'Why!' exclaimed I, with mingled astonishment and indignation. 'A peer of the realm to be thus profligate in principle, and not excite my anger!'—'What is a peer of the realm, but a man educated in vice, nurtured in prejudice from his earliest childhood, and daily breathing the same infectious air he first respired! A being to be pitied!'—'Despised!'—'I was but three days in this earl's house. The false colouring given me by his agent first induced me to enter it; but I was soon undeceived.'—

'Well but, a churchman! A divine! A bishop! A man consecrated to one of the highest of earthly dignities!' 'Consecrated? There are many solemn but pernicious pantomimes acted in this world!'—'Suffer me to say, Mr. Turl, that to speak irreverently of consecrated things does not become a man of your understanding.' 'I can make no answer to such an accusation, Mr. Trevor, except that I must speak and think as that understanding directs me. Enlighten it and I will speak better. But what is it in a bishop that is consecrated? Is it his body, or his mind? What can be understood by his body? Is it the whole mass? Imagine its contents! Holy? "An ounce of civet, good apothecary!" That mass itself is daily changing: is the new body, which the indulgence of gluttonous sensuality supplies, as holy as the old? If it be his mind that is consecrated, what is mind, but a succession of thoughts? By what magic are future thoughts consecrated? Has a bishop no unholy thoughts? Can pride, lust, avarice, and ambition, can all the sins of the decalogue be consecrated? Are some thoughts consecrated and some not? By whom or how is the selection made? What strange farrago of impossibilities have these holy dealers in occult divinity jumbled together? Can the God of reason be the God of lies?'

There was so much unanswerable truth in these arguments, that I listened in speechless amazement. At last I replied, 'I am almost afraid to hear you, Mr. Turl.'—'Yes; it is cowardice that keeps mankind fettered in ignorance.'—'Well but, this bishop? Does he not live in a state of concubinage?'—'The scene of sensuality that you have painted makes the affirmative probable.'—'And my defence of the articles? I will publish it immediately; with a preface stating the whole transaction.'—'You will be to blame.'—'Why so?'—You may be better employed.'—'What! than in exposing vice?'—'The employment is petty; and what is worse, it is inefficient. The frequent consequence of attacking the errors of individuals is the increase of those errors. Such attacks are apt to deprave both the assailant and the assailed. They begin in anger, continue in falsehood, and end in fury. They harden vice, wound virtue, and poison genius. I repeat, you may be better employed, Mr. Trevor.'—'And is your rule absolute?'—'The exceptions are certainly few. Exhibit pictures of general vice, and the vicious will find themselves there; or, if they will not, their friends will.'—'This Enoch, too!—'Is I believe a mean and selfish character; though I by no means think the action at which you have taken offence is the strongest proof of his duplicity. To decide justly, we must hear both parties. He saw your passions inflamed. It was probable you would have opposed his going to the bishop; though, if he in any manner interfered, to go was an act of duty.'

The reasonings of Turl in part allayed the fever of my mind, but by no means persuaded me to desist from the design of inflicting exemplary disgrace on the earl and the prelate.

Though a stern opposer of many of my principles, his manners were attentive, winning, and friendly. Being better acquainted with the town than I was, he undertook to procure me a neat and cheap apartment in his own neighbourhood, and in half an hour succeeded.

To this my effects were immediately removed. I was even too angry to comply with the forms of good breeding so far as to leave my compliments for the earl: I departed without ceremony, and retired to my chamber to contemplate my change of situation.

After mature consideration, the plan on which I determined was, immediately to publish the fourth letter of Themistocles, already written; to continue to write under the same signature; and in the continuation to expose the political profligacy of the earl. Themistocles was accordingly sent that very day.

I next intended accurately to revise my defence of the articles, as soon as I should recover the copy from the bishop; to turn the conversation with Turl occasionally on that subject, that I might refute his objections; and then to publish the work. For ordination I would apply elsewhere, being determined never to suffer pollution by the unholy touch of that prelate.

The next morning, my passions being calmed by sleep and I having reflected on what Turl had said, a sense of justice told me that I ought to visit Enoch at least once more; in which decision my curiosity concurred. I went, and found him at home, but dressing.

The mother and daughter were at the same employment: but Miss, imagining it was my knock, sent her attendant to inquire, and immediately huddled on her bed-gown and mob-cap to come down to me. Her tongue was eager to do its office.

'Lord! Mr. Trevor! We have had such doings! Papa and mamma and I have been at it almost ever since! But don't you fear: I am your true friend, and I have made mamma your friend, and she insists upon it that papa shall be your friend too; and so he is forced to comply: though the bishop had convinced him that you are a very imprudent young gentleman; and my papa will have it you don't understand common sense; and that you have ruined yourself, though you had the finest opportunity on earth; and that you will ruin every body that takes your part! You can't think how surprised and how angry he is, that you should oppose your will to an earl, and a bishop, and lose the means of making your fortune, and perhaps of making your friends' fortunes too: for there it is that the shoe pinches; because I understand the bishop is very kind to papa at present; and, if he should take your part, papa says he will never see him again. But mamma and I argued, what of that? Would the bishop give papa a good living, said mamma? And what if he would, says I? Shall we give up those that we love best in the world, because it is the will and pleasure of a bishop! No, indeed! I don't know that bishops are better than other people, for my part; and perhaps not so good as those that are to be given up. So mamma told me to be silent; but she took my part, and I took yours, and I assure you, for all what they both said, I did not spare the bishop! So my papa fell into a passion, and pretended that I was too forward; and I assure you he accused me of having my likings. I don't know whether he did not make me blush! But I answered for all that, and said well, and if I have, who can help having their likings? I have heard you and my mamma say often enough that you both had had your likings; and that you did not like one another; and that that was the reason that you quarrel like cat and dog; and so if people will be happy they must marry according to their likings. So said my mamma well but, Eliza, have you any reason to think that Mr. Trevor has any notions of marriage? So I boldly answered yes, I had; for you know, Mr. Trevor, what passed between us at the play-house, and the kind squeeze of the hand you gave me at parting with me: and so why should I be afraid to speak, and tell the truth? And so mamma says it shall all be cleared up!'

Her eagerness would admit of no interruption, till it was checked for a moment by the entrance of Enoch, and the mamma. I suspected a part of what was to come, and never in my life had I felt so much embarrassment. 'Well Eliza,' said the matron, 'have you and Mr. Trevor been talking? Have you come to an explanation?'

I would have answered, but Miss was an age too quick for me. 'Yes, mamma; we have explained every thing to the full and whole. I have told it all over to him just now, every syllable the same as I told it to you, and he does not contradict a word of it.'

'Contradict?' interrupted Enoch. 'But does he say the same?' 'No, Sir!' answered I with eagerness; that I might if possible, by a single word, put an end to the eternal clack and false deductions of this very loving young lady. 'Lord! Mr. Trevor!' exclaimed Miss, her passions all flying to her eyes, part fire and part water. 'Sure you are not in earnest? You don't mean as you say?'—'I am very serious, Miss Ellis; and am exceedingly sorry to have been so misunderstood!'—'Why will you pretend to deny, Mr. Trevor, that all that I have been rehearsing here, about the play-house; and about the kindness with which you paid your addresses to me there, and indeed elsewhere, often and before time; and about your leading me to the chair; and then your tenderly taking my hand and squeezing it; and then the look you gave with your eyes; and more than all the loving manner in which you said good night? Not to mention as before all that you said and did, sitting next to me in the play-house; enough to win the affections of any poor innocent virgin! You are not such a deceiver as that comes to I am sure, Mr. Trevor: you have a more generous and noble heart!'

Here Miss burst into a flood of tears, and mamma exclaimed—'I am very much afraid, Mr. Trevor, there have been some improper doings!'

Enoch's anger for once made him honest. 'No such a thing!' said he. 'It is the forward fool's own fault. This is neither the first, second, nor third time she has played the same pranks.'

The mother and daughter instantly raised their pipes like fifty ciphered keys in an organ, first against Enoch, then against all the male kind, and lastly turned so furiously upon me that there seemed to be danger of their tearing me piece-meal, like as the mad females of Thrace did the disconsolate Orpheus.

At length I started up in a passion, and exclaimed—'Will you hear me, ladies?' 'No! no! no!' screamed Miss. 'We won't hear a word! Don't listen to him, mamma! He is a deceiver! A faithless man! I did not think there could have been such a one in the whole world! and I am sure I warned him often enough against it. And after the true friend that I have been to you, Mr. Trevor! and have taken your part, tooth and nail! Papa himself knows I have; and would take your part, through fire and water, against the whole world! and to be so ungrateful, and so false, and faithless to me in return! Oh shame, Mr. Trevor! Is that a man? A fine manly part truly! to win a poor virgin's heart and then to forsake her!'

Finding the sobs and the rhetoric of Miss inexhaustible and every effort to elucidate fruitless, I rose, told Enoch I would explain myself to him by letter, opened the door to go, was seized by the coat by the young lady, and could not without violence, or leaving like Joseph my garment behind me, have torn myself away, if I had not been aided by Enoch; who, having according to his own story been probably present at such scenes before, had sense enough I suppose to be ashamed of his daughter's conduct.

I hurried home, snatched up my pen, and in an epistle to Enoch instantly detailed, as minutely as I could recollect them, all the circumstances of the heroine's behaviour; acknowledging that I had listened, had suffered the intercourse of knees, legs, and feet, and as she said had once pressed her hand; that for this I feared I might have been to blame; but yet, if this were treachery, I knew not very well how a young man was to conduct himself, so as not to be accused of being either rude, ridiculous, or a traitor.

While I was writing this letter, it occurred to me that perhaps there was no small portion of cunning, in the conduct of Miss; that she and her mamma had remarked my youth, and entire ignorance of the world; that Enoch himself, though more intent on what he thought deeper designs, had entertained similar ideas; that Miss had probably been never before so much delighted with the person of any man, whom she might approach; and that the females had concluded I might have been precipitately entangled in marriage, or marriage promises, by this artful management. Be that as it may: I wrote my letter, eased my conscience, and took my leave of the whole family.

Mean time, Themistocles had lain with the printer several days; while I impatiently looked for its appearance, but in vain. I then began to suspect the paper was under the influence of the earl, wrote to the editor, and read the next day, among the answers to correspondents, that the letter signed Themistocles could not be admitted in their paper: they were friends to proper strictures, but not to libels against government. My teeth gnashed with rage! I was but ill qualified, at this period, to teach the benevolent philosophy which priests of all religions affirm it is their trade to inculcate.

Neither could I procure the manuscript from the bishop. The scene in Suffolk street had occasioned me to delay sending that evening, but the next day I wrote a peremptory demand, for it to be delivered to the bearer; and prevailed on Turl to be my messenger. He returned with information, that the bishop was gone into the country! but that the letter would be sent after him immediately, and an answer might probably be received by the return of post.

I had no alternative, and three days afterward the manuscript was sent, sealed up and labeled on the back—'To be delivered to the author, when called for: his address not being known.'

Thus every new incident was a new lesson; unveiling a system, moral, political and ecclesiastical, which without such experience I could not have supposed to exist. My conversations with Turl came in aid of this experience, and they combined to shake the very high opinion I had conceived of the clerical order: but the finishing blow was yet to come.



CHAPTER XIV

The return to Oxford: A cold reception: Hector and more of his inmates: Olivia and the drive to Woodstock: Symptoms of increasing misfortune: An Oxford scholar brawl: The flight of hope

The period of my rustication was expired, and the term immediately preceding the summer vacation was on the point of beginning. I resolved therefore to return to Oxford, and according to the claim of rotation take my bachelor's degree. My plans of punishment and my pursuit of fame must indeed lie dormant a few weeks; but I determined they should both be revived with increasing ardour, at my return.

I found no inconsiderable pleasure in revisiting the turrets, groves, and streams of Oxford. Long experience itself could scarcely weed the sentiment from my mind that these were the sacred haunts of the muses. It must be owned that such the fancy could easily make them, and that it is a task in which the fancy delights.

I thought it my duty immediately to visit the president. With respect to any mention of the letters of recommendation, I scarcely knew how to behave. The bishop and the president might have been friends in their youth. The president might have his prejudices. And might there not even be cruelty in rudely tearing away the mask, and showing him what a monster he had formerly taken to his bosom? Should he inquire, I certainly must declare the truth: but should he be silent, what good inducement had I to speak? The morality of this reasoning was more questionable than I at that time suspected.

Silent however he was, on that subject. He received me coldly, asked in a tone that did not wish for information how I liked London, and concluded with saying he hoped I did not return to set the university any more bad examples! Not well satisfied myself with my methodistical paroxysm, I had not a word to offer in its defence. I answered, I hoped I should set no bad examples, either to the university or the world; but that I could only act to the best of my judgment, and if that deceived me I must endure the consequences. 'Exactly so, Mr. Trevor,' said the president, with a formal dismissing inclination of the head; and so we parted.

When I had been at college about a week, Hector Mowbray called on me one morning and told me his father was dead; that Mowbray Hall the manor and its demesnes were all his own; that he had the best pack of fox dogs in the county; hunters that would beat the world; setters as steady as a rifle barrel gun; and coursers that would take the wind in their teeth; and that he was going up to town with his sister, of whom he was glad to be rid, to place her with an aunt. 'She would not let me be quiet,' said Hector, 'but I must come, for she is as obstinate as a mule, and bring our compliments and her special thanks for a signal favour, that is her lingo, which she makes a plaguey rout about; your methodist parson trick, you know, of taking her out of the water; after your damned canting gang had frightened the horses and thrown her into it. She says she should have been in her cold grave, or I don't know what, but for you; but I tell her women and cats are not so easily killed: and so to please her I agreed to come directly and ask you to breakfast with us, and spend the day together. I love Oxford! It was not above thirty miles out of the road, and I never come within a long shot of it without having a row with the boys and the bucks. So if you will be one among us, come along. There is tall Andrews, spanking Jack as I call him, and three or four more of us, that mean to meet at Woodstock.'

'And take Olivia?'

'To be sure! Andrews is sweet upon her, but she beats off; though he is a fine fellow! a daring dog! all Christ Church can't beat him! and when his father is off the hinges, which he swears will be within these six months, he will make a famous wicked dash! I tell her she is a fool for not taking him: but my talking is all spilt porridge! she is as piggish as father himself was! So if you come, why come along.'

This was the first pleasant proposal that had been made to me, since the day of my dining with the bishop! My heart bounded while he spoke! It was with difficulty I could contain my joy; and the effort must have been much greater, had not the brother of Olivia been the dull undiscerning Hector Mowbray.

He would have hurried me away immediately, but I insisted on decorating my person, and fitting it to appear before the angelic Olivia!

Impatience like mine would not admit of languor. I was soon equipped, and flew to feast my senses with rapture ineffable! I staid not to ask whether it were love, or friendship; or what were my intentions, hopes, or fears. I felt a host of desires that were eager, tumultuous, and undecided. The passions were too much in a hurry to institute inquiry or to have any dread of consequences.

I knew indeed that I already had a lover's hatred of Andrews, and even took pleasure to hear him characterised by traits so disgusting. That Olivia should reject such a being was no miracle: and yet it gave me inexpressible gratification!

As I ascended the stairs, strange sensations seized me; such as I had never known before. The elastic bounds with which I had hurried along sunk into debility; aspen leaves never trembled more universally than I did, from head to foot; and as I opened the door my knees, like Belshazzar's, 'smote one against the other.' A sickness of the stomach came over me: I turned pale, and was pushed forward by Hector before I had time to recover myself.

Olivia saw my confusion. In an instant, her sympathetic feelings caught the infection: she feebly pronounced, 'I am glad to see you, Mr. Trevor!' and with the hue of death on her countenance, snatched her handkerchief, turned aside, and uttered two or three hysteric sobs.

Andrews, my rival, Hector's spanking Jack, was present, and burst into a loud laugh! It was a medicine that immediately recovered both of us. The blood hurried back, flushed the cheeks of Olivia, and dyed them with a deep but beautiful scarlet. 'I am a strange fool!' said she. 'You came upon me so suddenly, Mr. Trevor! and I never can see an old friend, after long absence, without these sensations.'

'Long absence!' replied Andrews. 'Why I thought it was only three or four months since the affair of the methodist preacher and the drowning, that you were just now telling me about?' 'Pshaw!' exclaimed Hector, 'if you pester your pate with her crotchets, you will have enough to do. Come, come, where are the muffins? I begin to cry cupboard. Beside I want to be off.'

While this dialogue passed I recovered sufficient courage to salute Olivia; but affection and awe were so mingled that the burning kiss of love expired in cold blooded constraint and reserve. We then sat down to the tea table, I on one side of Olivia Hector on the other, with his right leg on a vacant chair, his left thrown on Olivia's lap, and Andrews extended sprawling his whole length on a sopha. The two youths began a conversation in their own style, while I endeavoured to entertain Olivia with my remarks on London. I related my principal adventures, expectations, and disappointments, and she appeared to be deeply interested by the narrative. The questions she put, her tone of voice, her countenance, all expressed her feelings; and several times a deep sigh was smothered and with difficulty passed away in a forced hem.

The two youths were so deeply engaged in the pedigree of their pointers, and so warmly contested whose were the best, that I doubt if they knew the subject of our discourse. It was a fleeting but happy hour!

Hector still drove his phaeton, and breakfast being over it was waiting at the door, attended by two grooms with two led saddle horses. 'I will not go, brother,' said Olivia, 'if you drive.' 'He drive?' replied Andrews. 'Never believe it! No, no Miss Mowbray, I will be your Jehu. I will wheel you along, over velvet, every yard smooth as sailing.' 'No Jack,' interrupted Hector, 'that won't do. Trevor is no company, has nothing to say, or nothing that I want to hear. Sister and he will match best. He will tell her what is Greek for a gauze cap, and she will teach him how to make it up. You and I will pair off together on the hunters, and I'll gallop you the last mile into Woodstock for your sum: or, look you, the loser pay the expences of the day.'

To this proposal, seasoned with oaths three at least to a sentence, Andrews continued obstinately averse. As Hector did not drive he would. Nor did he pay any more respect to the opinion of Olivia, who remarked that he was booted and I was not. 'So much the better,' said he; 'that is genteel.' 'Nay but really,' added Olivia, 'I shall not think myself more safe with you, Mr. Andrews, than with my brother.' Mr. Andrews was deaf; he rudely seized her by the wrists, hauled her across the room, and swore if she would not go he would take her in his arms and carry her. My fingers ached to catch him by the collar; but I could not like him cast off all fear of offending Olivia.

Resistance must either have been violent, or in vain. Olivia submitted, and I dared not oppose. We mounted, and Andrews drove, for the first three miles, with some moderation. He then began to play tricks; took a high quarter and a low one, where he could find them, to shew his dexterity; whipped and fretted the horses, increased their rate, and at last put them into a full gallop.

As soon as I perceived what he was doing, I rode full speed after him, and in an authoritative tone called to him to drive with more care. He was obliged to slacken his pace before he could understand what I said. When he had heard me repeat my injunction, which I did with no little vehemence, he looked at me first in astonishment, then with a sneer, and was raising his whip to lash the horses forward with fresh fury. Olivia caught him by the arm, and I immediately called with a voice of thunder, 'By G——, Sir, if you either injure or terrify the lady, I will pull you head long from your seat!'

He made no answer, and the contempt his countenance had exhibited the moment before sunk into sheepishness. I immediately rode forward to the head of the horses, kept a moderate pace, would not suffer him to pass me, unless he meant to stake the horse I rode with the pole, and continued thus for more than a mile, till I was convinced that he had no more inclination to divert himself by terrifying and endangering Olivia.

I rode the rest of the way with the heart burn of anxiety, fearful I had angered Olivia, but not knowing how much. While I kept the lead to oblige Andrews to temperance, he cursed and muttered. 'It was very fine! Mighty proper behaviour to a gentleman! But he should see how it was all to end!' He vented other menaces, which though in too low a key distinctly to reach my ear were loud enough to produce their effect on Olivia.

We arrived at Woodstock, and I dismounted and stood ready to receive Olivia. Andrews followed the example, but she called to her brother and noticed neither of us. He received her as she alighted, and I perceiving her serious look said, 'I hope, Miss Mowbray, I have not offended you?' She made no reply, but stood half a minute, as if to recover being cramped by sitting. Andrews was then on our left, at some distance, and I turned to the same side. She saw me and called, 'Mr. Trevor!' She said no more, but her look was too impressive to be misinterpreted. Hard fate! it could not be obeyed. I pretended indeed to walk away, but the moment she entered the door of the inn I hastened back to Andrews and said, 'If you think yourself insulted, Sir, you have only to inform me of it: I am at your service.'

His answer was—He did not know what I could mean! He had nothing to say to me. I gave him a contemptuous glance, he followed the grooms, and I went to seek Olivia.

I approached with trepidation. 'I perceive, Madam,' said I, 'my conduct is not approved.' She fixed her eye upon me.—'You have been speaking to Mr. Andrews?' I was silent. 'And a duel?' added she, with increasing severity mingled with terror. I hastily interrupted her. 'No, Madam, Mr. Andrews is not a man to fight duels.'—'Mr. Andrews has the more understanding.'

Though the intelligence gave her relief, she spoke in a tone that petrified. 'Surely, Madam,' I replied, 'you cannot be angry with me for protecting you from danger and insult?'—'The danger was trifling, perhaps none; he would not endanger himself; and for insult I must be left to judge in my own case both what it is, and when it deserves notice. Men have little respect for women, when they are so ready to suppose a woman is incapable of being her own protector.'—'Is it then a crime, Miss Mowbray, to tremble for your safety? or to teach manners to a brute?'—'Yes: at least, it is weakness to tremble without cause. You must act as you please, in whatever relates to yourself, but it is inexpressibly criminal to be ready, on every trifling occasion, to take or to throw away life. If this be teaching, we have too many teachers in the world, who have never themselves been to school. I am personally concerned, and you have asked my opinion; otherwise, Mr. Trevor, I should have been cautious of giving it.'

The energy with which this reproof, though severe, was begun denoted what self-flattery might well have construed into affection; for it proved the interest the lovely chider took in the rectitude of my conduct. But the kindness of it seemed to be all killed, in the formality and coldness of the conclusion. I stood speechless. She perceived the effect she had produced, and in a soft and relenting tone added—'I do not seek to wound your feelings, Mr. Trevor. Oh no! Would I could'—The angel checked herself, but soon with returning enthusiasm continued—'Ideas at this instant rush upon my mind that'—Again she paused—'You saved my life—but'—The tears started in her eyes, her voice faltered, she could not proceed. She had rung to inquire for a dressing room, the damned maid entered, Olivia followed, and I remained in speechless stupefaction, with the dreadful but reverberating in my ear.

Andrews and Hector came in. Had the former known my thoughts, he would have rejoiced at such ample vengeance. He talked to Mowbray, but took no notice of what had passed. They ordered dinner, and asked if I would stroll with them to Blenheim house? I excused myself and away they went.

I remained anxiously expecting that Olivia would come down; and, having waited till the approach of dinner time, I sent the maid, with my compliments, to inform her that I should be glad to speak a word to her. The answer I received was that she should see me in half an hour. I sent again, but to no purpose; I could not catch a glimpse of her till the youths had returned, and dinner was on the table.

They brought two gownsmen of Christ Church with them, companions of Andrews, who were quite as talkative and nearly as rude and boisterous as themselves. Olivia had not perhaps all her accustomed vivacity, but she behaved with infinitely more ease and chearfulness than I could have wished, and I felt as if I were the only disconsolate guest.

The players were at Woodstock, and were to exhibit that afternoon. They began at four o'clock, that the gownsmen might have time to return to Oxford; hoping that would be a favourable circumstance for them with the vice chancellor, who, as I have said, is generally inimical to theatrical exhibition, and whose influence extends to Woodstock. The party all voted for the play, except Olivia, who observed their inclination to riot, and ineffectually attempted to persuade them to return. I was glad to find them obstinate; it might afford me an opportunity of speaking with her, for which I would almost have given an eye. A servant was sent to keep places, in one of the six boxes which the theatre, fitted up in a barn, contained.

The youths sat so late to enjoy the folly of their own conversation that the play had begun before we came there, and inquiring for our box we found it in the possession of four gownsmen, who had turned the servant out and seized upon it for themselves. Hector and Andrews began to swear outrageously! Tigers could not have appeared more fierce. They entered the box, and addressed its usurpers in the gross vulgar terms to which they had been accustomed. They were immediately answered in their own language; and tall Andrews and the bulky Hector each laid hold of his man, who were much their inferiors in strength and size, to turn them out.

I was standing to guard Olivia, who seemed pleased that I should be rather so engaged than more actively employed. But my aid was soon necessary: Hector and Andrews each received a blow, which neither of them had the courage to return, though their opponents were little better than boys. Fired at their pusillanimity, I darted by and seized the little gownsmen, one in one hand and the other in the other, pressed my knuckles in their neck, shook them heartily, and dragged them out of the box. The two other collegians of our squadron, seeing this intrepid advance, followed up the victory; Hector and Andrews again blustered and lent their aid, and the box was cleared.

This did not all pass in a moment: the Oxonians, and there were numbers of them in the theatre, crouded to the spot; and it was with difficulty a general riot, to which these youths are always prone, could be prevented.

At last we made way to the box; but no words could persuade Olivia to enter it. She insisted on returning to the inn. I interceded, her brother swore, and Andrews attempted to hold her; but her resolution was not to be shaken. 'I am in a society of mad boys!' said she. 'I hoped to have found one rational being among them, but I was deceived.'

The sentence was short, but every syllable was an arrow that wounded me to the heart. I was the supposed rational being, in whom she had placed her hopes, and by whom she had been deceived. A second time I had disregarded the benevolent wisdom with which she had vainly endeavoured to inspire me, had acted in open defiance of her peaceful morality, and had forfeited all claim to her esteem. I read my doom, not only in her words but in her whole deportment.

While I stood drawing these painful conclusions, motionless, or active only in my fears, a messenger arrived whose coming gave a climax to my ill fortune. He brought a letter, informing Olivia that her aunt, whom she was on her journey to visit, was dangerously ill; and, if Olivia desired to see her alive, she must hasten to London with all possible speed. The news entirely put an end to the endeavours of Hector and his companions to detain her at the play. A servant was sent forward to prepare a post-chaise for Olivia, in which she insisted on returning to Oxford by herself, and we all immediately proceeded back to the inn. Just before we reached the inn, Hector and his companions being engaged in noisy disputation, I said to Olivia in a half whisper—'Have I then, Madam, forfeited all claims to your good opinion?'—She paused for a moment and replied—'The incidents of to-day, Mr. Trevor, have but confirmed the character which was long since given me of you, and which I began to hope was not strictly true. The benefit you have conferred on me I shall never forget: it has induced me to be more prompt in my desire to prevent mischief than you perhaps might think became me. Such a trial can scarcely occur again, and if it should I will endeavour to use greater caution. Yet suffer me, for the last time, earnestly to advise you to be less rash. Were I your sister, Mr. Trevor, I should be in continual alarms, and the most unhappy creature existing.'

Andrews heard her voice, and, prompted as I suppose either by jealousy or malice, put an end to our dialogue. I would have given worlds, if I had possessed them, to have continued it only five minutes; but no such blessing could be obtained; Andrews was alert, and Olivia appeared to avoid further parley. In a quarter of an hour the carriage was ready, and Olivia stepped into it and was driven away full speed.

Andrews would have remained, to see the play; and Hector, had not I shamed him into the contrary, would have consented; but in consequence of my remonstrances they mounted, accompanied by the rest of their clamorous comrades on horseback, and I was left to the melancholy office of driving the phaeton, with the seat vacant that had so lately been occupied by Olivia.

We hurried off, helter skelter, no one respecting his neck, and I the least (for Olivia was before) and rode and drove at such a rate that we overtook the chaise a mile before it reached Oxford. What relief was this to me! She sat concealed in the corner of the carriage, and I could catch no glimpse of her. I durst not even drive past, lest I should add to the mortal offence I had already given, and confirm her in the belief that I was no better than a madman: or, in her own emphatic language, a mad boy!

The pain of suspence was quickly over. We all soon arrived at Oxford. A courier had been dispatched from Woodstock by the affectionately impatient niece, with orders to have another chaise in readiness; and, after briefly bidding her brother and the company adieu, she stepped out of the carriage which brought her from Woodstock into the one that was waiting, and again was driven off, while I stood gazing in a trance of painful stupidity.

This was the last glance I had of her! and, rejecting the invitation to supper of Hector and his party with more sullenness than I had ever felt before, I returned to the college, burst into my room, locked the door, and threw myself down on the boards, in a state of the most wretched despondency.

END OF VOLUME II



VOLUME III



CHAPTER I

Gloomy thoughts: Filial emotions: A journey to the country: A lawyer's accounts not easily closed: Conscientious scruples: The legacy received and divided: Return to Oxford: More disappointment: Treachery suspected: Arrival at London: Difficulty in choosing a profession

My agitation of mind was too violent to be quickly appeased; it did not end with the day, or with the week; but on the contrary excited interrogatories that prolonged the paroxysm. Why was I disturbed? Why angry with myself? Why did I accuse Olivia of being severe, or what did the accusation mean? What were my views? From the tumultuous state of my emotions, I could not disguise to myself that I had an affection for her: but had she ever intimated an affection for me? Was the passion that devoured me rational? She was of a wealthy family: of the provision her father had made for her I was ignorant; but I knew that her expectations from the aunt, said to be now dying, and from others of her kindred, were great. Was I prepared to accept favours, make myself a dependent, and be subservient to the unfeeling caprice of Hector, or any other proud and ignorant relation? Did not such people esteem wealth as the test and the measure of worth? What counterpoise had I, but sanguine hopes? of the probable fallacy of which I had already received strong proofs; and which did not, in the pictures that fancy at present drew, burst upon me with those bright and vivid flashes that had lately made them so alluring. My passions and propensities all led me to seek the power of conferring benefits, controlling folly, and of being the champion of merit, and the rewarder of virtue. Ought I not either to renounce Olivia, or to render myself in every respect her equal; and to disdain the degrading insolence with which any pretensions of mine would otherwise be received. Had I no reason to fear that Olivia herself was a little influenced by personal considerations? Would she have been quite so ready to disapprove, had the advantages of fortune been on my side? Was this inferiority entirely disregarded by her? The doubt was grating, but pertinaciously intrusive. Would not any proposal from me be treated with the most sovereign contempt, if not by her, by Hector and her other relations? Why then did I think of her? It was but a very few days since the wealth and power that should have raised me, far above the sphere of the Mowbray family, were supposed to be within my grasp. How painful was the distance at which they now appeared! My present debility was felt with intolerable impatience. To love and to be unable to heap happiness on the object beloved, was a thought that assailed me with excruciating sensations!

At this very period another event happened, that did not contribute to enliven the prospect.

I had lately received intelligence from my mother, the tenor of which was that she dreaded the approach of poverty; and about a fortnight after the departure of Olivia, a letter came, by which I learned that lawyer Thornby had refused all further supplies, affirming that my grandfather's effects were entirely exhausted; except the thousand pounds left by the rector at my own disposal. Of this I had already received fifty pounds; and my mother urgently declared in her letter that, if I did not apply part of the remainder for her support, she should be left in the decline of life (the approach of which she was now very ready to acknowledge) in imminent danger of want; nay, so as perhaps even to come upon the parish. My pride revolted at the very thought; and I was angry with her for having conceived or committed it to paper.

Should I suffer my mother to want? No. To become a pauper? My heart spurned at the base suggestion. I had been several years under the tuition of the rector, and had acquired more than was good of his family dignity. The picture before me was not a pleasing one, but I would subject myself to any hardships, ay would starve on a grain a day, rather than abandon my mother. My motives were mixed; some wrong some right.

This affair made me resolve once more to visit my native country, and my resolution was immediately put in practice. It was a relief, though of a painful kind, to the more painful state in which my undecided thoughts at that moment held me. The man whose contradictory impulses goad him in a thousand different directions, without permitting him to pursue any one, is happy to be put in motion.

My arrival was unexpected: my mother, who was but little inclined to accuse herself, received me with much more satisfaction than embarrassment.

The behaviour of Thornby was not quite so self-complacent. My questions, concerning the receipt and disbursement of my grandfather's property, were sometimes answered with the affectation of open honesty; and at others with petulant ambiguity, so that I knew not whether he meant to shun or to provoke inquiry. 'Executorship was a very thankless office; it involved a man in continual trouble, for which he could receive no recompence, and then subjected him to the suspicions of people, who were unable or unwilling to look after their own affairs. His very great friendship for the rector had induced him to take this office upon himself, though he well knew the trouble and tediousness attending it, and the ingratitude with which it was always repaid. He had several times in his life played the fool in the same way, and had always met with the same reward.'

Equivocation is the essence of law, and I believe he spoke truth.

'He should take care, however, not to involve himself in such officious troubles for the future. As for the accounts, he was ready at all times, and desirous to have them settled. He had been plagued enough, and had even paid money out of his own pocket, which he was sure, whenever a balance came to be struck, he should not be reimbursed. But there were various affairs that he could not immediately close; law accounts, bad debts, mortgages, and other matters that required time. He had business of his own to which he must attend, or be ruined; his clients would have good actions against him, if it could be proved that their suits were lost by his neglect. Indeed he was not bound to give me any account; but he always acted on the square, and therefore defied scrutiny; nay, he wished it, for what had an honest man to fear?'

He talked so much of his honesty that, if he did not quite persuade me it was immaculate, he at least led me to doubt.

Beside, as he had reminded me, what claims had I? The property was bequeathed to my mother; she had married, her husband had squandered it away, and there was an end of it. Farther inquiry was but vexation and loss of time. It is true, the supposed wealth of the rector had quickly disappeared: but if the owner of it, my mother's husband, were satisfied, what could be said?

She indeed hinted to me that Wakefield, finding he could wrest no more from his uncle, unless by filing a bill in Chancery, or some other process at law, for which he had no funds, not to mention the great chance of his being cast in costs of suit, had been obliged to desist; though convinced that the property was not one half expended. He had a better hope. Thornby was old, had no children, and might soon leave him the whole.

With most men this would have been a powerful motive; but the passions of her young husband, my mother owned, were too impetuous to be restrained by the cold considerations of prudence. At first she censured him with reluctance; for to censure him was in reality to adduce mementos of her own folly; but her resentment against him for having deserted her presently overpowered her caution, and the pictures she drew shewed him to be not only dissipated and prodigal but unprincipled. He had even so far offended the law, that it was doubtful whether his life were not in danger; and Thornby, whose plans had been frustrated by his extravagance, had more ways than one of ridding himself of his importunity.

In any case it was necessary to make some provision for my mother; and, embroiled in doubt as I was, the most prudent way that I could imagine was to consult Thornby.

He affected to be very conscientious, and scarcely knew what advice to give. 'My mother was in want, and to desert her would be cruel; yet the money that was devised me was my own: it was bequeathed for a good purpose, and the pious will of the testator ought to be held sacred. I was young, the grandson of a good man, an excellent man, and his dear friend. I had great learning and good sense, and ought not to be deprived of the means that had been left me of establishing myself in life. But then my mother had been tenderly brought up, and a dutiful son to be sure could not desert his parent. It was a difficult point. To purchase a life annuity for her would be the best way of securing her, against the miseries of poverty in old age; but then it would sink deeply into the thousand pounds to make but a very moderate provision of this kind; though he knew no other method in her case that would be so safe.'

While I listened I resolved. To provide for my mother I held to be an indispensable duty; and, notwithstanding my late disappointments, my fears for myself were but few. People of a sanguine temper are subject to temporary doubt and gloom; but the sky soon clears, and though one bright star may shoot and fall, hope soon creates a whole constellation. The earl and the prelate had both been unprincipled; but the failure was in them, not in me. I could not but remember the terror that Themistocles had excited in a prime minister; and the avidity with which a prelate had endeavoured to profit by my theological talents. How certainly and how soon could I bring these talents into notice! How easy the task! I need but mount the rostrum, I need but put pen to paper, and my adversaries would be brought to shame, and mankind taught to do me justice. Incontrovertible facts were in my favour; and to foster doubts and fears would be cowardice, self-desertion, and folly! Such were my conclusions.

I determined therefore, without farther hesitation, to employ the sum of five hundred pounds in the purchase of an annuity for my mother. The remainder would amply supply me, till those rich mines should be explored from the fertile veins of which I had already drawn such dazzling specimens.

I continued in the country almost three weeks; but, as the purchase could not instantly be concluded, I left the stipulated sum in my mother's possession, drew the remainder of the thousand pounds in bills and cash from Thornby, and, with more wealth than I ever bore about me at one time before, returned to Oxford.

Though Olivia was daily and hourly remembered, I had recovered so far by the business in which I had been engaged as to think seriously of pursuing my studies; for by their aid I was to realize those splendid projects on which, as I supposed, the happiness of man depends.

The learning, which the general forms of taking a degree require, is so little that a man of genius is inclined to treat it with contempt: but, if the candidate happen to be obnoxious to the heads of the university, his examination may then be of a very different kind. I had not much doubt; for, from the questions and answers I had so often heard on these occasions, to reject me seemed to be almost impossible. Yet I was not entirely without alarm. The disgrace of rustication that I had suffered, the coldness of the reception I had met from the president on my return to college, and the ambiguity which I conceived I had since remarked in his manner, excited some fear; and my preparatory efforts were so strenuous that I imagined I might defy reproof.

I had been told indeed that malice had a very strange mode of exerting itself, but which was so arbitrary and odious as to be but rarely practised. Any member of convocation, or master of arts, without assigning any cause for his conduct, may object, for two terms, to a person who shall ask leave to take his degree! Nay, these terms ended, another may object, and another! But this was a privilege so disgusting that I had not the least apprehension it would be put in practice against me.

To my utter astonishment, I was mistaken! On the day appointed to ask leave, a master of arts actually did appear, and without supporting his objection by reasoning, charge, or censure, exercised this detestable university veto.

My surprize and indignation, at hearing him pronounce his negative, were so great that I was deprived of utterance. I even doubted the reality of what I heard: I stood gazing, till he was gone, and then exclaimed, as if to a person present—'Me, Sir!—Do you mean me?'

A minute afterward, my interjections were not quite so inoffensive. A torrent of passion burst from me, and he, whose malignity could not justly assert I wanted learning, might, had he stayed, have collected sufficient proofs of my want of philosophy.

My attention had been diverted from the accuser, by my amazement at the accusation; but, as soon as I recovered my recollection, it seemed to me certain that I knew his face. The idea was seized with so much eagerness, and associations occurred so rapidly, that the figure of one of my companions, on the night of the debauch when I first came to Oxford, rose full before me; though he had been absent from the university, so that till this day I had never seen him since. It was the very tutor of the Earl of Idford!

A train of the most tormenting suspicions rushed upon me. I soon learned, from inquiry, that he was intimate likewise with the president. Was not this a combination? What could it be else? This tutor was connected with the earl and the president; so was the latter with the bishop!

The whole plot, in its blackest hues, seemed developed.

My agitation was extreme. I ran from college to college, wherever I had acquaintance, repeating all I knew and much of what I suspected. Nor did I merely confine myself to narrative. I added threats, which, however impotent they might be, were not the less violent. One of my first projects was to seek personal satisfaction of the vile tutor, or if he refused to chastise him with inexorable severity; but this he had taken care to elude, by keeping out of the way.

My denunciations soon reached the ear of the president, and I was given to understand that, if I were not immediately silent, I should be expelled the university; and that a degree would never be granted me, till I had publicly retracted the opprobrious words I had uttered. Distant consequences are easily defied. My blood was in a flame, and despising the menace, I publicly declared that my persecutors were as infamous as the tool they had employed; that I should think it a disgrace to be a member of a body which could countenance proceedings so odiously wicked; that I spurned at every honour such a body could confer; and that, with respect to expulsion, I would myself erase my name from the register in which it had unfortunately been entered.

How little is man aware that by intemperance he damns his own cause, and gives the face of seeming honesty to injustice itself! Vicious as the place is, I myself could not abhor such proceedings more than many men in Oxford would have done, had they believed the tale.

Fortune still continued in her wayward mood. On the heel of one perverse imp another often treads. While I remained at Oxford, which was but a few days after this event, the retailing of my wrongs was my chief employment; and in a coffee-room, to which I resorted for this purpose, the following advertisement in a London newspaper met my astonished eye!

THIS DAY IS PUBLISHED:

A DEFENCE OF THE THIRTY NINE ARTICLES

BY THE

RIGHT REVEREND FATHER IN GOD ******

LORD BISHOP OF ******

Injustice had by this time become so familiar to me that, scourged even to frenzy as I was, I sat rather stunned than transfixed by the blow. That this was the very defence of the articles I had written did not, with me, admit of a moment's doubt. Every thing I had heard or remarked, of this wicked but weak church governor, had afforded proof of his incapacity for such a task; yet the injustice, effrontery and vice of the act was what till seen could not have been believed!

Nor did its baseness end here. What could I suppose, but that the bishop had been assiduously tampering with the president; that they and the earl were in a conspiracy against me; that this was the cause of the disgrace and insult put upon me; and that, having robbed me of my writings, there was a concerted and fixed plan to render me contemptible, take away my character, and devote me to ruin?

The longer I thought the more painful were the sensations that assaulted me. I had already been complaining to the whole city. Some few indeed seemed to credit me; but more to suspect; and none heard of my treatment with that glowing detestation which my feelings required. Were I to tell this new tale, incredibly atrocious as it was, what would men think, but that I was a general calumniator, a frantic egotist, and a man dangerous to society? The total inability that I felt in myself, to obtain ample and immediate justice, almost drove me mad.

I had previously determined to quit Oxford, and this new goad did but quicken my departure. My preparations were soon made; and from some vague, and to myself undefined ideas, partly of expedition, and partly of letting the president, the college, and the whole university see that I, Hugh Trevor, was no ordinary person, a chaise and four waited my commands at the gate about noon the next day, behind which my goods and chattels were buckled, and I, after taking leave of the two or three friends who were thoughtless or courageous enough to acknowledge me, threw myself indignantly into it, with more maledictions in my heart than my impatient tongue could find energy to utter.

Arrived in London, it especially became me, as I supposed, to assume that consequence which should teach my enemies respect. I had money in my pocket, anger impelling me, and more pride than prudence. A waiter was dispatched from the Gloucester coffee-house, and apartments for myself and a valet were hired, in Half Moon Street, at three guineas and a half per week. The valet was a sudden decision, originating in the same false feelings that had lately taken possession of me. When I consulted the mistress of the coffee-house concerning apartments, she said, 'You have a servant to be sure, Sir?' 'Yes, madam;' replied my alarmed vanity. 'No, madam;' instantly retorted my veracity, still more alarmed; 'but I mean to hire one.' 'There,' continued she, pointing to a smart well powdered young fellow that was talking to one of the waiters, 'there stands one out of place, who I dare say will be glad of a good master. Here, Philip!'

I was one of the fools who, right or wrong, imagine it behooves them to be consistent. I was ashamed to retract, had not learned to prevaricate, and Philip, to whom as a footman I could discover no rational objection, was hired.

My effects were presently removed; my useless valet sent to loiter, and improve himself in vice, as valets usually are, and I left to meditate on the plan I had to pursue.

A little reflection induced me to renounce all thoughts of the church; for which indeed the doubts that the conversation of Turl had inspired me with, the inquiries to which these doubts led, and the disgust I had conceived at the character and conduct of the bishop had well prepared me.

For some time I sat perplexed in thought. During the life of the rector, I had often been told that the law was the road to honour; and when at the university, being eager to secure this said honour to myself, I had laboriously read some of the civilians. I say laboriously, for the task was far from inviting. The obscurity of their terms, the contradictions I thought I discovered, and the voluminous perplexity in which the whole was involved, were no alluring pictures.

With what pleasure did the wearied intellect escape from this wilderness of weeds and brambles, to rove through the paradise of poetry. The minstrelsy of genius, sporting with the fancy rouzing the passions and unfolding the secrets of the heart, could fascinate at all times; while nothing could sooner create lassitude and repugnance than the incongruous jargon of law.

But, alas, who ever heard of a poet being made Lord High Chancellor? Appoint him to such a station and he would act like a madman! Instead of employing his journeymen to dig through the rubbish of ignorance for precedents, he would listen to the wants of the injured, and would conceive that by relieving them only he could do justice! Did not the history of the world proclaim that, he who would attain wealth and power must turn the prejudices of mankind to their own harm?



CHAPTER II

The play-house, and an old acquaintance: Satirical portraits: Reception of a new comedy; or, of how much worth are praise and blame?

These were painful reflections, and, leaving the case undetermined for the present, I escaped from them by shifting the scene to the play-house. It happened to be the first night of a new comedy, and here in the boxes I perceived an acquaintance, whom I had met at the house of Ellis. His name was Glibly, and the moment he saw me enter he advanced and accosted me with that familiarity which was essential to his character.

Glad of company, in a city where I was so little known, I freely entered into conversation with him; and the amusement he afforded me well repaid my complaisance. He had long been what is called upon the town, and was acquainted more or less with all orders of men. He was intimate with authors, actors, and artists, of every kind and degree; knew their private and public history, could give anecdotes of each, and enumerate their various performances. Opera girls and their keepers, musicians and musical dilletanti, connoiseurs and their jackalls, (picture dealers and auctioneers) collectors, shell fossil and fiddle fanciers, in short every class of idlers that I have since found swarming in this miscellaneous town ranked among his acquaintance.

He had long, as I afterward discovered, been a newspaper critic; had written prologues, appeared in poet's corner, abounded in sarcastic remarks, and possessed an Athenian loquacity. He had indeed a copious vocabulary, an uncommon aptitude of phrase, though not free from affectation, and a tide of tongue that was incessant.

He probably thought my personal appearance creditable, for he did not quit me during the performance, but amused me with the satirical portraits of various people, whom he pointed out to me in the house.

'Do you see that man,' said he, 'who is just entering; three boxes distant on the right? He is handing two ladies to their seats, and is followed by a youngster who is all pertness and powder. They make a great shew, and on a first night give an appearance of good company. That is Mynheer van Hopmeister, a Dutch dancing-master, with his daughter, son, and a kept mistress. They live all together on very good terms; and his own girl has preserved her character by her ugliness, affectation, and ill breeding. He drives about in his chariot, which passing in the street you would suppose belonged to a Neapolitan Count, or a German Envoy at least. He gives dinners occasionally of several removes, to which he invites all the fools and fiddlers he can find, treats with French wines, and usually makes up a quartet party for the evening, which he spoils by playing a principal part himself. He is nearly two thousand pounds in debt; and, in all things mimicking the great, has been obliged to put his affairs to nurse. Except the booby his son, he is the most prating, forward, ignorant coxcomb of my acquaintance; and that is a bold word. But his impertinence makes him amusing: I will introduce you.'

I thanked my gentleman for his politeness, but declined the offer: and he continued.

'Look at that man in brown, leaning against the pillar! He is a painter, and a man of genius; but the greatest ass existing!'

'How? Of genius, and—!'

'Hear and judge for yourself. No man has studied his art with so much assiduity and zeal, or practised it with greater enthusiasm; but, instead of confining himself to portrait-painting, by which with half the labour and one tenth of the talent he might have made a fortune, he devoted all his youth to poverty and starving, and undertook a series of paintings that would have immortalized a man under the patronage of Leo. X. This task he was years in accomplishing, living all the while on little better than bread and water, and that procured by robbing his nights of the hours of rest; for his pride, which he calls independence, is as great as his ambition, which he dignifies with the title of a love of fame. But the most prominent trait in his character is a jealous—'

Here my commentator, suddenly interrupting himself, pressed my arm, and bade me turn to the left.

'There,' said he pointing, 'is a Mr. Migrate; a famous clerical character, and as strange an original as any this metropolis affords. He is not entitled to make a figure in the world either by his riches, rank, or understanding; but with an effrontery peculiar to himself he will knock at any man's door, though a perfect stranger, ask him questions, give him advice, and tell him he will call again to give him more the first opportunity. By this means he is acquainted with every body, but knows nobody; is always talking, yet never says any thing; is perpetually putting some absurd interrogation, but before it is possible he should understand the answer puts another. His desire to be informed torments himself and every man of his acquaintance, which is almost every man he meets; yet, though he lives inquiring, he will die consummately ignorant. His brain is a kind of rag shop, receiving and returning nothing but rubbish. It is as difficult to affront as to get rid of him; and though you fairly bid him begone to-day, he will knock at your door, march into your house, and if possible keep you answering his unconnected fifty times answered queries tomorrow. He is the friend and the enemy of all theories and of all parties; and tortures you to decide for him which he ought to chuse. As far as he can be said to have opinions, they are crude and contradictory in the extreme; so that in the same breath he will defend and oppose the same system. With all this confusion of intellect, there is no man so wise but he will prescribe to him how he ought to act, and even send him written rules for his conduct. He has been a great traveller, and continually abuses his own countrymen for not adopting the manners and policy of the most ignorant, depraved, and barbarous nations of Europe and Africa. He pretends to be the universal friend of man, a philanthropist on the largest scale, yet is so selfish that he would willingly see the world perish, if he could but secure paradise to himself. Indeed he can think of no other being; and his child, his canary bird, his cook-maid, or his cat, are the most extraordinary of God's creatures. This is the only consistent trait in his character. In the same sentence, he frequently joins the most fulsome flattery and some insidious question; that asks the person, whom he addresses, if he do not confess himself to be both knave and fool. Delicacy of sentiment is one of his pretensions, though his tongue is licentious, his language coarse, and he is occasionally seized with fits of the most vulgar abuse. He declaims against dissimulation, yet will smilingly accost the man whom—'Ha! Migrate! How do you do? Give me leave to introduce you to Mr. Trevor, a friend of mine; a gentleman and a scholar; just come from Oxford. Your range of knowledge and universal intimacy, with men and things, may be useful to him; and his erudite acquisitions, and philosophical research, will be highly gratifying to an inquirer like you. An intercourse between you must be mutually pleasing and beneficial, and I am happy to bring you acquainted.'

This, addressed to the man whom he had been satirizing so unsparingly, was inconceivable! The unabashed facility with which he veered, from calumny to compliment, the very moment too after he had accused the man whom he accosted of dissimulation, struck me dumb. I had perhaps seen something like it before, but nothing half so perfect in its kind. It doubly increased my stock of knowledge; it afforded a new instance of what the world is, and a new incitement to ask how it became so? The inquiry at first was painful, and half convinced me of the truth of manicheism; but deeper research taught me that the errors of man do not originate in the perversity of his nature, but of his ignorance.

These however were most of them after thoughts, for Glibly did not allow us any long pause.

'Yonder, in the green boxes,' said he, 'I perceive Mrs. Fishwife, the actress. She should have played in the comedy we are come to see, but threw up her part from scruples of conscience. It was not sufficiently refined for her exquisite sensibility; it wounded her feelings, offended her morals, and outraged her modesty. Yet in the Green-room, she is never happy unless when the men are relating some lewd tale, or repeating obscene jests; at every one of which she bursts into a horse laugh, and exclaims—'Oh, you devil! But I don't hear you! I don't understand a word you say!' To heighten the jest, her armours are as public as the ladies on Harris's List.'

'But perhaps there is something violently offensive and immoral, in the part she refused?'

'Not a syllable. The writer is too dull even for a double entendre, as you will hear. Mere pretence. The author, who happens by some odd accident to have more honesty than wit, and could not in conscience comply with the present vicious mode of bestowing indiscriminate praise on actors, when no small mixture of blame had been merited by many of them, forbore to write a preface to his last piece; from which she had thought herself secure of a large dose of flattery. This is an offence she can never pardon.'

'I have heard,' said Migrate, 'that our actresses are become exceedingly squeamish.'

'Oh ridiculous beyond belief. I have a letter in my pocket from a young friend in a country company, the ladies of which have their sensibility strung up to so fine a tone that he cannot take the tragedy of King Lear for his benefit, because not one of them will play either Regan or Goneril. If their feelings are so exquisite in the country, where our wise laws treat players as vagabonds, what must they be when loaded with all the legal, tragic, and royal dignity of a London theatre?'

This was so incredible that I expressed my doubts of the fact; but they were ill founded, for Glibly produced the letter.

A moment afterward two more of his acquaintance caught his eye.

'Look to the right,' said he; 'the box next the gallery. There they sit! Mr. and Mrs. Whiffle-Wit! They are now in state! They have really a capacious appearance! Were Rubens or Jordaens but here, we should have them painted in all the riches of oil colours, grinning in company with Silenus and his ass. Let the poor author beware; they are prodigious critics! Madam can write a farce, or even a solution to an enigma, with as little labour as any lady in the land; and her dear Mr. Whiffle-Wit can set them both to music, with no less facility and genius! Nothing can equal them, except his own jigs on the organ! They never fail to attend the first night of a new play; and their taste is so very refined that nothing less than writing it themselves could afford them satisfaction. They never admire any nonsense but their own. The manager and author have always to thank them for exerting their whole stock of little wit, and abundant envy, to put the house into an ill temper. The favour is the more conspicuous because they are orderly people. But that perhaps is a phrase you do not understand, Mr. Trevor? They never pay for their places; yet always occupy a first row for themselves, and in general the rest of the box for their friends; who they take good care shall be as well disposed toward the house and the author as they are. You may be sure to meet them to-morrow, very industriously knocking at every door where they can gain admission, to tell their acquaintance what a vile piece it was; and what a strange blockhead the manager must be, who had refused farces of their writing, and operas of their setting, yet could dare to insult the town with such trash! They have now continued for years in this state of surprise, and there is no knowing when it will end.'

The satire of Glibly was incessant, till the tinkling of the prompter's bell, and the rising of the curtain, put an end to his remarks on persons, and turned them all on the piece. I cannot but own the author opened an ample field for the effluvia of critic gall. I know not whether Glibly might influence the tone of my mind, but I think I never felt such ineffable contempt for any human production as for the thing called a comedy, which I that night saw. Disjointed dialogue, no attempt at plan or fable, each scene a different story, and each story improbable and absurd, quibbles without meaning, puns without point, cant without character, sentiments as dull as they were false, and a continual outrage on manners, morals and common sense, were its leading features. Yet, strange to tell, the audience endured it all; and, by copious retrenchments and plaistering and patching, this very piece had what is called a run!

How capricious a thing is public taste! It can regale on garbage, from which Hottentots would turn with loathing, and yet, in the frenzy of idiotism, could reject and condemn Congreve's 'Way of the World!'

Glibly treated the piece with unceasing contempt, yet clapped every scene; and when, on two or three occasions, some few raised their voices and called off! off! he more loudly than the rest vociferated, Go on! go on! When it was over, he left me; saying it was the most execrable piece he had ever beheld; but he had promised to give it a good character, in the paper with which he was connected, and this he must immediately go and write.



CHAPTER III

Repetition of doubts: A very old acquaintance: Another pleasing rencontre: Perplexity and suspense created

The adventures of the evening sent me home with no very agreeable reflections. What a world was this! How replete with folly, hypocrisy, and vice! What certainly had the man of virtue that his claims should be heard? Amid the tumultuous pursuits of selfishness, where all were eager to gratify their own passions and appease the capricious cravings of vanity, how might truth and worth ascertain success? The comedy I had seen had convinced me that farce, inanity, and supreme nonsense, might not only pass current but find partisans; yet proofs in abundance were on record that genius itself had no security against faction, envy, and mistaken opposition. I was at present in a state of warfare: and were judges like these to give the meed of victory? How many creatures had the powerful and the proud obedient to their beck; ever ready to affirm, deny, say and unsay; and, by falsehood and defamation, involve in ruin men whose souls were the most pure, and principles the most exalted!

For some days I remained in a state of suspense, continually determining to seek the satisfaction which I supposed my injuries demanded, but undecided with respect to the method.

This delay was still prolonged by another event. My man Philip, one morning when he brought my breakfast, told me that a woman in the house, who lived with a young lady on the second floor, had asked him various questions concerning me; saying she was sure she knew me, that she loved me from her soul, for that I had once saved the life of her and her dear boy, and that she wished very much to see me.

At first this account surprised me. A woman and a boy whose lives I had saved? Where is she, said I? Below in the kitchen, answered Philip. I bade him desire her to come up; and in a few minutes a woman about the age of forty entered, but of whose countenance I had no clear recollection. 'I beg pardon, Sir,' said she, 'for my boldness, but your name I believe is Mr. Trevor?'

'It is.'

'Mr. Hugh Trevor?'

'The same.'

'God in his mercy bless and keep you! Since the night that you saved my life, I never went to bed without praying for you. But you were always a kind, dear, good child; and your uncle, Mr. Elford, was the best of men!'

The epithet, child, and the name of Elford instantly solved the riddle: it was poor Mary; and the boy, whose life I had saved, was the child of which she was delivered, after the adventure of the barn. Her features suddenly became as it were familiar to me. She revived a long train of ideas, inspiring that kind of melancholy pleasure which mind so much delights to encourage. I kissed her with sincere good will: and in sympathy with my feelings the poor creature, yielding to her affections, clasped me round the neck, pressed me to her cheek, exclaimed 'God in heaven for ever bless you!' then, suddenly recollecting herself, with that honest simplicity which was so constitutionally her character, dropped on her knees, and added, 'I humbly beg pardon, Sir, for being so bold!'

After some persuasion, I prevailed on her to sit down: but I could not conquer her timidity and imaginary inferiority so far as to induce her to partake of my breakfast. 'She knew her duty better; I was a gentleman, once her dear young master, and she should always adore me, and act as was befitting a poor servant, like her.'

We talked over former affairs, and she brought many scenes of my early youth strongly to recollection. On inquiry, she told me she had apprenticed her son to a printer; that till this period she had fed, clothed, and educated him by her own industry; and that he was now likely to be no longer burthensome to her, being an apt and industrious boy, and already capable of supplying himself with clothes by his over-work.

I farther learnt, from her discourse, that she lived with a young lady, whom she affectionately loved; and there was something mysterious occasionally in her phrases, that led me to imagine her mistress had been unfortunate. 'She had been a kind mistress to her; she loved her in her heart. Poor young lady! she did not deserve the mishaps she had met with; and it was a shame that some men should be so base as they were: but, though all the world should turn their back on her, she would not be so wicked. Poor women were born to be misused, by false-hearted men; and, if they had no pity for one another, what must become of them?'

I asked if she had lived with the lady long? She answered, that first and last she had known her ever since she left Mr. Elford's service.

'What! Was she of our county?'

'Yea.'

'Was I acquainted with her?'

Mary hesitated, and my curiosity was rouzed—'What was the lady's name?'

'Miss Lydia Wilmot.'

'Wilmot? Wilmot? Surely, not Miss Wilmot, the niece of the bishop of ——?'

'No, no,' said Mary, ''a's not his niece, 'a has better blood in her veins; thof mayhap 'a may have had her failings. God help us! who is without 'em? A bishop? Lord ha' mercy on us! No Christian soul could have believed there was so much wickedness in the world!'

My impatience increased, and I eagerly demanded—'Did she ever live with the bishop?'

Poor Mary knew not what to answer; I perceived her confusion. 'Go, Mary,' said I, 'and tell Miss Wilmot that Mr. Trevor presents his compliments to her, and will be glad to speak to her the moment she is at leisure.'

After a little hesitation Mary went, continued up stairs some time, and at last returned with—'Miss Wilmot's compliments: she should be glad to see me.'

I hurried to her apartment. My conjectures were too well founded to be false: it was the same Miss Wilmot to whom I had been introduced by the bishop, the sister of the guide of my studies and the friend of my youth. Her embarrassment was considerable, she sunk on the sopha as she curtsied, pointed to a chair, and faintly requested I would sit down.

I exerted myself to assume the tone that should tranquilize her feelings; and by asking and answering my own questions, and endeavouring myself to sustain the conversation, brought her with some little difficulty to join in it.

I was burning to interrogate her concerning the bishop, but was restrained by the fear of wounding her sensibility. I inquired after her brother, but him I found she had not lately seen. I forebore to be minute, but it appeared that they knew not the place of each other's abode. I sat with her an hour; but, notwithstanding my impatience, perceiving she evaded the subject I wished to introduce, and turned the discourse on the common place occurrences of the day. I was too respectful of her delicacy to violate it, and left her with an invitation to drink tea with me the following afternoon, which she accepted.

I saw Mary again in the interim, had some discourse with her, and, by several phrases which she once more let fall, was involved in greater perplexity. A person of my family had a ruinated Miss Wilmot of all hope; she never could have justice and right done her now; that was impossable. But mayhap all things was for the best. The base man had shewn that he was not worth having. She was sorry, both on her ladyship's account and mine; but there was no help for it. God send him a good end! but she feared it! Such wickedness could never prosper.

This language was totally incomprehensible!—'A person of my family? The base man? Sorry on my account?' What did she mean?

Mary was afraid she had said too much—'I dare not tell you, dear good Sir,' continued she; 'only don't you be cunsarned; it is no blame of yours; you will know soon enough.'

In this uncertainty she left me, impatiently hoping some farther explanation from Miss Wilmot; of which I was not disappointed. The afternoon came, Mary announced her mistress, we were left alone, and I could no longer forbear expressing my desire of knowing her history.

At first she felt some reluctance, but, when I informed her how much Mary had already told, she sighed deeply, and said, 'I find, Sir, it is in vain to think of concealment; I will, therefore, since you desire it, relate the few events that are remarkable in my unfortunate life. I fear they are more blameable than extraordinary; for, from what I hear and see in this great city, mine are no uncommon misfortunes. I even fear I am hitherto less wretched and guilty than thousands. God only knows for what I am reserved!'



CHAPTER IV

The story of Miss Wilmot: Family misfortunes: A father's death: A brother's disappointment: Intelligence that astonishes me: Wakefield characterized: The death of Miss Wilmot's mother; and the dread of fatal consequences: Piety and compassion of a bishop: Deep designs of Wakefield: The good faith and affection of a poor adherent

'My father was an officer in the army, in which, though he served all his life, he only attained the rank of major. He was twice married, the second time to my mother at the age of thirty, by whom he had five children, who, except my brother and myself, did not arrive at maturity. Being reduced to the income of half-pay, they retired into their native county, where they lived with such strict oeconomy that they contrived to educate us better perhaps than the children of people of much larger fortune.

'My brother was the eldest child, and I the youngest, so that there was an interval of fifteen years between us. My father had been well educated, loved letters, and undertook to be my brother's instructor himself to the age of fourteen. At this period my brother was admitted a chorister at the cathedral of ——, at which city my parents had fixed their residence. They were respected by all the inhabitants, whose wealth, birth, and pride, did not place them at too great a distance; and it was a severe mortification to be unable to provide better for their son; but there was no remedy.

'The disappointments of my father's life had given him a melancholy cast, with an aptitude to be dissatisfied; and this propensity was strongly communicated to my brother. The danger of a war between England and Spain called my father up to town, in the hope of being once more put on actual service. But in this his hopes again were frustrated; and expence without benefit was incurred. Early, however, in the American war, he obtained his wishes; unhappily obtained them, for, having been long unused to the baneful severity of camps, he and many more brave men were carried off, by the damps of the climate to which he was sent. This happened when I was but nine years old; and my mother was left with what little their economy had collected, and such scanty provision as is made for officers widows.

'My brother, however, who was truly affectionate, and active in efforts to protect us, afforded my mother some aid. From being a chorister, he had gained admission into the grammar-school; of which, while he remained there, he was the pride and boast. Immediately after our father's death, from the recommendation of his own merit and the misfortunes of the family, he was appointed a Latin usher in the same school; in which station he remained five years. The difference of our age made him consider himself something rather like a father than a brother to me: he loved me tenderly, took every method to improve and provide for me, and expected in return something like parental obedience. The manners of my mother were of the mild and pleasing kind, with which qualities she endeavoured to familiarize me, and the behaviour of the whole family gained general approbation and esteem.

'My brother was deeply smitten with the love of letters: his poetical essays were numerous, many of them were sent up to London and readily admitted into periodical publications.

'Anxious to place his family in that rank which he had been taught to suppose it deserved, for my father and mother were both, though not noble, well born, he did not rest satisfied with these attempts: he wrote a tragedy, and, by the advice of people who pretended to have a knowledge of such affairs, determined to go to London, that he might, if possible, get it on the stage. From this my mother would fain have dissuaded him, but his arguments and importunity at length prevailed. He was then but nine and twenty, and I fourteen.

'I could ill describe to you the state of anxiety and suspence in which his various literary efforts involved him, while he remained in London: but in about two years he returned to the country, despairing of that pleasure, profit, and fame, which hope had delusively taught him to consider as his due. This was the period at which he once more became an usher of the school where you were educated. This too was the period at which my misfortunes began.

'And now, Mr. Trevor, I am coming to events in which you, without any knowledge or interference of your own, may be said to be a partaker.'

She paused a moment: and I, with amazement, doubt, and increasing ardour, requested she would proceed.

'The name of Wakefield must certainly be familiar to you?'

'It is: I am sorry to say it is the name my mother at present bears.'

'If you feel sorrow, Mr. Trevor, what must my feelings be? Mine! who, had there been truth or honour in man, ought to have borne that name myself. Mine! who, when I first heard of your mother's marriage, should not have felt so severe a pang had a dagger been struck to my heart. Mine! who from that moment, or rather from the fatal and guilty moment when I confided in an unprincipled man, have never known that cheerfulness and peace, which once were the inmates of my bosom!'

'You astonish me, madam! Wakefield?'

'Wakefield! Him have I to thank for loss of self-respect, a brother's love, and perhaps a parent's life! I was my mother's companion, consolation, and pride. How can I estimate a mother's grief? She died within a year. Have I not reason to believe her days were shortened by her daughter's guilt?'

The pain of recollection was agonizing. She burst into a flood of tears: nor could every effort she made keep down the deep sobs that for some minutes impeded speech. I used every endeavour to appease and calm her mind: she seemed sensibly touched by that sympathy which intensely pervaded me; and, as soon as she could recover herself, thus continued.

'The kind part you take in my affliction, Mr. Trevor, affords me greater relief than any that perhaps I have felt for years. It is true the faithful Mary, good creature, has almost shed tear for tear: but she herself is the daughter of misfortune, and from her, though grateful, it is something like expected. You are a man; you perhaps have been accustomed to the society of those whose pleasure is the most exquisite when they can most contribute to the miseries of woman: that you should be virtuous enough to contemn such instruction, does more than sooth feelings like mine: and I think we esteem benefits the more the less we expect them.'

'But where, madam, did you first meet with Mr. Wakefield?'

'In the city of —— where he was bred, under his father, to the profession of the law. From what I have seen of you, and from what I have heard of your talents and understanding, I should have expected you to have been the child of extraordinary parents; otherwise, I do not much wonder at your mother's conduct, superior as she was to Mr. Wakefield in years; for, of all the men I ever saw, he is the most deceitful, plausible, and dangerous. Neither man nor woman are safe with him; and his arts are such as to over-reach the most cautious. He has words at will; and his wit and invention, which are extraordinary, are employed to entrap, humiliate, degrade and ruin all with whom he has intercourse. His ambition is to gratify his desires, by triumphing over the credulity of the unsuspecting, whom he contemns for their want of his own vices. It was he that, after having seduced me, placed me in the family of the bishop, laid the plan that I should pass for his lordship's niece, by various falsehoods cajoled me to acquiesce (the chief of which was, that the project was but to save appearances, till he could make me his wife) left me in that unworthy prelate's power, then, returning to the country, plotted the marriage with your mother, and, by his intimate knowledge of the weakness or vice of each character, which he seems to catch instinctively, adapted his scheme with such cunning to the avarice of his uncle as to gain his concurrence and aid.