of his affections.
As the baronet and Mr. Thompson were equally liberal in the propositions which respected fortune and settlement, no difficulties occurred in making the necessary arrangements; and, whilst the usual preparations were carrying on for an event which promised perfect and lasting happiness, Sir William Fairborn took the opportunity of making a journey to the West of England, to adjust and close the accounts of an executorship, a trust which he had been prevailed upon to accept by a dying friend, and which he had performed with honour to himself and advantage to an embarrassed family.
After a tedious absence of ten days from the mistress of his heart, he had nearly drawn the business to a conclusion, and had almost fixed the hour of his return to the completion of the most interesting event of his life, when he was surprised by the arrival of a messenger, who had travelled express, with letters, of which the following are copies, from Mr. Thompson and his amiable daughter.
“Dear Sir,
“TO you, who are a man of sense, virtue, and morality, I need offer no reflections on the instability of human happiness. When your absence from us commenced, I computed my fortune at near two hundred thousand pounds, and had proposed to lay down half that sum as the marriage-portion of my beloved Emily; but, by a heavy and unexpected loss, my affairs are thrown into such a state, that it is a matter of doubt whether a shilling will remain, after the payment of those debts and demands, which it is my first duty to discharge, and my principal comfort that I possess the full means of performing it.
“For myself, I submit to this event with the most perfect resignation to the dispensations of that almighty and merciful Being, who has hitherto blessed my endeavours with success, and, for purposes unquestionably founded in wisdom and justice, has now thought fit to visit me with affliction: nor do I feel the smallest anxiety on account of my only remaining treasure, my darling child, as I have too much confidence in the rectitude of your heart, to apprehend that this change in her fortunes will occasion the smallest alteration in your regards to her, which, I have long been satisfied, are placed on a foundation, too solid to be shaken by the blasts of misfortune or the gusts of adversity.
“Hasten, then, my dear Sir William, to pour the balm of consolation into the bosom of your distressed friend, and, by the renewal of your vows to the partner of your heart, calm her perturbed spirit, and restore the most amiable mind in the world to ease and tranquillity.
“Believe me, dear sir, in all circumstances and situations,
Your most faithful and
affectionate humble servant,
EUGENIUS THOMPSON.”
“WHEN, with my willing hand, I yielded my too fond heart to its sovereign lord and master, and received, in return, the softest and sweetest vows of love and fidelity, I trusted that the unequal value of the poor gift I offered would have found some compensation in the increase of wealth, which, in hands like your’s, would have proved a blessing to the world, and have extended your powers of generosity, liberality, and benevolence. Alas! Sir William, I am now deprived of that hope, and, stripped even of this little weight in the scale, the consciousness of total inferiority will no longer allow even a wish to retain your affections. Take back then, sir, your plighted faith, and every engagement to the unhappy Emily; banish her for ever from your remembrance; seek the happiness you so richly merit in some more fair, more deserving, more fortunate maid; and, that it may ever remain uninterrupted by the obtrusion of a single thought, or a sigh of recollection, shall be the earnest prayer of,
Sir,
Your obliged and faithful
AMELIA THOMPSON.”
A lover less ardent, a man less generous, might have received, from such intelligence, impressions unfavourable to love and friendship; but different, very different, were the effects produced by them in the mind of Sir William Fairborn. The first resolution, which presented itself, was to order post-horses instantly to his carriage, and to leave his business unfinished; but a moment’s recollection having suggested to him, that a delay of a few hours would prevent the necessity of another separation, he directed one of his own servants to hold himself in immediate readiness for a journey post to the metropolis, (his humanity not permitting him to return the wearied domestic of Mr. Thompson,) and in a few minutes he was dispatched with the following answers to the melancholy pacquet.
“To Miss THOMPSON.
“How can my dearest Amelia harbour suspicions so injurious to the honour, to the love, of her friend, her protector, her husband? She well knows I have ever considered myself as the trustee of the fortunes I possess, and that the increase of them would only have served to augment my cares in the application of the sacred deposit. My Amelia, too, has a mind infinitely superior to splendour of appearance and the glare of wealth, nor will she scruple to add, to the obligations she has conferred on me, that of consenting to share the diminished, yet still ample, fortunes, of her grateful, affectionate, devotes,
W. FAIRBORN.”
“To Eugenius THOMPSON, Esq.
“Dear Sir,
“MOST sincerely do I thank you for your justice to my honour and integrity, both which would have suffered the severest impeachment from an opinion contrary to that which you have so kindly formed in my favour; and most heartily, though rather for the sake of others than yourself, do I regret the loss of that fortune, which has been so worthily employed in promoting the happiness of every being within your reach. From the retrospect of the whole tenor of your life you will derive consolation to support you in your afflictions, and enable you to sustain misfortunes much more grievous than, I trust, will ever fall to your lot.
“You know, my dear sir, that I have ever been an œconomist, though I have by no means scrupled to indulge myself in every rational enjoyment; and, as I have money, to the amount of at least twenty thousand pounds, in the public funds, I have, by the bearer of this letter, given an order to my banker to sell out my stock, and to wait on you with the produce. I shall not apologize for insisting on its being applied in any manner that may be useful to you on the present occasion, as you have given me the highest proof of your confidence and esteem, in consenting to bestow on me that happiness, which no wealth could purchase, nor any addition of fortune increase.
“As my business here will be completed in a very few hours, I must console myself for a little farther separation from all I hold dear, by the consideration, that this delay of my happiness will prevent a farther encroachment on it, and that all my future care may be devoted to the invaluable charge, which I flatter myself I shall soon receive from your hands, and, with it, a claim to interest myself in your welfare as your son, as well as,
Dear Sir,
Your most obliged, faithful,
and humble servant,
W. FAIRBORN.”
This messenger was soon followed by the baronet in person, whose presence dispelled the anxious fears of the lovely Emily, and contributed to raise the spirits of her drooping parent, whose misfortunes, upon a close investigation of his affairs, appeared to be so very far from irretrievable, that it was apprehended the safe arrival of the West-India fleet, after reports had prevailed that it had fallen into the hands of the enemy, would, in a great measure, repair his loss and re-establish his credit.
Meantime, Sir William Fairborn, more impatient than ever to secure the blessing within his reach, pressed the celebration of his nuptials with such ardour and fervency, that, in three weeks after his return from his western journey, the marriage was announced in the public papers, to the utter discomfiture of the belles and flirts, who, on the failure of Mr. Thompson, had renewed their attacks on the person, title, and estate of the baronet; and to the astonishment of the whole polite world, who had already provided a hundred rich heiresses to hll the department in his heart, which it was impossible to suppose could any longer be occupied by the portionless Amelia Thompson.
Gratified in the great object of his anxious wishes, and no longer solicitous to raise a fortune, the possession of which, when obtained, he had found to be so very precarious, Mr. Thompson, after consulting his son and daughter on the subject, determined to relinquish his business, and retire into the country; and the balance, on winding up his affairs, appearing to amount to a sum which would place him in a state very far above mediocrity, he contracted for the purchase of an estate, on which was a comfortable mansion, within a very few miles of Sir William’s seat, in Dorsetshire, where he proposed to spend the principal part of his days, making occasional visits, in the winter, to his son and daughter in the metropolis.
CHAPTER IV.
The reader becomes acquainted with the hero of the
tale.
THIS happy family
thus disposed of, we shall leap over a period of twenty years, passed in
perfect felicity and domestic content; in the four first of which Sir William
and Lady Fairborn became parents of three sons and a daughter, all
participating the amiable dispositions of their excellent father and mother,
and promising a perpetuation of those admirable qualities, which drew respect,
even to veneration, on their names, and pointed them out as the brightest
examples of public and private virtue.
But we must apply to the pen of Sir
William himself to characterize his beloved offspring, who, in a letter to his
friend, Mr. Ellison, has happily described his family.
“The manhood of my two eldest sons,
and the approach of the third to that state, has indeed added to my cares; but
the investigation of their characters, and the appropriation of their different
dispositions and talents, have proved a source of amusement and delight; since,
in the performance of the former part of my task, I have discovered no such
blemishes as ought to give me pain, nor has the latter part of it been attended
by any of the difficulties which would arise from want of sincerity, obstinacy,
or self-opinion. Constantly accustomed to find their father their indulgent,
communicative friend, concealment and restraint are equally unnecessary and
unknown, and, in every proper instance, their secrets have been deposited with
him, and his counsels have guided their actions.
“Of William, my eldest son, you
already know enough to form your own judgement of his talents, temper, and
habits; but he wears, even to you, an air of reserve, which, notwithstanding
appearances, is much less the effect of gloom or dissatisfaction than of
unconquerable timidity, and a doubt of his own abilities, which neither the
most flattering commendations of his preceptors, nor the kind assurances of his
parents, have been able to remove; yet I do not despair but that general
converse with the world, which his travels on the continent will afford him,
and the variety of men and manners, which must necessarily fall in his way,
will open his mind to the comprehension of its own powers, and fit him for that
public sphere of action, for which no young man of the age is better qualified,
either in capacity or principles, and from which it is now almost time for his
father to retire. Whenever this event shall take place, and he succeeds to a
seat in parliament, I am perfectly satisfied he will tread in the steps of his
predecessor, and, scorning to own a party connexion, will disdain to act under
any other influence than the dictates of his own conscience, or to keep any
objects in his view but his allegiance to his sovereign, and the faithful
discharge of the trust reposed in him, to preserve unimpaired by encroachments
and unmutilated by faction, a constitution, from
which are derived the purest blessings of liberty, and on the preservation of
which depends the existence of the British empire.
Charles, my second son, now in his
twentieth year, was formed by nature for a soldier; his vigorous constitution
and athletic form are admirably adapted to a mind, firm, determined, and manly,
and a disposition open, generous, and friendly. From his infancy his diversions
and amusements were military; and, when he had asked and obtained my consent to
enter into the army, he solicited to be employed in the most active part of it,
and has already served three campaigns in a regiment of foot, on dangerous and
fatiguing service, with such a degree of reputation, both as an officer and a
gentleman, as warms my heart, and bids me look forward to his riper years for
great and glorious atchievements.
“Louisa,—but I may spare myself this
part of my task;—Mrs. Ellison is perfectly acquainted with all the virtues,
and, if her partial eye can discover any, all the imperfections, of her young
friend; and Mrs. Ellison is much too unfashionable a wife to have any
concealments from her husband.
“Francis, my third son, has now
almost reached his eighteenth year. His figure is uncommonly graceful, his
countenance so smilingly pleasing, and his manners so gentle and engaging, that
he never enters without attracting the notice of the company, nor departs
without making every one of them his friends. He has passed through his early
academic exercises with unusual rapidity, and is a very good, but, in my
opinion, not a deep, scholar. Though naturally lively and volatile, he has
dedicated a large portion of his time to reading, and is better acquainted not
only with history but the belles lettres than
could possibly be expected from a youth of his age and complexion.
“At school he has been equally the
delight and the terror of his masters, the favourite and the tyrant of his
companions, the idol of the unfortunate and necessitous, and the scourge of the
niggardly and worthless. Though his school-exercises were performed with such
exactness as to excite the continual praises of his instructors, yet the warmth
and impetuosity, not to say violence, of his temper, drew him into a thousand scrapes,
and engaged him in a variety of enterprises, which were continual sources of
uneasiness to those who had the care of his person and morals as well as of his
literary instruction; and, though the natural benevolence of his disposition
led him to the performance of every office of kindness to his school-fellows,
yet an ungrateful return for his favours, for an improper use of them, was sure
to be marked with punishment so exemplary, that the dread of falling under his
displeasure operated altogether as forcibly as the desire of obtaining his
esteem.
“His early exploits turned on the
protection of every animal, both in the human and brute creation, whose
inferiority of strength had subjected it to the merciless cruelty of conscious
power. In the rescue of lesser boys from the insults of superior strength, he
encountered various black eyes, bloody noses, and consequent flagellations;
and, in preserving from destruction devoted kittens, puppies, cockchafers, and
callow birds, he was involved in eternal squabbles, and was not unfrequently charged with carrying his humanity beyond the
strict line of justice, in laying violent hands on the property of his
neighbour, for the purpose of putting it out of the reach of such a disposition
as a legal title might warrant, but a merciful heart would shudder at.
“As he advanced in years, his
reason, still unused to the controul of discretion,
directed him to sufferers of other descriptions. The petty thief, whose
poverty, and not his will, consented to pilfer bread for a sick wife or an
infant family, was, in his opinion, a very unfit victim of legal vengeance; on
behalf of such a wretch, though silently abandoned by those who were really
virtuous, and loudly condemned by those who were pretendedly
so, did he lavish the liberal supplies furnished for his pocket by his
indulgent grandfather, and prostituted his opening talent of declamation in the
extenuation of such heinous offences; whilst the vices and follies of the
affluent and the great were the constant themes of his severest censure; and he
scrupled not to maintain, with vehemence of argument, that he, who withheld
from necessities which it was in his power to relieve, was a robber in a double
capacity, depriving the unfortunate of their due, and himself of the merit of
bestowing.
“With such principles, under the
influence of a warm imagination, untempered by a
communication with the world, and unacquainted with the various modifications
which have metamorphosed virtue into a science, and bound her in shackles of
form and ceremony, you will not be astonished to hear, that, by the time he had
entered his fifteenth year, common fame had bestowed on him the different
characters of a meddling, pert, and forward coxcomb; an easy, extravagant dupe;
an amiable portrait of nature, in colours which heaven alone could furnish; a
diamond of the first water, and a liberal, generous, and active, as well as
speculative, philanthropist.
“Such is my Francis, the darling of
his grandfather, with whom the greatest part of his school vacations, from his
infancy, have been spent; who has taken upon him the whole care of his
fortunes, whose partial eye can discover no defects in his composition, and who
cannot, without great difficulty, be brought to admit of the smallest degree of
imperfection.
“But, to me, whose affection is
somewhat more equally divided between him and the other branches of my family,
there appears no small hazard, that a disposition, naturally volatile, and a
mind, pliant, susceptible, and fanciful, may be too easily perversed,
and the first valuable impressions effaced by the too prevalent bias of that
world, which he is now about to enter, to vice, folly, and dissipation.
“Yet, after all, these are more the
expressions of doubt than of actual apprehension; never did a father form
higher expectations of a son than I do of this young man; and, grievous indeed
will be my disappointment, should the flattering prospects, which now present
themselves, be obscured by any future misconduct of Francis the Philanthropist.”
CHAPTER V.
In which the hero sets out on his journey.
I NEED not inform
thee, gentle reader, that the progress of human life is a journey; it is an
observation, almost co-eval with the world in which
we travel; that it is a journey, too, full of hills and sloughs, of
interruptions and difficulties, thine own experience
will have enabled thee to ascertain; for, though thou shouldest
have the comforts of a commodious equipage, a full purse, and a pleasant
companion; and though thy route should be over those delightful roads, which,
for the convenience of the valetudinary traveller,
extend from Hyde-park-corner to York-house, in the health-restoring realms of Bladud; yet thou wilt readily allow, that there are certain
ascents and descents to retard thy progress, certain inequalities and roughnesses to shake and discompose thy frame, and I will
stake my reputation as an author against thy veracity as a traveller, that, in
all thy journies to Bath, thou hast murmured at the
difference between the stage from Maidenhead
to Reading and that from Marlborough to the Devizes; and hast compared, with no trivial marks of
dissatisfaction, thine entertainment at ——, and ——,
and ——, with that of Salt-hill, Speenhamland, and
Marlborough.
But, if it has been thy misfortune
to travel in other directions, where execrable roads and worse inns were
rendered still more uncomfortable by an uneasy vehicle, a dissatisfied
fellow-traveller, and a scanty provision for thy journey, how many twitches and
twangs of mind hast thou felt! how many jolts and
pangs of body has thou endured! and unless, like me,
thou canst turn the edge of thine afflictions with a
smile, how many curses hast thou bestowed on the jumbling voiture, the
gloomy companion of thy sorrows, the villainous cooks, the uncivil hosts, the
hard beds, and the still harder fate of slender finances!
Yet, if thou hast hitherto made such
untoward journies, let me advise thee not to be
discouraged; unpropitious aspects often forerun happy events, and the evils, of
which we are most apt to complain, are not unfrequently
productive of the most favourable consequences.
And, as we are on the road together,
and thou peradventure not over-pleased with thy compagnon de v yage, I shall tell thee a travelling story; and, if it does not put thee in
good humour, why, e’en grumble on to the end of the
chapter, thou wilt find it long enough to try thy patience.
In the spring of the year 1781 two
English travellers, neither of the smellfungus, the mundungus, or she sentimental-sans-sentiment, tribe, set
out from
In consequence of their enquiries
for the best house, they were recommended to one, the mistress of which, by her
rotundity of figure and rubicundity of countenance,
promised to atone for their delay by affording them good humour and good cheer.
The alacrity of her deportment,
after she had received an affirmative to her demand of “Souperez-vous, Messieurs?” confirmed the travellers in both their expectations; for, having
required a state of her larder, she added, in her enumeration of the several
articles with which it was furnished, such luxurious descriptions and inviting
epithets, that the traveller who was in health had scarce patience to order
somewhat of every sort she had mentioned, and the appetite of the sick man
seemed to promise him a species of enjoyment, to which he had long been a
stranger: she had “du saumon,” she said, “que le roi ne’en mange
pas de meilleur;—des harengs
plus exquis que la table de
l’archevêque pourroit sournir;—et de la morüe toute vivante, qui venoit d’être attrapée, et qui pourroit transporter jusq’à Paris sans être gatee;—qu’elle avoit de vin de Burgogne, que les caves royales n’en pourroient
sournir de meilluer;”—and her cook was a cordon bleu.
Our travellers had no sooner issued
their orders for the preparation of repast, than a proposition was made by the
sick man to his companion to visit the repository of such dainties, that they
might feast their eyes with the sight of living cod, an exhibition to which
they had been total strangers during their residence in Paris, that and every
other species of sea-fish being generally in a state to emit certain unpleasing
tokens of mortality, long before it can be conveyed to that metropolis.
In pursuit of this previous
entertainment, they requested their hostess to conduct them to her larder,
which they had no sooner entered than their noses were saluted by an odour for
which they were totally unprepared, but which they immediately discovered to
proceed from a small piece of dried salmon, and a considerable bundle of red
herrings, which their loquacious conductress soon informed them were some of
the identical morsels, in praise of which she had been so extremely lavish.
Deprived of two-thirds of their
expectations, the disappointed travellers turned their attention to the living
cod, and eagerly demanded a sight of their only remaining hope; but, alas! after every shelf had been surveyed, every corner of the
sweet-scented store-room searched, they were mortified to death by an
exclamation of “Mon Dieu, la moruë est p rdu! Que
diable est
de venu la morüe?
Mari-Joseph! Nannette! va chercher la moruë; assurément l’abbé, qui vient de partir tantot, ne l’a
pas emporté!”
The ladies of the kitchen and
bed-chamber now appeared, the former producing the jaw of a cod on a small
plate, in weight about half a pound, and so highly favoured, that the same
quantity of musk would hardly have afforded stronger, or more powerful
effluvia; and this, she informed her mistress, was all that remained of the
fish, after the fat priest had supped on it, and the two marichausse had
taken what they liked.
Our travellers were too well
acquainted with the state of the country, through which they journeyed, to
express the smallest degree of resentment against any member of the church or
the police; on the contrary, they acknowledged, in terms of civility, their
gratitude to these illustrious anticipators for having left them any thing, and
retired to their apartment, determined to admit, and pay for, the miserable
remains, but to have recourse to the well of their carriage for the means of
making their meal.
The whole accommodations of the
house were of a piece with the contents of the larder; the wine was sour, the
sheets wet, the windows broken, the warming-pan out of repair, and the servants
unapprehensive and impertinent. The traveller in
health was disconcerted, the sick man distressed, and they lay down without
even the cordial night-cap of good-humour to lull them to rest or insure them
refreshment.
Under such circumstances they needed
no awakening drum, but were eager to start with the dawn; and, having demanded
their horses from the post-master, nothing remained but to satisfy the
expectations of their hostess for their execrable entertainment.
For this purpose a bill was ordered,
but she appeared without it, and, on its being required, gave certain omen of
intended extortion, by replying, “C’est que je ne s ai pas trop bien écrire, malheureusement.”—
She was now desired to signify the
amount of her charge, but, to such a requisition, a direct answer would have
been impolitic; she prefaced her’s with “Mais en conscience, messieurs, je ne vous
surchargerai pas un seul liard, tout le monde me connoit pour une femme raisonable;” and then announced 27 livres,
being somewhat above Il. 3s. English.
His temper soured by repeated
disappointments, his spirits ruffled, and his pains augmented by the want of
rest and accommodation, such enormous imposition threw the unfortunate
valetudinarian entirely off his guard; he fell into a violent rage, cursed the
country, the house, the fat landlady, and every article of her poisonous
entertainment; nor could the remonstrances, and even
entreaties, of his companion, reduce him to reason, till, in a paroxysm of
passion, he burst an imposthume, which had formed
itself on his lungs,—the contents of which being plentifully discharged by his
mouth, put an end at once to his vociferation, and the rupture to his disorder.
For, this extraordinary accident
having given him immediate relief from the most excruciating pain, the bill was
paid without farther altercation, the travellers pursued their journey to the
metropolis of Great Britain in such spirits as could receive no check from the
little inconveniencies of the road, and, the happy discovery which had been
made being communicated to a skilful physician at their arrival, his
prescriptions were productive of the most salutary effects, and our traveller,
restored to perfect health, fails not, at least once after every meal, to drink
long life to the plump landlady at Pont-à-marque.
Now, if, in the journey through
these little volumes, thou shouldest happen to find
certain chapters, or certain parts of chapters, dull, unentertaining,
or uninteresting, let me advise thee to consult thy pulse, for peradventure thy
mortal frame is discomposed by disorder, or to examine thy mental faculties,
which may probably be disconcerted by disappointments, and thou mayest be able to convince thyself, that the defects are thine and not the author’s; and, under this conviction, mayest be able to relish the entertainment which he has
provided for thee.
Or, if thou shouldest
fail to make such discoveries as will reconcile thee to his labours, still let
me admonish thee to read on; some unexpected sally may provoke a smile, and, if
it does, cherish it as the herald of good humour, who wishes to conduct thee to
health and happiness.
But it was neither from Paris to Pont-à-marque, or from Pont-àmarque to Paris, that Francis the Philanthropist was about to travel; his intended journey was only from Mr. Thompson’s seat, in Dorsetshire, to the university of Oxford, where it was intended that he should finish his classical studies, and complete that part of his education.
The time being fixed for his departure, and his allowance being settled on the most liberal plan by his generous grandfather, nothing remained but the choice of such an attendant as might answer the double purpose of a servant, and a watchful, though humble, friend.
And, on this occasion, it was impossible that the choice should fall on any other than Jeremy Twister, with whose pretensions to a charge of so important a nature the reader will be acquainted in the following short history.
Jeremiah Twister had, at the age of seven years, been apprenticed from a parish in the west of England to the master of a merchant-ship, who, happening some time after to engage in the employ of Mr. Thompson, had the honour to entertain his owner and a party of his friends on board the ship he commanded, soon after her arrival in the river from a voyage to some of the ports of Italy. At this entertainment the honest tar strained every nerve to give tokens of his gratitude to a generous employer, and his sense of the favour then conferred on him; and young Twister, who possessed penetration enough to discover, in four years apprenticeship, that he had a kind and indulgent master, and virtue enough to acknowledge his kindness and indulgence by every effort in his power of assiduity and faithfulness, in a strenuous exertion to mount aloft and let fly the colours, the moment the owner should set his foot on the deck, had the misfortune to miss his hold; and, though his fall was somewhat broken by the rigging, so that his life was preserved, yet he did not escape without a fractured thigh, an accident which was announced in terms of seaman-like pity by the whole ship’s crew, and had no sooner reached the ears of the captain, than he declared, with an oath which did him much more credit as a man than a christian, “that he had rather have carried away his main-topmast in a gale of wind, or lost his reckoning in foul weather, than poor Jerry should have been brought to the splicing-block.”
These exclamations having drawn the attention of the company, and, among the rest, of the humane and liberal Mr. Thompson, he ordered all possible care to be taken of the poor little sufferer, and gave particular directions that he should be conveyed to his own house in town the moment he could be removed with safety; and, these injunctions being faithfully complied with, he was, about six weeks after, brought to Tower-wharf, in the ship’s boat, and thence to Mr. Thompson’s house, in a hackney-coach, where he was committed to the immediate care of the house-keeper and butler, who had both lived too long in the service of the best master in the world, to require any more than an intimation of his wishes on any point of charity, benevolence, or humanity.
In a very few weeks the little fellow began to crawl about the house, and, by his zealous endeavours to repay, in acts of gratitude, the care and attention he had received, he, in a very few weeks more, crept into the hearts, not only of the two upper servants, but of every individual domestic in the family.
As his recovery advanced, apprehensions arose that he would be returned to his former employment, against which event the good butler presumed to protest, in the form of insinuations to his master, that “poor Jerry would never be strong enough again for a seaman,”—that “another fall would cripple him for life,”—that “it was a thousand pities such a handy boy, and so good humoured, and so civil, should be sent among a parcel of rough tars, where his morals would be debauched, and he would learn to curse and swear, and forget the good order he had been accustomed to in his honour’s house;”—and the house-keeper more explicitly solicited her young lady to ask her father’s permission that Jerry might become one of the family.
Under these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at, that a youth, who appeared to have conciliated, in so extraordinary a degree, the regards of those to whose protection he had been committed, should attract the notice of Mr. Thompson and his daughter. He was now frequently sent for into the parlour, the state of his strength enquired after, and his inclinations sounded as to his return to captain Capstern; and his replies were always so artlessly honest, and so bluntly civil, that he soon carried his favoritism one step higher, and made a very considerable progress in the good graces of Mr. Thompson and his amiable daughter.
As Jeremy betrayed no very strong marks of desire to resume his former way of life, so no propositions of the kind were ever made to him, but he continued in the family as a sort of supernumerary, ready to step into any place where absence, sickness, or other accident, made a vacancy, but obtruding himself on no department; nor was he ever known to shew the smallest mark of dissatisfaction at any proposal that was made to him, but once, when his friend, the butler, offered to speak to Mr. Thompson to give him a livery, on which occasion he ventured to remark, that no other coat than a pay-jacket could become a sea-boy; and, from this moment, he was indulged in this particular till he grew to manhood, when he exchanged it for a blue coat, with narrow open sleeves, and buttons of the same colour; the other parts of his dress consisting of a short scarlet waistcoat, black plush breeches, grey worsted stockings, sharp-pointed shoes, buckles of an enormous size, and a hat perfectly triangular, with the brims nautically depressed to the crown.
Nor did this singularity of dress subject him to the smallest degree of ridicule; the simplicity of his manners, the integrity of his heart, the mildness of his deportment, and, above all, the universal good will which he bore to all human beings, secured him the respect of all who knew him, and the affection of those who moved in the same domestic circle.
To his patron (for Mr. Thompson would by no means permit Jeremiah to call him master) his gratitude and attachments were boundless and immoveable; he loved him, not from interested motives, but from admiration of his virtues, and he served him with a fidelity, which could only be rewarded by the condescending acceptance and acknowledgements, which were manifested from a thousand of those minute intelligencers, that dwell in the smiles of complacency, and float on the accents of heart- bestowed approbation.
During the time Mr. Thompson continued engaged in a line of commerce, the employments of honest Jeremy were various. He was the bearer of confidential messages, the purveyor of little parties of pleasure and amusement, the promoter of all domestic petitions and requests, and the happy instrument of distributing that bounty, which flowed in constant streams from the hearts and purses of this most amiable and excellent father and daughter.
In addition to these avocations, Jeremy had made two voyages, one to the West-Indies, the other to the Mediterranean; the first, to convey to England the orphan-daughter of a friend and correspondent of Mr. Thompson, who had bequeathed the infant to his care; the second, to return to his parents a youth who had received his education under the eye of the same gentleman, and whose welfare and safety were much too dear to them to be entrusted to a common servant; and, on both occasions, he had acquitted himself with so much discretion as to merit the warmest acknowledgements of the interested parties, and to increase the esteem of his already-affectionate employer.
The retirement of Mr. Thompson into the country made but little alteration in the departments occupied by Jerry Twister: his business indeed was somewhat lessened, but his amusements were increased; the system of rural œconomy afforded him unceasing pleasure; and he took upon himself the offices of gamekeeper, fisherman, and poultryman, for each of which he was qualified by activity, patience, and tenderness.
At this period of our history he had nearly reached his forty-ninth year. His figure was rather short, squat, and square; his cheek-bones high, his eyes grey and small, his nose sharp, his chin short, his mouth somewhat wide, but pursed up by a contraction which partook, in equal degrees, of smile and grin; his hair, which had been black, but began to admit a mixture, hung in short curls round his head; and his neck, which somewhat resembled a bull’s, was bound with a silk handkerchief, confined by a seaman’s knot to a tightness which drove his blood into his face, and seemed to threaten immediate strangulation.
To what has been already intimated, concerning the ornaments of his mind, may be added, that his expression was quaint, sententious, and phraseological, and that he was a wit, a philosopher, and a poet.
Such were the qualifications which united to recommend Jerry Twister to an office, on the faithful and able discharge of which depended, in the opinion of Mr. Thompson, a considerable part of the credit and happiness of his adopted and darling child.
But we should not deal candidly by our readers if we attempted to conceal another recommendation, which, we apprehend, had at least an equal weight in the scale, and we are rather inclined to believe actually preponderated in favour of this appointment;—Mr. Thompson himself could hardly entertain a higher degree of affection, or a warmer attachment to Mr. Francis Fairborn, than did his honest, humble, grateful, domestic.
From his earliest infancy Jerry Twister had been his attendant, his play-fellow, and his friend; he fabricated paper kites for him of astonishing dimensions, and elevated them to the most uncommon heights, with lanterns of unusual magnitude and lustre.—He broke-in a poney, which had been presented to him by his grandfather, and practised on its docility till it would not only carry its little owner with ease and safety, but would play a number of tricks and gambols for his diversion and amusement.—He procured him a light and elegant fowling-piece, and attended him on shooting-parties, unknown to his grandfather, whose care and anxiety for the fond object of his hopes would have restrained him from the pursuit of sports, in which he might, in his apprehension, incur a considerable degree of risque and danger.—He furnished him with all the materials for angling, provided him bats and balls for cricket, fed his birds, nursed his puppy, managed his rabbits, joined him in every plan which his little heart suggested of conferring happiness on those who seemed to want it, and scrupled not to promote innocent schemes of revenge on those who had incurred the displeasure of our young philanthropist by acts of inhumanity or ill-nature, which were almost the only offences that could excite his anger.
Grateful then was the proposition to our intended traveller, and thrice grateful to honest Jerry, whose utmost wish was accomplished in his preference to a trust, in the performance of which his attachment to his old patron, his affection to his young charge, and his laudable pride and ambition, would all receive the highest gratification.
Hitherto, however, we have only exhibited one side of our account, for this, like most other accounts, had two sides, and the other presented a formidable set of items, to be opposed to those already produced, consisting of the vacancies which the absence of Jeremiah would occasion in the offices of almoner and walking and riding companion to Mr. Thompson,—of gamekeeper, guardian of the poultry-yard, and purveyor of river-fish.
But, as the wise and gracious Power, who governs our actions and intentions, seldom suffers us to be at a loss to supply any apparent deficiencies, if we choose to lay hold of the means that offer; so, in this case, candidates of unquestioned characters and abilities appeared to discharge the different functions of Jeremiah’s various employments, as deputies or substitutes to this much-admired domestic officer.
Mr. Thompson’s personal loss was worthily supplied by the grey-headed curate of the parish; a venerable clergyman, whose virtue and integrity had, at the close of fifty years laborious and exemplary ministry, advanced him from a curacy of 25l.a year to one of 40l. and that almost doubled by the liberality of Mr. Thompson, on which income he lived, an honour to his sacred profession, and a disgrace to dignities and mitres.
The worthy son of a farmer in the parish, whose only relaxations from labour were dedicated to the sports of the field, in which he had been encouraged by Jerry as a much better shot than himself, solicited to be placed on the temporary establishment as superintendent of the game and fishery.
And, happily for Mr. Thompson, for Jerry, and for herself, the government of the poultry-yard was bestowed on the industrious widow of a blameless labourer, who had left her to struggle with three infant children, in a world which hardly promised to afford them a means of existence.
The balance of the account was now clearly in favour of Jerry Twister’s wishes, all difficulties were surmounted, no obstacle occurred, and the day appointed for the departure of Mr. Francis and his humble guardian, arrived, without the intervention of any sinister event to retard their journey, to cloud the pleasing prospects which presented themselves to the active mind of the young academician, or check that honest triumph of his faithful companion, on his preferment to an office which he felt so highly pleasing, and esteemed so truly honourable.
On the morning of that day, Mr. Thompson having summoned Mr. Francis to his closet, and bespoke his attention for a few minutes on a subject of the most important nature, proceeded to offer him such advice, on the regulation of his conduct in life, as might be expected from his wisdom, his experience, and the paternal affection which he bore for the hero of our tale.
“My child,” says he, “you are now about to embark on that ocean in which so many adventurers perish; the distant prospect presents it in a state of serenity, and the sun-beams of youthful imagination play chearfully on its seemingly-unruffled surface; but, however calm and pleasing the present appearance may be, however prosperous the gale which wafts you from the shore, storms will arise to disturb, rocks appear to perplex, and fogs interpose to misguide, you in your long and doubtful passage; and, to pursue the metaphor a moment longer, the dangers of the voyage can only be averted by your own care and attention, and by a reliance on that Being, who can alone support you in the most arduous attempts, and rescue you from the most perilous situations.
“From the most scrutinizing attention to your temper, disposition, and all the actions of your childhood and youth, I am satisfied that I have nothing to fear from your principles; heartily do I wish that I had as little ground for my apprehensions on the score of your passions; for, though your duty and respect to your parents, and those to whose care you have been committed, have hitherto restrained them within decent bounds, yet my Francis must himself have discovered that they are warm, impetuous, and somewhat ungovernable, and it is to the correction of your passions that my advice will principally tend.
“Hard is my task when I attempt to set bounds to your pity and benevolence, yet too great an indulgence, even in these most amiable feelings, will throw you off the guard of discretion, and render you an easy dupe to fraud, deceit, and iniquity: when, therefore, you are assailed by the appearance of distress or the tale of woe, suffer not your heart to be too hastily interested, but compromise with your inclinations, afford temporary assistance, examine the case with minute, but delicate, attention, and, when you find the object truly deserving, consult the strength of your purse and your power, and employ both with liberality and spirit.
“Yet, in the defence of the injured or oppressed, (for the sweetness of your deportment will, I trust, secure you from offence yourself,) proceed not with violence; represent, expostulate, solicit; but if, after having tried these means without success, you are forced into a quarrel, go through it with resolution, though even then with moderation, and embrace the first advances to conciliation.
“Above all, my dear boy! guard yourself against the allurements of vice, and the equally dangerous, though less dreaded, fascinations of pleasure; nor let the solicitations or examples of your companions work on your too easy nature, and seduce you from those paths which can only be trodden with safety, and which, once quitted, are not, without great difficulty, to be regained; conscious rectitude and an unblemished reputation, are sacrifices too precious to be offered at the altar of complaisance or the shrine of pliability.
“Select your acquaintance, not from the most showy, but the most steady; brilliancy of parts, unregulated by the sober directions of reason, is always dangerous, and often destructive: the flash of wit is calculated to dazzle and mislead, reason emits a mild and temperate ray to light us to honour and happiness; and, to that almost-unerring guide I commit you, with the blessings of a fond and affectionate parent.”
Tears of sensibility, gratitude, and momentary regret, had stolen down the cheeks of our young traveller during the whole of this engaging and instructive lesson: at the conclusion of it he had lost the power of utterance, and, every effort to speak proving ineffectual, he dropt on his knee, imprinted the warmest kiss of grateful and dutiful affection on the hand of his venerable grandfather, and a scene ensued which can only be related, as it passed, in audible silence.
Jerry Twister now approached to bid farewel to his kind, his generous, benefactor, and to receive any instructions he might choose to give as to his performance of the office he had undertaken; and, as for the last twenty years he had never been absent from Mr. Thompson a single day, the present separation, though but for a few months, produced such a conflict of contending passions in the mind of Jeremiah, that he found himself wholly disqualified for delivering a speech of two lines, which he had prepared for the momentous occasion.
Mr. Thompson, though little less affected at the departure of his worthy dependent than at the loss of his beloved grandson, was the first to “give sorrow words.”—Having seized the humbly-reluctant hand of Jerry Twister, he mingled his wishes for his health and long life with such kind and condescending acknowledgments for his acceptance of this new employment, that the tender-hearted veteran, unable to stem the torrent of gratitude and affection, which rushed upon him with such violence as almost to overpower his reason, fell involuntary on his knees, and, in strains of vehemence, interrupted by sobs and tears, intreated his benevolent patron, for the love of God, to spare his life:—“You know, sir,” says he, “that I hate words; for why? words are but wind; if I have desired to attend Master Francis, why, (no offence, I hope, to your honour,) it was, because I love him as the son of my own body: and no thanks neither; for who does not love Master Francis? and why? one good turn deserves another, and Master Francis loves every body.”
“Jeremiah,” replied Mr. Thompson, “I have no doubt but your personal regard to my child was a very strong inducement with you to accept this employment, but I know also that you are equally influenced by your grateful attachment to me; and, acting as you do, under both these motives, I am persuaded the care of the young man could not have been more worthily committed to any human being.
“But, perfectly satisfied as I am with having provided for him an attendant, or, as I hope he will always rather consider you, a companion, of whose probity, attention, and affection, I have the most perfect opinion, I cannot see you depart together without an observation or two, which may prove as useful to yourself as to him.
“The danger, to which a youth of his disposition will be chiefly exposed, arises from the goodness of his heart, which, unconscious of deceit itself, entertains no suspicion of others; and hence follows a too ready propensity to form connexions upon slight acquaintances, and very superficial knowledge of the characters, conditions, and situations in life, of those who are candidates for his favour and friendship.
“Let it be your care, Jeremiah, to caution him on this head as often as occasion presents itself and opportunity offers: Francis, you know, is neither proud, insolent, or headstrong; he will listen to your advice with complacency, because he will be convinced that it is offered by a sincere, though humble, friend.
“But there is another subject on which I wish to add a few words, because, I think, you are nearly as much interested in it as the young man whom you are to accompany.
“It does
not appear to me, Jeremiah, that either Francis or yourself possess any
considerable degree of worldly prudence, I mean with respect to the management
of money-matters, for I verily believe that neither of you would hesitate to
part with the last shilling you possess to relieve real, or, what must operate
in exactly the same way on the unsuspicious, represented distress. Now, though
nothing in this world can be so delightful as the performance of acts of
generosity, liberality, and benevolence, yet they ought always to be so performed
as to leave you possessed of power to repeat them, when other solicitations,
equally pressing, may offer, and, if possible, so as that they may not be
misplaced.”
During this last period of Mr.
Thompson’s address to him, the eyes of Jerry Twister were alternately engaged
in watching the countenance of his patron and in a survey of his own person,
much too significantly conveyed to escape the observation of Mr. Thompson, who
fully comprehended his meaning without an explanation, which Jerry, however,
thought it necessary to give in the following reply:
“Why, to be sure, as your honour says, and I believe the scripture too, ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive;’ and, if you will be pleased to cast your eyes about you, and reflect half a minute, you will neither be offended or surprised at that want of prudence in Jerry Twister, which you have taught him to despise.—Odds heart, sir! how can you expect me to refuse lending a helping hand to a brother in distress, when you yourself have been loading me with kindness these seven-and-thirty years, and giving me, every hour in the day, what I neither want, desire, or deserve? howsomever, I shall take care that Master Francis does not outrun the constable; but, if he has a mind to purchase a little of that pleasure which your honour was speaking of, instead of spending his money in fine clothes and raree-shows, let him oppose him that will, but it shan’t be Jerry Twister.”
This was probably the longest speech Jeremiah had ever uttered in the whole course of his life, and so completely were his oratorical faculties exhausted by this exertion, that no efforts of Mr. Thompson could extort from him another sentence; and when; at his leaving the room, his generous patron presented him with a purse of gold, of no inconsiderable value, he only pronounced aloud the monosyllables “too much,” and muttered, in a key too low to be perfectly intelligible, that he supposed Master Francis would have occasion enough for it.
The chaise was at the gate, the trunks fixed, the postillion mounted, and the youth, with eager pace, hurrying to the carriage, round which all the servants of the family were gathered to pour their last blessings on their universal favourite, when, in his hastening through the passage, he trod on the foot of an old spaniel, who had been the play-fellow of his infancy and the companion of his boyism. The cry of the animal penetrated his soul; he looked down, and the faithful quadruped had raised himself on his feeble legs to express, by the fondest tokens of brute affection, his sense of the accident. In such a moment it was too much to be borne; he seized the poor creature in his arms, hugged him to his heart, shed a flood of tears on him, and, delivering him with the extremest tenderness to the butler, bespoke for him, in silent gesticulation, his care and protection. The domestics wept before, their grief was now audible; he bowed and kissed his hand to each individual, flung himself into the chaise, and, being followed by Jerry, who seemed to have lost all other sense but that of motion, the scene shifted, and, at the distance of three miles from the hospitable mansion of Mr. Thompson, our young traveller had so far recovered as to enquire of his companion the hour of the day.
Silence once broken, a conversation ensued, in the course of which the gloom, which at first hung round our travellers, gradually diminished, and, by the time they arrived at the end of the first stage, they were perfectly capable of giving their orders with spirit, and of pursuing their journey with alacrity.
CHAPTER VI.
In which atonement is made for the length of the last.
READER, if thou has ever been upon the turf, and has travelled from London to Newmarket, and from Newmarket to London, thou mayest have observed, indeed it could hardly escape thine observation, that the mile-stones appear to be placed at much wider distances in the outward than in the homeward journey; and the reason is as obvious as the observation; thou hast travelled to Newmarket big with expectation, and eager to grasp the golden prizes which were to be won, unquestionably won, by Firetail, Blacklegs, and Potatooooooo. But the race is not always to the swift; honest art and noble jockeyship have interposed; Firetail has been distanced, Blacklegs fallen lame, and Potatooooooo run the wrong side of the post:—then comes a reckoning, a dreadful reckoning; empty pocket-books,—bankers accounts,—exhausted credit,—bets to be be paid the moment of arrival in town.—What, at Hockrill already! damn this fellow, he’ll kill my horses! why the mile-stones move to meet us!
And, are
not these the common symptoms which mark the progress of human life? do we not look forward from infancy to youth, and from youth
to manhood, with fond and flattering expectation of some hitherto-unattained
pleasure? do not the lingering moments seem arrested in their progress, and the
dull finger of Time too slowly move from point to point till we have passed the
summit on which our hopes were fixed, and begin to slide involuntarily into the
vale of years? Alas! how different then our
sensations! how rapidly fly the days, the months, the
years! Forty! and fifty! and
sixty! and the numbered days of man, how swiftly do ye
approach! how gladly should we then command the sun
to stand still in
Critic, I am aware of thy strictures,—“trite remarks,”—“common-place observations,”—“wretched gleanings from better books,”—“unmeaning trash, introduced to eke out a chapter,”—“the common trick of scribblers,”—“borrow, and borrow, and borrow!”—Hold, critic! whilst I tell thee a short story.
Richard Savage, the ingenious, the dissipated, the unfortunate, Richard Savage, put the manuscript of one of his poems into the hands of ——, no matter whom, he may read and apply,—a critic.—After keeping it three weeks, the poet, whose occasions grew pressing, requested his friend to return it, with his opinion, which was delivered in the following words: “Very pretty, Savage, very pretty indeed; but the serious part, those lines about the —— what is it? “Upon the creation you mean?” “Yes, about the creation; they are flat, Savage, rather flat, something in the Old-Testament way; could not you get your friend Thomson to dash a few lines for you there?” Savage bowed, and applied.—Thomson, whose candour was only equalled by his abilities, returned the manuscript to Savage the next day, with the following short note.
“Dear Savage,
“I HAVE read and admired the poem. The lines cavilled at by —— are the best in the piece; but, take my word, he never read more than the two first of them. I have transcribed the part; shew it to him as mine, and he will be caught.
Your’s,
J. THOMSON.”
Savage followed his advice; the critic took the bait, he read, and was in raptures. The poem was published; the critic puffed it to the skies, but took care to point out Thomson’s lines to every human being.—At length the poets discovered the deceit, and the crest-fallen critic was under the necessity of rescuing his literary reputation at the expence of a round confession, “that the subject was dull, and he took it for granted the poetry must be insipid.”——Critic of the present hour, apply!—
Too soon advanced the night for our impatient young traveller, yet was not the day-light prolonged a moment beyond the usual time to light him on his way, nor was the motion of the wheels in the smallest degree quickened to keep pace with the impetuosity of his imagination, but both sun, moon, and post-boys, pursued their usual courses, without any extraordinary occurrence to mark the progress of our hero, till his arrival at ——, where he intended to dine on the day of his departure from the seat of his grandfather.
After giving the necessary orders for his repast, he proposed to his companion to employ the half-hour, which would be required to prepare it, in visiting the public walk, the church, and the town-hall, each of which had been mentioned to him as worthy his notice. As he approached the latter building, he observed the doors open, end a considerable croud about the entrance; and, on enquiring the occasion, was informed that a court was, at that time, held there, for the determination of questions arising on demands for small sums. As he had never been present at the proceedings in any court of justice, he determined to avail himself of the present opportunity to hear some of those petty trials, which, though not conducted with all the forms required in superior tribunals, might serve to give him some idea of the manner in which justice is administered. For this purpose he mingled with a party of the suitors, and soon found himself placed in a commodious situation to see and hear what passed, an accommodation which he owed to the civility of the presiding officer, who had marked his endeavours to get forward, and distinguished him from those whose busy countenances bespoke their unsatisfied claims, and the wretches who, from lack of ability or inclination, were too tardy in complying with their demands.
Several causes were heard, in which, to the great satisfaction of Mr. Francis, rapacity, on the one hand, had been properly checked, and supplicating poverty, on the other, protected and indulged, when the name of a defendant was announced, which seemed to take the attention of the whole audience, and whose appearance excited, in our young philanthropist, sensations of the most opposite natures; for, in almost the same moment, he was subject to the impressions of grief and joy, of pity and the sublimest satisfaction.
Through a silent and respectful croud advanced to the bar, supported on crutches, a youth of the most amiable and striking aspect. He did not appear to be more than twenty, though perhaps his emaciated frame and pallid countenance might have deprived him of two or three years manhood. His dress was a thread-bare scarlet frock, brushed to a degree of niceness, and a perfectly-clean, but well-worn, white waistcoat and breeches: his hair which was of the lightest brown, was tied and pinned with the utmost neatness, which, being dressed without powder, added to the elegance of a face, every feature of which was uncommonly dignified, expressive, and pleasing. He was attended by a clean, but meanly-dressed, person, of at least fifty years old, in the lineaments of whose hard and war-battered face might be discovered affection, concern, respect, and indignant solicitude. He walked by the side of his crippled master, and carried for him his hat and his handkerchief.
As he drew near the bar, the president and his fellows, from an involuntary impulse, rose to receive him, and his graceful bow to the court was returned, not from every head only, but from every heart.
In language which reflected honour on his humanity, the presiding officer acquainted him, that he had been summoned before him to shew cause why he neglected to discharge a debt of forty shillings to a woman, who asserted that she had supplied him with some necessaries in a long and dangerous sickness.
The unfortunate debtor, having listened to the charge with the most patient and attentive countenance, addressed himself to the president in the following words.
“To deny the debt, demanded of me, would be to add injustice to injury; it is a debt honestly due, and requires of me more than retribution,—it requires gratitude and acknowledgement; nor do I believe my creditor would have enforced payment, if she had not been compelled to a measure, apparently severe, by the necessities of an infant family. Conscious of such obligation, what must be my feelings, constrained as I am, in this public manner, to avow my inability to discharge so trifling and so just a debt! My pay, as a subaltern officer, has been exhausted in the cure of wounds, not ingloriously received; my friends too, my dearest friends, have fallen.——But I trespass on your time and intrude on your sensibility;—in one month I shall be intitled to such a sum as will enable me to be just.—would to God it may ever be in my power to be grateful.”
A murmur of respectful pity ran through the whole assembly, the president himself was too much affected to reply, he could only bow his approbation of the proposition; when the plaintiff made her way to the bar, and informed the court and the defendant, that a relation of his, who had arrived in the town whilst the cause was hearing, had discharged her demand, and generously added a guinea for her forbearance, and that he now waited for the captain at his lodgings, where he desired to see him immediately.
The confusion of the mangled soldier, at the public exposure of his poverty, could only be equalled by his astonishment at so strange, so unexpected, an event. He knew that his father was descended from a family, noble and affluent; but he knew also that he had been rejected by every branch of it on his marriage with a young lady, who wanted every requisite to make the marriage-state happy, except beauty, sense, consummate virtue, and the most amiable disposition, qualifications which could by no means atone for a deficiency in the most essential article: in plain English, it was a match of love; the lady, though honourably born and elegantly bred, did not possess a single shilling, in consideration of which defect, it was held necessary to punish her in the person of her husband, from whom all the patronage of his powerful relations was immediately withdrawn; and, twenty-four years after the marriage, his name stood on the army-list as eldest lieutenant in a regiment of foot on service in America, where he was reported to have fallen, but whether only wounded or actually slain, his son, who had served in a different quarter, had not been able to discover, and his family had not thought it worth while to enquire.
It was not, therefore, probable that his noble relations, to whom he had applied by letter immediately after his return to England without obtaining the least notice, should, after ten months total neglect, take the pains to enquire into his situation; nor, if any accident should have recalled him to their remembrance, was it likely that either of them would condescend to pay him a visit, for the purpose of rescuing him from distress.—The corps in which he had served, any officer of which, he was well assured, would have travelled five hundred miles, and have parted with the last guinea, to assist him, still remained on the other side of the Atlantic; and, if any one of them had been in Great-Britain, it would have been almost impossible for him to discover the place of his residence.—Besides, it was a relation who expected him at his lodgings, and to whom he had been already so greatly indebted.—His only sister had accompanied his father to America, and, should she have survived him, he had little reason to suppose she could be in such circumstances as would admit of her undertaking a journey to him, much less of being able to administer to his necessities.
Every suggestion which his mind presented to him, as he hobbled to his lodging, seemed to be equally ill-founded; nor were his difficulties at all lessened on his arrival there, for, instead of his benevolent relation, he found only the following note, which had been left, about ten minutes before, by a waiter from the principal inn in the town.
“Dear Sir,
“I RELY on your goodness to excuse the liberty I have taken in claiming a relationship to you; nor is the pretence wholly groundless, for I am convinced we have kindred souls. I could not presume to intreat your becoming my debtor for the inclosed trifle, if I was not absolutely certain that it is impossible for you to discover your creditor till he demands re-payment, which shall be the moment you are perfectly recovered, and in possession of a fortune equal to your merit.”
CHAPTER VII.
The journey completed with a single adventure.
“JERRY,” says the philanthropist, as the chaise ascended a hill, about six miles from the house where the dinner had been ordered, “I never was so oppressed with hunger in my life as at this moment; how far do you apprehend it is to the end of this stage?”—“About six miles,” replied Jerry; “but, as your appetite is so sharp, pray, sir, why did you leave that excellent dinner untouched at ——, for which you will perceive, by this bill, I have paid no less than seven shillings?”
Now, the truth was, that when Mr. Francis had returned to his inn from the court of justice, his attention was so fully employed