1

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

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

66

When gone, we all regarded each other for some minutes with confusion. My wife, who knew herself to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with a forced smile, and an air of assurance, which I was

willing

willing to reprove: "How, woman," cried I to her, "is it thus we treat strangers? Is it thus we return "their kindness? Be assured, my dear, that these "were the harshest words, and to me the most unpleasing that have escaped your lips!"-" Why "would he provoke me then?" replied she; " but I "know the motives of his advice perfectly well. He "would prevent my girls from going to town, that "he may have the pleasure of my youngest daugh"ter's company here at home. But whatever happens, she shall chuse better company than such "low-lived fellows as he."-" Low-lived, my dear, "do you call him?" cried I; "it is very possible "we may mistake this man's character, for he seems upon some occasions the most finished gentleman "I ever knew.--Tell me, Sophia, my girl, has " he ever given you any secret instances of his at"tachment!"-" His conversation with me, Sir," replied my daughter," has ever been sensible, mo"dest, and pleasing. As to aught else, no never. "Once indeed, I remember to have heard him say "he never knew a woman who could find merit in a "man that seemed poor." "Such my dear," cried I," is the common cant of all the unfortunate or idle. "But I hope you have been taught to judge pro"perly of such men, and that it would be even mad"ness to expect happiness from one who has been "so very bad an economist of his own. Your mo"ther and I have now better prospects for you. "The next winter, which you will probably spend "in town, will give you opportunities of making a "more prudent choice."

What Sophia'sreflections were upon this occasion I can't pretend to determine; but I was not displeased at the bottom, that we were rid of a guest from whom I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went to my conscience a little; but I quickly silenced that monitor by two or three specious reasons, which served

VOL. I.

F

served to satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The pain which conscience gives the man who has already done wrong, is soon got over. Conscience is a coward, and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom has justice enough to accuse.

CHAP. XIV.

Fresh mortifications, or a demonstration that seeming calamities may be real blessings.

THE journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr. Thornhill having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by letter of their behaviour. But it was thought indispensably necessary that their appearance should equal the greatness of their expectations, which could not be done without expence. We debated therefore in full council what were the easiest methods of raising money, or, more properly speaking, what we could most conveniently sell. The deliberation was soon finished, it was found that our remaining horse was utterly useless for the plough, without his companion, and equally unfit for the road, as wanting an eye; it was therefore determined that we should dispose of him for the purposes above-mentioned, at the neighbouring fair, and, to prevent imposition, that I should go with him myself. Though this was one of the first mercantile transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. The opinion a man forms of his own prudence is measured by that of the company he keeps; and as mine was mostly in the family way, I had conceived no unfavourable sentiments of my worldly wisdom. My wife, however, next morning, at part

ing, after I had got some paces from the door, called me back, to advise me, in a whisper, to have all my eyes about me.

I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, put my horse through all his paces; but for some time had no bidders. At last a chapman approached, and, after he had for a good while examined the horse round, finding him blind of one eye, he would have nothing to say to him: a second came up; but observing he had a spavin, declared he would not take him for the driving home: a third perceived he had a windgall, and would bid no money: a fourth knew by his eye that he had the botts: a fifth wondered what a plague I could do at the fair with a blind, spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a dog-kennel. By this time I began to have a most hearty contempt for the poor animal myself, and was almost ashamed at the approach of every customer; for though I did not entirely believe all the fellows told me, yet I reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong presumption they were right, and St. Gregory, upon good works, professes himself to be of the same opinion.

I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, an old acquaintance, who had also business at the fair, came up, and shaking me by the hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house and taking a glass of whatever we could get. Ireadily closed with the offer, and .entering an ale-house, we were shewn into a little back room, where there was only a venerable old man, who sat wholly intent over a large book, which he was reading. I never in my life saw a figure that prepossessed me more favourably. His locks of silver grey venerably shaded his temples, and his green old age seemed to be the result of health and benevolence. However, his presence did not interrupt our conversation; my friend and I discoursed on the various turns of fortune

ways

we had met; the Whistonian controversy, my last pamphlet, the archdeacon's reply, and the hard measure that was dealt me. But our attention was in a short time taken off by the appearance of a youth, who, entering the room, respectfully said something softly to the old stranger. "Make no apologies, "my child," said the old man, "to do good is a duty we owe to all our fellow-creatures: take this, "I wish it were more; but five pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome." The modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his gratitude was scarcely equal to mine. I could have hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me so. He continued to read, and we resumed our conversation, until my companion, after some time, recollecting that he had business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon back: adding, that he aldesired to have as much of Dr. Primrose's company as possible. The old gentleman, hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me with attention, for some time, and when my friend was gone, most respectfully demanded if I was any way related to the great Primrose, that courageous monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture than at that moment. "Sir," cried I," the applause of so good a man, "as I am sure you are, adds to that happiness in my "breast which your benevolence has already ex"cited. You behold before you, Sir, that Doctor "Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been pleased to call great. You here see that unfortu"nate Divine, who has so long, and it would ill be"come me to say, successfully, fought against the deuterogamy of the age.' "Sir," cried the stranger, struck with awe, " I fear I have been too "familiar; but you'll forgive my curiosity, Sir: I beg pardon." "Sir," cried I, grasping his hand, you are so far from displeasing me by your fami

66

66

66

"liarity