Modern times: or the adventures of Gabriel Outcast. Supposed to be written by himself. In imitation of Gil Blas. ... [pt.3]

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- CHAPTER XVII.

- CHAP XVIII.

- CHAP XIX.

- CHAP. XX.

- CHAP XXI.

- CHAP. XXII.

- Chap. XXIV.

- CHAP XXV.

- CHAP XXVI.

- CHAP. XXVI.

- TO LITERARY MEN.

MODERN TIMES.

FINIS.

Modern Times, OR THE ADVENTURES OF GABRIEL OUTCAST. SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

IN IMITATION OF GIL BLAS.

QUI CAPIT, ILLE FACIT.
Prov.

IN THREE VOLUMES. VOLUME III.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY THE LITERARY SOCIETY, At the LOGOGRAPHIC PRESS, AND SOLD BY J. WALTER, PRINTING-HOUSE-SQUARE, BLACKFRYARS.

M,DCC,LXXXV.

CHAPTER XVII.

ON the day following our strength being augmented, we gave out Romeo and Juliet. I was to play Romeo and Miss Slash'em Juliet, and we had a full house; but, it so happened, that when I came to the tomb scene, though I had rehearsed it several times before, having nothing but the handle of an old spade to force the door, I was so out of humour, that I drove at it with more violence than was requisite, and the whole fabric came down upon poor Juliet who lay within, and I upon the top of it; she received a contusion on her forehead, and screamed as for life. The audience thinking she was more hurt, than in reality she was, took part in her distress, and many of them jumped upon the stage to extricate her from her difficulty; and when they found she had a bump on her face, they very humanely excused our going on with the piece, and desired they might have the farce. It was the Mock Doctor again, and I acquitted myself with such eclat, that the accident in the play was forgotten.

THE next day the Mayor's lady, Mrs. Girkin, sent to us to beg we would play Alexander the Great, and though it required for the procession a greater stock of cloaths than our wardrobe could furnish, and we made this as an excuse, yet the difficulty was got over, as through her interest we were to have the use of half a dozen surplices from the college, and as many vergers coats from the abbey, and if we wanted it, she said, we should have the Mayor's mace, and the rest of the insignia of his office: but the gentleman who was to play Alexander (for all players, be they ever so low, are gentlemen and gentlewomen;) I say, the gentleman who was to play Alexander, observed that the crown was not come from the tinmans, and a man might as well attempt the character of a general, without a truncheon; as a king in procession without a crown. This want was too great to admit of any substitute and the death of Alexander was obliged to be postponed till a farther day.

WITH the assistance of brown paper and vinegar, Miss Slash'em soon got rid of the protuberance on her forehead, and in a day or two, we were to appear in the characters of Othello and Desdemona; the evening came, and the house was again as full as it could hold. Seldom a night we played, but some awkward accident occurred, that made the audience laugh as much at a tragedy, as at the drollest farce we could perform, and I verily believe, the hopes of such accidents, drew more to the theatre than any real inclination to see the piece; and fortune, some how or other, concurred to be of use to us in this particular. I had blacked my face for the character of the Moor, and, finding the house full, was in the best of spirits, and my Desdemona looking more lovely than I had ever seen her; having never rehearsed the part with my face blacked, I forgot myself, and when I was to embrace her, I could not resist kissing her with fervency; the misfortune was, the black came off from my face upon her's, the house laughed immoderately, and she was so mortified, that she gave me such a back-handed slap on the face, as set my mouth a bleeding: the house was in roar of applause, and nothing was heard from all parts of it, but encore, encore,

I MENTION these occurrences as the only matters worthy observation in such a vagabond company as I had the honour to belong to. If it hurt our reputation, it however filled our pockets, for the nights I played, I seldom divided less than between four and five pounds.

IN a very few days, the crown was completed and the play of Alexander given out; but Mrs. Mayoress, having sprained her ancle, could not possibly be present; it was lucky, indeed, that she had sprained her ancle, as she would have been disappointed in the performance. Alexander the Great had; the night before, drank too many libations to the god Bacchus, at the ale-house where he spent the evening; had quarreled with some of the company, and had beat one man very much. The consequence was, that he got a warrant from the Mayor, and just as the piece was going to begin, a constable found his way behind the scenes, seized Alexander by the collar, and took him away in his royal robes to Mr. Girkin's justice-room, with a whole mob behind him, and on Mrs. Girkin's enquiring who all that rabble was below; his worship told her, with a degree of pleasantry, ‘That, as she was too lame to go to the play-shop; Alexander the Great with his body guards was come to play the part at her house.’ In short, this unlucky circumstance obliged us to apologize to the audience for changing the piece, and another was exhibited in its room.

THE mayor, in his time, had been a gallant spark, and a great admirer of the ladies, and though he was now on the verge of sixty, he had somehow or other been smitten by the cupids in Miss Slash'em's eyes, and longed for nothing so much as a tete-a-tete with her; but the difficulty was how to see her, and not fall under the observation of his wife, who, when her resentment was roused, was one of the greatest viragos in the city of Winchester. He had once expressed an inclination that Mrs. Girkin would ask Miss Slash'em some afternoon to tea. ‘Miss Slash'em to tea! Invite a vagabond player to our house to tea!’ exclaimed Mrs. Girkin. ‘Sure man, you must be out of your senses!—What's become of all your dignity, Mr. Girkin? What, do you think, the ladies of our corporation would say, were they to hear of such a thing?—We should be the jest of the whole city.’ This Mr. Mayor told Miss Slash'em, one afternoon at her lodgings, and she told it to me again; for, finding his wife would not receive her, he found a way to invite himself to the object of his wishes, by waiting on Biddy Slash'em with a present of a small jar of pickles, as an acknowledgement, as he was pleased to say, for the entertainment she had afforded him at the play-shop. Biddy, who I found was always open-handed, more ready to receive, than people to give, and nothing seeming to come amiss to her, encouraged the mayor's visits, as she had done those of the linen-draper's apprentice at St. Albans, and indeed, he was there oftener than it was convenient or agreeable to me. He used to visit her in the evenings we did not perform, under a pretence of going to a new established club. But his wife suspected him, had him traced and found out his haunts.

ONE morning at breakfast with Miss Slash'em, she gave me the following account of the last of the mayor's visits. ‘The evening before last,’ said she, ‘he tapped at my door, calling in an under voice,’ ‘my dear Biddy, are you alone?’ ‘I told him I was, and he waddled in with a bottle of Lucca olives in his hand, which he said, he brought for my own eating; they were just imported and some of the best of the kind— he begged for a plate that he might show me how good they were. I handed a plate and he turned half of them out, for the bottle held but a pint. Few as there were, he fell voraciously to work, and would scarce give me an opportunity of tasting them. I put one into my mouth out of complaisance, and indeed but one, as 'tis a fruit I am not very fond of. He asked me to take another, but I told him, I never eat such things in an afternoon; he asked me no more, but devoured the whole of them himself, whilst he was with me, praising them all the time.’

SHE paid me the compliment to say, that she often wished him away, as she expected me; but she could not get rid of him, and he kept teasing her the whole evening. ‘Often would he break out into fits of extasy, squeezing my hand,’ says she, ‘or pressing my knees, with,’ ‘Thou, dear little charming creature!’—‘and then to the olives again, with’ ‘They are very fine fruit—I brought them purely for your own eating.’ ‘He should have said his own; for, as I observed before, he devoured the whole of them.’ ‘At last,’ says Miss Slash'em, ‘I heard some one coming up stairs,’ for her apartment communicated with the passage, and that with the street; and the mayor was exceedingly alarmed lest he should be discovered: ‘for he told me,’ continued she, ‘that if his coming to me was known to his wife, he should never hear the last of it. He tried to get under the bed.’ Miss Slash'em had but one room, and the bed stood at the farther end of it. ‘He tried,’ says she, ‘to get under the bed, but his belly was too big, and it was impracticable. I then pointed to a small closet and hurried him into it; but it was so shallow, that the door would not shut close, and he was under the necessity of standing tiptoe, and holding it to. Having thus concealed him, I opened the chamber door to a person that knocked, conceiving it to be you, but I was disappointed; it was a woman tolerably well dressed, about the age of forty, and in corpulency pretty nearly as big as the mayor; her face was as red as the gills of a turkey cock, and she seemed to be out of breath with ascending the stairs. She asked, if my name was Slash'em, and on my telling her, it was, apologised for the abrupt visit she had made me, but that her peace of mind was at stake, and she hoped I would excuse it. She said, her name was Girkin.— I was a good deal alarmed at this, as I feared a discovery and dreaded the consequences, for she seemed to be a violent one.’ ‘Miss Shash'em,’ says Mrs. Girkin, throwing herself into a great armed chair, ‘have you seen my husband lately?’ ‘Madam,’ replied I, ‘I am a stranger to your husband, and should not know him, was I to see him.’ ‘Then, you are greatly belied,’ says she, ‘for I understand he visits this house often.’ ‘If that be the case,’ returned I, ‘his visits must be to some person below or above, for the house is full of lodgers—it cannot be to me. ’ ‘I beg your pardon,’ says she, ‘if I do you wrong; but you must know, Miss Slash'em, my husband, Mr. Girkin—that is Mr. Mayor, though an old man, is a very wicked old man; nothing that wears a cap can escape him; I can't keep a maid servant for him; he is always pulling and hawling them about; and all to no purpose; if you knew as much as I know, you'd be of my way of thinking; there is not a trull that comes into the shop for a half penny worth of vinegar, or a farthing's worth of matches, that he is not leering at, and to his ternal disgrace. He is a gentleman, Miss Slash'em, a justice of the king's peace, and a man of dignity; and he owes it all to me; for, if I had not insisted upon his taking up his freedom, he would never have been Mayor of Winchester now; nor should we ever have been respected, as we are: but I'll expose the wretch, I'll let the corporation know—they take him to be a man of sense, but, between you and me, there is not a greater fool under heaven.—When there is any thing in the justicing way going on, I am always obliged to help out; but, I would not have him know I said so, on any account, for we may as well keep peace at home if one can; that makes me keep it a secret; and I look upon you, Miss Slash'em, to be a lady of too much honour to tell it again.’ ‘I told her, she might rely upon me, that nothing she had said should transpire. At this moment the olive bottle struck her eye, as it stood upon the mantle-piece. She took hold of it, said she knew that bottle, and he must have been with me this afternoon, for that the bottle came from her shop, and that within these two hours, as the hamper that contained them, was just brought to their house, and had scarce been opened: so that I am sure I am right, and doubt whether he is not concealed some where in the room now; casting here eyes round the chamber. —I assured her it was all conjecture.’ ‘Don't dissemble Miss 'Slash'em,’ says she, reddening with anger, ‘don't tell me a lie; it's a shame for any woman to encourage another woman's husband, as you have done mine. Mr. Girkin is a poor mean-spirited wretch, or he'd be above condescending to come into the lodgings of a vagabond actress and strolling strumpet.’ ‘I desired her, if she did not know how to behave herself, to leave my room; for I could not suffer myself to be insulted to my face. At this she grew more angry still, abused her husband in the grossest terms, called me a prevaricating hussey—said, that strolling players were a nuisance to every place they came into— and that she would take care to have us all sent to prison: in short, she stormed so loud and made such a riot as brought up the family from belowl. They endeavoured to pacify her, but all to no purpose: she was told, she said, he came into the house but a little before her, and, from the olive bottle, she was sure he was not far off at that moment. Mr. Girkin hearing this, and endeavouring, by rising higher on his toes, to pull the closet door closer, lost his equilibrium, and tumbled forward right into the room, throwing down a chair on which a chamber-pot stood, which the ladies had, during this conversation, made use of, and broke it into a thousand pieces. At this accident, she got up in the utmost fury;’ cried, ‘now the murder's out:’ ‘she kicked him several times, and gave her tongue full play.’ ‘A pretty figure truly,’ says she, ‘for the mayor of a town! Ar'n't you ashamed, you sneaking fool—to see yourself so exposed? Is this your dignity? —What will the corporation say; for I'll take care to have it known throughout the city?—Is this the return I'm to have, for all my pains to make a gentleman of you?’— ‘Not a word could she get from him; at which she picked up his hat with one hand, and his cane with the other, and laid on upon him with both, so unmercifully, that the poor henpecked devil could escape only by flight. He made the best of his way down the stairs, and she after him, and I thus got rid of my company altogether.’

MISS Slash'em asked me, if I had heard of it from any one but her. Not so particularly, replied I, as you have related it; but the greater part of the story is in every one's mouth, and his worship is so much laughed at, that he dare not shew his face abroad. There is a variety of tales respecting it. One is, that he was found in bed with you; another, that you concealed him in the bed; another, that Mrs. Girkin threw the chamber-pot at his head; another, that he was not discovered at all, but made his escape out of a back window upon a shed beneath it; and as stories never lose by carrying, it is said, that his weight carried him through that shed, and that he fell right into a water tub below. In short, there are always as many stories as there are persons to tell it; for so happy are most people at invention, that they generally add some little of their own; so that if you hear a story at a tenth or twelfth hand, the spurious tale bears no resemblance to its original.—But the worst story, my dear Biddy, says I, is, that an order is come down this morning from the mayor, not to perform any more under the peril of commitment. I have no doubt but its Mrs. Girkin's doings, but that's of little consequence to us. The manager is gone to the mayor to see what can be done, and if his application proves ineffectual, we must pack up and begone.

CHAP XVIII.

NOTHING would do; the mayor told our manager, that is to say, Mrs. Girkin told him for her husband, that he had tried us, and found we were a parcel of idle, noisy vagrants, and would not suffer us to perform any more, and that we must troop off. As there was no alternative, it was proposed to move to the Devizes; with respect to myself, as I had played the fool too long, I resolved to quit them. I was master of more than twenty pounds, and determined to go for London, where I might have a chance of once more seeing Miss Wildman. I accordingly communicated my intentions to the manager, took my leave of Miss Slash|'em, wished them better success at the next place, and in a day or two after arrived in the metropolis.

I TOOK a lodging in a cheap part of the town, and before I settled upon any plan, I went into the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square, enquired for the family of the Wildmans, and was informed, that Mr. Wildman had left his house three years ago, and retired to his seat in the north, and that his daughter, it was reported, was since married to a foreign gentleman. I don't know that any thing hurt me more for the present moment; I was for tearing off her ring, which had been constantly on my finger, ever since I had received it; but, on reflection, was led to hope, that this report, as thousands of others are, was groundless, and it would be folly to act rashly, and wiser to rest contented, till I had an opportunity of being better informed.

TIRED with a life of servitude, and being under the controul of any one, I resolved to continue my own master as long as I could; I therefore determined to turn author; but as my purse was not very deep, and it was expensive living in London, I could not wait for the completion of any elaborate or voluminous work, but found it necessary to write for the present moment, and turn my thoughts to the temporary matter of the day. Besides, however enabled I might have been to have waited till I could have completed some work of credit, I found myself disinclined, from the poor encouragement authors meet with. Elaborate performances are encouraged, only as the sciences, which is in an inverse ratio to their utility. An opera dancer will gain more money annually, than all the professors of a university together, and the wages of an expert hair-dresser, or a good cook, will double those of a preceptor ceptor, let that preceptor be who he will. Politics, then, was my theme, and as I found it was the temper of the times to rail at administration, right or wrong, I set out upon the same principle; I accordingly wrote a paper in opposition to government, arraigned the conduct of the first Lord of the Treasury, shewed in a variety of arguments that he was hastening the downfall of this nation, when, in fact, I thought the contrary; and when I had completed it, I entitled it the Flogger. Having copied it fair, and in a very legible hand, I read it over to myself twenty times, and was so well satified with my production, that I concluded I should not only get a great deal of money by it, but should raise my reputation as an author.

I CARRIED it to the little libeller in Piccadilly, and wished him to become the purchaser, telling him, I could furnish hi with such a paper two or three times a week. ‘And what am I to do with it?’ says he, running his eyes hastily over the first half sheet; ‘publish it,’ says I, ‘if you think proper,’ ‘No, no, —’says he, ‘it will not do to publish, it is not scurrilous enough for me to have any thing to do with it.’— ‘Politics,’ continues he, ‘is a dry dull subject, and never will go down without a great deal of virulence.’ I told him, if he would have patience to go through with it, he would find that I had handled the minister rather severely.—‘ Rather severely,’ retorts he?—‘I must have libel in every line.’—‘Strange as you may think the declaration, argument will not do now-a-days—reason is out of the question.—Was a party pamphlet wrote now by the pen of a Sydney or a Temple, if it contained nothing but argument and reason, it would not sell enough to pay paper and print; but, put reason, argument, sense, out of the question, fill it with invective, libel and treason, and every one will buy it.’ ‘But such a publication,’ replied I, ‘would be dangerous, and subject the publisher to the severest penalties.’ ‘Dangerous?’ returns he, ‘I know that very well, but there's nothing to be done in our way without danger. The literary age is past and gone; and, if it was not for Newgate, pillory and the like, a bookseller now would hardly get bread to eat: no, no, friend, you must never set up for an author, if you're afraid of your ears;—I have made, thank God, a pretty snug fortune, but it was not without a great deal of danger.’ In short, I found nothing was to be done with him; of course, left him and applied to another; a man not quite so violent as the last; he desired me to leave it, till the next morning, and he would then give me an answer.—I called as he directed me, and was told it would not suit him, for there was nothing more in it than a man might read every day in the newspapers at little or no expence. In short, that I had taken the wrong side of the question, and should only get into the pillory for my pains.

As I was convinced that standing in a pillory was the readiest way to get pensioned[*], it did not discourage me; I returned to my lodging, wrote it afresh, and threw as much libel into it, as the little libeller had recommended; I carried it to him again, but I could not persuade him to look at it. Thus distressed, I took it to a third, and on reading some few lines, he discovered enough to tell me, that he valued his quiet at too great a rate, to embark in faction and treason, and that if I was wise, I would put in into the fire.

WHAT to do now I could not tell. I took it to an obscure printer, who I knew would print any thing for money: he read it, and told me, if I could find any one to publish it, he was sure it would have a rapid sale; for that he had not seen more libel and treason in so small a compass for a long time. I was convinced I had steered clear of the last; and as to the first, I thought little about it. I asked him if he would print it for me, and what it would cost: he told me it would make a sheet and a half in small folio, which would sell for three-pence, and that five hundred of them would cost about two guineas, which, if sold, would produce four pounds ten shillings. I resolved to run the risk of this sum; and as parliament was sitting, determined to be the seller of them myself. He told me he could keep the press standing, and if I found a demand for them, a second five hundred would not cost me above twenty-seven shillings. He said he had a stall in a very great thoroughfare, where I might say they were to be had; and he would recommend me poor decrepid old woman to sell them, whom no one would think it worth while to trouble upon the occasion; that I might give her her story; and she might acknowledge herself to be both author and printer; that I need nor be seen in the business, but that I might call as another customer, two or three times a day, and take her money as she sold them; and that the customary allowance I must make to the trade, was any bookseller to be the publisher, would be sufficient to pay every expence; and at the same time I should be certain of receiving my money, which might not be the case if I put them out of my own hands. ‘Besides,’ continues he, ‘you are not aware of the frauds of these men. If you give a bookseller a work to get printed, and conclude upon an edition of five hundred; they will order seven hundred and fifty, or perhaps more, to be printed, call all above five hundred their own, sell all these their own first, and account with you for the remainder. I knew a dignitary of the church, whose sermon, preached before the House of Commons, was ordered to be printed; a certain bookseller in Fleet-Street was the publisher; and from the compliments the author received at court, and other places, he had every reason to think a great number had been sold. One says,’ ‘I have been richly entertained, Doctor, with your sermon this morning.’ Another, ‘I have been in close converse with you all the fore part of this day.’ Another, ‘I have but just quitted you, and here you are again.’ ‘In short, ten or a dozen friends had given him to understand, they had purchased his discourse; and when he came to settle the account with his bookseller, to his great mortification and surprize, only three copies had been sold.’ Rogues, they say, are honest to each other, but not, we find, among this tribe of men. A printer once told me, that two booksellers jointly bought a manuscript, and agreed that one thousand copies should be printed, and be divided between them. He who furnished the paper, sent in sufficient for one thousand two hundred and fifty, and requested an extra two hundred and fifty might be printed off, and laid by for him, unknown to the other. The printer, an honest man, made no reply, but determined not to do it. However, a day or two after, the other bookseller sent in paper for two hundred and fifty copies, and begged a similar favour. He now resolved to profit by these rascals, worked off the two hundred and fifty extra for each, put them both on a footing, and afforded them the secret satisfaction of thinking they had cheated each other.

ALL this seemed so feasible, that I was bent upon trying the experiment, and being my own publisher. Five hundred were printed, the stall supplied, and the old woman appointed to sell them at three-pence each: and that they might fall into the hands of the great, I dressed myself in some old cloaths I borrowed of the printer's devil, put a patch upon one of my eyes, such a wig upon my head, as shoe-blacks in London streets wipe shoes with, and with an apron tucked up before me, I took two hundred of them to the parliament house, and as the members went in or came out, I bawled out, ‘The Flogger, an please your honours; the most spirited paper that ever was published, your honours!’ This answered my purpose; they laughed at the conceit; some would give me a blow, in good humour, with their canes; but they most of them purchased; and instead of three-pence, none gave me less than sixpence, most of them a shilling, and some few half a crown, for my oddity. In short, I sold them to the last paper, and got upwards of seven pounds for the two hundred. On my return to my shop, I found very few were sold. But the next day the House of Commons did me the honour to establish its sale; for it was resolved to be the most atrocious libel that ever was published; and it was moved and carried, that the publisher of the said Flogger should be taken into custody, and that the attorney general should prosecute. This being made public the next day, I took care to have it in all the newspapers where the said libel was sold; and such was the demand for it, that we could not print fast enough. Sixteen thousand of them were sold in the first week, by which I cleared upwards of fifty pounds. So much encouragement urged me to proceed; and the week following, I wrote a second paper, if possible, more virulent than the first, and it sold equally well. The King's messengers were after the author and publisher. They called at the stall where these papers were sold; and the following was the dialogue between the old woman and them; the old lady drawling out her answers, as if shew as faint, and almost dying.

First Messenger.

Who is the publisher of this paper?

Old Woman.

I am the publisher.

Second Messenger.

If you are the publisher, who is the author?

Old Woman.

I am the author too.

First Messenger, (laughing.)

If you are both author and publisher, you can certianly tell us who is the printer?

Old Woman.

Why, gentlemen, I am all three, author, printer, and publisher.

As they could get nothing more from her, they turned upon their heel, the first messenger crying out, ‘D-mn you, you old bitch:—We'll take care of you. ’

Old Woman.

Heaven bless your charity, gentlemen; I pray God you would; for I am not able to take care of myself.

In fact, this woman did not know the author; for I passed only as a runner between the printer and her. My whole care was to secrete myself, and to take the money from her as fast as she sold them, which I contrived, and was enabled to do, through a variety of disguises; having changed my lodging to a more obscure part of the town, and to a house more suitable to the appearance I made.

So much truth did the little libeller in Piccadilly tell me, and so rich I became by the sale of this paper only, which I published once a week, that in the space of six months, I found myself possessed of five hundred and seventy pounds, and all expences paid: but, during all this time, I was at hide and seek. A proclamation had been issued, offering a reward to apprehend me; but, as the Treasury have made a practice lately of not paying such rewards, when called, on,[*] no one paid any regard to it: however, as I found my spirit for writing libels nearly exhausted, and the avidity of the people almost satiated, I dropped the publication; and that the matter, if possible, might blow over; I thought it best to get out of the way, and therefore took a trip to the Continent.

Notes

*
Dr. S—, was so punished for a libel.
↵

*
The case of Wheble, the bookseller verifies this assertion.
↵

CHAP XIX.

I NO sooner landed at Calais, but I found my heart at ease, and that weight upon my spirits, which had for some time oppressed me, instantly taken off. So necessary an ingredient is conscious rectitute to a man's happiness! I spoke little or no French, though I understood it tolerably well, of course was obliged to put up at English houses, where they were exceedingly extortionate. You no sooner arrive in Calais harbour, than the waiters from the different hotels or inns are ready to tear the cloaths of your back, in order to prevail on you to go to the house to which they belong, and no sooner are you safely lodged within their house; but, they seem indifferent whether they see you after that time or not. I remember I put up at the Table Royal, and among other unreasonable charges, was thirty-six sols, or near nineteen pence of our money for reading an English newspaper, and on my remonstrating against the charge, they gave me to understand, that though I wore the appearance of a gentleman, I did not act like one. The comparative cheapness of wines and provisions in this part of the world, to what it is with us, leads English travellers to spend their money freely, and this seeming liberality, has spoiled the publicans upon all their roads; and where they will charge a native but one livre, that is, ten pence half penny, they will make an Englishman pay three. I was long enough abroad to find all this out, and therefore made a point of going to houses unaccustomed to receive the English; where if I did not dine according to our mode of eating, I had the satisfaction to have my dinner at one third of the price. Indeed, I found the disposition of taking an advantage of foreigners so general, that travelling in company with some German officers in the service of the French, they requested me to let them settle the bills as they passed, otherwise, very unreasonable charges would be made; this I chearfully acquiesced with; but discovered I derived no advantage from their cautious conduct, for, I was sufficiently well acquainted with their money, to know, that in settling my quota of the sum expended, they took care to make me pay double what they did themselves, and of course they paid less than they would have done, had I not been of the party. It was a matter I found a difficulty of yielding to; but, as I did not care to enter into a dispute, in which I might come off the worst, I submitted for the little time I was with them to the imposition; and you will always find this the wiser step. In whatever part of the world you are, go as quietly through it as you can, and if you chance to stumble over a stone, dont quarrel with it, but pursue your way, and rejoice that it did not break your leg.

BEING abroad in a foreign country without recommendation, and without any intention of continuing long, I thought of little but looking about me and seeing what naturally presented itself to my view. I wandered from Dunkirk to Bruges, and from Bruges to Ghent; and being one Sunday morning at the chapel of the convent of the Rich Dames in that city, during high mass, I heard a shriek in the gallery among the nuns, which rather disturbed the ceremony for the moment; but as all was soon quiet again, I took no farther notice of it.

ABOUT nine o'clock in the evening, however, as I was sitting down to supper, at the St. Sebastian, in this town, the master of the hotel came into the room, and asked me if my name was not Outcast; if it was, a man below had a letter for me. The novelty of the circumstance, and a consciousness that I had no acquaintance that could know me in my present garb, for I was very smartly dressed, at first alarmed me; but as I had done no wrong, I had not much to dread. Having, therefore, ordered the person to be sent up stairs, I enquired from whom he came. ‘If you are an English gentleman,’ replied he, ‘and your name, Gabriel Outcast, that letter is for you; and if you will trouble yourself to look into it, you will soon learn from whence it comes.’ The messenger was a Fleming, but spoke English tolerably well. I broke open the seal, and the following were the contents in English.

SIR,

THE writer of this letter is a female, in the year of her noviciate, at the convent of the Rich Dames. If your name be Gabriel Outcast, and from London, I am right in my address, and wish for an interview. Come to the grates of that convent, tomorrow at eleven; enquire for sister Agatha, pass for her kinsman, and you will see one probably whom you may wish to see.

ON reading this letter, I asked the man, who the person was that delivered that letter to him. He told me the porteress at the Rich Dames, and that his orders were, to go to every hotel in the city, till he found me; he had been at one or two, and he deemed himself fortunate in meeting with me as he did.

I CALLED for a pen and ink, and writ as follows.

THE letter from the female at the Rich Dames has luckily reached the person to whom it was addressed, and will be punctually attended to.

Nine o'clock. St. Sebastian's.

HAVING found Flanders, by all accounts that I had received, to be a country of intrigue, I concluded this to be a business of the same kind. However, I impatiently waited for the hour of assignation at the Rich Dames, and was there by the time the clock struck eleven. I enquired for sister Agatha, and was shewn up into a parlour, where I had not been five minutes, before, I was, to my great astonishment, transported with the sight of my dear Miss Wildman, who seemed as much confused as myself, and was unable to utter a word. She put her hand through the grate, on which I imprinted a thousand kisses; and when I was able to speak, I told her, the happiness of meeting her where I so little expected to see her, totally overcame me. She said she was no less rejoiced on her part; that she had encountered a deal of trouble on my account; that she was anxious to know where I had been, and how I was circumstanced, and the reason she had never heard from me: in short, she wished to say a thousand things to me, which her situation prevented, but which she hoped I would give her some opportunity of doing. I shewed her the ring, which, in her gracious moments, she had been pleased to give me, declared it had never been off my finger, and that for the many years I had lost sight of her, she had been ever in my thoughts. I fixed my eyes on her during these declarations, and saw the lovely tears trickle fast down her cheeks, and was sensible of all her emotions. She appeared as amiable in my eyes as ever; and if her monastic dress made any alteration in her form, it was that of rendering her far more lovely. I gave her to understand, that I was still a single man, and as much attached to her as ever, and that I dreaded to hear her story, lest the chapter of accidents should have placed her beyond my reach. When she had recovered herself, she told me she was not yet professed, of course not sequestered for life; that her endeavouring to search me out, was a test of the state of her mind; and that on a presumption she should find me as honourable as ever, she had written a few lines, which she would submit to my consideration, on my return to my lodgings: that the watchful eyes of the ladies in that house made it necessary she should not continue long at the grates; but that if I would excuse her leaving me so abruptly, she would be happy to give me a second meeting the next morning, at the same hour, and at the same place. Unwilling as I was to part with her, I was forced to submit. She, however, gave me her hand again to kiss, and I retired with my heart in my mouth, unable to utter another word.

I WAS no sooner without the walls of the convent, than I broke open the seal, and found the contents of her letter as follows:

MY DEAR GABRIEL,

You cannot have forgotten our mutual vows of attachment. Though your heart may be estranged in the course of time from me, mine is as true as ever. Many an unhappy hour have I suffered, to preserve my vow inviolable, and many a distress have I experienced on your account. What could have prevented your writing to me as you promised? Or is it in the nature of men to trifle with us women? Having refused to marry a gentleman of my father's recommending, is the occasion of my being here, where had I not chanced to have seen you in the chapel on Sunday last, I should e're long have taken the veil; but, now all my former love is awakened, and all my fond expectations renewed. Guess my surprise at first seeing you where I did.—I knew you instantly, and the surprise overcame me. I have unfortunately lost my mother, and by her death an estate of three hundred pounds a year devolves to me; but, my father withholds it from me, and it is by his injunctions that I am in this convent. Far from being inclined to a monastic life, I wish to be out of it, and if you are in any situation to maintain me, and will take me from it, I will throw myself under your protection, and wait the result of better fortune to befriend your distressed

ELIZA WILDMAN.

ENRAPTURED with the contents of this letter, I was impatient for a second interview. The next morning I saw her again, opened my whole heart to her, made her acquainted with my situation, and concerted means to get her off. I told her, if she would direct me how to act, I would implicitly follow her directions; that I would take the matrimonial vow the first opportunity that offered, according to the ritual of the Roman church, and would ratify it at the altar of our own, as soon as I set foot in England. We then entered on the mode of her escape, and the plan she pointed out was this. ‘Here is,’ says she, ‘in wax, an impression of the garden key, which was accidentally left in the door by some workmen, who are now within the convent, and which I found means to procure; get one made by it, and also such necessary articles of dress as I have set down in this paper, and when all things are prepared, I will meet you at the garden gate, an hour before matins on any morning you shall appoint.’ I approved her plan, and put it immediately into execution. A few days compleated the whole, and having ordered a carriage to wait at the corner of the street adjoining the convent, about two o'clock one morning, according to appointment, when all was hushed and quiet, I met her at the garden gate, threw a long cloak and hood over her, locked the gate again, to prevent suspicion, and conducted her to the chaise, in which we made the best of our way to Lisle, a town in French Flanders, and out of the reach of the police of Brabant. We were got some miles from Ghent, before I could prevail on her to speak to me; at last, she looked round upon me, gave me her hand, and with a sigh exclaimed.—‘How rashly, my dear Gabriel, do young women act! I fear you will yourself despise me for my conduct!’ I soon quieted her on that head, assured her it was the best proof of her affection she could give me, and that I trusted she would have no cause to repent it.—We met with no interruption on the road, and by nine o'clock in the morning found ourselves at Lisle. As soon as we alighted at the Auberge, I sent for the mistress of the house, made her a confidante in the affair, and whilst my Eliza was dressing, desired a priest might be sent for, in order to discharge my conscience. An hour and a half did the business, her trunk was opened, and the maitresse d'hotel assisted at her toilette. The dress she had directed was a white lutestring with a pale yellow petticoat, and so fashionably was it made, so well put on, and her head so elegantly decorated, that I was more in love with her than ever. The whole family was present at the ceremony of our espousals, and I was blessed with the richest gift, in my opinion, which heaven had to give.

AFTER dinner we pursued our way to St. Omer's, where I took a lodging and spent two months in an uninterrupted state of happiness. As we heard nothing from Ghent, and was not enquired after; I apprehend it was never known what route we took.

HAVING given my Eliza a faithful detail of my adventures, which she acknowledged were the most extraordinary she had heard of, in so small a space of time; at my request one afternoon, she gave the following account of herself.

CHAP. XX.

THE accident that happened at our house, filled the whole family with confusion; but my father's receipt of your letter unveiled the mystery. Our porter, who was only stunned with the blow you gave him, soon recovered, and on being taken before a magistrate, confessed that he had been bribed by an agent of Lord B—, to assist in seizing you, in order to send you on board a ship and convey you to some distant place from whence you might not return. He was committed till such time as the coroner had sat on the man you killed, but the inquest having brought in their verdict killed in self-defence, and you not being found to prosecute, he was discharged. My father, however, took him into the house no more; and to do him justice, was very anxious to have all the parties punished. He valued you for the good office you had done his daughter, and was very desirous of revenging your cause.

THE affair, however, was soon forgotten, and as you was not to be heard of, Lord B. wished for leave to renew his addresses; you are acquainted with my sentiments on that subject, and my father was no less averse to it: he endeavoured to make it appear, that his rashness was a proof of the strong affection he bore me; but it was listened to by neither of us: my mother commended my determination, and my father, as the proposed settlements could not be made, was not to be brought over. Lord B. however, was importunate, and his visits, though unwelcome, were so frequent at our house, that my father thought proper to retire to his seat in the north: where, in a short time after, my mother died; by whose death, as I told you, I am entitled to an estate of three hundred pounds a year, but which my father has never given me the possession of.

‘WE had not been two years in the country, before a young gentleman, a Roman Catholic, of a good family, and considerable estate, then on a visit to a Baronet in our neighbourhood, thought proper to pay his addresses to me, which I politely but peremptorily declined. Not discouraged, however, by this, he preferred his suit to my father, and brought him over to his cause.’ ‘Eliza,’ said he, ‘one day to me, whilst at breakfast, heaven has thought proper to deprive me of your mother, and, according to the course of nature, it cannot be long before I follow her. I have no attachment to this world but you, and could I see you respectably and happily settled, I should not care how soon I left it. The gentleman you have seen, is a young man of good family, and of considerable landed property; he is universally esteemed by all who know him, and an alliance with him would give me great pleasure. He has made me very honourable proposals of marriage for you, and I think you cannot do better than receive him. With respect to settlements he has offered a carte blanche, and you may make what terms you think proper.’

I TOLD him, that not only duty, but gratitude would lead me to pay every proper attention to his recommendation, particularly in a case where I was convinced he studied only my happiness; that under this idea, I flattered myself he would leave me mistress of my own actions, especially in a matter that so nearly concerned me; that sorry as I was, not to acquiesce with him, I must take the liberty of putting a negative upon the proposal; for that I had been so sickened of matrimony upon a former occasion, that I must be altered in my nature before I could listen to a second proposal; that I was very well contented with my present situation, and wished for no change, and that if it pleased Providence to remove him from me, I trusted I should have sufficient to support me to the utmost of my ambition.

IT would be idle to recount to you, the long debate that was held between us upon this subject. On his part, it was carried on with warmth, but I was resolved to keep my engagement with you, conceiving that some accident had prevented my hearing from you; for the letters, you say you wrote, never reached me, owing probably to our removal from London. When my father found me determined not to listen to this proposal, he became exasperated, and deprived me of almost every indulgence. In short, not to tire you out with accounts, that would be irksome to you to hear, and distressing to me to tell; he insisted on it, that I should not live with him, but retire to a convent and take the veil; for he would sooner see me in my coffin, than that I should do any thing to disgrace his family. No intreaties, no prayers of mine could turn him from his purpose; my life was grown a burthen to me; I despaired of hearing any more from you, and, of course, submitted to his disposal of me; and I believe, as averse as I found myself to a sequestered life, had chance not thrown you in my way, I should have been prevailed on, by the ladies in the house where I was; and, at the end of my noviceship, have taken the veil.

I HAD now been three months abroad, and as the matter had blown over, for which I left England, and the ministry was changed, I conceived there could be no danger in returning, and accordingly quitted St. Omer's, and set off for London.

WHEN we reached London, till we could get a lodging, we put up at one of those taverns called hotels, where, under a false idea of furnishing better accommodations than is to be met with at inns, they contrive to pick the pockets of their guests. My plan of operations was to return to the profession of an author, which I conceived, not only to be the most lucrative I could pursue, but the most respectable, trusting to Providence for future expectancies; but seeing in one of the newspapers an advertisement that struck me, from a man who advertised places under government to be disposed of; with the earliest intelligence of vacancies in all departments; and being in possession of a little money, I was willing first to try what I could do here; I accordingly waited on Provider the place-monger, (for that was the advertiser's name) and the following was, as near as I can recollect, the dialogue that passed between us.

Author.

I think, Sir, your name is—Provider?

Provider.

At your service, Sir.

Author.

A dealer in— places?

Provider.

I have it in my power to accommodate gentlement in that way.

Author.

What places have you vacant? I wish to be a purchaser of some easy genteel employ about the king.

Provider.

Oh Sir, we have always such things dropping; even from a turn-spit, to a Lord of the Treasury.—What is your profession, Sir, and of what country are you?

Author.

I am an author, and an Englishman.

Provider.

An author!—and an Englishman!—Gad so; that's a little awkward—I fear I shall find a difficulty in suiting you; for the court has a natural aversion to men of literature, and to such as are not born on the other side the Tweed. There was a time when reading was in fashion, and our great men looked a little beyond the line of life in which they walked; but 'tis the reverse now; we wish for no information beyond ourselves, and wilfully shut our eyes and ears to every thing that is doing without the palacegates. A learned man at St. James's would be as much in the way, as a Morocco ambassador or a native of Otaheite.— Even a birth-day ode is considered now as a bore [*].

Author.

If it be not impertinent, Sir, I would ask you the channel through which you are able to be of so much service to the public?

Provider.

That is one of the arcana of the bona dea, a secret not to be divulged. The chief of our places are procured through the medium of the ladies; but the methods they make use of, is a mystery beyond our know ledge. Business is very dead at my office, when we have sober old men at the head of the various departments; but when we have a chancellor, a chamberlain, a lord steward, and so on, young enough, and wicked enough to keep girls, we have always something stirring. —If old places don't drop, we create new ones.—Should you like any thing up stairs, or would you prefer it in the kitchen?

Author.

These are not so genteel; —are they?

Provider.

All places about his Majesty are genteel, not excepting even his chimney sweeper and his nightman. His footmen are esquires, and his grooms of the bed-chamber are no more.

Author.

Being a gentleman by birth, and having had a good education, I am eligible to any employ; but I should wish for one with little attendance.

Provider.

Gentleman and education are out of the question— these qualifications ill suit with courtiers; who are obliged to submit now to such indignities and mortifications, that a man of any spirit or abilities will not be seen among them. Formerly, none but men of birth and talents were to be found within the palace, but now men of all ranks and denominations croud in, many to be made gentlemen. As you seem desirous of a place, where little attendance is required, perhaps you would like a sinecure: we have great plenty of these, and of course they are often dropping; or we could saddle you upon a commissioner of the customs or excise;—though now I think on't, these gentlemen are skittish, and are very restive, unless they are ridden [*] by ladies.—Let me see—(looking over his list) here is a place that perhaps may suit you, and is now vacant.

Author.

What is it?

Provider.

Sweeper of the Mall; the salary, one hundred pounds a year, is almost a sinecure, and may be done by deputy; with five-and-twenty pounds a year for brooms that are never used.

Author.

I should wish for a better income.

Provider.

Oh, we can add as many hundreds to it as you please; this we often do, in proportion to the purchase money: or there's the keeper of the lions —it is a better place and will be shortly vacant, for he is now ill, and his apothecary is my particular friend.

Author.

You have a numerous acquaintance, I apprehend, among the medical tribe?

Provider.

Making fresh acquaintance among them every day.—I have a long folio list of the apothecaries every placeman employs. This we find out by our runners; and this knowledge is of great use to my office; as, through them, I always get the first intelligence of any illness.

Author, laughing.

And send them out of the world some years before their time.

Provider.

No, not quite so.— A placeman always lives till his friends and his employers are tired of him; and if his days by any accident are shortened, it is only removing him from an envious and ill-natured world.

Author.

You was saying, I think, Mr. Provider, that you frequently procure additional salaries, to be added to old offices.

Provider.

Frequently.

Author.

But this is a bad way of disposing of the public money, for many offices are too well paid already.

Provider.

Ministers are often obliged to this, when they have not a place vacant of sufficient magnitude to stop the mouth of a needy and craving patriot; and, if they could not do the same now and then to serve themselves, it would be a hard case. Who would be a minister of this country, and stand the baiting like a bull, unless he could have the fingering of a little of the public cash?—As you say you are an author, Sir, if you will undertake to puff the ministry for a twelve-month in some of the public prints, I may possibly procure you a pension of two or three hundred pounds a year, for half the purchase money you would otherwise be obliged to pay. Our price is generally five years purchase for an employ, and nine years for a sinecure or pension; but, if you lay it on pretty thick in favour of public measures, perhaps I may procure you a pension for five years purchase.

Author.

You procure dignities sometimes for gentlemen, I presume?

Provider.

Nothing more common. —I got Mr. Alderman Fig, the grocer, created a Baronet the other day, for less than five hundred pounds, besides the fees; and I am now in treaty with Sir Slovenly Hogstye, the distiller, for an Irish peerage. He has been moving heaven and earth these twenty years to accomplish it, under the plea of public services, but those are such stale pretences, as won't go down nowa-days. He is obliged to have recourse to me at last.

Author.

I fear you will render your titles, at this rate, very numerous and very cheap.

Provider.

No, no; we guard against this too; fearing it should happen, as lady Sarcasm says, that she is afraid to spit out of her coach, lest she should spit upon an Irish Lord.

IN short, from this man's account, not finding I could suit myself without a considerable sum of money, more than I had to spare, I gave up the idea, and determined to employ myself in the literary way. Accordingly I took a genteel first floor in a private street, for which I was to pay one guinea and a half a week and resumed my own name, Edward Wilbraham. I gave my hand a second time in marriage to my dear Eliza, according to the ceremonies of the English church; and when we were settled in our lodging, my next step was to seek out for employ. My idea was to get into the pay of some opulent bookseller. I applied to the man who printed the Flogger for me, made him my friend, and found him of use to me. He recommended me, to a patriot bookseller, as a man whose talents were adapted to any thing in the scribbling line, and as one (which weighs most with the trade) who would write a great deal for a little money. To this man I was introduced, and he asked me if I was a good hand at a speech. I told him I was no orator, at least I had never tried my abilities that way. ‘I don't want you,’ says he, ‘to bellow forth yourself; but can you pen a good bellowing speech for another? My friend tells me,’ continued he, ‘you are a pretty good politician, and as a variety of ignorant and illiterate people now creep into parliament, (some to shelter themselves from a jail, others hoping to get something by mouthing at and baiting the minister) these persons are in continual want of something to say, and I am daily applied to to get speeches penned for them. If you are clever at this, I can employ you the whole sessions: you have nothing to do, but to collect the subjects from the newspapers, which generally announce the business that is to come on, that is the order of a future day, and have the speech ready for delivery the day before.’ And what, Sir, is to be my pay, says I, upon these occasions? ‘That,’ returns he, ‘depends upon the length of the speech, and the shortness of the time in which it is to be composed. Sometimes,’ says he, ‘we don't know the business twenty-four hours beforehand: in this case it is all night work, and if cleverly done, I may give you a guinea, at other times we seldom exceed half the money, and sometimes a crown. But you need not fear proper encouragement, if you hit them off well, and are keen at a lash. Only take care to put the tittles to your i's, and the crosses to your t's, and write pretty plain, or some of my gentlemen will not be able to read them.’ I undertook the task, and had sufficient employ; for as I threw into my speeches plenty of sarcasm, invective, and now and then a Latin quotation, interspersed with an occasional enecdote, to entertain and keep the hearers from yawning, taking care always to preserve those elegant parliamentary phrases of ‘Habits of intimacy,’ ‘Versant in order,’ ‘Honourable gentleman in my eye,’ and the like; and as I had a happy knack of penning them in different language and stile, so as to adapt them to the character of the speakers, there seldom passed a week during the whole sessions, that I did not pick up four or five guineas. For a modest man I wrote in the third person, for an egotist in the first, and never failed to give scope to the natural feelings and disposition of the speaker. When parliament broke up, I was employed to write sermons for the clergy. In this manufacture I was not paid so well. Seldom could I get more than a crown for the best written discourse, except it was wanted by a bishop, or it was required to be printed; in these cases, I had half a guinea. Indeed the clergy cared not how short and little declamatory they were; for a declamatory discourse requires too much exertion and trouble in the delivery.

I SOON wrote myself into reputation, and was applied to by a gentleman concerned in the reviews, to take a part in one of those periodical publications, the pay for which was two guineas per sheet for the quantity I supplied. I doubted my abilities in this business, as it required a thorough knowledge of letters, to be able to criticize, with candour and precision, the works of others. ‘Candour,’ says he, ‘we have nothing to do with; for it has been long a custom to admit the author of a new publication, to write his own criticisms: in such cases we not only save a guinea by the quantity of matter, (for most authors are very verbose in their own praise) but we get a guinea or two for its insertion: and as to difficulty, there is little or none; we only expect a few cursory remarks, with here and there an entertaining extract. The press so teems with publications, that were every work studied, we should never get through them. We had a gentleman once, who would touch us off as much poetry, mathematics, and physic, in two hours, as would employ four compositors to set up for two days, and without much knowledge in either of the subjects; but we have lost him; he is gone to be an overseer in a sugar plantation in Jamaica, and we are in want of one to supply his place. You may as well try your hand, and see what you can do.’ I smiled in my sleeve; but as I was not in a situation to refuse an employ I thought I could undertake, I embraced the proposal, especially as, according to the plan of my employer, it would take up but little of my time.

THE next day a porter came with a bundle of new books on every science. I looked them over, and meeting with a political tract, a subject in which I was best read, I put together a variety of animadversions, and spun out my remarks to a considerable length, but treated the author with as much justice and candour as I could. On my transmitting the manuscript to the printer, he thought proper to curtail it, by putting his pen through a variety of the best arguments, which he was pleased to say were tedious and dry, but which he in reality objected to, because the manuscript was more than he chose to pay for. This vexed me exceedingly; but as I was writing for bread, I was obliged to sacrifice my fame and submit.

It is no wonder that these monthly criticisms are in such low esteem, with men of reading and good sense, when the printers of them will dock and mutilate a manuscript as they think proper, and fill their pockets at the expence of their credit. A very ingenious performance was one day brought me, with the following laconic note, from one of the proprietors.

SIR,

The author of the book herewith sent, has been troublesome to us; by giving him a lash, you will oblige your humble servant.

AT another time I received the following, with five octavo volumes, about seven in the evening.

MR. Wilbraham is desired to transmit his remarks on the volumes herewith sent, by nine tomorrow morning, or they will be too late for publication.

IN short, I found this part of my profession as barbarous and iniquitous, as my late practice of physic; for as that was murdering of men, this was murdering of reputations; and as reputations generally outlive the period of human life, and the last slaughter is the greatest of the two, I was determined to wipe my hands of it.

THERE is not a greater slavery, nor a more dependent situation in the world, than to be in the pay of the booksellers: they in general reward an author so ill, as to keep him always poor, and this poverty is their best security against encroachment: for was a good writer to publish his own works, where he gets ten pounds, he would gain a hundred. Booksellers are too timid adventurers to risk much money on any one publication; and the misfortune is, a manuscript never announces its success: a bookseller buys as if he never saw it; of course, if a book succeeds, 'tis the bookseller, not the author, that profits by it. Were authors to be their own publishers, and to have justice done them by all parties concerned, they would be enabled to live well: for considerable incomes have arisen from the sale of some works, for the copy-right of which very small sums were originally given. Burn's Justice, a book that has brought in thousands, was originally sold for less than five hundred pounds, Gay's Beggar's Opera for thirty punds, and Milton's Paradise Lost for fifteen pounds. And I have heard Sir J. F—ld—g say, that had his brother preserved his copies in his own hands, the family would not have been reduced to the difficulties they were. Great sums of money have occasionally been given for copy-right, but his has been upon the reputaion of the author; and nowithstanding this, far from adequate to the intrinsic value of the work. Indeed, the booksellers are so certain of this, that when any one of the trade fails, or retires from business, and his copy-right is to be sold, lest authors should come at the true value of such copy-right, and know what it annually brings in; though such property is sold by auction, the sale is always a private one. The booksellers alone are convened, and they will sit a whole morning brooding over the business, like a number of conspirators, darkly meditating the destruction of an individual. And such is the jealousy and rancour of the bookselling tribe, that they will depreciate a work in which the trade is not concerned, and merely on that account. ‘How does such a book sell?’ says a customer, ‘can you shew me one?’ ‘Oh, not at all,’ replies the bookseller: ‘I never keep any: I don't know that I have been asked for more than one since it has been out.’ And you are sure to find it ill spoken of in the reviews. That this will be the fate of mine I have not a doubt, especially after what I have said, and having sent this history into the world, under the patronage of the Literary Society.[*] But let him, or any other bookseller with whom he is connected, be concerned in the copy, and he will put it into the hands of every one, with ‘Have you seen this, Sir? It is a book in great estimation, and sells rapidly.’ Then again, by way of deception, though they print but five hundred copies, the title-page shall be altered five times in such an edition, the second hundred having the words second edition in the title, of the third hundred the third edition, and so on: so that the third edition of a book shall be advertised and selling, before a sufficient number are sold to pay even paper or print. I blessed myself that I discovered these artifices early enough to put many hundreds of pounds in my pocket; for having no man midwife to bring my bantlings into the world, they were not strangled in the birth. Indeed they have been obliged to live by their own little merit, a prohibition being laid by the proprietors of the reviews, on those who write for them, not to say a single word in the favour of any thing they know to be mine, but to handle it as severely as they can. I have this satisfaction, however, to think, that whatever little reputation I may have acquired, they cannot diminish it: or even, if they could, they cannot hinder me from being easy under their attacks.

Notes

*
A fashionable word for a tiresome repetition.
↵

*
This is obliging a commissioner to pay a certain annuity out of his salary, to a person fixed upon him, and who is then said to ride him.
↵

*
This is an association of literary men, who print and publish such new and original works of authors, at their own risk and expence, as shall be submitted to their perusal, and they shall think worth printing; give the author all profits arising from the same, and leave him in full and free possession of his copy-right; an institution truly patriotic and praise-worthy, and deserving of the highest encouragement; as it must prove very beneficial to the interest of a useful set of men, and tend to the promotion of literature. See a fuller account of this plan at the end of this volume.
↵

CHAP XXI.

I WENT on successfully as an author, and found that the profession, under the circumstances I have mentioned, enabled me to live, and cut a much better figure than I expected; but had I been poor, I should not have repined, the poverty of a man of letters being a proof only, that he never prostituted either his person or his pen. I fell into the hands of a very respectable bookseller, a man who had pride and spirit above the rest of the trade, and who scorned to be guilty of a mean or narrow action. This man did justice to every work I put into his hands, settled his account very regularly, and paid his ballances punctually. I did so well that I took a house before I had been twelve months married, and appeared in a stile that would not have disgraced any of my father's family. My Eliza blessed me with a son, and we were as happy as matrimony, reciprocal affection, and good circumstances could render us. We made several applications to Mr. Wildman, who was so exasperated at the conduct of his daughter, that he would attend to none of them, and I was under the necessity of proceeding against him in law, to recover the three hundred a year that became the property of my wife on the death of her mother. Many terms elapsed before I could bring the matter to a final hearing. I at first fell into the hands of one of those attornies who know how to handle a client to the best advantage. Notwithstanding all my caution, I was not aware of the injury they could do me; I little expected, they ever carried matters to such lengths, as to take money of the opposite party, and betray their employers; but I now found myself mistaken, for I discovered when the cause was at issue, that my attorney had given notice of trial, that he had been bought over on the other side, and had omitted to attend: the consequence was a nonsuit and I was served with an execution for a non pros; that is, for not prosecuting the matter to a hearing. Attornies are liable to be struck off the roll for this conduct, and I was very well disposed to make an example of mine; but, a friend dissuaded me from it with the following argument: ‘If you move the Court of King's Bench against him, it must be on affidavit, and I should not wonder if such a rascal was to suborn witnesses to prove you perjured, and set you in the pillory.’ Most attornies will delay a suit, in order to put a few term and other fees into their pockets; and, when the solicitor has done, the barrister takes it up. In this cause of mine as the lawyers found that money was not wanting on either side, they took care to make the most of the business. Many frivolous pretences are often urged to delay the hearing; but I could never suppose, that when the cause is once called on, that any measures are pursued to put off the trial: but I was now convinced to the contrary, for, as I have observed, when the attornies have done, the counsel begin; they will move under various pretexts to defer its coming on from day to day, purposely that the barristers retained may have fresh retaining fees; for every adjournment of a cause puts fresh sums into the pockets of the pleaders; and this custom meets with too much countenance from above, so that when the witnesses are all ready and every thing prepared, the hearing shall be unexpectedly adjourned. Such is the glorious uncertainty of the law!—Why are the lawyers always dressed in black? says a countryman. Out of respect to their clients, whose heirs they are. However, my next attorney was exceedingly industrious, and to do him justice, so ready to serve my cause, that he once asked me at parting, who was to find the witnesses, he or I?—A decree was at last obtained in my favour, and I was put into possession of the estate.

WE were now as happy as hearts could wish, and being at the receipt of about eight hundred pounds a year, we envied not others as many thousands. But, in the career of all this felicity, an accident happened that for a while blasted the whole. My poor Eliza, coming home one evening from the opera, caught cold: the consequence was a putrid fever, that, in spite of every medical assistance, took her off in the every bloom of her youth; and it is but justice to her memory, that I should say, she died as she lived, the pride of innocence and of virtue. Her last words to me were, ‘My dear Edward, after consigning to you the care of my infant boy, I have but one request to make. Imprudent as my father may think I have acted, I presume, he will feel my loss. Unkindly as he may have acted by me, he is still my father, and, for my sake, let no unguarded action of your's add to his distress.’ A few months afterwards, the small pox bereaved me of my son; and this second stroke of affliction, following quick upon the heels of the first, quite unmanned me; it was a considerable time before I recovered my former spirits, I thought of nothing, ‘but going down into the grave, mourning;’ but Providence has so wisely tempered our frames, that the impression, which the deepest calamity leaves upon the mind, will, wear away like other sublunary things. My Eliza had been the boast of my life and the admiration of all her acquaintance, and I mourned for her, not as the generality of the world mourns, but truly and sincerely. Mourning for the dead is now become a farce, and there is no appearance of sorrow in the surviving relations, but in the coat they wear. Many an heir has put on his weepers with as much glee, as a birth-day embroidery; and many a widow takes more pride in her weeds, than in her bridal cloaths. On the death of a nobleman whom I knew, his lady, from an opinion that the melancholy event would affect her son, even more than it had herself, (he having been bred up under the same roof, and experienced from his father the height of parental fondness) prevailed upon a friend, a man of address, to wait on him and break it to him, in the tenderest manner he could. This gentleman having taken some pains to open the business, so as to arm him for the doleful news, concluded with observing, that as it was absurd to conceal the truth from him, since his good sense would reconcile him to the event; he must tell him, that his father had paid the debt of nature and was dead. The young man, at the sound of the last word, started back and stared him in the face; then repeating the world dead emphatically; he paused—and whilst his friend was in pain, conceiving he had told his story too abruptly, the young man put him at his ease, and, with a toss of the chin, made up his own mind upon the occasion, with the following declaration.—‘I'll have a black chariot:—my greys will look sweetly in it.’

As a literary man, I was invited to the houses of many very respectable personages; but, proud as I might be of the honour, I met with little there but mortification. I was placed at the lower end of the table; helped to an ordinary part; not attended to, perhaps, when I spoke; requested occasionally to rise and ring the bell; not suffered to cut in at the whist table, and such other slights. As I considered myself, if not of equal rank in life with the rest of the company, yet, as having more knowledge, and more abilities, and of course equally entitled to respect, I must own it hurt me; but why, if I disliked it, did I go into the way of it? Because, I thought to benefit by their acquaintance. Indeed, I frequently reconciled this behaviour to me, by saying to myself, these men do not in reality despise me. It is my fortune they contemn; and they are not so much in the wrong, for it is certainly a small one.—I determined, therefore, to put up with the indignity, but made use of them in my turn. I never refused any thing they were disposed to present me, and took every advantage their situation threw in my way.

I THINK, for the honour of our nobility, it should be known, that whilst one is engaged at a cricket-match, sacrificing the welfare of the state to the bat and the wicket, another shall be boxing with post-boys and postillions, and another running a race with a chimney-sweeper up a chimney, the devil within, the peer without; but, he who ran within, beat the other hollow; for he was hooping sweep at the top, before his lordship was half way up. They talk of the dignity of the peerage; time was when an English Baron was the most respectable character in the world; but the dignity of the modern peerage consists in being a disgrace to manhood.

I WAS one day asked to dine with the Marquis of G. who had a principal office in administration. He was a person whom I knew only by character; but that character did him honour, and made me anxious to be known to him. He was a nobleman, who, though conscious of his own dignity and careful never to commit himself, put every one at their ease about him and never attempted to raise his own consequence, by lessening that of another: he never set his chaplain at a side table, or trod upon his toes to silence him in a conversation; nor ever asked a dependant to rise from dinner to ring the bell, or let in his dog; but, as his situation in life required him occasionally to mix with men of inferior rank, he was industriously attentive to such men, lest they might fell themselves wounded, at any seeming neglect.—It is wonderful to reflect on the ignorance of those brought up in high life! To know a great deal of the world, is a phrase they affect, whereas to real worldly knowledge they are utter strangers. The most sensible among them are ignorant of every thing beyond their line of life, and they owe their ignorance to their pride. Were they open to information, they have frequent opportunities of being very well informed. If there be any thing to be envied in rank, it is, that their situation enables them to have men of learning and knowledge frequently at their tables, but, when they are so blessed, from a mistaken notion of elevation, they shut their eyes and ears to that information they might otherwise acquire.

THE Marquis coveted my acquaintance, I believe, from an opinion, that I might be useful to him with my pen. As soon as decency permitted me to go abroad, I waited on him, and when my name was announced, he very politely met me at the foot of his stairs; told me how greatly flattered he was with my visit; the principal object of which was to request my opinion of a paper he delivered to me sealed up, and which he begged me to put in my pocket till my return home, as he had some company above to whom he meant to introduce me. These were several gentlemen of his acquaintance, whom he also invited to dinner. Among them, to my surprise and mortification, was Lord B. the person from whose hands I had escaped, when I left Mr. Wildman's. His father was dead, and he was now the Earl of S. I presently knew him, but he remembered nothing of me: nor, having changed my name, did any circumstance lead to a discovery. But, as fate would have it, during the afternoon, in the hour of hilarity, talking of their amours; the Marquis of G. rallying Lord S. observed in good nature, that he had little reason to boast of predilections, for to him they had nearly been attended with bad consequences. ‘Was that fellow,’ says the Marquis, ‘whom you waylaid in Berkley-Square, never heard of afterwards?’ ‘No,’ replied his lordship, smiling, ‘the rascal, I dare say, has been hanged at some country assizes long before this. How the devil so fine a girl as Miss Wildman could countenance the advances of so low and ignorant a scoundrel, to me is astonishing.’ I observed, that the ladies in general, being made of finer materials than our sex, were blessed with a peculiar discernment, and could discover beauties and perfections in man, much readier than we could; at least, we must leave them at liberty to know what they themselves best like. ‘Yes, Sir,’ returns Lord S. ‘but, this fellow was a servant of her father's, and one of the most low-bred scoundrels in the world.—You are unacquinted with the story, Sir, and therefore cannot decide upon the merits of it.’ I told his lordship, that the affair was a very public one and within my recollection; that I knew some of the parties, and that he was more indebted to that low bred fellow's forgiveness, for his impunity, than to any justification of the steps he took. ‘You seem to take this business up, Sir,’ replies Lord S. warmly, ‘in a very ungentleman-like manner, and very unbecoming the situation in which you were introduced here.’ The Marquis would have interfered, but I requested to be heard upon the occasion. ‘I am not insensible,’ says I, addressing myself to Lord S. ‘of the honour Lord G. has done me, by inviting me to his house, and I beg his lordship's pardon, for any thing that may have escaped me to trouble the harmony of the afternoon; but, I flatter myself, he would not wish to consider me in a situation below that of a gentleman, and as a proper acquaintance for himself. I cannot boast of titulary honours; but, in point of family, education, and abilities, I am second but to few. All gentlemen are upon an equality; so far, my lord, I am your equal, and will submit to no indignity.’ At this, he rose and walked about the room in heat, muttering the words, ‘fellow—impertinence, impudence.’—One of the company requested me, apart, to retire a few minutes, till Lord S's heat had subsided. This I totally objected to, declaring, ‘I had more reason to be displeased than his lordship; that if he knew me, I was persuaded he would not dare to look in my face; that I was the very man, that his unguarded tongue had traduced; that I gloried in being that very rascal and scoundrel his lordship had thought proper to calumniate; that I was nearly allied to the Wilbrahams of Nottinghamshire; that I was in the entail of that estate; that I had married Miss Wildman, though Providence has been pleased since to take her from me; and that at the present moment, I enjoyed part of the family estate: in a word, that though fate once had frowned on me and I had worn a livery, I was born and bred a gentleman, and was as independent as any man living; that the language his lordship held out to me, was such as could not be put up with, and that he would find I should resent it warmly.’ Thunderstruck at this account, the company knew not how to act; but, I soon left them to themselves, for, approaching the Marquis of G. I told him how unhappy the event of that day had made me, not on my own account, but his, having been the unwilling cause of troubling the quiet of his lordship's house: that for the present I would take my leave; thanked him for the good opinion he had been pleased to entertain of me, and trusted my conduct in life was, and would be such, as to leave him no room to after it.

ON my return home, I broke open the cover, that contained the paper his lordship had given me, and found it to be a grant from the crown, of a pension of three hundred pounds a year, with a warrant to receive a quarter's pay in advance.

THE next morning, I called upon a particular friend of mine, with whom I had lately made an acquaintance, told him the event of yesterday, and how determined I was to punish Lord S. for the insult offered, not so much to myself, for that, as he did not know me, I could overlook, nor through revenge at the mode he took to get rid of his hated rival, for as such he understood me; but for the indignity, treachery and violence he had offered to my late wife, when Miss Wildman, and whose memory I revered beyond every thing. I importuned this friend to wait on Lord S. from me, and to request he would meet me the next morning at six, at the ring in Hyde Park, in order to give me that satisfaction the injuries he had done me, entitled me to ask.

MY friend saw him, and his lordship's answer was, he must first know me to be a gentleman, before he should attend to any call of mine upon such a subject. I sent him word, that he need only advise with the Marquis of G. upon the occasion, and I would abide by his determination. The result of which was, on my friend's seeing him again, that he would certainly meet me at the time and place appointed.

I ADJUSTED very thing I thought necessary to arrange, and was with my friend upon the ground, half an hour before the time. Lord S. kept his appointment punctually, and soon after me appeared with his friend; the etiquette on these occasions being settled, we discharged a brace of pistols at each other, but without effect. Our friends then interfered, and would have had the matter terminate; but as I did not come there to make a parade of any boasted heroism, but to bring my enemy to a sense of the injury he had done Miss Wildman, I insisted upon his drawing his sword; which was immediately complied with, and he attacked me with all the fury of revenge; but I being something cooler, and master of the weapon, parried his thrusts with temper; after a few passes, wounded him in the sword arm, and, as I had done on a former occasion, disarmed him. Finding himself thus in my power, he acknowledged his error, apologized for his warmth at the Marquis of G.'s, and said, had he known so much of me then, as he did now, he should not have acted as he had; that his temper frequently betrayed him into steps, he afterwards repented of, and this was one of them; that fortune had now thrown him into my hands, and he was at my mercy, and if nothing but his life could atone for his rashness, I might take it. My lord, replied I, I must again repeat, that I came not here with any blood-thirsty view; it is not your life I seek; had I been so disposed, I could have taken it at several moments within these ten minutes past. I aim only to redress the wrong done to the memory of an injured lady, one whom your ungovernable phrenzy would have sacrificed to a lawless passion; but as she had a soul above revenge, I undertaken to give you back your forfeited life, a life you now owe to the love I bore that best of women. He acknowledged the force of all I said, and I believe we parted in better temper with each other, than when we met.

NOTHING can shew a greater want of sense; nothing betrays a man into more embarrassments, than being to free of speech in public company. We know not whom we talk before, nor how far the persons we speak to, are interested in what we say. An unguarded tongue has frequently cost me an unhappy hour; it had nearly cost Lord S. his life.

THOUGH I was hurried by the respect I bore the memory of my Eliza into this act, and it ended without any fatal consequences, I cannot but condemn the too general practice of duelling upon the slightest occasions. There is such an inconsistent etiquette in these affairs of honour, that nothing but the absurdest custom can justify. A man will, by his conduct and declarations, pride himself in being a rascal, and if any one should presume to subscribe to the character he is pleased to give himself, he calls him out, determining, as his most humble servant, to cut this man's throat as soon as possible. And though such persons meet the greatest enemies, and endeavour to rob each other of life, a few minutes shall make them the best friends in the world. If there be any argument in its favour, it is that of keeping gentlemen within the bounds of civility to each other; but when we consider how far it is often strained, it is to be lamented, that some powerful means are not taken to abolish it. The gentlemen of Ireland are very capricious in this respect; I admire their feelings, but I condemn their rashness. The following story will explain my ideas.

A YOUNG gentleman of my acquaintance, heir to an estate in Ireland, found it necessary to go over to take possession of it; but, setting, perhaps, a greater value upon his life than it deserved, and knowing the hasty temper of the Irish, and his own feelings as a man, he dreaded the thoughts of venturing into a country, where he conceived it almost next to an impossibility of coming away again in a whole skin, till the following thought reconciled it to him. He resolved, during the whole time he was abroad, never to go into the company of any one who wore a sword. He was there upwards of six weeks, had engaged for his passage on his return home, and was blessing himself the day before he was to sail, on his prudence and discretion; but to leave Ireland, and see nothing of the world there, would be ridiculous. Now, his notions of the world were, to spend a few hours at a bagnio; he determined, therefore, to pass his last evening in one of those houses, where he met with a couple of ladies, the only two in the house, whom he proposed to entertain with a supper. Whilst this was preparing, the waiter entered with ‘there is a gentleman in the house, Sir, whose name is Patrick Shilalah; he sends his compliments to your honour, and begs you'll permit him to be of your party.’ At this message, my friend's prudence took the alarm, and he returned the following, ‘make my compliments to the gentleman, and tell him, as I have not the honour to be known to him, and as my stay here will be very short, I hope he will excuse me.’ The waiter soon returned, with Mr. Patrick Shilalah's compliments, and ‘if you won't admit of his company, he begs he may have one of the ladies.’ ‘Do, my dear Jenny,’ says my friend to one of the girls, ‘do— pray—go to the gentleman.’ She accordingly went, but the waiter was again dispatched, with ‘the gentleman's compliments, and begs the other lady, for he did not like the one he had.’ Vexed and disappointed, and not thinking either of the girls worth fighting for, he prevailed on the other to go also, and in the height of this mortification called for the supper, when the waiter told him, ‘it was carried in to Mr. Patrick Shilalah and the ladies.’ Irritated beyond measure at this treatment, he at first meditated revenge; but on cooler consideration, as he was not known, was going for England in the morning, and should probably never be in Ireland again, he deemed it best to pocket the affront, and make the best of his way home to his lodgings; where he had scarcely got into bed, but a loud knock was heard at the door, and soon after, his servant came into his room with, ‘there is a gentleman below, Sir, who calls himself Patrick Shilalah, and says, that being conscious he has not treated you as he should have done, is come to offer you gentleman's satisfactions.’ ‘Good God! Thomas,’ replied my friend, ‘make my compliments to the gentleman, tell him, I am in bed or I would wait on him, and that I am not the least offended with any part of his conduct, being rather happy it was in my power to contribute to his amusements.’ This sent Mr. Patrick Shilalah off, and my friend, unwilling to trust himself an hour longer on Irish ground, hasted on board the packet, and waited there till it sailed.

CHAP. XXII.

BEING now in some repute as an author, I had a visit from the clergyman whom I have spoken of before in the Sixth Chapter, as a Nealogist. [*] He introduced himself to me, by saying, that he should have thought himself unpardonable, had he omitted to salutate [†] a gentleman to whom erudites [‡] were so much indebted. He appeared to me to be an outrée character, and as such I cherished his acquaintance. He observed to me, that the literati were obliged to him for a variety of new-coined words, which he intended to present to the proprietors of dictionaries, and in this, he flattered himself, he should be of more real service to the age, than all the lexicographers and writers who had gone before him; that circumlocution was not only expensive to the breath, but tiresome to the ear; that the beauty of diction consisted in its being full and nervous, and that the shorter a sentence, the more perfect it was, and the less attention it required; that pleonasm might be a figure in rhetoric, but it was the rhetoric of former ages, when a man was esteemed for his super abundity [*] of words; ‘but now,’ says he,
the less a man says, the more he is supposed to think; and a cogitator [†] is always considered as an intelligent.
[‡] This was all said with that volubility of tongue, and rapidity of utterance, as scarce to admit of his taking breath, much less of leaving me an opportunity to reply. He next proceeded to tell me, that he had an universal acquaintance in the literary world; that he corresponded with every author of reputation, both abroad and at home, and had the first intelligence and copy of every publication, either printed, or designed for the press. He told me he was going to pay a visit to his friend Dr. Pomposo, a very extraordinary character, but a great erudite, and asked me to accompany him. Wishing to be acquainted with men of learning, I accepted his invitation, and chearfully went with him.

As we were walking to this man's house, he informed me that Dr. Pomposo was a warm friend to writers of this country, but would not admit that real learning had ever extended beyond it. ‘Nay,’ says he,
his predilection for England so abducts [*] him, that he avers they are all blockheads on the other side the Tweed.
He told me, that when Abernethy first published those sermons which were not known to be his, by any upography [†] in the title page, ("except by me," says he, with a kind of triumphant nod, "and I was silent,") they fell in Pomposo's way. Enraptured with the arguments, and ravished with the diction, he carried a volume always in his pocket, and introduced it every where as the standard of correct language. But unfortunately the second edition appeared with the author's name affixed. The volume was no longer circumgested [‡]; he forgot, or wished to forget, both the sermons and their author. It happened, however, one day, that one of his necessarii, [*] who spoke always from Pomposo's mouth, had been depredicating [*] in company Abernethy's language, and requested from the Doctor a sight of the volume, to verify his assertions. He replied that he had never seen Abernethy's sermons. ‘What!’ retorts his friend, ‘not that Abernethy whose language you extol as a model of perfection? ’ ‘Perfection!’ returns he angrily; ‘I never knew a Scotchman yet, that could write a line of grammar.’

WHEN we reached Pomposo's house, I was introduced to him as one of the literati, whom he must superbiate, [†] to receive. He never moved from his chair, but (which was in him a great mark of condescension) disired me to be seated. He had several persons with him, who seemed to have been writing, for each had a pocket book and pencil in his hand. Pomposo was very near sighted, and being bent with age, his head hung down so much, that his chin rested upon his bosom; of course he could see nothing right before him. This happened to be his levee day, and is apartment was crowded. On our being seated among the rest, he grumbled forth ‘that the literati of the present times were but few; that the aera of learning had long gone by, and that latter pretenders to it, were but quacks in the republic of letters; that literature had been poisoned by the modern dispensers of words; and that without speedy correction and illumination in science, we should fall back into the barbarisms of the darker ages.’ Scarce did he utter a word, but every one in the room, except ourselves, had his pencil to his paper, and was copying from his mouth, as if he had been an oracle. The persons present, I found, were a parcel of scribblers, who, by adulation and praise, were admitted to visit him, and who, by starting different topics, generally brought away with them a much greater store of ideas than they carried there. It was a scene that entertained me for the moment, but which I never cared to renew.

ON my observing to my new acquaintance, that, though education generally polished the manners of the world, it seemed, with respect to him, to have lost its influence, for that he appeared to me to be quite a cynic, and a Hottentot, he admitted my observation to be just. ‘With all his learning and his knowledge,’ says he, ‘he is a bear in his manners, and looks down with an affected pity on men, who have little else than their rank or their fortune to distinguish them. The man of science, will he often say, is a kind of intellectual being, whom the Creator has thought proper to illighten with some rays of his divinity, and in the scale of humanity is truly great; whereas he who is distinguished only from the crowd by a title, is scarce more than a contemptible reptile, who envying the super-eminence of his fellow-creature, sues to his prince for that little trifling honour, which self-created dignity has to bestow upon a parasite; and when bestowed, affords the person on whom it is conferred, as little reason to boast, as a favourite spaniel has, in the appellation of the high-sounding names of Caesar or Pompey. So far is he from being a respecter of persons, that he will despise and deride even those who serve him.’

‘DR. Pomposo was formerly a political writer, violent against the ministry; and as he wrote with a keenness and severity, that would have placed some men in the pillory; to stop his mouth, the minister, who was a Scotchman, thought proper to pension him: but this did not abate his animosity to the Scottish nation, to which he was an avowed enemy. A friend of his has since told me, that he accompanied him once to receive his pension.’ ‘Our conversation,’ says he, ‘all the way, was on the iniquity of employing Scotchmen in affairs of state; and Pomposo was so warm upon the subject, that he kept it up all the way we went; nay, he continued it even whilst he was counting his money.’ ‘One,—two,—five,—ten,—twenty.—The North Briton,’ [*] says he, ‘has been, however, of some use:—Twenty-five,—twenty-eight;—it has turned one d—mn'd Scotchman out of place:’ (this was the man that pensioned him)—‘Thirty,—thirty-five,—forty,—forty-five.—These rascals, I fear, will be the ruin of this country at last.’ ‘And at this rate did he proceed, railing at, and abusing the people, to whom he was most indebted. He had once been in the pay of the booksellers, but being a single man, whose wants were but few, he soon determined that a hireling writer is at best but a prostitute, and when they would employ him no longer, he dropped the profession.’

THE Marquis of G. called on me a few mornings after, and said the whole town rung with my commendation. He had a friend of his, he said, who wished to be acquainted with me, and if agreeable to me, he would attend me there to dinner. I accepted the invitation, and accompanied him. This new acquaintance is a man (Lord W.) who, from making a great noise in the house of commons, has been lately created and Irish baron. He has to boast of great moral virtue and good parts, but as much confined in worldly knowledge, as is his walk in the broad way of life. He is master of etiquette, and the doctrine of courts no one knows better; but so dim-sighted is he in other respects, that he can see nothing beyond the blaze of majesty. Owing his elevation in life, more to chance than family or connexions, and having but a circumscribed fortune, he has little or no dignity, but what he owes to the favour of his prince; of course, the little rank he has, is the only thing on which he hangs, or depends for respect: and lest any one about him should lose sight of that rank, he is always talking of it, bringing it forward, and blazoning it abroad, and will not fail to tell you how gracious the king was on the last levee day. He affects to be a great man, and believes himself to be so, but it is only as far as mimickry makes him. Thus, he puts me in mind of a poor gentleman, descended from one of the kings of Ireland, and who, wrapt up in his family pride, has retired into an obscure part of that country, with a patrimony of four score pounds a year, and who, amid wretchedness and beggary, is served upon the knee, and never receives any one, but he offers him his hand to kiss. Indeed, the pride of the Irish is insufferable. The sons of a gentleman are all bred up in that stile, though the father's estate is so small, as not to admit of his giving them a shilling: hence they come over to England, and commence fortune-hunters. I once knew a baronet's widow who had two sons; the eldest took the family estate, about eight hundred pounds a year, but was obliged to pay his brother one thousand pounds on his mother's death, who had, during her life, a jointure of two hundred pounds a year out of this estate. An English gentleman of her acquaintance, who had formerly been in business, advised her ladyship to put this younger son into trade, and settle him in England; but her family pride stood in her way, and she could not bring herself to think of it. Some time, however, afterwards, she altered her mind; and as the provision made for her younger son was so very small, and she had not interest to get him any proper appointment, she brought him to England, and applied to her friend who before advised the measure. ‘I begin now to think, Mr. Wiseman,’ says she, ‘that the English are a better kind of people than represented, and that trade is not so despicable as I once conceived; of course, shall have no objections to my son's living among them, and entering into some commercial connexions. If you can meet with any respectable place, and fix him in some genteel business, that he can follow without discredit, I shall think myself obliged to you.’ This gentleman, as a friend to the family, interested himself in the matter, and took some pains to find out a house, where, when the young gentleman had served his time, he might be received as a partner, and be likely, in a few years, to get a good fortune; and having found such a place, he flew with alacrity to the lady, and told her, in the warmth of his heart, how fortunate he had been. ‘As I knew you was our friend,’ says her ladyship, ‘I conceived you the best person in the world to apply to in the business. Pray, Mr. Wiseman, what is the profession?’ ‘A biscuit-baker, Ma'am,’ says he. Panic-struck at the word, ‘ Biscuit-baker! ’ she cried out: ‘Would you make Sir Harry Lofty's son a biscuit-baker! ’ ‘Why indeed, Madam,’ returns Mr. Wiseman, piqued at her folly, ‘I have rather mistaken the matter here; I did not properly consider it.’ ‘I was very sure you had not,’ replies the lady, softening her voice, ‘or a biscuit-baker could have never entered into your thoughts.’ ‘Your ladyship is perfectly right,’ says her friend: ‘Had I thought well upon the subject, I never should have proposed it; for on further consideration, was the whole family estate to be realized, and converted into money, it would not be sufficient to set him up in business.’—But to return to my narrave. If at any time Lord W. is familiar with an inferior, it is when he 6 is not seen. The man he thinks proper to receive when in the country, and pretends there to love and esteem, he will be out of countenance at in public; he will shun him when in London, and scarce honour him with a nod, if in company with men of rank. He will visit none in his neighbourhood that are not titled; and at times, is afaird to stoop his head to a tenant, for fear of committing himself. He will know no man that is not generally known, will follow nothing but inconstancy, admire nothing but beauty, and honour nothing but fortune. Though he is affectedly attentive to those below him, when they fall in his way, and the eye of the world is not upon him; yet he draws back when they are addressing him, as if contamination was in their breath, and is all gooseskin at a low bred man. He dares not salute a man in old cloaths, or unfashionably dressed; and will go so far as to confess vices he is a stranger to, provided those vices are in fashion. He is seen at every public place of genteel resort; attends the theatre without an eye, and the opera-house without an ear.

To enter further into his character; he is servile to those above him, and overbearing to those below him. Before the learned he is dumb, and before the ignorant, loquacious and positive. He neither eats nor drinks like other men. All his hens are poulards; his cocks, capons; his farm-yard ducks, Rouen; all his sherry is Xeres; all his Champaigne, Sillery; and his park you may fire across in almost every direction. If you will believe him, he gives a great price for every thing he purchases; his butler is his valet; his coachman, his steward; and his huntsman, his game-keeper; and yet he distinguishes them according to the offices they are employed in. He talks of his steward to his tenants, and his game-keeper to the neighbouring farmers. In short, he is all vanity and parade; and, instead of giving consequence to his situation, by any dignity in himself, like all novi homines, or upstart gentlemen, he is forced to derive all his consequence from it.

AT this nobleman's house, I think I met with, next to himself, the most singular character in life. A man in whom the two opposite extremes of peace and war were united. He was a clergyman and at the same time a soldier; miles atque sacerdos, and went by the name Brigadier Moses. He was dressed in a short black silk cassock, with a regimental coat over it, scarlet turned up with black and laced with gold. Instead of the black sash or circingle which the clergy wear round their waist, he had a red sash, and above the gorget he wore upon his breast, was a clerical band. He had on his head, a brigadier wig with two tails; a smart cocked gold-laced hat, with a cockade; a couteau de chasse by his side, and a pair of square toed shoes upon his feet. He was a dignitary of the church in Ireland, but had accepted the command of a regiment of volunteers; and was as universally respected as admired. He employed the whole week in teaching his men their exercise, and always preached to them on Sundays; and when he preached, he drew his sabre and laid it on his arm, as if reading a proclamation. One of his sermons has been handed round.—Part of it is as follows: ‘Let us fight the good fight.’

‘Fellow christians and soldiers; Behold here your pastor and leader, armed in your defence, standing forth in your cause, as did my predecessor Moses between his people and the wrath of the Avenger; and be not surprised at it. A virtuous soldier is the most respectable character in life. Enlisted under the banner of christianity, though only a private, he should take pride in wearing the uniform of the Lord of hosts. The christian life is a life of warfare, besieged on all sides, and beset with perils; perils of water, perils of fire, and perils of the sword; but let us fight the good fight, and stand firm against the assaults of the common enemy; as we cannot hope to be well received at the general muster, but through the sword of the spirit, the shield of faith, and the helmet of salvation,’ &c.

SO full was the Brigadier of his military profession, that he marched across the room, instead of walking; and, whenever he turned, he wheeled upon his heel. I found him a chearful good-natured man, and took the liberty to ask him, in the course of conversation, ‘whether he did not find the tenets of one profession interfere with that of the other?’ He told me not; ‘that a priest was not only to be the father of his flock, but also their leader; that the author of our religion recommended a military life to his disciples.’ ‘He that hath no sword, ’ said he, ‘let him sell his garment and buy one.’ ‘When a strong man, armed, keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace’ That the church was ‘a church militant; that a christian was taught to gird up his loins and bind on the sword to battle.’ The Irish peer supported him in what he had advanced, and said, ‘that his Majesty, to whom we ought to look up for propriety of conduct, had set him the example; for, that he was not only the head of the church, but the head of the army. ’ ‘As I have since the age of manhood stood up in defence of religion,’ says the Brigadier, ‘I mean now to stand up in defence of my country. It has been said that parsons are cowards; we will now shew them they have a spirit equal to other men, and dare rise in a good cause. The Roman catholics, who are bigots to their faith, held not the military profession incompatible with the priesthood. Cardinal Richlieu was a soldier, and during his administration, the French army against Spain was commanded by a Bishop. I so warmly covet the independence of my country, that as prayers will not effect it, I will meet my people in the field, and try what the sword can do.’ In short, he was such an enthusiast in politics, that finding it was in vain to argue with him, I endeavoured to change the subject.

THE company present seemed very desirous of being of use to me. Lord W. wished to appoint me his literator, which office was to cull out the pith of every new publication, and retail it to him at breakfast, for he was too indolent to read himself. The Brigadier was for my being his Aid de Camp; ‘but for this office,’ says he, ‘you must get into orders, for all the officers under me are clerical. My sub-dean is my lieutenant-colonel; the chancellor of the diocese is my major; the prebendaries are my captains; the subalterns are the minor canons of the cathedral; the adjutant is our precentor, and all the non-commissioned officers are made up of vergers, beadles, &c. As to the common rank and file, there is nothing spiritual among them; if they deal at all in the spirit, it is in what goes into the mouth, not what comes out of it.’

BUT the Marquis, who had already presented me with a pension, gave me to understand, that he meant to be farther useful to me. He took me aside, and told me he had a favourite measure to carry in parliament, but as it was rather unpopular, he wished me to take it up, and write in its favour; ‘for,’ says he, ‘it must be a bad cause indeed, that cannot be defended.’ I found myself well disposed to serve him, and promised him every assistance in my power.

DURING this visit at Lord W.'s, which, indeed, I mentioned to have an opportunity of laying before my readers two of the most extraordinary characters I had met with, that of Lord W. himself, and his worthy friend the Brigadier. A letter was brought me by a porter, saying, ‘a gentleman had called at my house with it that afternoon and desired it might be forwarded to me immediatly.’ I begged leave to open it, and found it to be written by my old friend, Mr. Slash'em, the vicar; of the parish where I was bred in Notts, and informed me, that my father's uncle was dead, and that his estate fell to me, as being the next on the entail; all the children of my father's elder brother having dropped off before him. I could not refrain from communicating this peice of news to the company I was with, and they congratulated me upon the event. It is astonishing to reflect on the immediate consequence of a good fortune. I found instantly a difference in their behaviour. They were very polite and respectful before, but their attention to me rather carried a patronizing air with it; they should always be happy to know me, and receive me; but the instant my fortune was announced, we were upon an equality; I must come into parliament, a borough was open for me; and if I would support government, if should not cost me but two thousand pounds; every expence beyond that sum should be paid for me. I thanked them very kindly for their good wishes, but begged some little time to consider of it. It is wonderful what a great alteration in our favour a good fortune makes; it is far beyond education, ingenuity, or brilliancy of parts. Let a man pass by, ever so meanly clad; observe to your friend that he is supposed to be worth one hundred thousand pounds, he stares at him again and again, and looks on him as a prodigy. As when wealth and prosperity forsake a man, we discover in him, that want of understanding, which was undiscoverable before; so when they shine upon a person, we presently see perfections in him, which no one was able to find out till then. So strange a disproportion does a little money or the want of it make between men! Mrs. Saintly, whilst the wife of a minor canon, stole into the cathedral unnoticed. She carried her hassock in her hand, placed it in a corner, and could be as devout as she pleased, uninterupted; but when she became a bishop's lady, she was conducted into the quoir by the vergers, placed in a stall of eminence, and service did not begin till she was seated, and the eyes of all the women were upon her. On the other hand, Squander, the once wealthy son of Gripus, and then idolized; having lavished away all his patrimony, is carried to the grave unattended, and unlamented.

Notes

*
A speaker of new words.
↵

†
Pay his respects to.
↵

‡
Men of erudition.
↵

*
Supera bundance.
↵

†
A thinking man.
↵

‡
A man of understanding.
↵

*
Carries him so far.
↵

†
Name subscribed.
↵

‡
Carried about him.
↵

*
Intimate friends.
↵

*
Crying up.
↵

†
Be proud.
↵

*
A violent paper against administration.
↵

Chap. XXIV.

IN consequence of the information I received, I prepared to set off for Nottinghamshire; but, as ill fortune too often chequers our good, an unexpected event happened, that overthrew all my measures. Having left London pretty early in the morning, with a view of getting to the end of my journey before night, I found myself on the edge of Finchley Common, about seven miles from town, at sun rise, when two men well mounted and armed, stopped my postillion; I had a loaded blunderbuss in the chaise, and would certainly have discharged the contents at them, had they not screened themselves from my vengeance, by getting so much before the lad, that had I fired I must inevitably have killed him. I looked out for my servant, who was likewise armed, but he was not within sight, and at this moment, two other men were behind the chaise, and swore, if I did not immediately throw out my blunderbuss and surrender, they would blow out my brains through my forehead, for they were not robbers, but King's officers. In this critical situation, I had no alternative; I complied with their injunctions, and asked them what they wanted. They gave me to understand, that they had a warrant to apprehend me, and that I must submit to go with them: that, if I was governable, they would use me well; but if I made any opposition, they should be obliged to bind me. I asked them by what authority they acted, and what was the cause of my being so seized; they produced a written paper, apparently a warrant, containing a charge of my having broken the peace, by challenging the Earl of S. and attempting to take away his life in Hyde Park. Scarce had they announced their business, but an empty post-chaise came up, into which they insisted upon my removing, having first searched me for fire-arms; I begged they would permit me to take my portmantua with me, which contained my necessaries, and suffer me to wait for my servant, who was behind. They told me, they had secured my servant before they overtook me, and that he was taken back to town; that my luggage, which was not more than a few shirts and a second coat, I might take with me, if I pleased, provided I would discharge the post-chaise in which I then was, send my blunderbuss home by the driver, and go quietly with them. In this I acquiesced, and a few minutes put me completely into their possession. One of the men got into the chaise with me, two rode before, and the other brought up the rear, leading the horse of him who was seated by me. I addressed myself to my new companion several times, with ‘where are you going to carry me?’ ‘This is not the way to town’ and the like, (for I found they had quitted the north road, and had got into one I was unacquainted with) but I could get nothing from him; so that I was obliged to abandon myself to my reflections, which were not the most pleasing I had experienced; for I conceived this (as I afterwards found it) a second attempt of Lord S. to kidnap me, which fortunately for him, succeeded better than the first. I was hurried, as fast as the horses could go, across the country, and in about three horus arrived at the Thames side, a little below Grays in Essex, where my fellow traveller, with great composure, consigned me to the care of the master of a vessel lying off the shore, and then ready to sail. He now gave me to understand, that I was obliged to the lenity of Lord S. for the disposal he was a going to make of me; for that, if I had been carried before a magistrate, I should have had a much more disagreeable lodging, as Newgate in that case, would have been my place of residence for some time, and my exit would be at Tyburn; that, if I behaved well where I was going, his lordship would be always my friend; but that to live in the same land with me, he never could think of doing. I inquired the place the vessel was bound to, but could get no answer: finding therefore, that I was likely to be absent from home for some time, I requested leave to write a letter to a friend or two, to arrange my affairs, which my conductor consented to my doing, and promised they should be faithfully delivered, provided he saw the contents, and that they gave no information where I might be found. This being promised, I was suffered to go down into the cabin in company with this same man, and write my letters. The first I wrote was to Mr. Slash'em, the vicar, acknowledged the receipt of his, and to remove any doubt of its being sent, I told him, that as business of the highest importance obliged me to quit England for some time, and of course, would prevent my being with him as I intended, I requested and authorized him to take such measures, as he should think necessary to secure my property till my return, for which he should have my best thanks. I also desired him to take care of my house and property in town, having left it without giving my servants any directions, but that he would find my people obedient to his commands, as I had wrote home and ordered them so to be.—The other letter I wrote, was to my house-keeper in town, enjoining her to follow Mr. Slash|'em's directions, till she saw me. These letters my conductor was pleased to approve, and assured me, they should be carefully conveyed according to the addresses. I begged they might both be sent express, and he promised they should.—I was now a little more at my ease, and flattered myself I should find some means of regaining my liberty. My conductor and his attendants shortly after took their leave, and wished me a good voyage, and we soon set sail.—The vessel I was in, was a small one of about one hundred tons burden, and our ship's company consisted of a Jew, (not a cabin passenger) the master and five seamen. The vessel did not seem heavy laden, nor could I learn to what place she was bound. The captain appeared to be a plain man, and of few words, and those few he was master of, he seemed to withhold, for I could scarce get him to speak.—I had reason, however, to believe, that he was appointed to carry me to some distant part, for I remarked, that in our passage down the river, he kept at some distance from shore, where any town was near, and was careful not to go too close to any vessel upon the river, lest I suppose, I might have been induced to call out for assistance.—The tide served, and the wind blowing brisk, we were soon at the Nore, and wishing for some refreshment, I was presently accommodated with what, at sea, is thought a good dinner, (salt beef and biscuit) but which I found very little appetite for: however, I eat a few mouthfuls, drank a little rum and water, and laid me down upon the bed in the cabin, where, with the fatigue I fell fast asleep; my watch told me it was nine in the evening when I laid down, and when I awoke, it was five in the morning. My sleep was rather broken, from a bed I was unused to, and the troubles of the day, but, broken as it was, it calmed my mind and gave me relief. I had now time to think, and nothing to interrupt me; the captain with his men were busy upon deck, and the vessel seemed going very fast. On my ascending from the cabin, I found we were on the open sea, and out of sight of land. Asking the captain where we were, he said in the Channel, (which I afterwards found was not true) and on my enquiring to what place he was bound, he replied to Nova Scotia. Having in my portmantua about fifty pounds in bank notes, and a diamond ring worth about as much, I determined to try the power of a bribe, and see whether I could not prevail on him to put me on shore somewhere in England. Accordingly, I requested the favour of a quarter of an hour's conversation with him, the first leisure he had. He soon indulged me with it, and when together, I made him acquainted with my situation, and the whole history of Lord S.'s behaviour to Miss Wildman and to me, and endeavoured to work upon his feelings, by representing the treachery of his employer, and the cruelty with which he treated me. Whether he believed me or not, I cannot say, but he listened with great attention, paused when I had done, and when I expected him to have joined issue with me, he rose from his seat and was going to leave me, with, ‘if he is as bad-conditioned, messmate, as you say, d-m me if the same vessel should hold us; you may be happy you're shipped off for another country;’ I importuned him to stay, told him I was master of fifty pounds, and a ring worth as much more, that, if he would put me ashore in some part of England, or on board some vessel going there, both should be at his service; at which he grew warm—‘a bribe!’ exclaimed he, ‘did you ever know an English seaman run from his colours, or betray his cause for a bribe, d-m me, they shall never say that of Jack Hawser.’ Not betray a good cause, replied I, but there's merit surely, in overturning a bad one. ‘Harkee, messmate—that's the commodore's look out; my orders are to make for Nova Scotia, and there you go, my friend, unless we bulge in the passage.’ At this he left me, crying to the man at the helm, ‘luff up my lad,’ and to the man forward, ‘hoist the main top sail; and we'll make all the way we can.’—‘D-m me, here's a fine breeze.’

I BEGAN now, to think of my poor Eliza and her little infant, and for the first time, found a satisfaction in reflecting they were out of the reach of being affected by my misfortunes. ‘Whatever is, is best;’ so says philosophy: here she is right. Had my Eliza been living, she would not only have felt this accident severely, but I should have doubly felt it; have felt for her as well as for myself. She, however, thought I, is happy, and why should I be otherwise? My property is safe in Mr. Slash'em's care, and as I am in health, and stand alone in life, what matters it, whether I am going to Nottingham, or Nova Scotia? I have encountered many a difficulty, and overcome them all.—Providence has hitherto protected me—why should I distrust her now?

I WAS led once or twice, when the captain was below, to endeavour to bring over the sailors to my interest, but considering, that had I not succeeded, the captain might have rendered my situation far more disagreeable than it was, I thought it best to desist.

THE next day, an accident happened that extricated me from my difficulty. The vessel, owing to the carelessness of the steersman, struck upon a bank, and sprung a leak. ‘All hands to the pump, or by G—d, we are at the bottom,’ was the cry—but, it was the cry of one of the foremast men: disagreeable as my situation was before, it was much worse now. We were supposed to be seven leagues from land, and the sea run too high, to think ourselves in any safety—the vessel made water so fast, that the master despaired of saving her; however, he consoled himself in the idea of being insured more than she was worth, and determined to take to his boat. ‘We may pump her to land,’ says one of the sailors, ‘very well.’ ‘Hold your jaw,’ says the Captain, ‘or I'll unship some of your teeth; I shall get more by her sinking than her swimming, so let her sink and be d—mned.’ Hoist out the boat, was the next cry, the command of the Captain. The boat was hoisted out, and being to small to take any part of our baggage, we were obliged to leave it behind; indeed, so frightened was I, having never been at sea before, that I thought little of my baggage; my attention was confined to my person. The Jew's heart, on the contrary, was fixed on his treasure, upon his travelling box, which he was careful to take into the boat with him; but the Captain, (after I and the five seamen were in) endeavouring to prevent it, and the Jew labouring to secure it, such was the struggle between them, that in coming down the ship's side, they both fell into the sea, and had very nearly overset the boat. The Captain was unfortunately sucked under the vessel and we saw him no more; but the Jew was presently discovered on the surface of the water. ‘D—mn my liver, Jack,’ says one of the seamen, ‘if there is n't Moses in the bull-rushes;’ (for he had long loose hair, and his face, part appearing above water, with the hair floating around it, favoured the idea; but my distress was too great to smile at it.) ‘He's within reach, catch hold of his poll.’ Jack caught him by the hair, and raising his chin above water; as soon as the Israelite could recover breath to speak, he cried out. ‘Vare is my baux? Vare is my baux?’ This so exasperated the fellow who held him, that he quitted his hold, with a ‘Bl—st your eyes, you son of a bitch, look for your box and be d—mn'd,’ and the poor wretch sunk, and we saw him no more. We were now less in number by two, than when we quitted the vessel, and having the day before us, and the weather not so windy as it was, we flattered ourselves, we should get safe to land. In about four hours we saw land, and it gave us spirits; and another hour put us on shore at a little village on the coast of Northumberland, not a great way south of Berwick. I now found, instead of steering for Nova Scotia, the vessel I was in, and which sunk before we were a league from it, was a lobster smack, bound for Shetland, where his lordship meant to have transported me, and where I should not have readily got away.

MY comrades glad to find themselves on land, made the best of their way to Newcastle, in order to ship themselves on board some of the colliers, whereas I took up my abode at a public house in the village, determining to wait till I could have remittances from London; for I had brought nothing ashore with me, of any value but may watch, which I converted into money to answer the present exigence. I might, indeed, have told my tale to some of the gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and by that means got some pecuniary relief; but as I wished to sit quiet for a few days, to recover from my fatigue and anxiety of mind, I thought it best to lay myself under as few obligations as possible. Before the sailors left me, I made some enquiry whether they knew any thing of their Captain or his connexions; they told me not, that they were shipped merely for the voyage and were strangers to him, till a few days before I came on board. All the information I could get was, that they had lain at anchor, on the spot where I found them, two days waiting for may arrival.

CHAP XXV.

BY the time I had been at this place a week, I had such remittances from my banker as I stood in need of, and had heard from home, that all things were well. I then equipped myself with those necessaries I wanted, namely, a few shirts and a suit of cloaths, and prepared to set off once more, took a post chaise for Nottinghamshire. Though anxious to call the Earl of S. to account for the treatment I had received, I thought it most prudent to pay a visit to my friend the vicar; and the reader may believe me, when I say, that I found myself less eager to take this journey now, than I was, when I left London on the same occasion; my expectations were balked by the event I have related, and my spirits were not so much upon the wing; howerer, I set out and reached York the first night.

THE theatre being there open, I went to the play, and who should I meet with in the same box, but Biddy Slash'em, dressed out with a profusion of diamonds, in company with an old gentleman, whom I supposed to be her keeper. She was overjoyed to see me, and introduced me to Mr. Dupe, the gentleman with her, as the son of her father's brother, whom she had before represented as a clergyman of the first character and fortune. He received me very cordially, and, when the play was over, begged to have the honour of my company to supper, having a house in the town. I accompanied them home in their carriage, and was requested whilst I continued at York, to sleep there. This gave me an opportunity of passing an hour or two alone with Miss Slash'em, Mr. Dupe being accustomed to ride out every morning before breakfast, upon a hard trotting horse, for the cure of a gouty complaint he had in his stomach. The Jew Doctor and Blacksmith in London, having by his machine to create muscular exercise, made such a regimen fashionable. This machine, I am told, is merely a board (on which the patient stands, holding by an iron) with springs under it, worked by an handwinch which raises and lowers it so quick, that in a small space of time, it throws the person on it into a violent perspiration, and gives him all the advantages of great exercise, without muscular exertion: a trotting horse will answer the same purpose, if the rider can undergo the fatigue. During Mr. Dupe's morning ride, I had the happiness of a tete-a-tete in Biddy's chamber, and found her as attached to me as ever. I gave her some little account of my adventures since we parted; and she in return, related to me the sequel of her's.

‘WHEN you left us, my dear Gabriel,’ says she, ‘at Winchester, we were preparing to remove to the Devizes; there I continued about three weeks, when Mr. Dupe, the gentleman I live with, seeing me in one of my principal characters in his way from Bath to London, took a liking to me, and made me proposals to live with him. These proving acceptable, I took leave of the company, quitted my employ, and came away with him. He has settled two hundred pounds a year on me, loads me with presents, and says he'll marry me if I prove with child.’

‘And you, no doubt,’ says I ‘try every means you can for it. Well if ever you are, it will be within nine months of this time.’—‘Being fond of music and admiring my voice,’ continued she, ‘he has procured me the best masters; and ill as I sung at Winchester, I am now reckoned the first private singer in England. It has been the means of introducing me into the best company; for, so affectedly fond are persons of fashion of music, that they will sacrifice every thing to the rage of it. The gentry in this part of the country, readily overlook my situation, for the sake of my voice, and I visit and am visited by every body round me. Nay, I assure you I give myself great airs upon these occasions, and find the more box I take upon me, the more I am thought of. I never pay a visit, till I have first received one; nor does Mr. Dupe expect me. The Dutchess of D. and the Countess of R. her sister, did us the honour to drink tea with us yesterday. They wished me to sing, and I sung, but I obliged them during the time I sung, to sit down upon the ground?’ ‘And why so?’ says I, ‘oh!’—‘I always do that,’ continued she, ‘in rooms not adapted for musick; and when I sing at any other houses but my own, where they have not a musick room, I insist upon the window curtains being taken down, the capet removed, and all the company's sitting down upon the floor but myself; for nothing flattens the sound of a voice more than drapery furniture, and a number of persons half filling a room.’ ‘And do they submit to this?’ replied I, ‘Certainly they do,’ says she, ‘and they must, or I would not sing. They would half strip themselves if I required it, rather than the world should fancy, they have not the greatest penchant for musick. I know they visit and receive me, merely for my singing, and that though they bear with my oddities, they only laugh at me when gone; this determines me to laugh in my turn, and as Mr. Dupe will not suffer me to receive any persents, I am determined they shall pay for their folly one way or other.’ Though I smiled at the conceit, I could not but agree with her, that of all follies the tonish or fashionable ones, are the most absurd. ‘I'll tell you an anecdote, my dear Biddy,’ returned I,
that will confirm my assertion. Among the many people I have mixed with since I left you, is the lady of Sir Peter Puncheon, a Creole, from Jamaica. Sir Peter had been formerly in trade, had afterwards turned planter, and acquired a good fortune. His lady being a woman of dash and spirit, persuaded him to leave Jamaica and settle in England. They accordingly sold all off and came, and not having a soul to introduce them into that company she coveted, she fell upon the following plan which succeeded beyond her expectations. Having a large house in London well situated, she called for the red book, [*] and from a list she there picked out, and other information, sent cards of invitation to a concert and a ball, to all the rout-going men and women of rank, to the number of some hundreds, and such was the rage for going to this woman's house, that many who by accident were not invited made interest for a card; so that on the evening appointed, there was such a throng of coaches and chairs, that all the adjoining streets were full. She procured a very intelligent servant, acquainted with their names, to announce them as they arrived, she standing on the top of the stairs, with her husband, to receive them. In the early part of the evening when they dropped in but thinly, she had leisure to receive them properly; and expressed how proud she was of the honour they did her; but in a very little time, they poured in so thick upon her, that it required three men below to announce them, and would have required a register to have remembered their names. It was a task beyond her reach, and she could only introduce them to her husband in the lump, with
‘a Baronet, my dear; two more Lords; a Red ribband, and so on.’ ‘ —From this scheme she immediately became a woman of the ton, and her house, from that time, was the fashionable resort of the first people in town. They admired her invention, whilst they laughed at her impudence; but they continued to visit her notwithstanding: for the time of persons of fashion hang so much upon their hands, and they enjoy so little of what the rational world calls social and domestic society, that they would run to h—, I believe, if the black gentleman would open his house with a concert, a ball, or a card party. By this means she was readily known and received in the great world, and very soon procured her husband to be created a Baronet. This brought them to court, and as people devoid of elegance, idlely suppose that richness of dress depends upon profusion, or an extra quantity of expensive attire; instead of appearing in two laced lappets, lady Puncheon was determined to have four. It so fell out, however, that four lappets to a head dress being contrary to etiquette, she was refused admittance, 'till Sir Peter set the matter right, by taking out a pair scizars and cutting off two of them. But as the two he cut off were on one side, she became the laugh and ridicule of the whole drawing room.’

BIDDY was delighted with this story and vowed she would put it in practice as soon as she got to London. ‘Do,’ says I, ‘Biddy, and I'll be bound you'll have company enough. Character and connexion is out of the question. Open your house, and the business is done.’

MR. Dupe soon after returned from his morning's ride and found us in his bed chamber. It a little disconcerted us; but he quickly put us at our ease, with, ‘so, my dear Biddy, you would shew your cousin my knotted bed.’ Shaking his head at her, and chucking her under the chin. ‘Ah, you little rogue, you are determined I shall not lose any credit that you can give me.’ Then addressing himself to me. ‘I knotted the greatest part of that fringe myself, Mr. Whatd'ye-call 'em (I can't think of your name) and I am not ashamed to own it; it's better than galloping a whole county over after a fox, injuring one's tenants and running the chance of breaking one's neck. Come, Sir, walk down and see my improvements.’ ‘I thanked him for his politeness to me; but told him, I must be going, for that, I had engagements of the first importance that called me into Nottinghamshire.’ ‘Well, Sir,’ says he, ‘then I'll leave you together—you may have some little affair to enter into, that requires privacy. I beg, Biddy, you'll shew your cousin all the civility you can.’

I now took my leave of Miss Slash'em, promising to see her again as soon as she came to London.

Notes

*
Commonly called the Court Calendar.
↵

CHAP XXVI.

THE day after I parted with Miss Slash'em, I got safe to her uncle's house in Notts, and happy I was to see him; nor did he shew less happiness in seeing me. It was now about three weeks since I left London, with a design of coming to this place; and I think, in so short a space of time, no one met with a greater variety of incidents. I related the story to him; but not a word of his niece. ‘Ah,’ says he, ‘you see how kind and protecting the Almighty is; not a sparrow falls to the ground without his observance! Lord S. is a very bad man; and I hope you will be able to bring the matter home to him’ ‘That I certainly shall,’ says I; ‘for the redress I shall look for, shall be a personal one.’ As a clergyman, and a very worthy one, he made use of every argument to dissuade me from such a step; but the injuries I had received were so great, that they had but little weight with me. I therefore turned the subject, and enquired whether he had received my letter. He told me he had, and by an express the day after it was written. So far those fellows who forced me on board the vessel, acted well. He gave me to understand, that my uncle had made a will, sometime before he died, and had left great part of his property to my cousins; but as he out-lived them, the legacies were lapsed, and all the personals fell to me, with the entailed estate; that he having no relations to be found, and the executor he had appointed in his will, being also deceased, letters of administration were granted to him at his request, and he was ready to put me into possession immediately. ‘I have,’ said he, ‘made many enquiries, for some years past, about you, but could het no satisfactory intelligence; however, since the death of your uncle, I have been more industrious in this business, and have found you out. What was necessary to be done in your absence, has been done; such as taking an inventory of the effects, and properly securing them; and I trust you will find every thing in as good order as circumstances admitted. With respect to your house in town, I wrote to your housekeeper, as you desired; directed her to put the servants upon board wages, and when she wanted any money, to apply to a friend of mine in London, whom I commissioned to supply her.’

AFTER thanking the vicar for his care, and the trouble he had taken, we went together to the mansion, when he gave me possession of all the keys. In my uncle's cabinet I found near five hundred pounds in bank notes and cash, and a memorandum, saying that he had twelve thousand pounds in the funds, and in what funds they lay. Having adjusted every thing for the present, visited the tenants, and left proper persons in the house, I presented Mr. Slash'em with a bank note of two hundred pounds, for the trouble I had given him, which he modestly refused; but which I insisted on his receiving, and further promised, that if it was ever in my power to be of use to him, I should neither forget it, nor omit it.

BEFORE I left his house, he was very anxious to know how I had disposed of myself since I left his part of the world; and considering him as my friend, I gave him a minute detail of every thing, except such parts as related to his niece, who, I found, had been entirely discarded by the family. His brother, the doctor, was, I learned, still at Hampstead, and doing very well.

THE Vicar was wonderfully entertained with my history, but disapproved much of some part of my conduct. However, he presumed I had seen my error, and as now I was possessed of a good fortune, he flattered himself, I should live a more regular life. ‘This history of yourself,’ says he, ‘convinces me, that nothing is like giving a lad a good education; this will stick by him when every thing else fails; enable him to surmount every difficulty, and carry him through life in spite of all opposition.’

UPON examining the rental of my uncle's estate, I found it amount to a good four thousand three hundred pounds a year; which, with the interest of twelve thousand pounds in the stocks, the three hundred pounds a year I enjoyed from my wife, and my pension, &c. I had an income equal to near five thousand four hundred pounds a year.

I NOW set off for London, which I reached the next morning, and on my arrival at my own house, found every thing as I wished it. My servants, poor souls, were as glad to see me, as I was to see them. I told them how I had been trepanned, but not by whom; and that it was a chance of the highest improbability, that ever they saw me again. They said, the town was very silent then on the subject, for they had heard nothing of it before. As to the lad that accompanied me to Finchly, I suppose they sent him aboard a man of war, for I never heard of him afterwards.

THE first visit I paid was to the Marquis of G. who received me very friendly, and to whom I related my story, and that I meant to call Lord S. to a very severe account for his behaviour. His answer was, ‘That business is already settled; Lord S. has done it himself.’ I requested an explanation. He told me, that I was no sooner seized, but that Lord S. called upon him, and boasted of what he had done; ‘said he had you stopped under a fictitious warrant, and had transported you to Shetland; for that after disarming him, as you had done, in the affair in Hyde Park, he could never brook the idea of owing his life to you, and of course, could never bear to see you again; and that news arriving of the vessel being cast away, and the crew saved, he dreaded your return to town, and had accordingly put an end to his existence with a pistol. The matter,’ continued he, ‘as he is not missed, is not much talked of: it were better, therefore, to let it sleep, as reviving it will be of no use to you, and may hurt the feelings of his family; who, notwithstanding the faults of Lord S. is a very respectable one. As to his agents in this business, they are wretches below your notice, could not possibly owe you any ill will, being villains that would be as ready, for a little money, to do as much for you as for him.’

HIS lordship's arguments had their due weight with me, and I determined to follow his advice. Though I execrated the conduct of Lord S. I dropped a tear at his fatal exit, and there the matter ended. How trifling a character is that of a man of fashion, and how convinced must a person be, that he is a useless being in life, when he considers that at his death, he leaves a world that will not miss him!

THE marquis, among other things, told me, his Majesty had appointed him prime minister, and of all things, he should be happy if I would accept the secretaryship to the Treasury; that he was well acquainted with my abilities, and knew I should fill the office well; that he would open a borough for me, and I should be returned without trouble. I thanked his lordship for the honour he did me, and told him, that as I now stood single in life, and had no domestic concerns to take off my attention, I would accept the office cheerfully. Accordingly, I was soon after appointed, and returned for a ministerial borough: and the first satisfaction I derived from this employ, was having it in my power to do a handsome thing by my friend the Vicar. The marquis told me, about six months after I had been in office, that a rectory in the gift of the crown, and in the neighbourhood of my estate in Nottinghamshire, of the yearly valuel of six hundred pounds a year and upwards, with a good house upon it, had fallen vacant, and that if I had any friend in that part of the world, whom I wished to serve, it should be at my disposal. I readily embraced the offer, thanked him for his politeness, and gave it to Mr. Slash|'em, it being within distance, and tenable with the church he then held. This was the first good office of any magnitude, that I had ever in my power to perform; and if it be not vanity to say it, I will own, that it gave me a secret pleasure, and one so great, that I pined for an opportunity of doing a second. I am persuaded, that those who do good, will believe the truth of this assertion, and think there is more real gratification in giving than receiving. With a heart warmed by love and gratitude, my friend Slash'em waited on me to express his acknowledgements for the service I had done him, and I felt at the moment all the self-complacency, which a favour cheerfully and unexpectedly bestowed, and thankfully received, communicates to the feeling heart of the donor.

CHAP. XXVI.

WAS I to describe to my readers the arduous task of the office I filled, I am persuaded none of them would envy my situation. Besides my official business at the Treasury, though I was said to be the right hand of the minister, I was absolutely his slave: I was expected to support in the House of Commons all he did, or wished to do, without any concurrence of my own, and at times, when alone, was obliged, like a mercenary barrister, to study for arguments to throw out in the House, in defence of measures I disapproved, and which I inwardly condemned. My colleagues in office, the marquis would sometimes smile and say, were not up to the task, and that administration could not do without me. To a good pair of lungs, Nature had bestowed upon me a powerful harmonious voice, and blessed me with a strong memory beyond what men in general can boast of: as these are natural talents, I may mention them without vanity, and if I did not turn them to the best of purposes, it was that I had accepted an office, I could not, for certain reasons, immediately relinquish; and it fell to the holder of that office to support the conduct of his employer; and, as there is always an opposition in Parliament, and I hope, for the good of this country there ever will, be the motives of that opposition what they may, it is necessary for men in office, if they wish to carry their point, to labour to overthrow those arguments that are brought against them; sometimes these arguments are strong ones, and require a great deal of fallacious reasoning to combat; but whether a cause be right or wrong, the partisans of opposition will cavil at it, and it is the business of administration to shew the absurdity of such cavilling. So little regard is paid to the abilities of representatives, that the major part of them are very weak men, and are led away by the last speaker; it is necessary, therefore, if possible, that men in office should have the last word, and this is what I always contended for. I was the only one in administration, they said, that had temper and constitution enough to bear badgering, and believe me I had enough of it. The marquis was a man that meant well, and was not without his share of understanding; but he could not always carry things his own way: he was brought into the office he held, by the party with whom he was connected, and on that account was obliged frequently to give up his opinion to their's; but as he was the ostensible person, it was my business, if possible, to establish the rectitude of every measure he was obliged to espouse, right or wrong. Under this idea, was a new office to be appointed, for the puspose of gratifying a particular family or connexion, I was to justify the necessity of that office; if new works were to be erected or new contracts entered into, more with a design to enrich the erector or contractor, than any public utility; I was to argue the matter down the throats of the yea and nay members; if the civil list was in arrears, and money was wanting to discharge them, I was to shew the inadequateness of the establishment to the expences annexed to it, that it was necessary the dignity of the crown should be kept up, and that the arrears were unavoidable; if a negotiation abroad was to take place, in behalf of any family alliance or any favourite measure, I was to colour it in the best method I could, and give it an appearance of expediency; in short, a respectable majority was to be carried upon every motion, and it rested upon me to do it. It required ingenuity, it required labour; but I knew it was to be done, and never failed in the attempt: I made it a point to canvas the members, where I had any doubt of success, and when I found they were not to be brought over by argument, I had recourse to temptation; and, as Sir Robert Walpole used to say, I found every man had his price. I have often thought, that was a member of the House, who wished to speak, obliged to come forward and stand under a large extinguisher, drawn up by a pulley, the string of which should be within the reach of the Speaker; he might, whenever he wandered from the subject, or was out of order, let it down upon the orator, and put an end to his harangue: it would save a great deal of wrangling; a great deal of that time which is now taken up in false logic and personal invective. But I beg the reader's pardon for this digression. I carried on this disagreeable business too long, and was at last determined, if I could not have some direction in political matters, not to be the slave of those in power, and make my tongue always a traitor to my heart. My resolutions on this head I communicated to the marquis; and my services were so useful, that I was appointed a Secretary of State and admitted into the cabinet. This I found to be a cabal indeed, and his Majesty to be merely a cypher; I felt for his situation, and in every thing there debated, where I could with any degree of justness and propriety throw the weight into his scale, I did. Had the members of that cabinet been moderate and rational men, we might all have been unanimous; for as I had no measures to carry, but what were in my opinion consistent with the public good, I never obstinately contended in a bad cause: but every one did not think as I thought, and as I was of the King's party, as far as I could be with any propriety, and when I thought a measure wrong did not easily give up my opinion, the cabinet was distracted, and I must either retire or they would; in a word, I was too powerfully supported not to keep my seat: the cabinet was dissolved, a new administration formed, my friend the marquis resigned his office in my favour, and I had the honour to be appointed.

WHETHER things went on better or not, whilst I was at the head of the Treasury, I will not take upon me to say, but they went on much smoother. I became the ostensible man, and when I stood up in defence of any step, my tongue and my heart went together. I found this office, like the other I held, a very invidious one; that every thing I did was cavilled at and disapproved; and that from the number of appointments in my disposal, I was harrassed to death, and could scarce have the use of my own eyes or my own ears, but was always open to misrepresentation and deception. After I had held my office for two years, I handsomely resigned it. The only advantage my office was to me (if it may be called an advantage) was the number of friends it procured me. For years before I stood in the world, without a relation, without a connexion: now I might have had as many as I pleased. Some introduced themselves to me on a former acquaintance, (but which I could not recollect); some as being schoolfellows or neighbours; and some as fellow travellers; and others would ransack their genealogy, to find out some degree of kindred to me. All were assiduous to please me, all industrious to serve me; but I had then places and good things to give away. All this, however, was no gratification. I found the getting rid of the drudgery of franking, as great a relaxation as any thing. Many a hot day have I slipped off my coat, and franked away as for life; and it was no small vexation to think that I could not oblige my constituents, without giving my passport to such a world of nonsense as my covers contained. Butt he greatest pleasure I received was in acts of benevolence. I seldom listened to the recommendations of this great man, or the remonstrances of that, (on which account I had many enemies) but gave what was in the disposal of my department, as I conceived would best answer the design of the appointment, and do the most private good. I never amused a petitioner, as courtiers do, with false hopes and expectancies, or buoyed him up with fallacious promises, which cruelly tend to make his disappointment the greater. If I could serve him, and meant to do it, I always did; if I did not mean it, I frankly told him so. I stood in no danger of being served as the commander in chief was, by a lieutenant in the army, who had lost his leg in the service, and who had been warmly recommended to him for a company of invalids: he had amused this poor man for twelve months, and kept him in London at an expence he could not support. Quite wearied out with attending, he took an opportunity one day at his levee, as by accident, to tread upon this great man's corns with his wooden stump, and put him to great pain. Much concern was expressed at the accident, many submissive apologies made, and the matter was forgiven but not forgotten; for whenever this gentleman entered his levee afterwards, he took care to distinguish himself by stumping loudly across the room, which always created an alarm, and lest he should tread upon the commander's toes again, he was presently provided for. I never suffered a personal application from any one, but gave it out that every petition should be in writing, and to these I bestowed a very nice attention; him whom I thought best deserving and most adequate to the office to be filled, I generally preferred; but I frequently set aside every applicant in favour of modest men of abilities; who, through want of connexions, had no friends to intercede for them, or whose merit had been too obscured to be noticed by the public eye. The art of saying no, without hurting the person you say it to, is one of the first accomplishments in life; few men know how to do it; and I would persuade myself it arises from a good natured disposition, unwilling to refuse what is asked. It is related of the late D. of N. that he was so accustomed to promise, that no applicant whatever left his presence, without an assurance of having what he solicited; when at the same time his Grace scarcely knew what he had been asked for. A neighbour of his, a major in the army, waited upon him on his return from abroad, where he had the misfortune in an action to lose his leg: ‘My dear major,’ says his Grace, running up to him and embracing him, ‘I'm heartily glad to see you, I hope all things go well with you.’—‘I can't say they do, my Lord Duke,’ returns he; ‘I've had the misfortune to lose my .... ..,’—‘Say no more, my dear major,’ retorts he quickly; and stopping his mouth with his hand, and conceiving it to be some appointment which he had lost, ‘say no more, I intreat you, I'll give you a better.’—‘Better, my Lord!’ returns the major, ‘that cannot be.’—‘How so? my dear friend, how so?’ replies the Duke—‘Because,’ rejoins the major, ‘ I have lost my leg.’—In the disposal of what I had to give, I never bestowed my favours where a large family and a small income had not made some friendly assistance necessary, and where the duties of the office did not, according to the best of my judgment, point out the propriety of the bestowal. Many a worthy heart did I gladden, many a distressed object did I relieve, and many an oppressed family did I raise from the dust: so that I might really say, in the language of the Patriarch, ‘When the ear heard me, then it blessed me, and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me, because I delivered the poor, the widow and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him.’ And herein I will boast no merit; I acted from a selfish principle; for when I relieved the distressed, and made the widow's heart to sing for joy, I studied my propensities, and gratified myself.

Was every great man to act as I did, he would be great indeed; they have such numberless opportunities of doing good, that were they to embrace but a few, they would not only render themselves popular, but be the admiration and idol of the multitude.

Upon resigning my office, I gave up my pension, and being in the prime of life, have married a young lady of beauty of the first rank and family; with a fortune not inferior to my own, and mind that does honour to her sex. Retired from public business, I am set down quietly on my estate in the country, a favourite of fortune, and respected by my neighbourhood, where my friend the Vicar occasionally makes up part of my family, and we enjoy all the blessings of domestic life.

TO LITERARY MEN.

IT having long been lamented, that in the present enlightened age, so little encouragement should have been given to Literature, and that Authors should be obliged to accept a price for their works very inadequate to their worth, from an unwillingness, or inability, to risk the printing of them themselves; by which means, not only they, bu their families after them, have been deprived of the fruits of their labour. The REV. DR. TRUSLER, who, about twenty years since, stood forward in an Association, called THE LITERARY SOCIETY, (whose object was to print works of reputation, giving author's all profits arising from the same, and leaving them in full and free possession of their copy-right) proposes, as this public scheme was dropped, to revive it now, and for this purpose has connected himself with several Literary Men, who will print and publish, at their own risk, all such new and original works, as shall be submitted to their perusal, and shall be thought by them worth printing, on the terms to be had (gratis) of J. WALTER, PRINTING-HOUSE SQUARE, BLACK FRIARS.

Information about this book

Title statement

Modern times: or the adventures of Gabriel Outcast. Supposed to be written by himself. In imitation of Gil Blas. ... [pt.3]

Trusler, John, 1735-1820.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4824

ID [isbn10]

1106018230

ID [isbn13]

9781106018236

ID [TCP]

K079595.003

ID [BIBNO]

cw3312426737

ID [ECLL]

0433801203

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Modern times: or the adventures of Gabriel Outcast. Supposed to be written by himself. In imitation of Gil Blas. ..., Trusler, John, 1735-1820.. 3v. ; 12⁰. London :: printed for the author, by the Literary Society, at the Logographic Press, and sold by J. Walter,. 1785.. [Anonymous. By John Trusler.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT98935.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.