^^.<> 
 
 J 
 
 2, w. 
 
 it/! 
 
 DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 J,, 
 
 Treasure %qom 
 
 m& 
 
 MMM 
 
 aw 
 
 9 
 
 buEnealB 
 

 
T H K 
 
 ; FRIEND of YOUTH, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE 
 
 FRENCH of M. BERQUIN \ 
 
 COMPLETE 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 N E V/'B U R T P K T: 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN MYCALL, FOR THE 
 
 PROPRIETOR OF THE BOSTON BOOK- 
 
 STORE, N* 59, CORNHILL, BOSTON. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 TO thofe who are acquainted with the merit of 
 Mr. Berquin's firjt publication? for the ufe of 
 Children? which he jullly entitled the Children's 
 Friend, it will be unnecejfary to advance any other 
 circum fiance in favour of the following zuork? than 
 that it is the preclusion of the fame Gentleman, by 
 whom that elegant and moral performance was given 
 to the world* Being calculated for the perufal of 
 Children of a tender age? it naturally admitted a hind 
 of Sequel or Counterpart? for the inflrutiion and en- 
 tertainment of young perfons? who are rather paji the 
 period of childhood? and yet may be fuppofed incapable 
 of thinking for themfelves. The following Sheets 
 contain what has hitherto been publijhed entire by the 
 Author? on this pian? under the title of The Friend 
 OF Youth. It is neceffary to be obferved? that this 
 vjork? in the original? came out? as did the Children's 
 Friend, in detached periodical pieces? and therefore 
 has not yet arrived at the ultimate point to ivhich 
 Air. B. propofes to continue it. Nevertheless? it 
 was thought more advifeable? to gratify the impatience 
 of the public? with what is fini filed of it? than to wait 
 the uncertain arrival of the little ivhich remains to 
 be added. 
 
 In order to make amends far this deficiency? what- 
 ever it may be? the Tranfator has joined the Hi/lory 
 of Little Grandifon, (from which an extract isprevi- ' 
 oufly given in the fir fl volume) to the pieces which com- 
 pofe the Friend of Youth. It was tranfiated from 
 the Dutch by Mr. B. who found it to ppjfefs nearly 
 the fame fpirit with his own works? and? therefore? 
 A 2 judged 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 judged it a proper prefentfor thofe readers to whomhe 
 bad dedicated his pen. 'I his Gentleman's laudable 
 induflry, has led him to examine the productions of 
 Jevcral modern languages, and from the?n, to felecl fuch 
 as appeared to an/iver the purpofe which he had in 
 view. Among the reft, he has introduced, in the fol- 
 lowing collcclion, a piece or tivo from the Englijh, of 
 which it will be //efficient to obferve, that they are here 
 infer ted in the language of the jeveral originals to 
 which they belonged, as being obvioufly the mojl natu- 
 ral drefs that they could affume, and beyond compari- 
 Jon, the moft fatisjaclory to an Englijh reader. No 
 tranjlation can be fuppofed capable of conveying thj 
 fpirit and freedom of the original : and this would be 
 found particularly to be the cafe in the latter of the 
 pieces alluded to, 7"he Narrative of a Shipwreck 
 on the Ifland of Cape-Breton, ivhich opens the fe- 
 cond volume. The fubjeel of this narrative being 
 partly nautical, it would be found to j'uffer corftdera- 
 Lly, and appear to much lefs advantage, if delivered 
 in any other ft yk than the Englijh, in ivhich it was 
 firfl compofed. Indeed, the abfurdity of transla- 
 ting from a foreign language, what would be read 
 infinitely more fatisfaelion as an original, is fs 
 ■:nt, that it does not require any further comment. 
 If a critical irfpeclion of this work Jhould difcover 
 fome of the pieces, in their prefent form, to contain^ 
 now and then, a Jl ght improbability, it will, no 
 doubt, be attributed to Us real eauje, the difference of 
 national manners. The ejfeft of this circumftance is 
 portaht, that a j mail defeel of probability coutd 
 not ahfoluiely be avoided in [erne caje:, zvithotrt mili- 
 tating againfi both the intent and mitral of the Ah- 
 
PREFACE, v 
 
 thor> as well as deranging the whole plot and conduct 
 of many of his pieces. An imperfeftion, which will 
 always be found to jubfifl inherently in every perform- 
 ance like the following, where it is propofed to adopt ^ 
 for in fiance, French manners and actions to Englijh 
 characters. A copyift in painting, would, probably, 
 often find it a difficult tafk to fupport the propriety of 
 any particular aftion reprefented in a pifture, were 
 he obliged to alter the coftume of the figures exhi- 
 bited in the original, Thus, it may be prefumed, the 
 pifture of an Augvjlan Triumph vjould not fo flrong- 
 ly imprefs the jpcftator with an idea of grandeur, 
 were the perfonages in the' procejfion habited like 
 Dutchmen : or, on the other hand, if a company of 
 Roman Senators were reprefenied as bufily engaged in 
 the fantaflical chace of a Pantomime, the mummery 
 of the aftion ivould no longer be preferved, but muti 
 unavoidably be overclouded with a cafi of fohmnity un- 
 natural to it.- 
 
 Imaginary aftions, therefore, when adapted to one 
 particular national charafter, are not eafily transfer- 
 able ; or, whenever it is attempted to make themfo, 
 either the aclion or the char after, is liable to fuffer a 
 partial dijguife, and be fc en, as it were, through a 
 mid. Infuch a cafe, they will, neither of them, af- 
 fect the imagination of the reader with fo lively a 
 force, as when they appear with the advantage of 
 their orginal congruiiy. But this observation applies 
 more confpicuoufly to Novels, where a fingle moral 
 refulis from a feries of complicated aft ions interfper- 
 fed, perhaps, with a variety of epifodes appending to 
 the main /lory. I know not whether Gil Bias, the 
 Fortunate Villager, and a feiv other novels, may not 
 be adduced as injtances to elucidate what has been a- 
 A3 bove 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 hove remarked : but in a work like the prefect, con~ 
 Ming ofjhotl pieces, in which we quickly arrive at 
 the moral, and find it generally to conjliiute the moll 
 leading feature, it is not fo difficult to accommodate 
 the maimers and atlions of each perfonage, to the ge- 
 neral uniformity of human life, and to divrft them of 
 that nationality which would he more cbfcrvable in 
 narrative pieces of greater extent. 
 
 Upon the whole, it lies with the judicious reader to 
 determine, zvhether any confderahle offences againjl 
 verifunilitude occur, in the folloiving cclleelion. The 
 TranJIatcr hopes he has rcajon to conjole hin.fl/ 'in the 
 rcf-ilion, that he has ufed all pcjfibie diligence to avoid 
 any fuch ; and if, notwith [landing his endeavours, the 
 cenfure o) critic fn foculd fajhn on a few imperfeli- 
 ■ this nature, quas aut incuria fudit, 
 Aut humana parum cavit Natura, 
 he has only to jhcltcr Simfelf behind the ivell- earned 
 reputation of the Author, whfe labours, jo eminently 
 beneficial to youth in general^ he has endeavoured par- 
 ticularly to adapt to the improvement of the rijhg ge- 
 neration in this country. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
E vii l 
 CONTENTS 
 
 TO THE 
 
 FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 Page 
 
 THE Fickle Youth — — 9 
 
 Flattery — — — 29 
 
 "Whimfical Anfwer to an Italian Letter 39 
 
 The Cavern in the Peak defcribed — 40 
 
 Ode on Domeftic Happinefs — 47 
 
 The Peafant, his Country's Benefactor 51 
 
 Syftem of the World — — 68 
 
 Damon and Pythias — — 116 
 
 The Siege of Colchefter — — 130 
 
 Hie Lawfuit — — — 164 
 
 Loft Time recovered — — 170 
 
 Jafper and Emilius — -*- 177 
 
 The Punimment of Pride — — 190 
 
 The Increafe of Family — — 396 
 
 The Humorous Engagement — 203 
 
 Charles 11. — — — 209 
 
 Adventures of Charles II. in his Flight 308 
 
 The Hat — — — 319 
 
 Little Grandifon — — 325 
 
 THE 
 
THE 
 
 FRIEND of YOUTR 
 
 THE FICKLE YOUTH, 
 
 JACK WHIRLER was endowed, by nature, 
 with a happy memory, a ripe underftanding, 
 and a lively, aclive, and fruitful imagination. 
 Fortune feemed to enfure the accomplishment of 
 every hope, that could be founded upon fo pro- 
 mising qualities, by allotting him parents, whofe 
 warmelt wishes ever were, to cultivate, in their 
 ion, that pregnancy of parts, which he had re- 
 ceived from the hands of nature. An extraor- 
 dinary quicknefs of apprehenficn had advanced 
 him, confiderably, in his tender ftudies, at an 
 early period, and he was already eager to unite 
 the ornament of exterior accomplishments, to the 
 more folid acquirement of mental inftru&ion. 
 
 It happened, that, on a vim to one of his 
 young companions, he found him engaged in 
 drawing a Reman head, which, from the charac- 
 terise grestnefs cf the countenance, imprefTed 
 him with the moft lively fentiments of admira- 
 tion. As his friend advanced toward the finifii- 
 ing of his portrait, young Whirler felt thefe fen- 
 timents grow in his mind with additional ardor. 
 Some other pieces, which the room afforded ia 
 the fame ftyle, completely infpired him with fuch 
 
 an 
 
30 THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 an enthufiafm as Raphael experienced on flrft 
 taking tiie pencil in his hand. 
 
 He returned home at full fpeed, and, meeting 
 his father on the flairs, he threw his arms fond- 
 ly round him, and requeued him to go immedi- 
 ately, and engage him a drawing- mafter. His 
 father, charmed with the earneftnefs that he ex- 
 preffed, was eafily induced to gratify this defire. 
 They went, therefore, together, to the moft ce- 
 lebrated matter in town; and Jack Whirler would 
 have been happy, could he have prevailed on 
 him to give up all his other pupils, and confine 
 his inftruclions to Kim morning to 
 
 night. As he could not obtain this facririce, he 
 infilled, however, that each leilon mould conti- 
 nue, at leaft, two hours every day. He had no 
 conception, how any one could refrain from de- 
 voting every moment of his life, to the cultiva- 
 tion of fo divine an art. 
 
 His malter was not to come until the next day. 
 I will not tell you how many faces he had 
 fketched before night. His port-folio was already 
 full of heads, drawn in every poffible variety of 
 character, though you will certainly excufe him, 
 if they did not difcover that correefnefs which is 
 the refult of long practice. There was, perhaps, 
 a large eye, to match a frnall one, in the 
 fame face ; the nofe was made, fometimes, to 
 rife out from the middle of the forehead, and 
 the ear would come to hear the mouth, or the 
 mouth to bite the ear, acrofs the whole breadth 
 of the cheek : but, except thefe trifling faults, 
 his performance had all the corretStnefs that 
 eould be rcafonably expected. 
 
 He 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH, n 
 
 He had, himfeif, prepared m enormous meet 
 of paper, the largeft that was to be had in town. 
 This was loon found too fmali to contain the 
 number of eyes, ears, arms and legs, that he 
 had fetched out uncW the direction of his maf- 
 rier. The hofpitals of Greenwich and Chelfea, 
 would here have met with excellent patterns to 
 replace si! the loft members of thofe honeft ve- 
 terans who inhabit them. His natural impati- 
 ence was a little fretted by the tedious famenefs 
 ot thofe effays, to which, his firfi leffons were ri- 
 gidly confined, in order to fteady his hand. As 
 foon, therefore, as he was alone, he launched 
 out freelv, beyond the bounds of this flow pro- 
 cefs, afpiring already in idea, to the execution of 
 complete and grand pictures. The garret-walls 
 had been newly white-wafhed ; he formed the 
 deftgn of painting them with the hiftory of 
 Rome, which he was juft then reading at (choo(; 
 and, in effect, at the week's end, there appeared 
 drawn upon them, in charcoal, a comely fucceffi- 
 on of heads and bulls of tribunes and of con- 
 fuls, with dictators a-fooi, and emperors on 
 horfeback ; and I. doubt not, that if the names 
 had been placed under their refpeclive figures, in 
 order to render them perfect refemblances, an 
 antiquary might have found means to bring forth 
 a number of interefting and learned remarks, 
 touching this gallery. 
 
 He was proposing to himfclf to reprefent, in 
 the fame ftyle of execution, the progrefs of our 
 hiftory, down from the conquer!, when he one 
 day found his whole work effaced by the fervants, 
 
 ■who 
 
12 THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 who pretended, that thefe Roman heroes upon 
 the wall only frightened the cats', but did not 
 drive the mice away. This mifhap a little aba- 
 ted the ardor of his paffion for drawing : his 
 difappointment at feeing himfelfftill far behind 
 his young friend, whom he had expected at his 
 farit attempt to overtake, alienated ftill more his 
 liking for the art. He prefently grew fearful of 
 dirtying his ringers with the chalks, or, of making 
 gaps in his pen-knife, by cutting them. His 
 mailer, who at firft had fo much trouble to 
 moderate his eagernefs, now found it a more 
 difficult tafk to re-animate it. In vain, did he 
 enumerate to him the wonderful effects of paint- 
 ing j and the curious anecdotes that are found in 
 the lives of the great artifts. He had introduced 
 to him, a pupil of his,juft returned from Rome ; 
 en purpofe to entertain him with an account of 
 the fuperb paintings that he had feen and ftudied 
 in Italy. This young gentleman, in expreiling 
 his admiration of thofe performances, made ufe 
 of Italian' words, either as bcin;* more ready, or 
 more figniricant ; the founds were new to Jack 
 Whaler's ears ; and it ftruck him in a moment, 
 that to fpeak fo melodious a language was a much 
 finer thing, than ro draw heads j which, let them 
 be ever fo exprerTive, could not talk. He ran 
 immediately to communicate this reflection to 
 his father, who, though grieved to fee him thus 
 qu't an agreeable accomplifjiment, of which he 
 had before been fo paflionately defirous, did not 
 however chufe tooppofe this new tafteof his; and 
 the next day, JackWhirler hud an Italian mailer, 
 in the room of his teacher in drawing, 
 
 i 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH. 13 
 
 I muft do Jack the juftice thus publicly to de- 
 clare that his progrefs for the fkft two or three 
 days kept pace with his .refoiution. Every gram > 
 matical difficulty gave way to the quicknefs of 
 his comprehenfion. He grew fond to enthufi^ 
 aim of a language. fo full of fweetnefs and har- 
 mony ; and was inceffantly talking it to the peo- 
 ple of the family, without troubling his head 
 whether they could underftand it, He addrefie£ 
 v the cookmaid with Vojlra Signcria^ and called the 
 gardener Cor mio. The Italian tranflaticn of * 
 Cato became as familiar to him as the original 
 ■In examining his father's library for authors in 
 this language, he laid his hands by chance on a 
 Spanifh Don Quixote. Don Quixote ! the fa r 
 vofite of his earlieft ftudies ! Oh ! what a plea ■ 
 fure to be able to taile the droll proverbs of his 
 honeft 'fquire, when feafoned with all the hu,- 
 rnour of their native language 1 Ca':o's grave ih~ 
 liloquy was not to be compared to the deleclabJe 
 fallies of Sancho ; nor the little fenate of Uti- 
 ca, to the council-chamb&r of the Baratarian go- 
 vernor. This undertaking, however, required 
 courage. Here he was to engage inceflantly with 
 ftrauge words, like the knight of the rueful vi- 
 iage with windmills and flocks of (heep. He 
 came off, however, with at leafl as much honor 
 as the knight in this mil campaign. But will 
 you believe me ? Before the hero of La Mane ha 
 had fallied forth a fecond time in quell cf zdven- 
 
 B / tures, 
 
 ♦ 
 
 * The Tragedy of Cato, written by JvTr. Addifop, 
 was tranflated into Italian by Salvini, and a'&ed at Flo- 
 rence* 
 
M- 
 
 THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 tures, Jack V/hirler had quitted the Spanifh to 
 learn French, which he foon gave up in order to 
 Audy the German. So that at the end of the 
 year he was already a fmatterer in four living lan- 
 guages, but fo imperfect was he in each, and 
 jumbled them together in his difeourfe after fuch 
 a fafhion, that he mould have had an audience 
 compofed of deputies from thefe different nati- 
 ons, to interpret one to the other the unconnect- 
 ed fcraps and phrafes that each might happen to 
 underftand in his converfation. 
 
 Dexterity in exercilcs of the body feems to 
 lend both help and ornament to a well cultivated 
 mind, and the mod extenfive knowledge will not 
 atone for awkwardnefs, in the eyes of the fairer 
 part of fociety. Jack Whirler had met with a 
 difagreeable proof of this, at a ball which was 
 given by his papa on feme particular occafion. 
 In the courfe of this, Jack, notwithstanding his 
 erudition, had put all the dancers out feveral 
 times. He therefore refolved to inftruct himfelf 
 in the principles of thif agreeable art ; but fcarce- 
 3y had he begun the minuet fteps, when his head 
 ran* upon the rigadoon, and nothing elfe. What 
 he moil earneftly wifhed to learn in each leflbn 
 was exactly the part of dancing that he mould 
 not be taught as yet. Always eager after what 
 he did not know, and diffatisfled with what he 
 had learned, he could lay up nothing in his me- 
 mory with the lead order. Thus he would 
 fometimesjfcjJUr* in when he mould crofs over^ and 
 Jhujff^mhixi he mouldy;^. He found no diffi- 
 culty in dancing the hays when the company fet 
 out with a cotillion, nor had he ever occafion for 
 
 a change 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH. 15 
 
 a change of time in the rouiic to Mart off him- 
 fe\( in a Scotch reel, while he left his partner 
 moving a minuet. 
 
 All this, it may be fuppofed, produced no 
 fmall confufion among the young people his 
 companions of the dance; in order therefore to 
 reinitate himfelf in the flavor of the ladies, 
 which he had loft by this abfent and volatile dif- 
 pofition, he fet about learning mufic, that he 
 might be able to accompany either the voice or 
 the harpfichord. But what instrument fhould 
 he attempt firit ? To take his word for it, there 
 was nothing eafier in the world than to praiStife 
 them all at once. However his father did not 
 think proper to rifk this experiment, and gave 
 him only the liberty of chufmg his initrument. 
 While he was uncertain as to this point, the vi- 
 olin feemed a proper one to take in hand by way 
 of trial, and it was not till fix months after, that 
 he fixed his choice decidedly on the flute, juft as 
 he began to attempt an open fhake, and to bow 
 with tolerable fteadinefs. 
 
 In the mean time his father grew fome what 
 uneafy on obferving this unfettied and change- 
 able difpofition of his fon,though a parent's fond- 
 nefs induced him to attribute the fault to youth 
 alone. With a view therefore to advance the 
 improvement of his understanding by obfervation 
 and experience, he determined to fend him upon 
 a to.ur to the continent. Jack Whirler defired 
 no better than to (hi ft the fcene. The narra- 
 tives ot travellers had always been a favorite 
 reading with him, and his imagination had a 
 thoufand times tranfported him to the countries 
 B 2 which 
 
i6 THE FICKLE YOUTH 
 
 which they defcribe. A young friend of his, who 
 was juft returned from France, gave him fo 
 favorable an account of the reception that 
 he had found in that country, and drew fo pleaf- 
 ing a picture of the improved ftate of arts and 
 fociety there ; defcribed in fo warm terms the 
 engaging vivacity and elegance of the ladies, 
 with the frank: and open politenefs of the men ; 
 offered him fuch flattering letters of recommen- 
 dation to fome of the nobility at Paris, equally 
 eminent for exalted talents and amiable qualities ; ' 
 in fine, the happy effects already produced by the 
 commercial union of the two nations, and the 
 profpeft opened to both of enriching themfelves 
 by a free and reciprocal interchange of their pro- 
 ductions, and of preserving the repole of Europe 
 by the envied example of their happinefs, as 
 well as by the terror of their arms ; all thefe 
 ideas, united in defcription, did fo inflame hi* 
 natural eritmifiafm, that he could not contain his 
 defire of vifiting that polite nation ; nor was it 
 pofiible to moderate his joy, when the moment 
 arrived that' he was to fet out, under the direc- 
 tion of a preceptor, equally remarkable for his 
 good fenfe and attachment to the family of his 
 pupil. 
 
 One fnould have viewed the extenfive plains 
 of Picardy, interfperfed with the agreeable land- 
 fcape of diitant hamlets, or Hoping hills crown- 
 ed with orchards and hopyards in full bloom, 
 to conceive the impreflion which this enchanting 
 fight produced on the mind of our young travel- 
 ler. Even the rapidity of bis imagination could 
 Scarcely keep pace with the fucceflion of ftrikirtgf 
 
 objects 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH. 17 
 
 objects which his tour afforded. A continued 
 rapture of admiration conducted h:m to the 
 gates of Paris, where it was ftill further heigh- 
 tened by a view of the fuperb palaces and other 
 magnificent buildings which adorn that capital. 
 The firft few days after his arrival, he fpent in 
 viewing every quarter of it. The grandeur of 
 the public edifices, the innumerable concourfe of 
 inhabitants, the delicious gardens which abound 
 both in the city and its environs, the fplendor 
 and elegance that fhone in the drefTes of the no- 
 bility, the fightly decorations of their places of 
 public refort, and the unbounded feftiviry that 
 reigns in their private and convivial circles ; all 
 thefe charms united, might be fuppofed, with the 
 addition of novelty, to produce fenfations pro- 
 portionable to the ardour and fufceptibility which 
 young Whirler's imagination pofTefTed. 
 
 So they did at firft 5 but the impreffion, lively 
 as it was, foon vanifhed. His eager curiofity 
 once fatisfied, he felt this paflion fucceeded by 
 languor and fatiety. His tutor perceived it, and 
 propofed to him to vifit fome of the provinces. 
 Jack Whirler, in the height of his joy, could on- 
 ly anfwer him by preffing entreaties to engage a 
 poft-chaife for that purpofe againft the next day. 
 I fhall not follow them in the whole of their 
 excurfion, for fear of growing tirefome to my 
 young reader ; I will only ftoo with them a mo- 
 ment at Salency, a town celebrated for the per- 
 formance of a ceremony the moft affecling and 
 Angular, that perhaps the whole world can afford, 
 in this age of degeneracy. There the younger 
 female inhabitants are early infpired with The 
 B 3 love, 
 
a S T H E F I C K t£ YOUT H. 
 
 love, and encouraged in the practice of fru 
 probity, and innocence. She who is by univer- 
 sal confent pronounced the mod virtuous maiden 
 of the village, receives from the hands or its il- 
 ludrious proprietor a crown of rofes j which ho- 
 nour is conferred once a year, on a day that is 
 obferved as a feftival from the public celebration 
 of the cuftom ; and this ornament, fimple as it 
 is, hath more powerful and univerfal effect: on 
 the morals of the riling generation, particularly 
 the female part of the peafantry of SaJency, 
 than the mod laboured or. oitentatious panegy- 
 ric, the warmed efTufions of popular app'aufe, or 
 in fine, than any other incentive whatsoever, up- 
 on thole of their fuperiors in rank and under- 
 danding. There virtue and merit are habitually 
 revered, and the acquifition of the rofe garland, 
 the reward of unblemilhed fame and purity of 
 manners, is viewed with more honed and more 
 juftly founded emulation, than trophies of mili- 
 tary prowefs, or the tinfel decoration and titles 
 of a datefman, can excite in the bofoms of the 
 great. 
 
 Objects attractive and intereding furrounded 
 Jack Whirler in every part of his tour ; he found 
 every where a fufrkient variety of matter both 
 for indruclion and amufement ; but it was the 
 misfortune of his difpofition never to wi(h for 
 any thine; but what was out of his reach, and ne- 
 ver to think any place agreeable, unlefs he weie 
 a hundred leagues didant from it. What mod 
 employed his thoughts during this tour in France, 
 was, (as he fometimes termed it in a rapture) his 
 dear Italy, In the Louvre at Paris, he looked 
 
 round 
 
THE FICKLE Y O U T H. 19 
 
 round for the Roman Capital, or the Temple of 
 the Sun, and was now fighing for the (nattered 
 villages of Calabria in the midftof the vineyards 
 of Champagne. His tutor had tried all poffible 
 means to cure him of this reftlerThefs, but foon 
 became apprehenfive, left his endeavours to that 
 purpofe mould only ferve to throw his pupil into 
 aconfumption, and therefore he feconded the re- 
 queft which the latter 'had made to his father for 
 p X ermiffion to fet out for this fame Italy, which he 
 now longed to behold as much as ever the wan- 
 dering Trojans did in the days of yore, 
 
 Except in crofting the channel, all Jack Whir- 
 ler's travels had hitherto been upon dry land, and 
 it was now two months fince he had begun mea~ 
 furing the port- roads of France. This was e- 
 nough to put him out of humour with all tra- 
 velling unlefs by fea. His tutor conceived hopes 
 of bringing him to a reasonable difpofitiori by a- 
 ereeing to the experiment, and pretended to re- 
 ]i(h it as- much as he did.* They embarked there- 
 fore at Marfeilles, on board a vefTel bound to 
 Leghorn. 
 
 Jack Whirler pafTed the flrlt day entirely up6& 
 deck, where he could not help admiring the waves 
 of the fea, which were gently impelled by the 
 wind, and feemed to come in playful fuccefiion 
 fporting round the (hip's fidns. The next day 
 he was Mill fo clever in his own eyes for having 
 had the courage to undertake this expedition., 
 that his felf-complacent reflexions on the fubject 
 kept off the approaches of fatiety, But the 
 third day, both his agreeable mufmgon the beau- 
 ties of the fea, and his iatisfa&ion in thinking fo 
 
 highly 
 
20 THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 highly of himfelf, quttc forfook him. Nothing 
 remained but the weariforne difguit that he felt 
 in the famenefs of his voyage. He now longed 
 lo be on (hoic, all the wifhes of his heart were 
 directed towards the land : but unfortunately it 
 was too far off to gratify his caprice. Nor did 
 old ocean feem to uie any extraordinary haite in 
 tranfporting him to the term of his willies, fo 
 that he was obliged to be patient, or rather (as 
 his temper inclined him) to be out of patience, 
 until the (hip's arrival at her port. 
 
 Happy power of imagination, which, through 
 the fweet illudons of hope, fteals from us the 
 remembrance of our troubles ! Jack. Whirler 
 forgot all his at his landing. He was now at length 
 happily arrived in that famous country, the ftore- 
 houfe of all the riches both of nature and art. 
 After repofing himfelf two days at Leghorn, he 
 fet out for Florence. He knew that the famous 
 gallery of paintings in that city made it the re- 
 fort of travellers, marry of whom, even after 
 continually viewing it for fix months, found 
 their curiofity ilill unfatisfied. and remained in 
 town 'in fpite of their refojutions of departing 
 every day. This did not feem fo orange to him 
 at his iirft calling his eye upon that fuperb col- 
 lection of mailer-pieces. Perhaps he would even 
 have remained in the fame mind until he had got 
 to the end of the gallery, if it had not been for 
 the idea of St. Peter's at Rome, and the Vatican 
 Library, that juft then (truck him. Theie two 
 edifices took up his thoughts the whole day, and 
 prelei r ed themielvcs in unbounded magnificence 
 to his imagination. In order to form a decifive 
 
 eftimate 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH. it 
 
 eftimate of their fplendour and dimensions, he 
 prefTed his tutor that fame evening to fet off for 
 Rome. Never tell me of thole tedious travellers 
 that pry without end, and take an age to %ifc< 
 mine any remarkable objea ! Jack 'W hide?, in 
 three days, had feen every thing that was curious 
 in the antient capital of the world, and had even 
 fome of that time to fpare, which he employed 
 in putting together his baggage for a trip to Na- 
 ples, whither he was already tranlporr^d in idea. 
 It was not however the particular beauties of this 
 latter place which excited his curiofiiy fo ftrong- 
 ly ; he had lately, it is true, palled through 
 many magnificent cities, but ail that Kb had hi- 
 therto ken were above the fur face of the earth, 
 Whereas Herculaneum and Pompeia were buried 
 in its bowels. Cities finder ground were all that 
 he now thought worth his notice. The roman- 
 tic fruitfulnefs of his imagination formed to him 
 a thoufand pictures of the terrible event which 
 had reduced them to that Rate. He was fur- 
 prifed, on going down among!! their ruins, to 
 iind that he had fallen in lo^/e with a hesp of rub- 
 bifh 5 for he law nothing more at that time, 
 notwithstanding the many curious remains of 
 antiquity that have been difcovered among 
 them. Another would at leail have found fome 
 confolation in admiring, at Naples, one of the 
 fin eft harbours in Europe, but Jack Whirlep 
 could not help contrafting it with thofe of Am- 
 fterdam, Portfmouth, or Constantinople; which 
 appeared to him much finer, becaufe they were. 
 at a diltance. As to that burning mountain 
 which commands the town of N T 3pJes,and makes 
 
 its 
 
22 THE FICKLE Y O U T K. 
 
 its fituation awful, as well as piclurefque, by in- 
 ceffantly threatening to bury it in afhes and 
 flames ; did not all travellers allow iEtna to be 
 far before Vefuvins ? Certainly ; and the dread- 
 ful c/Tedrs of its hit eruption conveyed to his mind 
 every idea of terror and admiration that a vul- 
 cano bah excite. Thus in that dear country 
 which jack*Whirler had fo earneftly defired to 
 vifit, tHere remained but one fingle town, the 
 fight of winch could recompenfe the fatigues of 
 Ms journey. This was Venice, fo fingularly 
 different from all the other cities, rifing from the 
 middle of a huge morafs, with her canals, her 
 gondolas, and her five hundred bridges. To ar- 
 rive there, he mult travel, it is true, the whole 
 length of Italy, but his imagination, as it was 
 bold in fmoothing every obfracle, fo it was clear- 
 righted in fhortening every diftance, and he only 
 waited to have his portmanteau packed up, that 
 he might take the road towards Venice. 
 
 1 am afraid, my young friends, that you have 
 before now fufpected his tutor to have been too 
 tamely complaifant, as you have ktn him give 
 way to all his pupil's whims. I fee that to juf- 
 fify him, I mulVhere difcover to you a family fe- 
 rret, repofing at the fame time the ftricieft confi- 
 dence in your difcretion. During the whole of 
 his tour, Jack Whirler had written home regu- 
 larly to his father, who remarked, that his letters 
 always exprefTed a fort of tiifguft for the place 
 from which they were dated, while he feemed in 
 raptures with that which he was next to vifit : 
 thus it appeared that every country, though it' 
 ?nted him at a diftance with flattering pro- 
 
 fpecls, 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH. 23 
 
 fpecls, never failed to tend him away tired and 
 difappointed. Thefe remarks, coniirmed by 
 thole of his fon's tutor, which after what you 
 have read, you* may eafily imagine were quite to 
 the fame effect, gave him to uhderftand, that his 
 fori was not of a temper or frame of mind cal- 
 culated to receive much improvement fr©m tra- 
 velling. However, he did not chufe, by haftily 
 recalling him, to\ furniih him with a pretext for 
 complaining at a future period, # that he had there- 
 by loft the opportunity of improvement. He 
 barely recommended to the tutor not to oppofe 
 his fon's changeable whims, which wojjld of 
 themfelves be Tufficient to bring him home in a 
 fnort time* Thus Jack. Whirler, after he had 
 feen Venice, Turin, Switzerland arid Flanders, 
 all at full fpeed, did now, in a frefh fit of incon- 
 stancy, wim for no more than to return to his 
 own fire-fide, even before the time which he him- 
 felf had ftipulated. 
 
 A parent never forgets that name ; you may 
 imagine, therefore, what Mr. Whirler felt at the 
 return of his fon. But why have I not here 
 thofe tranfports of joy to defcribe to you, which 
 polTefs a father's heart, when a child, worthy of 
 his warmeft affection, is reftored to him after ab- 
 fence ? Why can I not reprefent them to you, 
 clafped in each other's arms, fpeechfcfs with joy, 
 and mixing their tears together ; the father proud 
 of the new accomplifhments that he obferves in 
 his fori* and the latter happy to (hew them toad- 
 vantage before the eyes of a parent, as the pro- 
 pereft return that he could make to his fatherly 
 affection and good wifhes ? How happy mould I 
 
 have 
 
U THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 have been to lay before you fo touching a fcene, 
 even though it mould lofe by my defyiption ! 
 You would at leaft, as well as your parents, have 
 obferved in it, with pleafure, the artlefs exprefii- 
 on of thofe fentjme'nts with which you feel your- 
 felves mutually affected . It was in Jack. Whirl- 
 er's power to have made us all thus happy, by a 
 better improvement of the attention that had 
 been paid to his earlier years. Nothing would 
 have been wanting to his education, either as to 
 learning or accomplishments, if he could have 
 had the refolution to conquer the ' reftleffnefs of 
 his drfpoiition, and confine himfelf to a more 
 conftant 2nd uniform courfe of application. In- 
 ftead of that fickle tafte which hurried him from 
 one ftudy to another, wading through the diffi- 
 culties that render the beginning of each dry 
 and difagreeable, and never taking time to enjoy 
 the fatistadtion which a more advanced progrefs 
 affords ; inftead of thofe delufions of fancy, 
 which dreffed out diitatit objects in a flattering 
 manner, only to make thofe which were prefent, 
 appear in more unfavorable colours ; inflead of 
 being perpetually difgufted and out of humour 
 jyith the faint, unsatisfactory ideas, which a clofe 
 infpecYion afforded him, of obje&s tfiat his ima- 
 gination had exaggerated while at a diftance ; 
 what a furgd of ii'ncere pleafing ideas might he 
 have laid up for himfelf ! Not to mention the 
 deljgUt which a youth of fpirit feels in outftrip*- 
 ping the expectations of his family, htfw great 
 would have been his fatisfaction in this import- 
 ant rdjpeft, that the fjrft and ftrongert principle of 
 nature would have made his improvement the 
 
 fource 
 
T HE FICKLE YOUT H. a£ 
 
 fource of. happinefs to his parents, in the paoft 
 exquifite degree ! 
 
 You have feen Jack Whirler, from his child- 
 hood equally fond of learning and agreeable ac~ 
 complifhments, fet out in purfuit of them with 
 the m oft unbounded eagemefs, and thinking to 
 carry every thing at the firft attempt, ftruggle 
 gallantly with the rnoi> difheartenirig difficulties 
 for a while, and then give up the conteft at the 
 very moment when he was about to get the bet- 
 ter of them. In addition to his natural deiire 
 of knowledge, and the encouraging. applaufe of 
 his parents, had he been endowed with a little 
 more command over himfelf, he might have ac- 
 quired every thing that would add ornament as 
 well as happinefs to his future life. His reafors. 
 early matured by ftudy, and his tafte for agreeable 
 relaxations would have prefervedhis youth from 
 that reftletfhefs which torments him, and from 
 that wearifome difguft which he conceives to 
 every object that becomes once familiar to him, 
 From his acquaintance with both the principles, 
 and practice of the fine arts, he would have 
 looked upon nothing with indifference in thp 
 courfe of his travels. The view of thofe mafter- 
 pieces of art which foreign countries afford, while 
 it gratified his curiofity, would have improved 
 his tafte. His underftanding would have been 
 enlightened , by the variety of objects that met 
 , his view, his judgment corrected by ftudyina: 
 .their differences and relations, his knowledge of 
 the world enlarged by obferving the manners 
 and characters of men in different countries. 
 Strangers, flattered with the defire which 
 C a 
 
26 THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 a youth of education teftifies to vifit their 
 country, conceive the moft advantageous pre- 
 judice in his favor, and receive him with the 
 politfcft attention. Thus admitted into every 
 diftinguimed' circle, he might have done honour 
 to his name and country, by that manly franknefs 
 and fincerity of manners which I would recom- 
 mend to my young countrymen as the moft 
 dTential accompaniment to politenefs, inafmuch 
 as it certainly beft conciliates friendship, efteem, 
 and refpe&. He would have returned home re- 
 gretted by thofe whom he had left, welcomed by 
 liis former friends, and doubly fo by his parents, 
 to whom he would then have afforded the moft 
 reafonable ground of hope for his future fuccefs 
 in life. 
 
 How far was Jack Whirler from this happy 
 (ituation, to which his circumftances ieemed fo 
 naturally to lead him ! In all the towns through 
 which he had travelled at full fpeed, his con- 
 verfation was chiefly with the landlords of the 
 hotels where he took a fhort repofe after the 
 fatigues of riding poft. His countrymen had 
 little to promife themfclves from the feeble ftock 
 of information that he had collected ; his father 
 taw all his hopes difoppointed ; and his friends— 
 but his ficklenefs was inconfiftent withfuch a re- 
 lation — Jack Whirler had no friends. Unhappy 
 youth ! I pity him when I think, my dear Ho- 
 ratio, that our friendftpp was formed at an age 
 as tender ; our friendfhip, which has never fince 
 wavered a fingle moment, and which would now, 
 as in the firft warmth of its commencement, lead 
 us to unite our lives and fortunes, and fhare them 
 
 for 
 
THE FICKLE YOUTH. 27 
 
 for the future equally and infeparably ! Sweet 
 moments of our youth ! when the fame Tene- 
 ments and inclinations drew our hearts together 
 by every tie that could bind them. How fwiftly 
 did the days glide away between our ftudies, and 
 the free intercourfe of our fentiments ! Every 
 pleafure, every pain was felt by both in common. 
 Always together in town, together in the coun- 
 try ; for eight years we felt it neceffary to o\;r 
 happinefs to be fo, and what tears did our fepa- 
 ration coft us ! At this day, if we chance to wan- 
 der to thofe charming walks by the fide of a 
 pleafant rivulet, or up fome romantic hill, where 
 formerly, with a Shakefpeare, a Fenelon, or a 
 Goldfmith in our hands, we fo oft enjoyed at 
 once the charms of friendship, of poetry, and of 
 nature, how pleafing ftill to find our mutual fen- 
 timents ever the fame, and to repofe in a firm 
 confidence that nothing but death can extinguiih 
 them in us. 
 
 O you, my young readers, who are witnefies 
 to this erTufion of my heart, if you have a friend 
 like mine, if you love him, and are beloved by 
 him as I am, you will pardon it. Befides, have 
 I not a right of fpeaking to you concerning what- 
 ever interefts my feelings ? Otherwife I mould 
 have afTumed in vain, the title under which I of- 
 fer you this work. Whatever afTecls either you 
 or me, can never henceforward be indifferent to 
 the other party. We are united by ties that can 
 never be broken on either fide, without a grofs 
 want of gratitude. If the care which I take in 
 forming your hearts and understandings have any 
 value in your eyes, I on my fide owe you my 
 C 2 warmeft 
 
2S THE FICKLE YOUTH. 
 
 warmeft acknowledgments. Thanks to you, all 
 nature looks gay and fmiling round me ; for my 
 fancy places me in the midft of your pleafmg 
 countenances, on which innocence, chearfulnefs 
 and candor, are painted fo expreiT:vely. It is 
 from your own mouths that I catch thofe artlefs 
 Tallies which make ycu fmile, and thofe fenti- 
 ments of tender nth and generofity that caufe 
 your tears to flow, or imprefs your young breafts 
 with an early fenfe of honor. Would I could 
 prefent you to my country, accomplished objects 
 of her vvarmeft lopes ! 
 
 As joys the thoughtful bufbandman to view 
 His fields array'd in Autumn's golden hue, 
 Or th* green foreft in luxuriant youth, 
 Riling by flow advance to ample growth ; 
 So with glad hope the philofophic mind 
 Looks 10 the noble fpring or human kind, 
 Sees the fair crop in thriving verdure rife, 
 By happy foil fuftain'd and fav'ring fkies. 
 And if the bright example of a throne, 
 Could like the Fun improve where'er it (hone, 
 Well might the penfwe fpecuhft preface 
 The rip'ning promife of a virtuous age. 
 From folly's mildew, and the blights impure 
 Of pamper'd vice and luxury fecure. 
 
 We have read of wicked men in the accounts 
 of former times, and even of the prefent ; let 
 us hope that the riling age will afford few inftan- 
 ces of fueh. Thofe wicked men had no 
 FRIEND to conduct them to virtue, by the 
 paths of pleafure j you have one who makes this 
 
 duty 
 
FLATTERY. 29 
 
 duty the whole happinefs of his life. Forget 
 him not, therefore, but if you would honor him 
 to the extent of his w fh, let your remembrance 
 of him live in your virtues. 
 
 F L A T T E R % 
 
 Lady Downright^ Matilda her Daughter* 
 
 Mat. /~\ DEAR mama, kifs me for the good 
 V_x news that I have to tell you. 
 
 Lady D. What is it, my dear ? 
 
 Mat, I am juft going to introduce to you the 
 fnoft agreeable acquaintance in the world, Mifs 
 SachanrTa Bland, a fweet girl : (he is to be here 
 prefently. 
 
 Lady D. Here ? I imagined that to vifit in 
 this houfe, the perfon mould be firft introduced 
 to me. 
 
 Mat. Very true, mama, but I was fo fure of 
 your liking her company, that I thought it no 
 harm to difpenfe with ceremony for this time. 
 
 Lady D. Do you give the name of ceremony 
 to your duty ? This (hews you as heedlefs as u- 
 fual : but the young Lady's behaviour does not 
 mew that referve or difcretion that I could wifh 
 in the perfon whom you defire to make your 
 friend. I think, me fhould have waited for my 
 invitation. 
 
 C 3 Mat\ 
 
30 FLATTERY, 
 
 Mat. Why, (he was fo impatient to pay j 
 her refpe&s — You cannot think how highly flic 
 fpeaks of you. 
 
 Lady D. How can (lie know me ? I never 
 faw her but once, and then by chance at a third 
 perfon's. 
 
 Mat. Well, that interview was enough to 
 form her opinion of you. She has drawn fo fa- 
 vorable a picture of your good qualities, that I 
 ihall be always proud of having fuch a mother. 
 
 Lady D, And no doubt, too, her fkilful hand 
 has drawn a fair portrait of your accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 Mat* I don't know how it is, but you can- 
 not imagine how many happy qualities (he dil- 
 covered in me — more than I myfelf was aware 
 of. 
 
 Lady D, But which you are now clearly con- 
 vinced belong to you. 
 
 Mat. Yes, it is fo plain J fo finking ! 
 Lady D. 1 (hall be apt to fear that fhe did 
 not reckon diffidence among the number of your 
 happy qualities. 
 
 Mat. Perhaps you are joking, and yet (lie 
 was almoft tempted to chide me for having too 
 much. However, me agreed at the laft, that dif- 
 fidence was more neceifary to me than another, 
 to difarm the envy of fuch as do not poffefs e- 
 quai accomplishments. 
 
 Lady D. Really I wifh you joy of thefe fine 
 difjoveries. 
 
 Why mama (he was fo juft in her pa- 
 negyric upon you, that I am the more apt to give 
 
 .her 
 
FLATTERY, 31 
 
 her credit with regard to myfelf I Oh ! (he is a 
 fweet girl ! 
 
 Lady D. I don't wonder that you are To much 
 taken with her. 
 
 Mat. How can one help loving her ? She is 
 of fo amiable a temper, you never hear a word 
 from her lips but is perfectly obliging. 
 
 Lady D, Have you been often in her com- 
 pany ? 
 
 Mat. Only twice, with the Mifs Delmores, 
 at then* houfe. She has a great deal of friend- 
 ship for them, but they do not feem fufficient'ly 
 to return it. Do you think that the Mifs Del- 
 mores pofTefs much penetration ? I have vifited 
 them thefe four years, and in that time they have 
 not been able to know meas perfectly as Mifs 
 Bland in three days. 
 
 Lady D. What makes you imagine fo ? 
 Mat. Becaufe they have fometimes taken 
 upon them to find little defe&s in me, which., 
 however, I flatter myfelf do not belong to me. 
 I mould fuppofe them to be fomething envious. 
 
 Lady D. It happens pretty often that /-take 
 the fame liberties with you. Do you imagine 
 me a-lfo to be jealous of your merit ? 
 
 Mat. Oh ! that is quite different. You on- 
 ly fpeak to me out of friendmip, and for my 
 good ; But — 
 
 Lady D. Why cannot you fuppofe your 
 friends to have the fame motive ? Without be- 
 ing fo ftrongly interefted in your improvement as 
 your own family, may they not wifh it neverthc- 
 lefs very affectionately, in order that you may be 
 more worthy a continuance of that intimacy 
 
 which 
 
32 FLATTERY. 
 
 which has fubfiited between you from your child- 
 hood ? Befides, I know them fufficiently to be 
 convinced, that in their remarks and advice to 
 you, they have always preferved the discretion of 
 friendship. 
 
 Mat. But then they chid me for fuch trifles. 
 
 Lady D. Your felf-love is ingenious enough 
 to impeach their delicacy ; however, I fee for my 
 part, Stronger reafon from their behaviour, for 
 your valuing their attachment, I am perfuaded 
 that nobody jn the world, next to your relations? 
 can be more worthy of a distinguished place in 
 your friendfhip. 
 
 Mat. Oh ! I am fure Mifs Bland has already 
 as much friendship for me as they have. But I 
 hear fomebody coming up flairs. It is (he ! It is 
 me! How happy I am ! Now you will fee her. 
 
 Mifs Bland, (approaching Lady Downright with 
 an ajjumedair of refpeEi,) Your ladyfhip will par- 
 don my taking the liberty of introducing myfelf 
 thus abruptly ; but in all companies i have heard 
 your eStimable qualities mentioned fo handfome- 
 ly, that I could not refift the defire I felt of 
 paying you the tribute of my refpects. I am no 
 longer furprifed that Mifs Downright is already 
 poiTeir, of fuch fplendid accomplishments. 
 
 Mat. {whifpering her mother. ) There, mama ? 
 
 Lady D. Mifs, your compliment is very pret- 
 ty. It would have come indeed with more weight 
 from a perfon better qualified by age or intima- 
 cy, to form an opinion of us ; efpecially if She 
 had had the delicacy to exprefs it in any other 
 manner than bluntly to our faces. 
 
 Mifs 
 
FLATTERY^ 33 
 
 Mifs Bland, (a little difconcerted.) Who can 
 fupprefs the fentiments which you infpire even at 
 firft fight ? Ah ! had I fo amiable a mother ! 
 
 Lady D, Do you think, mifs, that this wifh 
 terrifies much refpecl: to your mother ? 
 
 Mifs Bland. Pardon me, madam, I cannot 
 tell how to exprefs my admiration of your cha- 
 racter. Look where 1 will, I find none that can 
 be compared with your ladyfhip : and, as to Mifs 
 Downright, what young lady of her age can dif- 
 pute the palm with her for wit, grace, or accom- 
 plishments ! I am not apt to be blindly partial 
 even to thofe that I efteem ; for inftance, I have 
 the greateft friendfhip for the Mifs De!mores> 
 and wifh to (hut my eves to all their faults, but 
 how awkward, friff, and inanimate they are when, 
 compared to your daughter ! 
 
 Lady Z>. You certainty forget that they are 
 her friends, and that this deicrip^ lQn c f them 
 cannot be agreeable to us, particularly as they by 
 no means deferve it, Befides, I hear that you 
 have a thoufand times complimented them on 
 their agreeable qualities, and that in the mo& 
 pompous ftyle. 
 
 Mat, Indeed fo The has, mama ; this change 
 iurpnzes me It is no longer ago than yefkr- 
 day, that fiiQ faid all manner of fine things to 
 
 Lady ZX I fee, that is no reafon why the la- 
 dy mould treat them as favorably behind their 
 backs. 
 
 ■ Mifs Bland. One does not like to mention 
 difagreeable truths. For my part, I tell none 
 their faults except my real friends. 
 
 Lady 
 
34 FLATTERY. 
 
 Lady D. 1 do not know whether my daugh- 
 ter fhould think very highly of that diftinclion ; 
 but 1 fhould be much a*raid, were I in her place, 
 of becoming the fubject of the fame fort of con- 
 fidence with fome other of your real friends ; for, 
 I fuppofe, you have a good many of that defcrip- 
 lion. 
 
 Mifs Bland. Blefs me ! what an opinion your 
 ladyfhip entertains of me ! I have too fincere a 
 love for Mifs Downright. 
 
 Lady D. Well, ma'am, as you are fo fincere, 
 I muft be alfo fincere with you on my fide ; and 
 afiurc you, that as I did not, nay, could not ex- 
 peel this vifit, I had fet apart this evening for the 
 purpofe of converting with my daughter, on fe- 
 veral important points of education. I fee every 
 reafon not to rielay a moment longer what I have 
 to fay to her, concerning the danger of filly cre- 
 dulity, as well as the meannefs of fervile flattery, 
 and I lhoulu fear that fuch topics might not be 
 agreeable to you. When my daughter and I 
 (hall be fo near perfection as you are pleafed to 
 fuppofe, we will then receive your compliments 
 without fcruple. I (hall give you notice, ma'am, 
 when that period arrives j and, in the mean time, 
 your mofl obedient. . 
 
 Mifs Bland, {retiring In confufion.) Your lady- 
 fhip"'s humble fervant. 
 
 Mat. Oh ! mama, what a reception you have 
 given her ! 
 
 Lady D. Should I keep any meafures with a 
 perfon who comes to infult us in our own houfe ? 
 
 Mat* Infult us, mama ? 
 
 Ladf 
 
F L A T T £ R Y. 35 
 
 Lady D. Is it not an infult to put a cheat up- 
 on us ? And is it not putting a grofs cheat on us, 
 to load us with compliments and praifes the mcft 
 falfe and ridiculous poffibie ? Do you think that 
 me really takes you tor a prodigy of graces and 
 accomplishments, as me did not blufh to call you 
 to your face ? Did not me fpeak in the fame ftyle 
 to the Mifs Deimores, and have not you heard 
 how me treated them ? Did you not mark with 
 what unnatural adulation me would have com- 
 plimented me at the expence of her own mother ? 
 I do not know how I refrained from treating fuch 
 an inftance of meannefs with all the contempt 
 and indignation that it merited. 
 
 Mat. A (hocking character indeed ! 
 
 Lady D. It is the character of all batterers 
 who dare to aim at governing others, while their 
 littlenefs and fervility fink them to the lowed 
 rank of the human fpecies. 
 
 Mat. How ? Do you think that Mifs Bland 
 would have aimed at governing me ? 
 
 Lady D. Your inexperience hindered you 
 from feeing through her artifices, coarfe as they 
 were. But while ihe infinuated herfelf into your 
 favor, by praifing you at the expenfe of truth, 
 what were her views ? To gain an afcendant over 
 your underftariding, by reducing you at length 
 to the habitual necemty of being flattered. That 
 Ihe might rule you with more abfolute domini- 
 on, did fhe not endeavour to alienate your friend- 
 ship from two amiable young ladies, by ridicul- 
 ing them, or by hinting them to be fecretly envi- 
 ous of thefe imaginary perfections that me af- 
 cribed to you ? Had ihe Succeeded in thus intox- 
 icating 
 
36 FLATTERY. 
 
 icating your mind, who knows if (lie would not 
 have attempted to fap the foundation of all your 
 duties, by reprefenting my advice to you as harfh- 
 nefs and reproach, the anxiety of my affection 
 for you, as a fplenetick humour, and my autho- 
 rity as tyranny. What would have then become 
 of you, abandoned by your friends and your pa- 
 rents ? 
 
 Mai. (throwing herfelf into her mother's arms. ) 
 
 my deareft mama, 1 fee it clearly, without you 
 
 1 fhould have been loft. From what a danger- 
 ous acquaintance have you faved me ! 
 
 Lady D. (embracing her tenderly*) Yes, my 
 dear, we are now re-united for ever. I perceiv- 
 ed your furprize at feeing me treat Mifs Bland 
 with lb much freedom and feeming incivility, but 
 you know that all my happinefs is centered in 
 you ; judge then of my feelings, when I faw it fo 
 near being embittered by her feducingarts. You 
 have as yet no idea of the unhappy condition of 
 a woman who is early fpoiled by flattery. Com- 
 ing into the world with pretenfions that nothing 
 canjuftify, and an opinion of her own merit, 
 in which nobody elfe joins her, what mortifica- 
 tions mult (he experience ! As to the homage 
 that ihe expected, the more her pride exacts it, 
 the more me finds it withheld, and the fneer of 
 contempt fupply its place. If, blinded as ihe is 
 with felf-opinion, a tranfient ray of reflexion 
 fhould enlighten her for a moment, and fhew her 
 the true Mate of herfelf, what fhame rnuft me 
 feel on finding herfelf deftitute of a claim to 
 thofe qualities which fhe imagined herfelf to 
 poflds, and what regret at having loft the oppor- 
 tunities 
 
FLATTERY. 37 
 
 tunlties of acquiring them ! On what fhould (he, 
 for the future, found her pretenfions to public 
 efteem, to the love of her hufband, or the refpect 
 of her family ? To ftifle the reproaches of her 
 mind, as well as the troublefome confcioufnefs of 
 her own want of merit, (he can fuffer none a- 
 bout her, but defpicable flatterers of the fame 
 (lamp with thofe who firft corrupted her under- 
 standing ; and, to crown her difgrace, while (he 
 contemns them, (lie feels herfelf worthy of their 
 contempt. Irritated by all thefe mortifications. 
 (he is (till further tortured at the fight of defert 
 in another, even in her own children. If (he 
 diftinguifhes any by her regard, it is thofe whom 
 (lie has tutored to a fervile compliance with her 
 folly ; and thus (lie is condemned to the crime 
 of corrupting their veracity, in order to make 
 them worthy objects of her affection. 
 
 Mat. Dear madam, turn away this picture ; 
 it fills me with horror. 
 
 Lady D. Well then, in order to tzit your im- 
 agination upon more agreeable objects, picture to 
 yourfelf a young woman adorned with that mo- 
 defty which is fo graceful, and with that diffi- 
 dence in her powers of pleafing, which gives 
 them their higher! charm. Even the flatterers 
 refpect her^ even the envious receive her with a 
 fmiie. By modedly yielding to her rivals all 
 that they afTume, (he takes the fureft way to gain 
 a fuperiority over them. She feems to appear 
 every day with a conftant addition of good qual- 
 ities, as the efteem which (lie infpires puts Deople 
 upon finding new graces in her character. • Af- 
 filed by the advice of her friends, which her 
 D diffidence 
 
38 FLATTER V. 
 
 diffidence induces her to accept, flie is beloved 
 by them as the creature of their good wiihes. 
 The homage addrefled to her from all quarters, 
 enhances her value in the eyes of her hufband, 
 who therefore itudies to become more worthy of 
 her affection by his conftancy and attention. Her 
 children, nourilhed by her virtues, look up to no 
 other pattern, and indeed the experience of her 
 own fuccefs, will make her the more proper to 
 direct their education. She will be able to qual- 
 ify them for the happinefs which ihe herfelf en- 
 joys. More and more pleafed every day with 
 herfelf, and with every thing that is round her, 
 ihe will be happy in the prime of life, and fecure 
 to herfelf, in a more advanced age, the grateful 
 eiteem of her acquaintance, whofe attachment 
 her merit will have rendered both zealous and 
 iincere. 
 
 Mat, Dear madam, make me that happy wo- 
 man. Henceforth I ihall diftruft the moft dex- 
 terous flattery ; and if ever my felf-love becomes 
 blind, I will look up to your prudence and af- 
 fection to enlighten it. 
 
 WHIMSICAL 
 
WHIMSICAL ANSWER, £&. 39 
 
 * WHIMSICAL ANSWER to an ITALIAN 
 ' LETTER, from Miss ~. , 
 
 LA voftra letters, mia cara Carolinetta, arri- 
 vata dalla gioiofa Francia nella penfofa Ing- 
 hilterra, m'ha procurata una grandiffima gioia 
 colla ricordanza della voftra amicizia ; 
 
 E anche, perche fcrivete come Cicerone che 
 fcrifle delle ingegnofe lettere, benche, comparate 
 alle voftre, farebbe poftibile cb'arrofliiTe l'oratore 
 celebre delle difFerenze. 
 
 Tutti gli fcritti di giovani fpiriti pieni di kn- 
 timenti puri, di gen.tili penfieri hanmi nei tempi 
 tuiti recati gratimmi piaceri. 
 
 Ho provato erandiffirho gufto vedendo voftro 
 progreffo dovuto alio braviflimo voftro maeftro. 
 Sono, faro, vivendo, morendo, morto, umilimmo 
 voftro fervo, divotifTimo voftro amico, 
 
 Turlututu 
 
 A, E.I. O.U. 
 
 D2 
 
 * The author, Mr. Berquin, had afferted in conver- 
 fation, that it was poflible to write a whole page in 1- 
 talian, every ientence of which mould confift of words 
 ending with the fame letter. As a proof that this wa| 
 not fo difficult as fome thought it, he produced the a- 
 bove, in which he has beiides followed the order of the 
 vowels. The whole being no more than a play upon 
 letters, which may atnufe thofe who are corverfant in 
 the Italian language* a tranflation has been thought rtn- 
 Becefiary, 
 
4 o THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK. 
 
 The CAVERN in the PEAK, 
 Defcribed in the relation of a Traveller. 
 
 I HAD left London behind me a hundred and 
 feventy miles, and had croifed feveral moun- 
 tains and valiies, when at length I faw myfelf 
 near the end of my journey, being arrived in the 
 wilds of Derbyfhire. 
 
 The mountains which I had now to climb 
 grew more fteep and difficult ; and behind them 
 I defcried others itill higher, that were totally 
 bare of trees, anfl prefented a furface of heath and 
 greenfward, fo that at a pretty good diftance I 
 could diitinguifh the flocks feeding upon their 
 fides, 
 
 When I had reached the top of one of thefe 
 mountains, I was all at once furprized with the 
 fight of a delightful vallty below me, interfered 
 with rivulets, and furrounded on all fides with 
 iofty hills. At the bottom of this valley is foli- 
 ated the village of Caftletown, confiding of a 
 few indifferent cottages, that feem to announce 
 the poverty of their inhabitants. 
 
 A narrow road winding down the declivity of 
 the mountain, conducted me to the bottom of 
 the valley, and fo into the village, where having 
 (topped a moment at an inn to refrefh myfelf, I 
 took, the road towards the Cavern of the Peak, 
 
 being 
 
THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK. 4 r 
 
 being guided to its entrance by a final 1 ilream 
 that runs near it, after having pafTed through the 
 town. 
 
 I (lopped now and then in order to indulge 
 my eyes with a more leifurely view of the lingu- 
 lar object before me. Between two groves of 
 the fineft verdure, an enormous rock, crowned 
 with the ruins of an ancient caftle, reared its top 
 to the very clouds. At the foot of thus opened 
 a vail Cavern, which, when viewed from with- 
 out, while the beholder enjoys the light of noon- 
 day, prefents to his eyes a huge abyfs of dark- 
 nefs. 
 
 A man foon appeared at the mouth of the 
 Cave, who afked me if 1 chofe to go down. I 
 followed him down an eafy defcent, the day- 
 light, which came in at the entrance, gradually 
 lofing itfelf in a fort of darknefs vifible, fomething 
 like the faint twilight of a November evening. 
 
 After we had advanced a few fleps, I was much 
 furprized to fee on my right hand, a fubterrane- 
 ous town under the immenfe vault of the rock. 
 It happened to be a holiday, aud the inhabitants 
 were enjoying a relaxation from their labors, 
 moll of them fitting with their children before 
 the doors of their cottages, and amufing them- 
 felves' I gueffed the nature of their ulual em- 
 ployment to be fpinning, from the number of 
 large wheels that were every where to befeen. 
 
 As we went farther in, the opening which full 
 admitted the feeble light of day, feemed to nar- 
 row more and more, and foon appeared like a 
 large hole in th^ rock, while the rays of light, 
 D 3 faint 
 
42 THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK. 
 
 faint as they were, gave a tinge to the fmokethat 
 rofe from thofe fub terraneous cottages which we 
 had left behind. The gloom, however, thick- 
 ened every Rep, till at length the vault of the 
 rock, and the darknefs, both together, feemed to 
 cnclofe all round. 
 
 My guide, who was before me, then opened 
 the door ex a fmall cabin cut in the hollow o£ 
 the rock, and an old woman, who lived in it* 
 came out and furnished us with lights. Each of 
 us look one, and we continued our march, be- 
 ing obliged however to ftoop very low for a con- 
 siderable length of way. But what was my af- 
 tonifhment when, at the end of this clofe paf- 
 fage, I faw the Cavern widen round me all at 
 once, and the vault rife to a height which we 
 could not diftinguifh by the help of our lights* 
 I paiTed in filence through the extent of this ca- 
 vity, like a benighted traveller that has loft his 
 way, and arrived at length on the fide of a pret- 
 ty broad rtream, whofe filent waters, when our 
 candles approached their furface, threw all round 
 us a pale reflexion of light, that was ftill more 
 full of horror than the darknefs. A fmall boat 
 was made fart to the bank, and my guide, bid- 
 ding me enter it, jumped into the water up to his 
 middle, and taking the rope of the boat over his 
 moulders, began to drag it after him. 
 
 The ftill horror of this place refembled thefi- 
 
 lehce of the grave. As I advanced I faw the 
 
 roof of the rock become gradually l©wer, like a 
 
 dark cloud defcer.ding towards the earth. My 
 
 le cried out to me to lie down on my back ; 
 
 d icarccly been a moment in that pofture, 
 
 when 
 
THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK. 43 
 
 when I found myfelf under a part of the vault fo 
 low, that flretched as I was at full length in the 
 boat, I could fcarcely hold the candle upright by 
 my fide. While I was thus buried as it were, £ 
 confefs the ftories of the river Styx, and of Cha- 
 ron's ferry-boat, began to appear not quite fo fa- 
 bulous. I teemed as in a dream, going to land 
 in the gloomy regions of Erebus, condemned by 
 an unufual deftiny to carry my own funeral torch. 
 Fortunately this dreary vifion did not laft long, 
 we foon croffed the (freights, and I landed alive 
 and well on the oppofite fide. 
 
 The vault over our heads preferred us once 
 more in our walk with the fame irregular fur-face, 
 fometimes rifing to a prodigious height, and 
 fometimes finking all at once as if to flop up our 
 way. I perceived all round me a number of 
 plants and fmall animals petrified, and would 
 willingly have examined them, but I was obliged 
 to decline the gratification of my curiofity, for 
 fear of burning out our candles, 
 
 A fecond piece of water appearing before us, I 
 imagined that we were now arrived at the end of 
 our journey, as I faw no boat. This ftream was 
 not fo broad as the former ; we could eafily dif- 
 tinguifh the oppofite fide. My conductor took 
 me upon his backhand carried me fafe over. 
 
 A little farther we found a fmall current which 
 ran parallel with our path, Our ground here 
 became moift and flippery, and our path fo nar- 
 row that we could hardly get one foot before the 
 other. Yet, notwithrtanding thefe and fuch 
 difagreeable obfiacles, I followed with pleafure 
 the ccurfe o( the fubterraneous water. Every 
 
 obje:t 
 
44 THE CAVERN IN THE' PEAK. 
 
 objecl that I could difcover, in this empire of 
 darknefs, appeared to me to carry with it fome- 
 thing of the marvellous. My mind was loft in 
 a chaos of agreeable mufings, when fuddenly a 
 murmur of diftant harmony (truck my ear. 
 
 I flopped my guide, and afked him whence 
 thefe founds proceeded, which my fancy (already 
 in a romantic mood) rcprefented to me fo delight- 
 ful ? He anfwered me that I would foon fatisfy 
 myfelf. Each ftep that I advanced, this mur- 
 mur, which at a diftance was indiftincT: and con- 
 fufed, grew more articulate. I prefently diftin- 
 guifhed a fort of pattering noife, like that made 
 by drops of rain, It was no more than a fmal! 
 water-fali, the ftream of which feparating as it 
 fell, came down in a thick Ihower ; and the noife 
 of this, prolonged from echo to echo, through 
 the filent vault, formed, by its mingled and gra- 
 dual reverberation, a fucceflion of founds full of 
 harmony. I could already fee thefe, drops fpar- 
 kle like diamonds at the approach of our candles, 
 but I did not dare to go too near them, for fear 
 of feeing our candles go out, and of being redu- 
 ced to grope our way Ixvck in the dark, perhaps 
 unfuccefsfully. 
 
 In the fides of the rock, at different places, I 
 obferved large openings, which led probably to 
 other caverns. I barely peeped into them, and 
 was forry that my time would not permit me to 
 explore them thoroughly. My guide, in order 
 to give me an agreeable furprize, bid me fhut my 
 eyes, and fuffer him to lead me, I gave him my 
 candle, and holding him by the coat, followed 
 him blindfold. He flopped fhort, and when I 
 
 opened 
 
THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK. 45 
 
 Opened my eyes, I found rnyfelf in an auguft" 
 temple, the dome of which, irregularly fufpended 
 upon enormous pillars, poffeiTed all that awful 
 beauty and magnificence, which is feeh in the 
 great works of nature. 1 could not help falling 
 ■on my knees to adore the majefty of the Almigh- 
 ty, who feemed to have formed even this fubter- 
 raneous fpot, as a temple where he might be fit- 
 Jy worfhipped. 
 
 I quitted this contemplation with reluctance, 
 m order to continue our expedition, which was 
 now drawing to a period. The faithful ftream, 
 conducted us to the extremity of the Cavern, 
 where the rock bends down for the laR. time. Its 
 arch defcends t-o the very waters, where it unites 
 with them, and clofes up the pafTagefo complete- 
 ly, that the moft adventurous traveller cannot 
 pafs the bounds which are here fet to his curio* 
 fity. 
 
 We now therefore turned back, and as I im- 
 agined, were to come out by the fame path by 
 which we had penetrated thus far; but I very 
 foon faw my guide turn off to the left, by one of 
 the lateral openings of the rock. He gave me 
 notice that I mould find rnyfelf much fatigued in 
 this new expedition, and muft be fatisrled to 
 creep for fome length under a part of the rock 
 which nearly touches the ground. As he found 
 me refoived to follow him, he advifed me to take 
 good care of my candle. 
 
 We were obliged to creep <>n our hands and • 
 feet for a pretty long time, tfjion a moift fand, 
 the paiTage being fometimes fo ftreight, that we 
 could hardly fqueeze our bodies through, When 
 
 I 
 
46 THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK. 
 
 I rofe from this painful pofture, I faw a fteep hill 
 full before me, the top of which feemed to lofe 
 itfelf like a cloud, among the hardly diftinguilh- 
 able extremities of the furrounding rock. The 
 afcent was fo fteep from its moiituie, that I fell 
 back at every ftep. My guide, more aclive at 
 this exercife, took me by the hand, and at length 
 fucceeded in helping me to the top. I fhudder- 
 ed at fight of the depths which furrounded me 
 on all fides. He bid me fit down, and requefted 
 me to wait for his return. Leaving me there- 
 fore in this folitude, he descended the hill pretty 
 rapidly, and was foon loft to my view. All at 
 once I faw re-appear,not him, but his light, which 
 fhone like a (park in an abyfs of darknefs. 
 
 After fuffering me to enjoy this fpec"tacle for a 
 moment, my guide returned : I went down with 
 him to the fame depth where I had before loft 
 fight of him. He now realcended the hill, and 
 through an opening in the rock, he gave me a 
 view of his candle, while I removed mine. It 
 was to me as if, in the darkeft night, I faw a An- 
 gle ftar twinkle in the narrow fpace between two 
 dark clouds. 
 
 This part not offering any frefri objects to 
 gratify my curiofity, we re-entered our former 
 creeping paflage, in order to arrive once more on 
 the bank of the fmall ftream which now conduct- 
 ed us back. I beheld the wild temple again with 
 the fame impreflion of awe ; I heard with th<j 
 fame pleafure, t!'" harmonious murmur of the 
 cafcade ; but [ repafled with lefs terror beneath 
 the vault which my fancy had before compared 
 
 to 
 
.ODE on DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 47 
 
 to a tomb. I confidered myfelf as Thefeus re- 
 turning victorious from his expedition to Hell : 
 and how great was my joy, when, after the vener- 
 able Sibyl had extinguilhed the remainder of our 
 candles, which we returned to her, I at length 
 -dilcovered the feeble gleam of day ! How I blef- 
 fed it, after fo long a confinement in darknefs I 
 
 1 now came chearfully forward amidft a very 
 pidurefque diilribution of light and (hade. At 
 every ftep I faw the veil of darknefs gradually 
 unfold. As the opening of the Cavern enlarg- 
 ed, it gave me an idea of Aurora, opening the 
 fplendid portals of the dawn. I arrived in the 
 light as in a new world, where the fun now a- 
 waited me on the borders of the Weft, furround- 
 ed with clouds of purple and gold, to contraft, as 
 it were, by the grandeur of fuch a fpeclacle, the 
 gloomy objects which were ftill pictured in my 
 memory. 
 
 ODE 
 
 On DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 
 
 I. r. 
 
 THRICE happy he who far from the world's 
 noife, 
 From paffions far, and 'heir difcordant found 3 
 His modeft lot can wifely bound, 
 To follow calm Content and Peace's homely 
 joys i 
 
 Wak'd 
 
4 3 ODE on DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 
 
 Wak'd by the breath of early morn, 
 
 Alert he hies and gay, 
 To hardy toil, by health upborne, 
 
 Or cares domeftic that employ the day, 
 'Till ev'ning's welcome hour return, 
 
 And Hefper's kindly ray. 
 For him the works of nature fmile, 
 
 Th' alternate feafons, as they roll, 
 
 With varied beauties glad his foul, 
 And pleafures ever new life's troubled fcene be- 
 guile. 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 But happier far if thefe delicious cares 
 
 A juftly cherifh'd partner (hares, 
 
 And love and honor o'er his days prefide : 
 f O Rofalind, fince firft my gentle bride 
 
 • c I hail'd thee with the nuptial kifs, 
 
 " Of all polTeflions elfe the fpoiler Time 
 • c That dims the grace, or fteals the prime, 
 
 " Hath added to our blifs. 
 
 " In Pleafure's ever varying round, 
 " What genuine happinefs is found, 
 " Unlefs the circle vibrates as it rolls, 
 " The concord of united fouls ? 
 
 II. I. 
 
 " Ne'er have my longing eyes a wim betray 'd 
 « Which thy affection has not fondly crown'd, 
 " Nor e'er my breaft a pleafure found, 
 
 " But has to thine alike its dulcet thrill convey'd; 
 
 " What 
 
ODE on DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 49 
 
 u What grief can reach me in thy arms, 
 
 u Where love and peace refide, 
 <c Who (hield our calm retreat from harms, 
 
 " With placid win£, and promife at our fide, 
 " And round our couch, in focial charms, 
 
 " For ever to abide ? 
 M 7'hey raile in us the tender ftrife, 
 
 a Who moil (hall pleafe, who moft mall love, 
 
 u And to fublimeft blifs improve 
 " The facred duties of connubial life. 
 
 II. 2. 
 
 << Hence glides the jocund year on lighter wing, 
 tc Hence gayer bloflbms deck the fpring, 
 
 " Hence golden fummer binds me richer 
 " (heaves, 
 
 " And bow'rs more lufcious mellow autumn 
 " weaves ; 
 " And when grey winter hides the plain, 
 
 u What pleafure, while our offspring gambol 
 " round 
 
 " The hearth with crackling billets crown'd, 
 " To eye the playful train ! 
 
 " The vernal fweets of April fled, 
 
 " Let dark December beat our fhed, 
 
 c< Let drizzly tempefts fwell the brumal tide 5 
 " — 'Tis fpring, if thou art by my fide. 
 
 III. 1. 
 " And ye, dear pledges of our love, in whom 
 "Ev'n now the feeds of gen'rous worth I 
 
 " trace, 
 "My fond prefaging hopes embrace 
 tc Your riper virtue's meed, the fair aufpicious 
 " doom ; 
 
 E « Hovf 
 
5o ODE on DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 
 
 " How did your founds of earlieft frame 
 
 'y raviuYd ea.-s impel, 
 u When fweetly firft I heard you aim 
 
 " in words to bid me as a father hail, 
 " And from each lip the tender name 
 
 " in lifpmg accents fell ! 
 u Become, dear babes, what we prefage, 
 
 K And as our wane of life draws near, 
 
 cc Let your pure loves and filial cheer 
 " Warm the chill hours of our declining age. 
 
 III. 2. 
 
 " When homeward from the field, . clofe of 
 
 « day, 
 " I meafure flow my weary way, 
 €C Forth burfting from our cot you hail my name, 
 " And joyful fhouts my wifh'd return proclaim ; 
 
 " When round my path you fporti\ e throng, 
 " Each emulous to fliare my fir ft en- 
 "And to our threfhold fondly preft 
 
 " My ling'ring iteps along, 
 " What tranfpons in our bofoms rife ! 
 tc What tears of joy bedew our eyes ! 
 cc What tend'rer ftill, and ftill fublimer blifs, 
 Ci Tliofe tears to mingle in a kifs !" 
 
 At early dawn thus chaimted Colinet, 
 While foftly ftealing on his fteps behind, 
 
 (Her bofom with two little loves befet) 
 
 To join the fwain conies forth his Rofalind : 
 
 Wak'd by thy pleafing ftrain, I come, me cries, 
 
 With all thou lov'ft at once to glad thy eves. 
 
 ' Th' 
 
THE PEASANT, &c. 51 
 
 Th' enraptur'd fwain, his arms around them 
 flung, 
 
 'PrefTes all three to his delighted breaft ; 
 Fain would he fpeak, but joy binds up h#s 
 tongue — 
 
 Reft, happy fwain ! in fpeechlefs rranfport reft ! 
 Enjoy a blifs by all earth's itores unbought! 
 
 Virtue, fupreme of bleilings from above. 
 
 Ennobles ev'n the weaknefTes of love, 
 And without virtue love itfelf were nought. 
 
 THE PEASANT, HIS COUNTRY ■» 
 BENEFACTOR,- 
 
 MR. Stanley, tired with the noife and buftle 
 of the town, had purchafed a fmall coun- 
 try houfe, in which he promifed to himfelf the en- 
 joyment of rural tranquillity, amiclft the ftudy 
 of books and the exercife of benevolence. Being 
 naturally of a penfive turn, he wis fond of foii- 
 tude and the amufement of walking, in which 
 he occasionally indulged himfelf in all the quar- 
 ters round his new habitation. One day, his 
 wandering fteps led him to a fmall valley the fight 
 of which alone was fumVient highly to gratify 
 his contemplative inclination. Surrounded by 
 high hills, the dopes of which prefented an agree- 
 able variety of corn fields, groves and cottages, 
 it feemed to be the retreat of rural happinefs. 
 The ftillnefs of this retired vale was only inter- 
 rupted by the murmuring found cf a rivulet, 
 E 2 which 
 
52 T H E P E A S A N T, 
 
 which falling down a rock, reflected from its 
 broken waters all the colors of the rainbow, as 
 the fun's rays enlightened it at a certain ele- 
 vation. Its froth expanded in white volumes 
 round the balbn which it had hollowed out by- 
 its fall. The rivulet afterwards divided itfelf 
 into feveral fmaller ones which interfered the 
 valley in many directions, and frelhened the 
 verdure of the meadows by their beneficent con- 
 tributions of moitture, 
 
 Yet the mo ft pleating fenfations of Mr. Stan- 
 ley's breaft were not occalloned merely by the 
 natural beauties of the fpot. The whole extent 
 of the valley was covered with new cottages, 
 each having its fmail farm annexed, with an 
 orchard and kitchen garden. Thefe parcels of land 
 were only feparated by plain goofeberry hedges, 
 which feemed at once to indicate the value of the 
 ground and the mutual confidence of the inha- 
 bitants. Mr. Stanley rejoiced to fee that no 
 fingle perfon had engrofied to himfelf the whole 
 of this delicious plain. He was pleafed in the 
 reflexion that many families might there enjoy 
 the fvveets of eafe and tranquillity. While he 
 in his own mind, congratulated the owner of the 
 hn<\^ who had a number of fo happy tenants, 
 he thought fome praife wasalfo due to his bene- 
 ficence, which had certainly, by its encourage- 
 ment and aifiltance, occafioned the rich fpeci- 
 men of cultivation that he admired. So wholly 
 was he rapt in meditation upon this interefting 
 fubje:>, that he had not obferved the gathering 
 of thick dark clouds that was forming over his 
 
 head 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BE i OR 
 
 head. A fhower of rain, accompanied with 
 lightning, foon obliged him to feek for Shelter. 
 He ran therefore and knocked at the door o, 
 firit cottage, which was opened by a woman 
 far advanced in years, but whofe countenance 
 old age had made venerable. She received him 
 in a free and friendly manner. lam very glad, 
 faid (lie, that our cottage happened to be the 
 neareft to you, though. Pan pretty fiire, our 
 children would have received you kindly too, 
 As the (form furprized you in the middle of the 
 plain, you could hardly mifs of applying for 
 (belter to fome one or other of our family. But 
 I fee, you are quite out of breath. Compofe 
 yourfelf. I will make up a good fire for you, 
 that you may dry yourfelf by it. 
 
 While fhe was laying on fome wood, Mr* 
 Stanley was looking about him very attentively. 
 He obferved an appearance of plenty and regu- 
 larity in the difpofition of the furniture, that 
 pleafed him very much. He had underftood, by 
 the good woman's words, that a great part of the 
 habitations of the plain was occupied by her chil- 
 dren His curiohty was roufed by the circum- 
 flance, and he was preparing to afk a few quefti- 
 ons in order to fatisfy it, when he heard fomebo- 
 dy from the inner room fay, " I hope, dame, you 
 will make the gentleman welcome." " Yes, yes, 
 gaffer, anfwered fhe, never fear." — "That is 
 your hufband, then, that fpeaks to you," fays 
 Mr. Stanley. " Yes, Sir, he is within there, in 
 that room." — ct Will you give me leave to pay 
 my refpecls to him ?" " And welcome, Sir; you 
 will perhaps be glad to know each other; walk 
 S 3 in." 
 
54 1 H E ir 1 E A S A N 1 
 
 in." Mr. Stanley entered, and perceived an old 
 man lying in a bed, the covering of which was 
 remarkably neat. His head was bare ; his locks, 
 white as fnow, fell down to his fhoulders ; his 
 countenance, which time had refpected, was ex - 
 prelTive of the tranquillity and goodnefs of his 
 foul ; there was a fmile upon his lips, and his 
 eyes fparkled with the fire and vivacity ofyouth. 
 Mr. Stanley, attracted by an exterior fo prepof- 
 feffing, approached him. 
 
 Air. Stanley. What is the matter with you, 
 my good man ? are you lick ? 
 
 Old Ma??. No, Sir, I thank heaven, I am not. 
 But when one has ken fourfcore years, one can 
 hardly count one's felf well, though not under 
 any actual diforder. Yet it is not long fmce I 
 have left off daily labor, and if it were not for 
 fear of grieving my children — But they will not 
 have me work any more. 
 
 Air. Stanley* They are right. You mutt have 
 purchafed this repofe pretty dearly. 
 
 Old Ma?i. Though I fay it, I think I have 
 earned it fufficiently. How many (heaves of 
 corn have I tied up in the courfe of my life ! 
 How many have I threfhed out ! I have wearied 
 my poor body fadly, that is certain. Well, in 
 the midft of all thefe labors and fatigues, I have 
 always carried a chearful countenance and a mer- 
 ry heart j and fo I wifh dill to pafs gently through 
 the fmall remainder of the days that I have to 
 Jive. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. But after fo ltirring and labori- 
 ous a life, how can you pafs a whole day in bed 
 without being tired ? 
 
 Old 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR. $5 
 
 Old Man. Tired ? I'faith, I have fomewhat 
 clfe to do than to be tired. It is only my limbs 
 that are out of action > my head is full employ- 
 ed. The thoughts or ten children, and fifty 
 grand children and great grand children, will 
 fcarce let my time hang heavy. There are not 
 too many hours in the day to think of fo many 
 people. Every one of them gives me an account 
 of his bufmefs, and the ftate of his family, and 
 upon that I muft go to work. I have always 
 fome of them to marry, and I look twice before 
 I match them. If they have all profpered, they 
 may thank me for it. There is not a fingleone 
 of them fettled in the world, who did not take 
 up my thoughts a year beforehand. I have now 
 three marriages to conclude, and I hope that the 
 parties will live as happily as their parents before 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Then you are fatisfied with the 
 fituation of your family ? 
 
 Old Man. O Sir ! it makes me happy to 
 fpeak of them.' Dame, go fetch us a cup of 
 that old ale. It will help me to talk about our 
 young ones. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Have you many of them here ? 
 
 Old Man. Only two grand- daughters. I 
 could as foon "quarter a regiment as lodge them 
 all. It was not my cabin, but my lands that I 
 wifhed to enlarge. I thank God, I have been 
 able to give a pretty parcel of land to each of 
 them, without hurting myfelf. 7'here was a 
 good deal of ground hereabouts that had been 
 impoverished; it was let to me at a low rent. I 
 took care iirft to put it into good heart again, and 
 
 parcelled 
 
56 THE PEASANT, 
 
 parcelled it off among my daughters for their 
 portions. It brings in money now. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. And in this great number of 
 children h<s none ever caufed you any forrow ? 
 
 Old Man. Sometimes, by their ficknefs ; but 
 I have always been able to lecover them by re- 
 gular diet and fimples with which I am acquaint- 
 ed. In other refpects they have always made 
 me happy. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Apparently becaufe you have 
 always given them a ^ood 
 
 Old Man. I dare take upon me to fay (o, 
 When I was young, to be lure, I was all alive, 
 like other folks ; 1 ran about to every wake and 
 revel ; but as foon as 1 had once pronounced the 
 folemn word / wili\ in church, 1 left off all thole 
 youthful tricks. Happily my wire was hand* 
 fome, good-natured and virtuous. That keeps 
 a man in awe. B elides, children began to come 
 on apace. *I was not rich at the time, and it I 
 had been fufficiently fofor myfelf, I had affeclion 
 enough for my family, to wifh them alio a com- 
 petency. I trained my children up to work ve- 
 ry youpg, I carried them to the fields as foon 
 as they could walk. The youngeft I feated upon 
 the plough, while the reft played round about us. 
 My daughters amufed us with tinging, while they 
 fpuu at their wheel, in fhort, I taught them all 
 to work chearfully for their bread, that they 
 might eat it happily. 
 
 . Stanley. And do you fee them fome- 
 times ? 
 
 . See them, Sir > When I was light- 
 er, I ufed to iro my rounds among them once a 
 
 week, 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR, si 
 
 week, to fee that every thing went on well in 
 their families. Now, when I cannot go out, ir is 
 their tarn to vifit me. Every* Sunday after pray- 
 ers, my daughters, my grand-daughters, and my 
 daughters-in-law, bring their children here. It 
 Would be a good fight to fee me in the middle of 
 twenty women, drefed in their Sunday clothes, 
 and as frefh as rofes. Thefe all vie with each 
 other in their fondnefs to me ; and their chil- 
 dren have a certain family refemblance that 
 charms me, I have generally a dozen of them 
 in my arms and playing about me. Then there 
 is fuch a buz, and a chatter, as would ftun ano- 
 ther perfon, but it is mufic to my ears. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. I can eafily imagine that it muft 
 be a delightful moment for you. 
 
 Gld Man. And for them too, I flatter myfelf. 
 I like to fee chearfulnefs all round me. Behind 
 my barn I have a grafs plat on purpofe for danc- 
 ing. It is the lafl: fpot of ground on which I e^ 
 ver worked. I open the ball with my dame, and 
 then every one falls a capering about us. They 
 take care to play fome of the old fafhioned coun- 
 try dances of my time. Methinks then the 
 ground lifts me up, and I bound as lightly as any 
 of the young folks. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Have you fiddlers then herea- 
 bouts ? 
 
 Old Man. None that play for money. But 
 my grandfon Arthur can manage a fiddle charm- 
 ingly. The young rogue is only fifteen, and he 
 plays on it (o^ as to fet the whole village in mo- 
 tion. Oh ! if I had him here to mew him to 
 you J he is the rery model of me, except thefe 
 
 wrinkles ^ 
 
$8 THE PEASANT, 
 
 wrinkle?, and his rofy complexion, which I have 
 no longer in my checks. And indeed he is mv 
 Benjamin, the darlmg of my heart. I can tell 
 you Jo much, Sir, as you are a itranger, but i 
 mould not wi.fh that any of the family knew it. 
 
 Mr. Stanley But the rime mult appear tedi- 
 ous to you when you have not theie amufe- 
 ments. 
 
 Old Alan. If I have, not thofe, I have others. 
 Having never been from this part of the coun- 
 try, i know it as well as 1 do my own cabin, and 
 all the inhabitants likeWtfe. 1 have been at the 
 birth of them all. They come to confult me 
 about laying down their grounds They have 
 only to bring me a bafket of the earth or each 
 farm. I handle it, and tafte it, end tell at once 
 what fort of grain it wiil produce beft. If they 
 are poor folks, I lend them feed, which they pay 
 me after the harveit ; and 1 prevail upon thofe 
 whom I have ferved, to lend them a day's work, 
 which is all the return that I afk for my fervices. 
 I have (cQn the time when every one worked only 
 for himfelf, and would have thought that lie en- 
 riched himfelf by ruining his neighbour* I con- 
 trived, however, at length, to perfuade them, that 
 the richer the country was, the richer each would 
 be in particular ; that the fruits of the earth 
 would fell better, and attract manufacturing peo- 
 ple to this o A uarter, by the plenty of them and 
 their good quality ; and that, in order to effect 
 this, they ought to aifiit each other. According 
 as the feafon is wet or dry, the crop of the low 
 grounds is pn®re or lefs forward than that of the 
 uplands. I prevail upon them to unite and be- 
 gin 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR. 59 
 
 gin with the firfl: ripe ; thus the whole is got in 
 at its juft point of maturity. in fair, you may 
 enquire at the markets all round concerning our 
 grain. The factors ftrive which, (hall buy it up, 
 So netlajes they come and take it in the crop, 
 and our corn has been fold before it was put in- 
 to the ground ; whereas if there come ten bufh- 
 els of bad corn from a parifli, it is enough to 
 give all the reft a bad name. 
 
 Mr. Sianlev. Thefe reflexions are fimple, and 
 yet it is feldom that they occur to country peo^- 
 pie. How came you to make them ? 
 
 Old Man. By degrees, from the experience of 
 each year. Beiides I muft fay, I have been well 
 aflifted. Our vicar is a fenfible man ; I had 
 made him as rich as a dean, by the weddings, 
 the chriitemngs, and the tithes that I brought 
 him. He fometimes touched upon the good ef- 
 fects of my practice, in his fermons. Befides, 
 when our head landlord came down to refide 
 here, he faw his lands quite changed, they let for 
 double the rent ; upon which he (hewed me 
 marks of his regard. If there was any new ex- 
 periment of agriculture, in your London papers, 
 they will come both of them to confult me. I 
 made the experiment before their eyes, and as 
 foon as it fucceeded, it Was prefently fpread. Far- 
 mers follow their old way, and defpife any dif- 
 coveries taken from books, but thofe that 1 had 
 approved, there was no contradicting. They * 
 put them in practice, and found the good effects 
 of them. Befides my doctrine is not very long- 
 winded. I deliver the whole of it in a few 
 
 words. 
 
60 . THE PEASANT, 
 
 words. War with our lands> and peace with our 
 friends. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. At this rate, I imagine, you 
 have not enriched the attorney, as much as you 
 have the vicar. 
 
 Old Man {jmiling. ) It is true, I have taken 
 many a caufe out ot his worfhip's hands. I 
 lhould be as rich as a judge, if I had only taken 
 a milling for every difpute that I have fettled. 
 There is always fome little quarrel, in a country 
 village, upon one fubject or another. They 
 come to afk my advice. If one of the parties be 
 at a diihnce, they take me in a chaife cart, and 
 convey me to the fpot. There upon hearing 
 the merits of the caufe, I endeavor to accom- 
 modate matters fatisfa&orily. It' they refufe to 
 agree, I invite them to come to my houfe againft 
 next day. I have fome excellent old ale, that 
 ■would foften hearts of ftone. They tafle it, and 
 as foon as it begins to have its effect upon my 
 difputants, I make them fenfible that a law fuit 
 would coft them ten times more than the thin^ 
 in difpute j that they would lofe their time, their 
 money, their reit, and the pleafure of being 
 friends. I mention to them the example of 
 thofe, who, through not taking my advice, have 
 impoverifhed themfelves to make lawyers rich. 
 Before the firft mug of ale is finilhed, they no 
 Monger look (hy on each other, and the fecond is 
 fcarce half emptied, before they would go 
 through fire to ferve each other. Thus I give 
 away my ale, but I get, in return, pleafure and 
 fatisfaSion in this life, and good hopes for that 
 which is to come. 
 
 Mr. 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR. 61 
 
 Mr. Stanley. You muft be regarded as a little 
 king in this country. 
 
 Old Man. Why, Sir, I govern here upon my 
 bed, as another upon his throne. But I am not 
 only loved, but feared alio. Go nearer to that 
 wall. Do you fee there names, with dates of the 
 year, that I have cut with my knife ? Some of 
 them are for good actions, but thofe that you fee 
 written backwards, are marks of difgrace. As 
 our head landlord and the vicar are (o good as to 
 come fometimes and fee me, and as all the vil- 
 lage are constantly flocking to my cabin, this re- 
 gister on the wall, has as much effect, as if the 
 folk's names were put in the newfpapers. Your 
 name written backwards up there, is a fort of 
 public infamy. Every body fhuns you, even to 
 the children. You mud mend your manners, or 
 decamp. If you reform, well and good, I re- 
 verfe your name ; in the firft place, to rettiove 
 the memory of your difgrace, and then to en- 
 courage you in good behaviour. Of twenty 
 names, in all, that I have thus engraved back- 
 wards, there remain but three which will ferve as 
 an example for a long time to come ; whereas a 
 name written up there, ftraight forwards, is al- 
 moft enough to make one a gentleman, and to 
 fee a fmgle letter turned backwards, would be as . 
 dreadful as death to the party, fo great is the ad - 
 vantage of a good reputation.' 
 
 Mr. Stanley. I can conceive that this method, 
 fimple as it is, may be very effectual ; but what 
 moft furprizes me, is,the ufe that you contrive to 
 make of your ale. It generally fets the villagers 
 a quarrelling, but you make it the mlnifter of 
 peace. 
 
 F Old 
 
62 THE PEASANT, 
 
 Oil Man. I am much indebted to it for the 
 advantages that I have enjoyed from it in my 
 old age. For thefe ten years part, it has renew- 
 ed the ftrength of my ftomach, and warmed the 
 blood in my veins. I never drank more of it 
 than was neceflary to quench my thirft, and for 
 that reafon, I find it now more wholefome. A 
 glafs of it is fufficient to give me frefh life, and 
 always makes me young again, for a couple of 
 hours. I don't know whether you are grown 
 dry with hearing me, but 1 am a little fo with 
 fpeaking. I feel that a drop of it would come 
 very feafonably to me at this moment. But 
 what is the matter with my poor wife ? how 
 Jong (he is in coming ! Ah ! there is a very good 
 reafon for it ; feventy-five years of age, are a 
 pretty heavy load to carry. But hift ! I think 
 I hear her. 
 
 Wife. Yes, gaffer, I am here. 
 Old Man. Come, damef come, my dear Sukey, 
 fill us out a glafs. You fmile, Sir ; but when 
 the bottle is in hand, I always give her the name 
 of her youth. I need only look at her through 
 my glafs, and (he appears to me as frefh as fifty 
 years ago. Sukey, your health ; Sir, yours. 
 {They drink) Well, how do you like it ? 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Excellent, upon my word. I 
 have drunk more coftly liquor, but never with 
 more pleafure. 
 
 Old Man. Becaufe it is found and genuine. as 
 xhe good will that gives it. But how is this, 
 Sukey, you fpare it ! Pfhaw ! there will always 
 be enough of it for us. Let me fee it enliven 
 you a little. We warmed it formerly, let it 
 warm us now. I feel it begin to make me young 
 
 3*am ; 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR. 63 
 
 again; I feel myfelf as fond of you, as when I 
 firft went a courting. If you are not married 
 Sir, already, you certainly will marry, it yen take 
 my advice, and then be fo kind to your wife, that 
 you may always remember the wedding" day with 
 pleafure, 'Tis the way never to hd yourfelf 
 grow old. Afk Sukey. Speak, dame, do you 
 remember our wedding ? How lovingly I clafped 
 your hand before the altar 1 and what a look, of 
 kindnefs you gave me ! It touched my very heart; 
 nay, the impreflion of it is there ftill. To be fure 
 (fmiling) that is not fo long ago yet. It is only a 
 fmall matter of fixty years. 
 
 Wife^ Ah ! they have paiTed away very foon. 
 The beft of our days are over, my good man. 
 
 Old Man. Nay, are you not as happy as ever ? 
 Have not you eafe and tranquility, and as good 
 health as you can expect? Let us fee, what have 
 you to wifli for ? A little more ftrength, perhaps. 
 But heaven has ftrengthened , us within, and 
 given us fpirits to enjoy the happinefs of a long 
 life. When our bodily ftrength decays, the grave 
 will open gently to receive us. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Why do you let melancholy 
 thoughts intrude upon this moment of pleafure V 
 
 Old Man. Oh! Sir, I do not fear death. 
 Let him come when he will to knock at my 
 door, I will ht him in, without being frightened, 
 Doft think that I have forgot that we mud all 
 die ? No ; as we have begun, we my i\ make an 
 end. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. You have found means to make 
 your life fo happy ! will you not be forry to quit 
 it. 
 
 F 2 Old 
 
64 THE PEASANT, 
 
 0/d Man. I mould be much more fo, had I 
 /pent it ill, had I been idle, and a libertine ; if 
 I had not done all the good that was in my pow- 
 er, or if I had left a large family in a ilate of po- 
 verty or vice, through my fault. Jnftead of fuch 
 an afnicTting retrofpecr, I look back on fourfcore 
 years of ufeful labor, of lands improved, and 
 friends ailiited. I fee my fons and grandfons 
 well to live,hone(t and laborious, united infriend- 
 fhip together, beloved and refpecled by all the 
 country. I leave my e\dQi\ fon my cottage, he 
 will fill my place in it, and my duties. As head 
 of the family, he will be for his brothers and 
 their children, what I have been for mine. It is 
 fsveet to carry this comfort with me to the grave. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. But you will hear their fighs at 
 parting with you. How grievous muft that le- 
 paration be ! 
 
 Old Mail. I do believe they will be very forry 
 to lofe me, but I fhall endeavor to comfort them. 
 A peafant knows, better than any other, the law 
 of nature and the force of neceflity. He fees, 
 every day, old trees replaced by young ones. He 
 fees, every year, the winter devour the produce 
 of the other leafons. I will reprefent all this to 
 my children, when they (hall aflemble round my 
 death bed ; I will make them fenfible that my 
 Maker, after having given me a long and happy 
 old age, crowns all his blelfings to me, by taking 
 me from life, before it becomes a burthen by 
 pains and infirmities. I will tell them that I on- 
 ly leave them, to go and join my Heavenly Fa- 
 ther, who holds forth his hand from above to 
 receive me, and that I will never ceafe to look 
 
 down 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR, 65 
 
 down upon them with affection, as Ions as their 
 race continues upon the earth ; I will repeat this 
 to them with my lafl breath, and certainly they 
 will be comforted for my death, when i look up- 
 on it myfelf as a happinefs. 
 
 Mr. Stanley. Brave old man ! whence have 
 you this tirmnefs ? 
 
 Old Man. From a guiltlefs heart, fupported 
 and ftrengthened by heaven, that heaven which 
 I hope foon to inherit. 
 
 Mr. Stanley, You have no fears then as to 
 futurity ? 
 
 Old Man. As long as it was in my power to 
 do ill, I had my fears ; at prefent my heait is ca- 
 pable of no other pamon, but univerfal love. O 
 Gracious Lord,- after fo many blemngs as thou 
 haft fhowered down upon my head, mail I dare 
 to afk thee for one more ? Behold the compani- 
 on wh%m thou haft given me, to (hare with me 
 the pleafures and the cares of life : we hav* 
 grown old together, grant that we may die both 
 at once, How mould I be able to iurvive her t 
 Could my trembling hand have itrength to clofe 
 her eye-lids ? And again, what would become 
 of her, at fo advanced an age, were the to lofe 
 me, and no longer hear me aniwer to her pi?. 
 tive call ? Were (he to be buried in the foliiude 
 of this cottage as in a tomb ? Permit not death 
 to feparate two perfons whom nothing has fepa- 
 rated for fifty years. Grant us this requeft, O 
 Lord, this hit requeft. It is the only one that 
 thou haft left us under the necefTuy of afking 
 thee. We wiih not to prolong our term of life ; 
 difpofe of us when thou wilt, Let us oniy dk 
 F 7 hand 
 
66 THE PEASAN T, 
 
 hand in hand, and thus prefent ourielvcs be 
 thee, to give an account of our actions. As we 
 have been united through life, let us not, we 
 pray thee, be feparated at our latter end. 
 
 The old man, who had raifed himfelf up in 
 his bed, to addrefs thefe words to his Creator, 
 fell back with fatigue as he finifhed them. Mr. 
 Stanley was terrified, and ran for his wife to a flirt 
 him. She had fallen on her knees, in a corner 
 of the cottage, at the beginning of his prayer : 
 her hands were full lifted up to heaven. He led 
 her, trembling as fhe was with terror, to the old 
 man, who dispelled the apprehenfions of both 
 by a fmile, and by the livelinefs of his action as 
 lie waved his hand to them. However, Mr. 
 Stanley judged that repofe would be neceffary to 
 him, after an emotion (o violent, for his age ; he 
 therefore thanked thefe good people for their 
 hofpitality, and promifed to come again and fee 
 them, after a few days. 
 
 The ftorm which had forced him to feek ftiel- 
 ter in the cottage, was now over. Nature, com- 
 ing forth from her gloomy drefs, had once more 
 aflumed a radiant cheerfulnefs. The fun, who 
 was now near fetting, feemed to (bine with new 
 fpiendor. Thefe objects brought back the 
 thoughts of the old man to Mr. Stanley's ima- 
 gination. They represented his foul fpotlefs and 
 ur.fullied, alternately yielding to impreflions of 
 tendcrnefs and gaiety ; and the ftrength and fer- 
 vor of his fpirit juft then blazing forth, when it 
 was going to be finally extinguilhed. He ima- 
 gined to himfelf all that one fingle man, in the 
 moft humble ■ tUon, could do For the advantage 
 
 of 
 
HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR. 6y 
 
 of fociety. Fifty induftrious citizens given to 
 the ftate. His active years employed in bring- 
 ing up his children to honeft labor, and his old 
 age dedicated to the maintenance of peace and 
 unanimity among his neighbors. With what 
 freedom, thought Mr. Stanley, did he fpeak to 
 me of the good that he had done, and the con- 
 fidence which he repofcs in the Supreme Being ! 
 what tranquility of confcience ! how happy a 
 ftatc of afTurednefs ! Who would not prefer the 
 found old age of this honeft peafant, the bene- 
 factor of his country, though allotted to a ftate 
 of obfcurity, proud of his own efteem, and en- 
 joying the trueft honor, that of leaving behind 
 him a refpe£table memory, to the decrepitude of 
 thofe great men who only ufe their riches in 
 fcattering round them corruption and obloquy, 
 who feel the public contempt fall light upon 
 them, habituated as they are to the contempt of 
 their own fouls, and 'whom even the grave will 
 not have power to refcue from infamy and exe- 
 cration. 
 
 But why introduce thefe images, fo afHiiling to 
 the virtuous, while there are others fo proper to 
 infpire them with confolation and delight ? 
 While the portrait of a Howard is at hand, that 
 benevo'ent traveller who has already ieveral times 
 gone over a great part of P2urope, viiiting the 
 children of captivity, and who, by his eloquent 
 writings, and the authority of his virtues, has 
 procured more humane treatment to a race o'i 
 men, often more unfortunate than guilty ! or of 
 a Button, who erodes the feas at the age of fiv- 
 
63" SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ty,and without affuming any other character than 
 that of minirter of humanity, treats with thoie of 
 the (late, concerning the exchange of prifoners 
 of war, and returns modeftly to his own coun- 
 try, to afTift thofe unfortunate perfons of whom 
 he is the friend and fupporter. Generous men ! 
 you need not my praife to recompenfe your vir- 
 tues. They find a reward worthy of them, in 
 that very fentiment which infpired them, and in 
 the good that they have produced. More need 
 is, that I endeavor to confecrate them in the 
 memory of tender youth, a (hrine fuitable to 
 their purity, and to preferve your name as long 
 as I can upon the earth. If the love and rever- 
 ence of humanity can be kindled in the fouls of 
 youth, let them owe it to the force and imprefli- 
 on of your examples, and to the noble defire of 
 imitating them. 
 
 m 
 
 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 MRS. Crofby had retired, in the third year 
 of her widowhood, to a fmall, but com- 
 modious houfe, at fome diftance from London. 
 Here (he endeavoured to amufe the grief which 
 fhe felt for the lofs of her hufband, by attending 
 to the education of a daughter whom (he regard- 
 ed as the only remaining pledge of their mutual 
 afTe&ion. She herfelf had been married very 
 young, and her father, when he made an advan- 
 tageous bargain^ as it is called, in the difpofal of 
 
 her 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 69 
 
 her hand, imagined that the fplendor of a largo 
 fortune, and a few fhewy accompRfhments, 
 would enable her to appear in the world with 
 fufficient diftinction. As he w?s always invoU 
 vcd in the hurry of bufinefs, or engaged in tu- 
 multuous difllpation, he had never reflected, that 
 in a calmer Hate of life, his daughter would have 
 any more occafion than himfelf for thofe to* 
 fources of the heart and understanding, which 
 arifc from a proper cultivation of both, or that 
 the better choice he made of a huflband for her, 
 the more necerTary thefe advantages would be to 
 her in order to gain his elieem, and preferve his 
 attachment, Thefe considerations, obvious as 
 they were, never once occurred to him, and of 
 all the cares that he felt for the happinefs of his 
 daughter, the moll ufef ul were,thofe to which he 
 leaft attended. 
 
 It was nor long before Mrs, Crofby felt and 
 regretted th:rne;::r^, particularly as fliers* now 
 phceil m the fociety of a man, diftinguifhed for 
 delicacy of fentiment, and clearness of under- 
 /landing, and who united a large portion of 
 knowledge, to a refined tafte. While fne fought 
 therefore to fupply the deficiency of her cwnV 
 ducation, me refolved, above all things, to aWid 
 any fuch riegFe& in that of her daughter. The 
 amufements of town had never totally divert- 
 ed her from this project and the folitude in 
 which (he propofed to pafs her widowhood, af- 
 forded her there all the leifure neeeffary for put- 
 ting it in execution. She had already taken 
 advantage of the firff years of Emily's childhood, 
 to perfect herfelf in thofe things which fne pro- 
 pofed 
 
70 SYSTEM OF THE "WORLD, i 
 
 pofed one day or other to teach her. Her appli- 
 cation and force cf memory, her quick and juft 
 apprehenfion, fo will fulfilled the views which 
 her affection had fuggefted, that (he was now 
 perfect miftrefs of ancient and modern hiftory, 
 geography and the elements of marhematicks, 
 and had fome general notions of aftronomy and 
 natural philofophy. In order to be able by her- 
 felf alone to inftruft her daughter, /he had ac- 
 quired her own knowledge, without any other aid s 
 than good books of introduction to thofe feveral 
 fciences. Thus, while Hie fought for herfelf the 
 mod pleafing and effectual mode of initruclion^ 
 the ftudied beforehand that which would be moft 
 proper for Emily's understanding, Whofe acute- 
 nefs and vivacity, from an infant, afforded the 
 molt favorable hopes ; nor did her fubfequent 
 improveriicnf difappoint them. Emily, now 
 fcarcely thirteen, had already, by her progrefs in 
 learning, and her dutiful behavior, begun to re- 
 ward the pains which her mother had taken in 
 inftru&ing her. Their hours were fpent in the 
 pureft enjoyment of mutual happinefs, The 
 company of a few particular acquaintances in 
 the neighborhood, and the vifits which they 
 fometimes received from 'their friends in town, 
 were the only interruptions to their ftudies, the 
 variety of which, together with the culture of 
 flowers, and the care of their finging-birds, ferved 
 as a relaxation to them. 
 
 Whether it was to purge her daughter's heart 
 of every fentiment of vanity, or to rid her houfe 
 of a load of viiitors, Mrs. Crofby had thought 
 proper to conceal her fortune, and affumed, as 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. ?I 
 
 a pretext for her country retirement, the necefTi- 
 ty of retrieving her affairs, by ftricT: ceconomy. 
 Thus, while (he avoided the tirefome details and 
 ufelefs expenfe of a great houfe, (he had more 
 time to apply to her labors, and was better 
 able to indulge her generofity by the private be- 
 nefactions which (he fo liberally difpenfed. From 
 the tranquility of fo agreeable a life, the fatis- 
 faction of feeing her daughter equal her hopes, 
 and a good (tate of health acquired by exercife, 
 temperance, and regularity, (he had contracted 
 an unchangeable ferenity of temper, and fuch a 
 fprightlinefs in converfation, as made her com- 
 pany highly delightful to little Emily. The 
 feelings of her young heart were wholly dedicated 
 to her mamma, and the memory of her father 
 which Mrs. Crofby took care to keep up, by the 
 example of her own forrow for his lofs, and by 
 trie remembrance thit (he expreffed of his good 
 . qualities. Emily, brought up in all the freedom 
 of ingenuous innocence, had not a thought, 
 that (he needed to conceal from her affectionate 
 friend, and therefore had preferved that amiable 
 fimplicity, which is the fweeteft ornament of 
 reafon. As all her reflections had arifen from 
 what (he heard in converfation with her mother, 
 they were of a lively and animated turn, fuch as 
 the warmth of converfation generally produces, 
 and (he delivered her thoughts with equal clear- 
 nefs and force, equal corre&nefs and vivacity. 
 
 Mr. Glanville, brother to Mrs. Crofby, whom 
 fhe loved affectionately, from a child, was fettled 
 in London, where he held an honourable poft 
 under government ; and the duties of this, 
 together with the ftudy of natural fcience. which 
 
 he 
 
72 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 he cultivated fuccefsfully, were his chief employ- 
 ments. Two daughters, as yet under the firft 
 cares of their mother, and little George, now 
 twelve years old, made up liis family. Amidft 
 the corruption of a capital, his houfe was a 
 granger to immorality. His (on had never been 
 far from his pretence. Born with a lively ima- 
 gination, an ardent and fiearlefs fpirit,* franknefs, 
 generofity and refolution, George was mild, and 
 st the fame time fufceptible of the mod impetuous 
 emotions. He was even at his age ftrongly in 
 love with glory, and whatever was great. When 
 lie heard an inttance of bravery and generofity 
 related, you would fee his breaft heave, and the 
 fire fparkle in his eyes. While Mr. Glanville 
 conceived the heft hopes from fuch a difpofition, 
 he was thoroughly fenfible of the anxiety that it 
 might caufe him. However, his fon's tender 
 affection for him alleviated his fears. He had 
 early accuftomed himfelf to manage him by kind- 
 nefs. A cold Look would have filled George 
 with terror ; a reproach would have been a 
 fevere punilhment to him. 
 
 In confequence of a prefiing invitation which 
 they both received from Emily's hand, though 
 dictated by her mamma, to fpend a few days of the 
 fummer vacation at her houfe, they arrived there, 
 as it happened, the day before her birth -day ; 
 the addition of this company made it therefore a 
 fort of feftival, which Emily adorned by her gra- 
 ces, and George animated by his vivacity. Mrs. 
 Crofby repaid, with tears of joy, the amiable 
 attentions of thefe charming children ; but this 
 happinefs was (till more increafed, when me had 
 an opportunity of difcourfing at freedom with 
 
 her 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 73 
 
 her brother, of their projects and expectations 
 concerning their children. Dinner time, which 
 afFembled them and their young family, was a 
 new fcene of delight. After a Jong feparation, 
 to find themfelves once more together, amidft all 
 the beauties of nature, a fine country, and de- 
 lightful weather, and in the prefence of objects fo 
 mutually interefting ! to feel the fweet emotions 
 of parental tendernefs, and all the mingled chari- 
 ties * of duty and affection ! you would have but 
 a faint idea of their happinefs, if you could fup- 
 pofe that thefe terms give an adequate defcription 
 of it. 
 
 FIRST CONVERSATION. 
 
 THE finenefs of the evening having invited 
 them to walk out, they went all together upon 
 the terrace. The fun was going to fet, he was 
 juft touching the edge of the horizon. Mrs. 
 Crofby, breaking off her difcourfe all at once, 
 went and feated herfelf on the end of a (tone feat 
 which fronted a large walk of the garden. Mr. 
 Glanville, thinking that his fifter was taken ill, 
 made hafte to follow her, and anxiouily afked 
 her what was the matter ? Nothing at all, an- 
 fwered (he, fmiling, but without moving her 
 eyes, which were fixed upon the fetting fun. I 
 will fatisfy your furprize and curiofity in a mo- 
 ment, but nrft let the fun difappear. 
 
 G Mr. 
 
 * Milton. 
 
74 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. Glanvillc, and the children, looked at each 
 other in iilcnce, not daring to interrupt her. 
 Prefently the fun was out of fight, and Mrs. 
 Crofby then rifing with a chearful air, I am fa- 
 tisfied, fays (he, every thing goes on well in the 
 univerfe. Thefe words, and the hafty manner 
 in which I quitted you juft now, muft furprize 
 you ; I mall therefore explain. This is, you 
 know, my birth-day. It feems as if every object 
 in nature became this day unufually interefting 
 to me. I obferve with more attention whatever 
 paries, and every thing affords me matter for re- 
 flection. This morning, as I walked in my or- 
 chard, I endeavored to remark the changes that 
 might have taken place in the trees during the 
 courfe of the laft year. I faw that fome began 
 to lofe their youthful look, and others to fucceed 
 them in ftature and vigor. The firft afforded 
 me a ferious leffon, but the latter comforted me 
 with a pleafing type of my own youth, renewed 
 in my daughter. 
 
 Emily killed her mother's hand, and heaved a 
 figh. 
 
 That remark, fays Mr. Glanville, pleafes me 
 as much for its fortitude and philofophy, as the 
 fentiment which is connected with it, does by its 
 tendernefs. But do your obfervations reach to 
 the ftar of day ? were you uneafy to know if he 
 had loft his force or his brightnefs ? 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. No, brother, my thoughts do 
 not extend fo far. Lad year, on this fame day, 
 I was fitting all alone, on this fame feat, and loft 
 in an agreeable mufing. I was obferving the fun 
 fet, and took notice that I loft fight of him, ex- 
 
 aftly 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 73 
 
 a&ly as he got behind yonder Elm. This inci- 
 dent ftruck me again juit now all at once. I 
 wimed to fee if he would, on the fame day of 
 this year, fet, precifely in the fame direction. I 
 fhould never have thought the earth fo regular 
 in her movement. 
 
 Mr. Glanvilk. Efpecially as me has travelled 
 fince that time, upwards of 630,000,000 of 
 miles. 
 
 Mr. Crofiy. The immenfity of fuch a circuit 
 increafes my admiration full more, at finding her 
 fo punctual. 
 
 Mr. Glanv'rile. Why fhe might make you as 
 flattering a compliment, iince on the fame day of 
 the year, and at the fame inftant, me finds you 
 in the fame fpot observing her. 
 
 Mrs. Crofiy. Aye, but brother, let us not 
 proudly difpute with her, the praife of regulari- 
 ty. Be reafon as haughty as ihe may, with her 
 clue and her torch, a blind planet will {fill go 
 furer than fhe can. 
 
 Emily. Oh ! if that be the cafe, here are the 
 ftars, uncle, that begin to appear ; and I am glad 
 they are able to give our globe a good character, 
 for if we fhould be a little carelefs in our moti- 
 ons, the earth is not, and perhaps the {tars will 
 take us, her inhabitants, to be, like her, very 
 fteady regular folks. 
 
 Mr, Glanville. It is here, my dear Emily, 
 that we fhould begin to eftablifh ourfelves a good 
 reputation, without troubling our heads with 
 what the ftars may think of us. And after all, 
 fuch a mifconception would be of no fervice to 
 G 2 us; 
 
76 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 us ; for the ftars fee as little of our earth, as 
 they judge of her inhabitants. 
 
 George. What ! while we have perhaps five 
 hundred telefcopes in the air to obferve them, 
 they do not vouchfafe fo much as to look at us ? 
 Mrs. Crojby. Now truft your poets, that talk 
 of extolling the praife of their miilrefTes to the 
 very ftars. 
 
 Mr\ Glanv'dh. Without being more credu- 
 lous than thofe ladies, why mould you be lefs in- 
 dulgent ? If the flattery of this fiction could e- 
 ver turn their heads, it has at leaft never offended 
 them. It carries its own pardon with it, as it 
 arifes from the poet's wifh to fee it realized. 
 
 George. But for all that, papa, it is hard to 
 be fo little noticed in the univerfe. 
 
 Mr. GlanvUle. Do not be uneafy, my dear ; 
 Mars and the Moon have a pretty full view of 
 us, 
 
 Emily. And are they all the witneffes to our 
 exiftence ? 
 
 Mr. Gknvllls. Mercury and Venus, which 
 are placed between us and the fun, diftinguifh us, 
 perhaps, if they are not dazzled by the vaft light 
 that furrounds them ; but as to Jupiter, Saturn, 
 and the Georgian, Sidus^ I doubt whether they 
 know the leaft tittle about us. 
 
 George. And fuppofe they did, it is not by 
 fuch planets as our own, that I mould care about 
 being remarked. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. Yes, I fee George is among 
 thofe ambitious ones, who difdain the homage 
 of their equals. To fatisfy fuch as- him, their 
 
 fame 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 77 
 
 fame muft reach the fovereign's notice, and that 
 of foreign courts. 
 
 George. True, I mould wifh our globe to 
 make a noife, even among the fixt ftars. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Why my poor little friend, 
 how do you fuppofe that they can difcern cs, 
 fince, if the earth were to fill up the whole orbit 
 of 630,000,000 miles that me defcribes in a 
 year, (he would fwell to no more purpofe than 
 the frog in the fable, and be but a point in the 
 immenfity of fpace. 
 
 George. Blefs me ! is it poffible r 
 
 Mr. Glanville. I could prove it to you in a 
 moment. 
 
 Emily, But however, uncle, if we were in- 
 creafed to the fize that you mention, we fhould 
 be much larger than the fun. The ftars fee the 
 fun, and they would be much better able to fee 
 us, in thar cafe, 
 
 Mr, Glanville. Hark ye, Emily, do you fee 
 that candle, which has juft appeared at fome 
 houfe, I take it, about two or three miles off? 
 
 Emily. Yes, certainly, uncle, 
 
 Mr. Glanville. The hcufe is much larger 
 than the candle, which throws its light upon it -, 
 can you diftinguifh the houfe ? 
 
 Emily. No, not in the leaft. 
 
 Mr, Glanville. You fee, then, that a body, 
 which is luminous in itfelf, can be difcerned at 
 a great diftance, while a much larger body, that 
 only reflects the light which it receives, is im- 
 perceptible to us. 
 
 Emily. That is true. 
 
 G 3 ' Mr. 
 
?3 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. Glanvllk. Now reduce the earth to its 
 real proportion : inftead of being large with re- 
 fpecl: to the fun, as the houfe is with refpect to 
 the candle, it would be no more, in comparifort, 
 than a pin's head to a lighted torch. So you 
 may judge of the fplendki figure that we make 
 in the univerfe. 
 
 Emily. Ah ! George, all our pretenfions to 
 the notice of the ftars, are brought very low. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. I think I fee one of our great 
 folks in London, full of the idea that all the 
 whole kingdom have their eyes upon him. One 
 might perhaps tell him with truth, that he is 
 known at Hackney, or even that his name has 
 been mentioned in Croydon, but that certainly 
 his renown never reached as far as Whitehaven. 
 
 Emily. Nay, I fhould be fo much out of con- 
 ceit with it, were I my coufin, that I would even 
 wifli to hide myfelf from the moon. 
 
 Mr. Glanmlk. No, Emily ; fuch fullennefs 
 might coft us dear. 
 
 Emily. Pray, how, uncle ? 
 
 Mr. GlinviHe. Why if we were to hide our- 
 felves from the moon, the moon in return would 
 hicte herfelf from us. 
 
 Emily. Oh ! I mould be forry to iofe her 
 mild light. 
 
 Mrs. Crofb'y. I muft confefs, too, that I am 
 partial to her. She leems, by her modeit and 
 bamful air, to be formed for the fun of our fex. 
 
 Mr. Glairjiilc. A happy idea enough ! how 
 many prett) whimfies might then be explained 
 by the variety of her phafes, and the inequalities 
 of her motion ! You fee by this, my friend, that 
 
 we 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 79 
 
 we have nothing to lofe, and that the earth is 
 happy enough in receiving the light of the ftars 
 that furround her, without vainly afpiring to be 
 diftinguifhed by them for her fplendor. 
 
 George. It is a great pity, that we are not a 
 little more luminous, for, you muft confefs, papa, 
 that we could not be placed to more advantage, 
 to make a mining figure. 
 
 Mr \ Glanvilk ;. What induces you to think 
 our pofition fo advantageous ? 
 
 George. Oh ! it is plain ; only look, at the 
 vault of the heavens. You fee that it is quite 
 round above the earth, and that the ftars are 
 placed in it at equal diftances from us. We are 
 juft in the middle of the univerfe. 
 
 Mr. Glanvilk. My dear, do you remember 
 the handfome profpecl: that you pointed out to 
 me here, this morning? the hill, the wood, thofe 
 ruins of an old caftle, and the village-fteeple that 
 feemed to lofe itfelf in the clouds ? 
 
 George. Yes, papa, and that fine large walnut 
 tree that we paffed yefterday evening, when I felt 
 fuch an appetite for fome of the walnuts. I 
 was glad to fee it again, though at a diftance, for 
 it appeared to me, as I ftood here, to be jufu on 
 the edge of the horizon. 
 
 Mr. Glanvilk. Your perfpe&ive is not quite 
 exacT: ; for you might fee far behind it that large 
 gothick caftle, that is falling to ruin ; you know 
 it is a good way farther off; when we had paffed 
 it in the chaife, was it not a full quarter of an 
 hour before we reached the walnut-tree ? 
 
 George. That is true, but one cannot judge 
 exacllv of diftances which are fo remote. I 
 
 fhould 
 
So SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 fhould fuppofe the tree, I allure you, from this 
 fpot, to be in the fame circular line with the hill, 
 the wood, the caftle, and the village-fteeple ; and 
 our terrace here, to be in the centre of the pro- 
 fpect. 1 took particular notice. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Vv hat do you talk of, child ? 
 how far do you count it, fifter, from hence to 
 the village ? 
 
 Adrs. Crofby. Almoft nine miles, brother. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. And to the hill I 
 
 Mrs. Crofby, Full fix. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. And to the wood ? 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. Only a mile and a half j I fre-- 
 quently waik to it, and with eafe. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Now I guefs, by the time of 
 our coming, that the caftle is about two miles 
 and a quarter from this place, and the walnut- 
 tree about half that diftance, at moft> But how 
 do you compute? thofe objects, fome fo far off, 
 and fome fo near, to be in the fame circular fweep 
 from this point ! all thofe inequalities, both of 
 diftance and furtace, to form a round and regular 
 horizon ! and our terrace to be exactly in the 
 centre of all that ! May it not be the fame, 
 George, with refpecl: to the feemingly regular 
 arch of the heavens, and thofe ftars that appear 
 to be tixed in the fame concave furface ? and, in 
 fhort, with refpecl: to us who think ourfelves to 
 be in the centre of this beautiful fphere ? 
 
 George, i cannot deny it, papa ; if my fight 
 deceives me at a fmall diftance, it very well may, 
 where the fpace is fo immenfe. But that we are 
 not in the middle fpot under the heavens, I can 
 hardly give up. 1 would have wagered, that' 
 
 there. 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. ?i 
 
 there are not two inches more on one fide than 
 the other. 
 
 Mr. Glanvllle, Let us try that. Before we 
 fat down to dinner, you know, we went to fee 
 the clergyman of the parifh. 
 
 George. Oh, he is a very good man ! he gave 
 me a fine pear. 
 
 Mr. Glanvllle. That mull prove him to be an 
 honeit man. However, we do not talk of his 
 orchard now, but of his garret. You remem- 
 ber how much he praifed the profpeet that is to 
 be feen from the window of it; you know, we 
 went up; well ? 
 
 George, Yes, and his garret window is not 
 higher than the level of thi3 terrace. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. What ! is not there a wider 
 profpecl: from it than from this fpot ? 
 
 George. No, indeed, papa, it is exactly the 
 fame. I remarked the fame objects quite at the 
 edge of the horizon, as here. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. What, was his houfe the cen- 
 tre of the view ? 
 
 George. Yes, papa. 
 
 Mr. Glanvllle. Then you were not in the cen- 
 tre here. A circle has not two centres. 
 
 George. But then we are not far from the 
 clergyman's houfe. 
 
 Air. Glanville. Full two hundred yards. 
 George. But that is nothing to the diftance 
 of the objects which we viewed. 
 
 Mr. Glanvllle. It follows then, that when, 
 from two different points, we imagine diftant ob- 
 jects to retain (till the fame diftance, thefe points 
 cannot be very far afunder, In fnort ; it is as 
 
 if 
 
82 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 if they were only one point : Is not that the cafe, 
 George . ? 
 
 George, Exactly, papa ; you have juft hit my 
 meaning; 1 like your way of explaining it. 
 
 Mr. Glanviilc. So, there is fomething to en- 
 courage me ; well then, let us go a little further. 
 You know, i fuppofe, as well as Emily, that the 
 earth (hoves in an orbit round the fun. I will 
 draw it here upon the ground. Do you fee ? it 
 is a fort of oval, cdled an ellipfe, as you have 
 been told. There, it is tinifhed. You can fee 
 it pretty well by the light of the moon, which is 
 juftrifmg. I will put down my hat within the 
 orbit for the fun. 
 
 George. A fine fun, truly ! all black ! flop, 
 flop, (runs hajlily towards the houje.) 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Where are you going, George ? 
 
 George (without flopping.) I (hall be back in 
 an inftant. 
 
 Emily. What does the mad creature mean ? 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Let us wait till he returns, 
 before we paft judgment on hirn. 
 
 George, (returning in few minutes, with a fervant 
 carrying a torch. ) Have 1 made you wait ? There, 
 John, put the torch in the place of this hat. I 
 think, papa, that makes a better fun than yours; 
 you would have caught cold in looking at the 
 other. Pray put on your hat, papa, for fear of 
 the dew. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. I thank you, my dear, for 
 your amiable attention This torch will ferve 
 us too, for another purpofe. Stay here, John. 
 Come, children, will you march round the fun, 
 that you may know your orbit ? (£mily and 
 
 George 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. S3 
 
 George walk round. ) Mighty well. Now, John, 
 take the torch again, and run to the further end 
 of the walk ; there hold it, that we may fee it. 
 
 John, {going.) Yes, Sir. 
 
 Emily. What are you going to do, uncle ? 
 
 Air. Glanville. You (hall fee. Is John,. at 
 his poft ? 
 
 George. There ; he holds us the torch now. 
 Oh ! how little he is grown. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. I am glad that you have re- 
 marked that. Come hither, to this end of the 
 orbit. 
 
 George, Yes, but they have taken away our 
 fun. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. He is of no ufe to us at prefent, 
 we will fuppofe him to be fet. It muft be night, 
 before we can fee the flars ; the torch mail be 
 one. Look well at it firft, to be.fure of its fize 
 and diftance. 
 
 George. Well, I have remarked it. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Come, now begin to march 
 flowly along the circular line of the orbit, with 
 your eye ft'tll on the torch, that ftands for a ftar. 
 Move forward, do you fee the ftar become lar- 
 ger or nearer ? 
 
 George. No, papa, it feems to be (till the 
 fame, and in the fame fpot. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Then go farther ftill, as far as 
 the oppofite part of the orbit to that from which 
 you fat out. There, flop ; well, how is the 
 ftar ? 
 
 George. It has not changed. 
 
 m 
 
84 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe. How ! does not it appear lar- 
 ger or nearer ? and yet you have moved towards 
 it ! 
 
 George. Yes, a good deal. But it is perhaps 
 fixty yards off, and i am only come nearer to it, 
 by the length of the diameter of this orbit, which 
 is about fix feet. 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe, Thefe fix feet are nothing, 
 then, compared to the diftance of the torch ; and 
 you may think, it would be Mill le(s^ if the torch 
 were to be removed farther off; for inftance, three 
 miles, till it appeared no bigger than a fpark. 
 
 George. Nay, then the whole orbit would be 
 no more than a point, quite imperceptible. Let 
 us try a Jarger fcale, papa. 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe. Come, then, to fatisfy you ; 
 take a diameter of two hundred millions of 
 miles, which is that of the real orbit of the earth, 
 and in(tead of the torch, your imaginary ftar, 
 take a real one. 
 
 Emily. Aye, that will be fomething. 
 
 George. Yes, 'tis talking to the purpofe. 
 Come, then, begin. 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe. Softly, let us recollect our- 
 felves a little. I remember, I told you, when I 
 jujl bit vour meaning fo well, that whenever from 
 two different points, one imagines diftant objecls 
 to preserve ttil! the lame diihnce, thofe two points 
 mud be fuppofcd not very far afunder ; and in 
 ihort, it is jult as if they both made but one. 
 
 Gorge. Yes, that was it, word for word. 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe. Now do not forget what you 
 faid juft now, that our little orbit here, on the 
 ground, would be no more than an imperceptible 
 
 point. 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 85 
 
 point, compared to the diftance of the torch, if 
 it were fo far removed as not to appear bigger 
 than a fpark. 
 
 George. I remember it, papa ; I faid fo. 
 
 Mr. Glanvillc It is acknowledged, that the 
 diameter of ths earth's orbit, is 200,000,000 
 miles. The earth, therefore, at one extremity of 
 this diameter, fees the oppofite ftar 200,000,000 
 miles nearer than at the other. 
 
 George. That is plain. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Well, if the earth, from two 
 points fo different, and notwithftanding the enor- 
 mous diftance by which (he is nearer in one of 
 them, fees this ftar preferve ftill the fame diftance ; 
 if, notwithstanding theimmenfe bulk of thisftar, 
 which I (hall make appear to you by and by, me 
 never perceives it to be larger than a fparkling 
 point, the twG extremities of the diameter of her 
 orbit, for all the vaft interval between them, may 
 then be imagined to coaiefce in one point, and 
 this immenfe orbit itfelf will appear as no more 
 than fuch a point, become imperceptible with re- 
 fpect to the infinite diftance which the ftar will 
 preferve from her. 
 
 Emily. Well, my poor George, what have 
 you to fay, in reply ? 
 
 Mr. Glanvillc. But if this immenfe orbit be 
 no more than an imperceptible point, compared 
 to the diftance of the ftar, what will the globe of 
 the earth be then, compared to this fame diftance, 
 the earth being no more than a point, as it were, 
 in the immenfe fpace of her own orbit ? Will 
 this proud planet then imagine, that the arch of 
 the Heavens is built only to form a pavilion over 
 H hen 
 
86 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 her, in which the ftars are fet at equal diftances 
 for ornament, and that (he is of confequence e- 
 nough to occupy the middle place of the uni- 
 verle, in which ihe is hardly fo much as perceiv- 
 ed ? 
 
 George. We mu(t be content ; but I feel this 
 littlenefs of ours very mortifying. 
 
 Mrs. Crofiy. Well now, what mortifies me 
 much more, is, that all the famous philofophers of 
 antiquity, would place our inconsiderable planet 
 in the centre of the univerfe, and no where elfe. 
 I fee, that in the firft ages of wifdom, men were 
 mil but a compofition of pride and folly. 
 
 Mr. Glanvilk. Pythagoras had brought from 
 Egypt and India, the founded: notions of aftro- 
 nomy, which he extended no farther during his 
 life-time, than the compafs of the fchool that 
 he had founded in Italy ; his difciples, however, 
 carried them into Greece, after his death. By 
 this great man, the fun was placed in the centre 
 cf our fyftem, the planets moving round him in 
 this order, Mercury, Venus, the earth, with her 
 moon, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. He did mif- 
 take, it is true, as to their diftances and magni- 
 tudes ; but the geometry of his age, was not 
 fufticiently advanced, nor tnftruments brought 
 to their prefent perfection. 
 
 Mrs* Crofby. That accounts for his deficien- 
 cy : however, he was frill the philofopher : and 
 was his fyftem followed i 
 
 * Mr. Gknville, How could he fucceed among 
 people who were taught, by their men of genius, 
 that the earth was flat $ like a table, and the hea- 
 vens an arched vault of hard folid matter, like 
 
 the 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 87 
 
 the earth ; or that the fun was a mafs of fire, 
 fomewhat larger than Peloponnefus ; that comets 
 were formed by the accidental concourfe of fe- 
 veral wandering ftars ; that ftars were only rocks 
 or mountains carried up by the revolution of the 
 ether, which had fet them on fire ; or, in fhorr, 
 that the ftars were lighted up at night to be put 
 out in the morning, while the fun, which they 
 made a fiery cloud, was kindled in the morning, 
 to go out at night ; and that there were feveral 
 funs and moons to enlighten our different cli- 
 mates ? Now, if the ftar of day was, according 
 to all thefe notions, lefs than the earth, could it 
 be expecled that (he would refign the centre of 
 the univerfe to him ? 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. This was reafoning indeed, wor- 
 thy of i\\q people^ but hardly deferved the name 
 of philofophy. 
 
 Mr: Glanville. Ptolemy finding thefe opini- 
 ons received in his time, and building on^the fal- 
 lacious evidence of the fenfes, eafily perfuaded 
 himfelf and others, that the opinions of Pytha- 
 goras were only vifionary, that the earth was the 
 centre of all motion, both of the planets (the fun 
 being reckoned among them) and of the fixed 
 ftars, with his glafs heavens, which he blew out 
 at one whirT. This fyftem held its ground for 
 more than fourteen centuries, patched up every 
 day with fome additional abfurdity> which its fa- 
 vorers adopted, in order to defend themfelves a- 
 gainft the objections that preffed harder!: upon 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. I think the centuries that you 
 
 mentioned, come down pretty near to our times. 
 
 H2 Mr, 
 
83 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Air, Glanville. Well, it is but two hundred 
 and forty years ago, that Copernicus undeceived 
 us : And even fince that period, error has pre- 
 dominated in the fcience, though under another 
 form. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby, How was that, brother ? for I 
 would with to know all the abfurdities that we 
 have broached on this fubjecl:. 
 
 Air. Glanville. Although Copernicus, while he 
 reftored the fyftem of Pythagoras, which I have 
 juft now explained to you, at the fame time made 
 ufe of it to lay open the infurmountable difficul- 
 ties of that which he overturned, yet Tycho 
 Brahe, the greater! agronomical obferver, of his 
 age, perfifted to fupport the earth in her claim to 
 the poft of honor. 
 
 Airs. Crofby. This was then no more than 
 Ptolemy's principles, revived. 
 
 Mr, Glanville. There was a difference. He 
 did make all the planets now turn about the 
 earth, (he had only the moon left her. The fun, 
 talcing the reft in his train, moved round her in 
 the courfe of a year ; which, however, did not 
 hinder him, together with the whole affemblage 
 of the flars, from repsatiog the fame mark of 
 refpecl to her once in every twenty-four hours. 
 
 Airs. Crcjly. I do not fee what is gained by 
 tills change. I think it ftill ridiculous, that fo 
 many immenfe bodies mould be obliged to run 
 fo faft round us, who are fo fmall. 
 
 Air. Glanville. You have juft hit upon the 
 abfurdity of the fyflern. However, as it is very 
 ingenious in every other particular, and was for- 
 tified by the great name of i^s founder, perhaps it 
 
 would 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 89 
 
 would have ftill prevailed, unlefs Galileo, witli 
 the affiftance of the telefcope, had confirmed the 
 real order of the univerfe, as difcovered by Py- 
 thagoras and Copernicus ; unlefs Kepler, by a 
 ftroke of fortunate fagacity, had hit upon the 
 laws which govern it -, and unlefs Newton, our 
 countryman, had demonftrated them with all the 
 force of genius and truth. 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. Thank Heaven, the fun is fixed 
 at laft in his refting place, in the centre of our 
 world ! I can now, with fafety of cojifcienee, 
 begin my reform. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. What, fifter, have you feme 
 new plan to propofe ? 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. No, brother, I am very well fa- 
 tisfied with your arrangement 3 it feems agreea- 
 ble to the wifdom of nature. I am only out of 
 humor with that yellow-haired gentleman, Phoe- 
 bus, who has deceived poor mortals fo fcurvilj . 
 Mr. Glanville. And what moves your pretty 
 rage againft him ? 
 
 Mrs. Crofby, How ! for three thoufand years 
 here have we fed his courfers with ambroiia, for 
 which they have done nothing but puff over it, 
 and grow fat in his itables. 
 
 George. Yes, aunt, fince he no longer drives 
 the chariot of light, let us difcharge this fezy 
 coachman, and fell off his ftud. 
 
 Emily. I would not allow him fo much as 
 one horfe chaife. 
 
 Mrs. Crofiy. Nay, but if we deprive him of 
 hts name, what other (hall we give him ? 
 
 Mr. Glanville. There is one more worthy of 
 
 him; the greateft that is borne by any of the 
 
 H 3 worlds. 
 
90 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 worlds. Conquerors have given their names to 
 the empires of the earth ; aftronomers have di- 
 vided our fatellite * among themfelves ; our 
 countryman deferves a luminary to himfelf a- 
 lone ; the whole fun, therefore, 1 would call 
 NEWTON. 
 
 George. Oh ! papa, when mall I be acquaint- 
 ed with the works of that great man r 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. If your admiration of him grows 
 up with you, it will rife to enthuliafm. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. 1 mutt confefs, I felt that paf- 
 fion, in fome degree, lad: year, when 1 went to fee 
 his ftatue at Cambridge. Roubilliac v a French 
 fculptor, has reprefented him in an erect attitude, 
 ]ooking at the fun* and fhewing him, with one 
 hand, a prifm, which he holds in the other, to 
 decompofe his rays. While I was lifted up in v 
 thought, to the vail height to which he has raifed 
 human knowledge, I imagined Nature as (lie- 
 formed him, to addrefs him thus. " Though 
 man has itndied my laws for fo many ages, he 
 has mil mifconceived them ; it is time now to 
 reveal them to him. Thou art born to publifli 
 them upon earth ; go then, renew aitronomy, en- 
 large geometry, and lay the bafis of natural phi- 
 lofophy. I aiiign thee thefe fciences, at the fame 
 time, with the genius that attends thy birth. 
 Thou (halt tell the extent of the univerfe, and 
 
 the 
 
 * Riccioli, an Italian dftronomer, has given to the* 
 principal fpits of the moon, the names of aftronomers 
 and learned men, as Plato, Ariftotle, Archimedes, Pli- 
 Tycho, Kepler, Galileo, &c. 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD, 91 
 
 the fimpliciiy of the order that governs it. Thou 
 (halt weigh the rnafs of thofe immenfe bodies 
 which I have fcattered through it ; thou (halt 
 point out their form, determine their revoluti- 
 ons, and meafure their diftances \ thou fhalt re- 
 duce to precife calculation, even the inequalities 
 of their movements. In the midft of them, 
 thou fhalt fix the fun, and fhalt fay by what 
 power he rules them, and how he diftributes to 
 them light and activity. For thy reward, I will 
 place thee thyfelf, as a new luminary, in the 
 midft of all the great men who are to follow 
 thee. Whilft thou giveft a rapid impulfe to their 
 genius, thou fhalt make it inceflantly tend to- 
 wards thine own - 3 and they (hall move round 
 thee with refpedt, in order to receive light from 
 thee. As for thofe who would depart from it, 
 like rebellious comets, that to fhrink from the 
 empire of the fun, lofe themfelves for ages in the 
 viewlefs depth-of fpace, but which he conftanily 
 brings back to the foot of his throne, fo they, 
 from the darknefs of their errors, (hall be forced 
 to return to thee ; nor mall they fhine in any 
 part of their courfe, even with tranfient light, 
 lave when at your approach, they are enveloped 
 in the fplendor of your rays." 
 
 Here the fervant came to inform Mrs.Crofby, 
 that fupper was ferved up. Emily and George 
 would have been glad it were kept back, that they 
 might Mill liflen to Mr. Gianville. For their 
 fatisfacl:ion, he was obliged to promife, that after 
 fupper, he would take another turn in the garden, 
 and that they fhould be of the party. 
 
 ' SECOND 
 
92 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 SECOND CONVERSATION. 
 
 An agreeable chearfulnefs reigned during the 
 time of fupper. Mr. GJanville and his fifter 
 were delighted with the readinefs of apprehen- 
 fion, and fondnefs for inftruclion, which their 
 children had difcovered. Theyfmiled, tocbferve 
 the difpatch that Emily and George made of their 
 fupper, who fpoke not a word the whole time, 
 fo eager were they to return to the terrace, and 
 refume the fubjecT: of their converfation. Our 
 little philofophers had already finifhed their re- 
 paft, and began to fret upon their feats with im- 
 patience, which Mrs. Crofby, who obferved if, 
 probably took, a pleafure to prolong. Be lhat as 
 it may, Emily, in order to lofe no time, began 
 to joke upon George's romantic pride, in wifh- 
 ing to be vifible to the ftars. George bore this 
 pleafantry with a good grace, until he faw his 
 father and aunt (whom he had been watching 
 for fome time) rinifh their fupper ; then turning 
 (hortto Emily, " coufin," faid he, loud enough 
 to draw the general attention, " I was reading 
 the other day a ftory which, I dare fay, my papa 
 knows, and your mamma too, but which, I 
 dare fay, you do not. I will tell it to you. 
 Mahomet had once a mind to give his army a 
 proof of the power which he exercifed over na- 
 ture, and promifed to perform a very great 
 miracle in their prefence. This was no lefs than 
 to make a pretty high mountain move and come 
 to him, from a confiderable distance. One fine 
 morning, therefore, he aflembles all his foldiers, 
 who already gave their great prophet credit for 
 
 the 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 93 
 
 the performance of fomething prodigious, and 
 placing himfelf at their head, he orders the moun- 
 tain -to approach. The mountain turns a deaf 
 ear to his word of command. Mahomet is fur- 
 prized. He calls it a fecond time, with a voice 
 more terrible than at firit. The mountain, as 
 you may imagine, did not ftir the more for this 
 fummons. How is this ! cried the impoftor, 
 with an air of infpiration, the mountain will not 
 walk to us ) Well then, my friends, let us walk 
 to the mountain. — I have no more ill-nature in 
 me, than Mahomet ; if the liars do not lee us, 
 why then,, coufin, let us go fee the ftars. 
 
 At thefe words he rofe brifkly from table, and 
 bounced towards the door, leaving Emily a good 
 deal furprized at this conclufion. Mr. Glan- 
 ville and Mrs. Croiby fmiied at his ready turn, 
 and followed him into the garden. 
 
 It was a moft beautiful clear night j not a 
 cloud intercepted %he fight of the iky. The 
 moon which had now begun to appear above the 
 horizon, flittered thofe Mars which fhe had juft 
 before obfcured, to refume their luftre, as the 
 gradually withdrew from them. The children 
 had often admired the grandeur of this fight, but 
 now, when their curiofity 'upon the fuhjtct was 
 going tc be fatisned, they beheld it with addi'.io- 
 ml rapture. The bright ftar of Sirius was the 
 firft that attracted George's notice. He wlflhed 
 to knew its name ; and when lie had heard it, I 
 like Sirius, papa, cried he, for it is thelargeftof 
 any of the ftar-s. 
 
 Emily. I like it too, for being the hrightefh 
 
 Mr. Qlanvtfk* Perhaps, Riy dear children, 
 
 it 
 
94 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 it is in fac*/ no larger nor brighter than the reft, 
 but then it is nearer the earth. If it were 
 brought to the distance cf the fun, it would un- 
 doubtedly appear at large as he docs. l,ndeed, if 
 we confider that.it is 200,000 times farther OH, 
 we muft be aftonifhed that it is fo vifible. 
 
 George, You talk very eafy about it, papa j 
 200/00 times farther off than, the fun ! How 
 can any body tell that ? 
 
 Mr. Glanvillc. I will not deny that all the at- 
 tempts of aftronomers to meafure the magnitudes 
 of itars, and by means of them their diftances, 
 have been ineffectual. But this very impoffibi- 
 Jity is fufficient to prove, at leaft, that the diftance 
 is prodigious ; for the magnitudes of the plaoets 
 have been determined with fufficient accuracy, 
 ever, the moftdiftant ones, and among the reft, 
 this handfome planet, Jupiter. 
 
 George. Hah ! is that Jupiter? and yet, pa- 
 pa, Sirius appears larger to the naked eye. If 
 they have been able to meafure the fize of Jupi- 
 ter, why can they not that of Sirius ? 
 
 Mr. Glanv.-le. Before I an-fwer you, pray look 
 from this f'pot at the taper that you fee burning 
 in the back parlor, as the window ftands open ; 
 do not you obferve a circle of light round it, 
 ihat makes it appear larger? 
 
 George. Yes, papa, it is very true. 
 
 Emily. Juft like the fun, which appears lar- 
 ger by the whole crown of rays that encircles it. 
 
 Mr. Glanviilc. Well, then^ the ftars being lu- 
 minous of themfelves, like the fun and the ta- 
 per, have alio that fame irradiation, which makes 
 them appear much larger than they otherwife 
 
 would : 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD, 95 
 
 would : infomuch, that their apparent bulk is 
 fuppofed to be magnified nine hundred times, by 
 this caufe. 
 
 George. Oho ! 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Now tell me : When the 
 moon is in the full, and, confequently, mines 
 brighteft, have you ever remarked the fame ra- 
 diance round her ? 
 
 Emily. No, never ; her light is bounded by 
 the circle that forms her face. 
 
 George. One may remark the fame in Jupi- 
 ter. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Whence mould this difference 
 grife ? 
 
 George. I fuppofe, as Jupiter and the moon 
 only retlecT: a borrowed light, this light cannot 
 have the fame force of motion as when it comes 
 from bodies that fhine of themfelves. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Surprizingly well explained : 
 and thus it is, that Jupiter's difk does not appear 
 magnified ; and fmall as his diftance (hews him, 
 a/bronomers have inftruments of fufneient pre- 
 cifion to meafure him. But the liars, with that 
 dazzling radiance that furrounds them. — 
 
 George. Could not means be found to ftrip 
 them of it, fo as to fee them in their real bulk ? 
 
 Mr. Glanville. It is exactly the effect whick 
 a telefcope produces, by uniting and concentra- 
 ting all their rays into a point. But then that 
 point is fo fmall ; and the more perfect the te- 
 lefcope is, the more this point, while it grows 
 brighter, becomes alfo fmaller, until, at lift, it 
 eludes all meafure, ' 
 
 Mrs. 
 
96 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Mrs. Cro/ty, Well, but how have they been 
 able to compare the fun's distance with thofe of 
 the ftars ? 
 
 Mr. Glanville, By a very Ingenious method. 
 The magnitude and diftance of the fun is known 
 from the Sure ft reafoning. They have alfo cal- 
 culated, both how much he fhould be diminished, 
 or how far removed, to bring him down to the 
 Size of Sirius. From thefe calculations, we ne- 
 cefTarily infer the prodigious diftance of this ftar, 
 which is, nevertheless, the neareft to us of any. 
 Moil aftronomers even judge this diftance to be 
 more confulerable, becaufe it is to be doubted, 
 whether the beft telefcope can totally diveft a liar 
 of its Superfluous light, and make it prelerve, to 
 our view, the "fize which it mould, at that dif- 
 tance. 
 
 George. Oh ! Since the ftars are So far off, I 
 can eafily believe, as we have been told, that they 
 are real funs. If they polTeffed only a borrowed 
 light, how could their rays reach, even to us, with 
 fuch a lively brightnefs, after having paSTed 
 through immenfe Space? 
 
 Mr. GlanvlUe. Very well, my boy, your ob- 
 servation is quite juft. It has been demonftrated, 
 that the light of a ftar might be diminished ma- 
 ny millions of times, by removing it farther from 
 our Sight, and yet it mould ftiil appear no Sainter 
 than a piece of white paper by moonlight. 
 
 George. If fome of the ftars, then, appear fo 
 Small, it is becaufe they are ftill farther from us 
 than Sirius. 
 
 Mr. 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. }'; 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Perhaps there is as great an 
 Interval of fpace between them, as even between 
 birius and the fun. 
 
 George. (jurprizeJ.) Oh, Papa ! 
 
 Emily. And yet they feem placed one hefide 
 the other. Nay, there are fome that one woukl 
 take tq be double. 
 
 Mr. Glanville, I can anfwer you both at once 
 by a fingle example, that is familiar to you. No 
 doubt you have fometimes remarked, from Black - 
 friar's-bridge, of an evening, the lamps on Lon- 
 don-bridge, and thofe of Fleet-market. You: 
 know the lamps are of the fame fize in general ? 
 
 George, I fuppofe fo. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Weil, have not you obferved 
 that thofe of Fleet-market, which were the near- 
 eft, appeared with a livelier and Wronger light 
 than thofe of London bridge ? 
 
 George. Yes, I think I have, 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Now, fuppofe that between 
 any two of the latter, you faw one of the fame 
 iijc at Tower-flairs, which 5 confequently, would 
 be about twice as far off, You remember what 
 -tve faid before fupper, that objects, at a certain, 
 degree of remotenefs, appear equally dlftant from 
 the eye, though they may be much farther off 
 fome than others. 
 
 George. Yes> we have not forgot it, 
 
 Mr. Glanville. You underftand then, my 
 dear, that the lamp at the Tower- ftair§, would 
 appear ranged in the fame circular line with thofe 
 of London-bridge, and that you can judge it to 
 be farther off no otherwife than by the fmallnefs 
 gf its flame, and the weaknefs of its ra,vs. 
 
 I Emily. 
 
98 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Emily. You are right, uncle ; .this agrees ex- 
 actly with the large and fmall flars. 1 under- 
 l now, very well, that one may be at a great 
 diftance behind the other, and, for all that, ap- 
 pear to us in the fame line, but fome larger and 
 brighter, others (mailer, and of dimmer light. 
 Do you comprehend that, George ? 
 
 George, (zuitb an air of importance.) Yes, I 
 think I do, and I have a companion too, which, 
 though I fay it. is ten million times better than 
 my papa's. 
 
 Emily. That is mo cleft enough. 
 George. And fo it is ; for it will ferve for our 
 whole globe, while his ftands good only for a lit- 
 tle way down the river. But there is a rcafon 
 why mine is. beft : I do not take it from the 
 earth. 
 
 Emily. Nay, that would be too low for fo 
 lofty a genius as yours. But is this celeftial 
 companion within our comprehenfion ? 
 
 Qeorge. I will try and bring it down to your 
 level. Thofe ftars that are about Jupiter, would 
 not one fuppofe them as near to us as he is him- 
 felf? If the moon was now on the fame iide, 
 would not one think. Jupiter as near as the moon? 
 And if there was a cloud in the neighborhood 
 of the moon, would not one think her alfo as 
 near to us as the cloud ? The cloud, the moon, 
 Jupiter, and the ftars, would then appear all in 
 the fame arch, as it were. Now, do you know, 
 cor fin, that their diftonces are very different ? 
 
 Emily. Yes ;' fo well, that I can tell you too, 
 that the very largeft cloud would not be vifible 
 at the diftance of the moon, that trie moon 
 
 . would 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 9; 
 
 vvould not be vifible at the diftance of Jupiter, - 
 and that Jupiter would be ftill lefs vifible at the 
 diftance of the ftars. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. This is well, my little friends. 
 I like this repartee. Luckily, thole laft words of 
 Emi!y, bring us back to what we were juft now 
 mentioning, that the ftars mud needs fhine with 
 their own light, and that this light mud ne^ds 
 be very ftrong, to reach us from a diftance at 
 which Jupiter would have ceafed one thoufand 
 times to be vifible. 
 
 George, Yes, I fee ; I have no doubt about 
 it now ; they are real funs. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. That isiiiy opinion too ; but 
 do you fuppoie thefe funs to be made for the 
 earth ? 
 
 Emily. Of what feivice could they be to 
 her ? if we depended upon them to ripen the 
 corn, it would be long before the country folks 
 could fmg harveft home. 
 
 George, They have nothing that can be of 
 ufe to us, but their dim light. And even the 
 moon trom behind a cloud, hardly gives a hun- 
 dred times more. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Befides, you know, there are 
 fome (tars which cannot be difcerned, without a 
 telefcope ; and thofe we may fet down as ulelcfs, 
 in every refpecr. In the fame manner* therefore, 
 if thefe funs were made for us, they would cer- 
 tainly ha\Te been placed as near to the earth as 
 our own fun is. 
 
 George. Oh! thank ye, papa, we have e~ 
 
 nough already in one. Belldes, then, my little 
 
 coufin's fine lily complexion would be/; tanned. 
 
 I 2 The 
 
ieo SYSTEM OF THE WORLD; 
 
 The browneft fibber in our nut-grove would* 
 then he fair to my poor Emily. 
 
 Er.vly. And thofe fine young gentlemen that 
 I have ibmewhere feen with a parafol, in bright 
 weather, how many hands, and how many large 
 rounr. hats mould they have to made themfelves 
 
 Mr. G But if all thefe funs>, at their 
 
 prefent diftance, can neither give us heat nor 
 it, if when placed nearer to us, they would 
 only k-rve, according to your filly notions, to tan 
 the c\>:vsp"exion of the ladies, or incommode the 
 . y jafirnines of the day ; and, according to 
 my more icnous fears*, to fcorch the earth up in 
 it : if, with the good leave of fome phi- 
 Jofophers, tuey are not made merely to amufe 
 Mid gratify our (ights, are we to fuppofe them 
 icattered with fuch magnificent profusion through 
 the univerfe, for no purpofe whatfoever ? 
 Emily. That is exactly what puzzles me. 
 G i or re. Let us confider this a little ; fince 
 the fun is intended to furnifh light and heat to 
 the planets, why then, if the ftars are funs, they 
 irjuft alfo have planets which they warm and en- 
 lighten. 
 
 Mr. Glanv'ilh. This is fomething like philo- 
 fophy. 
 
 George, [archly.) Do you fee that, coufin ? 
 But, papa, mutt we allow planets to all thefe 
 funs ? 
 
 '- , GlavvUh. If fuch be the defhnation of 
 fach of them in particular, you are fenfible that 
 ^ nauft be the bufmefb of them all in general. 
 
 George, 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 101 
 
 George. Certainly. What fhould we do 
 with them, if they were good for nothing ? It 
 would be the fame as if government fhould or- 
 der fires to be made in a hard winter, 2nd forbid 
 people to approach them. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Or lamps to be placed in a 
 ftreet where nobody mull: pais, and only to make 
 a diftant illumination for thofe in the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 George. Come, papa, things mud: be done in 
 order. No fun without planet^ but upon con- 
 dition, however, that there be no planets with- 
 out a fun. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Do not be uneafy, my deaf, 
 if the wifdom of the Creator has not made a 
 Tingle fun ufelefs. — 
 
 Emily. Yes, I underftand ; his goodnefs will 
 not leave a ilngle planet unhappy. Now I am 
 eafy. 
 
 George. So am L I fee that every thing is 
 well difpofed. Our fun has planets which move 
 round him, whilft, at the fame time, they have 
 their fatellites moving round them. Well, if 
 my friend Sirius is a fun, he has planets, accom- 
 panied by their fatellites, moving round him, and 
 every other fun will have the fame. 
 
 Emily. I (hall not afk you why we fee the 
 funs, and not the planets. I remember ihe houfe 
 and the candle itill. 
 
 George, Your memory is very convenient to 
 me. Now I am revenged a little : if we are in- 
 vifible to them, we won't do them the honor to 
 look at them. Very well, Gentlemen, do not 
 take eff your hats, 1 have no bow to make you. 
 I 3 Mu 
 
soa SYSTEM OF THE WORLD, 
 
 Mr. GhnvlUe. I did not think that you flood 
 fo much upon ceremony. 
 
 Emily, {curtfying.) Oh, I fhall not grudge a 
 curtfy, or fo. 
 
 George. What are you doing, coufin ? they 
 mould make us the nrft, for having fettled them 
 fo well. 
 
 Mr. Glanvllle. Right. It required fome im- 
 agination on our parts to conceive, that theie? 
 funs," which fcem to us to be fo near each other, 
 are, neverth-elefs, prodigioufly diftant one from' 
 the other. Their worlds mult not be crowded. 
 Ycu can imagine what fpace is required for the 
 extenfi ve movements of a folar fyftem. 
 
 Gesrge, Vv T e can eafily judge of it by our 
 own. 
 
 Mr, Glanv'uk. It is the beft comparifon pof- 
 iible. But can you conceive its extent ? Does 
 not the idea terrify you ? 
 
 George. Me, papa ? Oh, no. Since you have 
 
 told me of the infinite diftance of the ftars, I 
 
 am no more afraid to go to the fartheft part of 
 
 empire of the fun, than Captain Cook, after his 
 
 je round the world, would have been to go 
 
 failing-boat up to Richmond. 
 
 tvifle'i I fear Emily would not travel 
 Id! :. 
 George. Oh, my coufin is too fond of the 
 . fj truft herfelf far off in the ikies. 
 
 Aye, coufin ? Have not I read, as 
 
 well as you, that the Georgium Sidus is one 
 
 ' ad nine hundred and fifty millions of 
 
 miles 
 
SYSTEM OF 'THE WORLD, 103 
 
 miles from the fun ? 'Tis true, indeed^ it is the 
 outermoft. 
 
 George. Ah ! you are but a poor traveller,, 
 coufin, if you halt there. I cars (hew you far- 
 ther afield. 
 
 Emily, How fo, pray, Sir f 
 
 George. Have not Jupiter and Saturn attend 
 dant planets or moons, which reflect to them the 
 borrowed light of the fun, and fo affift his feeble 
 rays to illuminate them ? The Georgium Sidus 
 is a good deal farther off than any of them ; it 
 is therefore likely, that he alfo has fateilites 3 
 which we do not know yet, and, perhaps, more 
 of them : And when the outermoft of thefe fa- 
 tellites is beyond its planet, is it not much far- 
 ther removed from us ? I think, for once, [ am 
 at the extremity of our fyftem. 
 
 Mr* Glanville. Alas, my dear friend, I am 
 forry to cut ihorf your triumph, but you are very 
 far from it, ftill. 
 
 George. What do you fee then s beyond my 
 prefent ftation r 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Other planets, perhaps, un* 
 known to us. But we will fpeak only of what 
 has been difcovered. 
 
 Gnrge. Come, then, pray let us fee, 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Have you forgot the comets^ 
 which are feveral ages revolving round the fun I 
 
 George. Indoedj I had quite forgot them. 
 
 Mr, Glanville. I will not mention that of 
 5769, the period of whofe revolution has beepi 
 fixed at about five hundred years, nor yet that of 
 1680, which is fuppoied to be five hundred and 
 Seventy-five years in performing its orbit, We 
 
 will 
 
104 SYSTEM OF THE WORLff. 
 
 will only fpeak of the comet that W2s firft ob^ 
 ferved in 1264, re-appeared iri 1556, and is ex- 
 pected again in 1848, whofe periodical time i?, 
 confequently, two hundred and ninety-two years. 
 
 George, And enough too, in conscience. 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe. From the point where it is 
 rfeareft to the fun in each of thefe revolutions, 
 let us fuppofe it to fet off on its journey of near 
 three centuries, and let us divide its period equal- 
 ly, one half for its departure, and the other for 
 its return, Here, you fee, is near a ceittury and 
 a half that this comet takes up in moving away 
 from the fun. 
 
 George, Oh, it is plain, fine'e the Georgium 
 Sidus is onty eighty-two years in performing its 
 orbit, the difference mull be great. 
 
 Mr. Glanviile, More ftill than ycu think ; 
 for the comets do not move like the planets in an 
 ellipfe that differs little from a perfect circle, by 
 which means they would be always nearly at an 
 e iual diftance from the furr. They defcribe an 
 ellipfe exceffively oblong, and fo increafe their 
 diftance continually, until they arrive at that 
 point of thmr orbit from which the fun forces 
 them to return by the oppoiite fide; but when 
 arrived at this fo diftant point, where, neverthe- 
 iefs, they yield to the force by which the fun 
 continually attracts then, they mult be frill 1 
 good deal farther from the funs of the neighbor- 
 ing fyftems, orhcrwile the neareft one would 
 force them to enter within its dominions : at 
 this diftance, . therefore, which our comet takes 
 nearly a century and a half to meafure, it muft 
 Ail! leave beyond it, an iirimenfc fpice urtoccupi- 
 
 C6y 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD/ 105 
 
 ed, by way of frontier between its own and the 
 neareft fyftem to it on that fide. Apply this cal- 
 culation to the other worlds, and conceive, if you 
 can, how immenfe each of them muft be ! 
 
 Mrs. Crofby. But do you think them all, bro- 
 ther, as large as ours ? 
 
 Mr. Ghnville. Reccllecl your philofophy a 
 little, (liter. What pretentions can man have to 
 fuppofe the empire of his fun the moft extenfive, 
 while he inhabits himfelf but one of the fmalleft 
 provinces of it ? The reafoning of his pride is 
 particular enough : as long as he thought all the 
 heavenly bodies formed for him alone, he fought,, 
 from age to age, to enlarge them: now when 
 agronomy demonftrates that they have- another 
 ufe, he aims at contracting their extent; - 
 
 Airs. Crofhy. I can oppofe nothing" ro your 
 argument 3 but this immeniity 'dazzles me, and/ 
 perhaps, you are going to confound me Hill more. 
 What do you fupnofe to be the number of the* 
 ftars- ? 
 
 Mr. Glmvodle, The rnoft minute and accu- 
 rate obfervat-Lons have enumerated fomething 
 more than three thoufand in our hemifphere, and 
 ten thoufandin the fouthern. 
 
 Mrs. Crofbf, Heavens \ Thirteen thoufand 
 funs ! Thirteen thoufand worlds in the univerfe f 
 
 Mr. Ghnville. And then the (tars, which can 
 fcarcely be diftinguifned with a telefcope ! Thofe 
 which thar inurnment would enable us to disco- 
 ver, were it ftiil further improved ! The thou- 
 fands which form tliofe little clouds that you can 
 fee with the naked eye, and which are therefore 
 Mkd nebulous ftars 5 and-thofe others, forming 
 
 clouds. 
 
ic6 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 clouds, which cannot be feen, without an inrtru- 
 ment ! The millions that are contained in the 
 milky way! the very idea of their number is 
 fufficier.t to terrify :he imagination. At the 
 fight of a high mountain, a man feels himfelf 
 particularly affected : he (hudders, when he re- 
 flects on the valt extent of the eartJi : the ocean 
 and its unfathomable depths, make his blood run- 
 cold • and yet what is this v*hole globe, compa- 
 red to the burning mafs of the fun, which is one 
 million four hundred thou (and times larger? and 
 the fpace occupied by this luminary, immenfe as 
 it is, what will it be found, on comparifon with 
 that fpace in which the bodies move, that are 
 iubjecl to its adtion ? Rut while he makes the 
 planets, lurrounded by their fatellites, move 
 round him, what would you fay, if he, as well as 
 other funs, followed like him, by their retinue, 
 moved round fome ether body (till more power- 
 ful than all of them at once. 
 
 Mrs. Crofiy. What, brother, our fun and 
 thofe of all the other worlds, to be no more than 
 planets wandering through the fkies ! I fear your 
 imagination is the only thing that moves, of all* 
 this fyitem ? 
 
 AL . G'.dr.viHe. And what would you fay if 
 this conjecture, advanced by Halley, and fupport- 
 ed by Mr. Lambert, one- of the greateft geome- 
 tricians of this age, was become the opinion of 
 the moil diftinguifhed aftronomers at prefent, 
 fuch as Mcif. Bailly and Delalande, and that wife» 
 profound, and religious o.bferver of nature, Mr. 
 3 o .une t of- G eneva ? 
 
 Mrs. 
 
•SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. l<0 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. Such great names are certainly 
 enough to dazzle me : but on what foundation. 
 is this opinion buiK ? 
 
 Mr. Glanvllle. The motion of the fun round 
 its axis would alone be fufHcient to render it 
 probable. Nature has impreiTed this motion on 
 all bodies which move in. an orbit round another 
 more powerful, that governs them ; thus the 
 fatellites turn on their axes, while they encircle 
 their proper planets, and the planets, v\hilethey 
 encircle *he fun. Would Nature, ever uniform 
 and confident in its law, have given the fun this 
 vertiginous motion, if he had no other ? All the 
 planets, at the fame time that they go round him 5 
 move thus, in order to receive his warmth fuc- 
 ceflively in all their parts. Now, fmce he is 
 endowed with this fame movement, may we not 
 fuppofe him to have the other alfc, and to be 
 . carried round .a central power, ftill fuperior to 
 himfelf ? 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. Thefe conj eftures appear natural 
 enough, and, at the fame time, important enough 
 to make me wifh them fupported by fome ob- 
 servation. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Well then, to fatisfy you : the 
 •motion of three of the largeft ftars, Sirius, Arc- 
 turus and Aldebaran, is acknowledged ; it is 
 well known thar Arcturus moves, every year, 
 two 'hundred and feventy millions of miles to- 
 wards the fouth : fo prodigious is the diftance 
 even of thofe ftars which are neareft to the earth, 
 that their change of place is fcarcely perceptible 
 after feveral years : judge if other ftars, infinitely 
 farther diftant, may not have a movement full as 
 
 con- 
 
ic3 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD, 
 
 confiderable, though not perceptible to us, until 
 .after whole centuries of obfervation. 
 
 Airs. Crojby. Since the moving of thofe great 
 (tars is fo certain, I have nothing to offer againft 
 your conjecture : nay, I can very well imagine, 
 according to your idea, that the fmallett may 
 move, without viiibly changing place, till after a 
 long period of time, an account of their incon- 
 ceivable diftance : but is it not fufficient, in order 
 to fatisfy you of the immenfity of the univerfe, 
 that certain ftars move in an orbit, of whofe ex- 
 tent, even the imagination cannot form to itieif 
 an idea ? Why will you (till difturb the repofe 
 of otherc ? 
 
 Mr, Glanville, I fliould otherwife impeach 
 Nature. You have been obliged to acknow- 
 ledge, that if the ftars are all funs, and if one of 
 thefe funs has a planetary fyftem, which he 
 governs, it is agreeable to the wjfdom of Nature 
 that all the reft fliould perform the fame func- 
 tions. Now would it not be a ftrange incon- 
 tinence to give motion to fome ftars, whiift others> 
 deftined to the fame purpofes, remain immove- 
 able ? But take care, fifter ; that repofe, which 
 you would be weak enough to allow thefe latter, 
 itnuft be their inevitable deftru&ion. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. You terrify me. brother. 
 
 Mr. Glanville* In the mid.ft of all thefe funs, 
 abfolutely immoveable, let us fuppofe but one 
 in motion ; like a conqueror that marches 
 through his own dominions in good order, while 
 lie advances to foreign devaftation, fo he moves 
 peaceably within the bounds of his own empire ; 
 but when once he reaches the -frontiers of the 
 
 neighboring 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. icq 
 
 neighbouring fyftem, behold him, as he pro- 
 ceeds through it, fwallow up all the planets be- 
 longing to it in his mafs of fire ; and, perhaps,, 
 attack, on his immoveable throne, this very km 
 whom he has juft defpoiled : from that moment: 
 the balance of the univerfal machine is over- 
 turned. How. mall thofe fyftem s, which were 
 poifed by the equality of their forces, refift the 
 ufurper, ftrengthened with the addition of an in- 
 vaded world, and pufhed forward in his courfe 
 with a ne.w impetuofity ? As a fire attracts the 
 light ftraw, he fees thofe worlds, which border 
 on his pafTage, rufh in - crouds into the vortex of 
 his flames : thus he moves on, confuming as he 
 goes, and becomes the wandering fire-brand of 
 general, conflagration to the univerfe. 
 
 Mrs. Crafty. Oh I I befeech you, fet thofe 
 funs in motion again, which my foJJy would have 
 made to ftand ftill, our own efpecially ; let us 
 not fpare his going ; let him flee from the terri- 
 ble difafter to which I expofed him. I am afraid, 
 his activity will be retarded by the weight of his 
 vaft retinue. 
 
 Mr Ghwville. Make yourfelf csfy, filter $ his 
 ftrength is proportioned to the mafs of bodies 
 that he draws after him. The earth, only fixty 
 times larger than the moon, can yet fway her 
 courfe; Saturn carries his ring and his Satellites 
 along with him ; nor is Jupiter ever forfaken by 
 his. If thefe planets, by their governing mafs, 
 compel the bodies in their train to accompany 
 them as they revolve round the fun, certainly the 
 fun, with a mafs of matter vaftly more confider- 
 able than all the comets, planets and their Satel- 
 K lites 
 
no SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 lites together, will be able to take them all with 
 him at once, round whatever luminary it is that 
 governs him. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. S.o then the matter of fo many 
 flaves is himfelf only a flave in his turn. 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Whatever motion you allow 
 him, it muft necefTarily be round a fuperior bo- 
 dy, the centre of his orbit, as he is the 
 centre of the orbits of all the bodies that 
 are fubjecl: to his fway. This is a law which 
 Nature invariably follows in the fyftem of the 
 univerfe. Comets, whofe motions, according to 
 our ideas, are the mod irregular, are fubjecl to it 
 in their greateft excentricities ; while they run 
 almoft in a ftraight line to the extremity, of their 
 ellipfe, they are continually defcribing tlieir ap- 
 pointed orbit round the fun, 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. What then ! for every (u% 
 fhould a fuperior body be created; round which he 
 muft move ? 
 
 Mr. Glanville. Nature has . more resources. 
 Several planets, with their fatellites, move roumd 
 the fame fun ; feveral funs, with their planets, 
 may move round a fuperior body ; feveral fupe- 
 rior bodies, with their funs, may move round o- 
 ther bodies ftill fuperior to them. This grada- 
 tion of fyftems of fuperior bodies continually in- 
 creafmg in bulk, and decreafing in number, may 
 terminate in the central body of the whole uni- 
 verfe, on which, no doubt, repofes the throne of 
 the Supreme Being, who, with one look, beholds 
 the whole of his admirable work. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. But with this inconceivable mul- 
 tiplicity of movements and orbits, how will you 
 prevent diforder? Mr* 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. m 
 
 Mr. Glanville. As an admiral who commands 
 a large fleet, formed for inftance into three fqua- 
 drons*, each fquadron conufting of feveral men of 
 war, a prodigious number of ffigateSj and an in- 
 finity of merchantmen ; fuppofe him to com- 
 mand a general naval review ; to order the three 
 next in command to fail round him in a large 
 Circle, with their flags flying ; each of thefe to 
 give the fame order to the men of war in his 
 fquadron ; each man of war to a number of fri- 
 gates, each frigate to feveral merchantmen, and 
 each merchantman to its boat. They would 
 tzke up, indeed, a vaft fpace to perform thefe e- 
 volutions with freedom, and to exeoute them 
 "with rigorous precilion. It would, no doubt, 
 appear complicated enough to the outermoft vef- 
 feis : they would fee nothing but a number of 
 confufed and irregular motions among all thefe 
 floating bodies. Yet you fee that it is extremely 
 limple ; the admiral would have occafion for on- 
 ly one order, one fignal ; the boats would only 
 have to fail at different diftances round each of 
 the merchantmen to which they belonged, while 
 feveral merchantmen 1 would move round each 
 frigate, feveral frigates round each man of war, 
 the men of war round the commanders of fqua- 
 drOns ; and Iallly, thefe round thefe admiral. 
 
 Mrs. Crojby. This comparifon fets before my 
 eyes the whole fyftem of the univerfe. But 
 how is it poffible to conceive this gradation of 
 bodies, one more powerful than another, of which 
 the enormous bulk of the fun would make but 
 the extreme term ? 
 
 K % Mr* 
 
U2 SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. Ghmville. Has not your imagination al- 
 ready made .a bolder effort, in riling even to the 
 immenfity of the fun himielf, which is now ef- 
 tablifhed beyond difpute ? This luminary, which 
 the ancients thought to be lefs than the moon, 
 and infinitely imaller than the earth, could make 
 more than fourteen hundred thoufand globes like 
 the earth, and more than eighty millions of 
 moons. What progreflion of magnitude can 
 now flop your imagination ? If each new difco- 
 vcry of error enlight.ns the underftanding of 
 man ; if each new -inftance of weaknefs and im- 
 perfection that he difcovers in his organs, enlar- 
 ges' his genius, why mould he fear to give a no- 
 bler (cope to his genius and underfta-nding ? Be- 
 fore the ufe of the microfcope, did not he fup- 
 pofe animated nature to terminate at the fmalleit 
 infect that his eyes allowed him to difcern ? Now 
 how many millions of creatures does he difcover 
 dill more minute ? A drop of prepared water, 
 the tranfparence of which fcems not the leart al- 
 tered, exhibits to him a fea {"warming with 
 whales : a piece of mouldy fruit prefents to his 
 view a mountain covered with fcrefts, (like the 
 Apehnine to us) and towering to the clouds. 
 He foes thofe fmall animals, of which he was 
 far from fufpecYmg even the exigence, devour o- 
 thers ftill Imaller ; he Tecs them provided with 
 Wtgans fui table to all their wants, loaded with 
 thoufands of eg^s ready to burfl into life, which 
 are to keep up the prodigious population of the 
 fpecies. If at this fight, lie lets drop the micro- 
 fcope with furprize, let him take up the tele/cope, 
 zxiA difcover for the a: it time in the fkies, an in- 
 numerable 
 
SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 113 
 
 Numerable crowd of unknown ftars, beyond 
 which lie an infinitely greater number, that he 
 never will difcover. On what fide will he now 
 be hardy enough to limit the creation ? If to the 
 Eternal Being time is without end, why fhould 
 fpace and matter have bounds for the Almighty ? 
 Is the one lefs worthy of his glory than the o- 
 ther ? The ages which our calculation can com- 
 prize, are, perhaps; to the duration of eternity, 
 no more than the fpace occupied by the millions 
 of worlds, that we can diftinguifh, are to the ex- 
 tent of infinity, 
 
 Mrs. Crofhy. Oh, brother, 1 what a fublime 2- 
 dea you give me of the Supreme Being ! 
 
 Mr. GlanviUe. You have hitherto only ad- 
 mired his power in the number and greatnefs of 
 ihofe prodigious bodies that fill the univerfe* 
 But what wifdom, much more worthy of admi- 
 ration, hath he fhewn in the equipoife in which 
 they are kept up^ by 1 the eternal concord of their 
 movements ! Caft your eyes firft upon our folar 
 fyftern ; befide the feven planets, and their fa- 
 tellites, which move through it in unchangeable 
 order; behold upwards of fixty comets in the 
 whole, revolve in it, whofe dark excurfions are 
 traced: what an infinitely greater number (till 
 that we have never difcovered. Geometry de- 
 monstrates, that from the form of their orbits, a 
 million of thefe bodies could move round the. 
 fun, without incommoding each other's courfe. 
 Rife now upon the wings of thought, traverfe all 
 thofe worlds in which the fame harmony reigns 
 throughout ; go proftrate yourfelf at the foot of 
 the Creator's throrte, and behold from thence 
 & 3 the 
 
ii4- SYSTEM OF THE WORLD. 
 
 the march of universal nature. What a fpecta- 
 cle opens to your eyes ! Thofe ftars, which to us 
 here below, appear but immoveable lights, you 
 heboid in all their fplendor, like funs moving in 
 filence, with all their planetary train, round more 
 powerful funs, who carry them alfo round funs 
 ftill more glorious. What juft proportions be- 
 tween thefe heavenly provinces, empires and 
 worlds ! what majefty of domination, and evert 
 of dependence ! how all thefe intermingle with- 
 out confufion ■! What then mall be the invifible 
 chain fufficiently ftrong to connect all the parts 
 of an infinite whole ? The great Newton has 
 difcovered it to us. It is one Tingle principle of 
 mutual attraction which the Supreme Being hath 
 implanted in all bodies. This, combined with 
 the impulfe which they received on coming from 
 his creative hand, and regulated by the propor- 
 tion of magnitudes and diftances, is the univerfa! 
 a; ent of nature. This tends to re-unite what 
 the projectile motion would feparate. Thefe 
 two forces perpetually acling, balance each other 
 and preferve among the worlds, that order which 
 was eitablifhed fince the creation. Each body, 
 nay, each fyftem, attracts all the reft, as it is at- 
 tracted by them. A general reciprocity of at- 
 traction unites them, while it keeps them fepa- 
 rate, and acls as a prop to their orbits, without 
 breaking in upon them* The funs which en- 
 lighten them, receive their reflected rays, that 
 not an atom of light be diffipafed in vain through 
 the immenfity of fpace. It feems as if the Al- 
 hty would have traced, in this fame law, the' 
 prmeipJe*;©f human morality; " Mor- 
 
SYSTEM 6F THE WORLD. 11$ 
 
 tais, affift each other with your- lights, and with 
 your powers tend one towards the other, without 
 departing from the fphere in which rny provi- 
 dence h^s^ placed you. vj This orde? is eftablifh- 
 ed as much for your happinefs,as for the fupport 
 of the univerfe." 
 
 The two children had not fufTered a (ingle 
 word to efcape them 'during the latter part of this 
 convention : but they were not file-nt from ab- 
 fence, it was from the impreffton of furprife with 
 which they had been ftruck, and Phe attention 
 that they had paid to the magnificent picture 
 which was prefented to them, Mr. Glanville, 
 neverthelefs, feared, left part of his difcourfe 
 might have been loft to their apprehenfion, as he 
 had not given them trme to reflect on- k ": and 
 therefore, as foon as he rofe the next morning, 
 lie wrote down from memory, the- two conver- 
 fations of the preceding evening. Emily and 
 George read them over feveral times in the courfe 
 of the day. Mr. Glanville promifed to give 
 them, in an evening walk, every explanation that 
 they could defire on the fubjecl: of attraction.;, 
 while he explained 3 at the fame time, the motion 
 of the earth round the fun 3 and that of the 
 moon round the earth* 
 
 DAMON 
 
( »6 r 
 
 DIAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 A Drama in One Act. 
 
 Characters. 
 
 Dionysius, - lyrant of Sytacufe. ■ 
 
 Gelo.v, - his Favourite, 
 
 Argus, i - - Captain of bis Guards* 
 
 Pahnurus, - <r Pilot, 
 
 Damon, - - a Citizen of Syr act/ft. 
 
 Pythias, - - a Citizen of Corinth, 
 
 Guards. 
 
 Scene, An infttr Apartment in the Palace* 
 
 S C E N E L 
 
 Diony/tuSj Gekn^ Argus » • 
 
 Diinrfus.\triiOM- haVe I ordered for Cxe- 
 *) W cutron ro-day ?■ Let me fee ; 
 
 (opens his tablets.) Oh, it is to. day that Pythias 
 promifed to return from Corinth to undergo his 
 ientence. 
 
 (jelon. And does your majefty think that he 
 will return ? 
 
 Dianyfms. His return would furprife me, I 
 mult confei's. And yet that friend of his, Da- 
 mon, who offered to die in his ftead^ if he mould 
 not return— 
 
 Jrvust 
 
DAMON ANf> PYTHIAS. if 7 
 
 Argus, I have juft been down in his dunge- 
 on. He entreats your majefty to grant him a 
 moment's audience this morning. 
 
 Dionyjlus, I fuppofe to fue far pardon ; but 
 my juftice will not be tamely trifled with. If 
 Pythias does not return this very day 
 
 Gehn. The traitor ! He would only, faid he, 
 take a farewell view of his country, and a laft 
 embrace of his wife and children ; but, in ths 
 fpace of time that you vouchfafed to grant him, 
 he might have made a voyage twice as far as to 
 Corinth, and back, again. I did fufpecl: fome 
 treachery* Perhaps he is gone to hire afiaffins 
 againft your royal perfon ! O beft of kings, muft 
 I ever tremble for your fafety ! An unaccount- 
 able terror hangs; over me. Damon has cer- 
 tainly confpired with him to attack you by fur- 
 prife, and it is upon fome dangerous defign that 
 he folicits to fpeak with your majeity. 
 
 Dion) feus. You make me ihudder. I will 
 not fee him. Attend my return here, Gelon ; I 
 am going to vifit my women ; and Argus, do 
 you take care that my guards be vigilant. (He 
 goes out by a private door. Argus going out at the 
 other fide ', is flopped by Gelon.) 
 
 SCENE II.. 
 
 Gek?7 y Argus v 
 
 Gehn. Hark ye, Argus. 
 Jrgus. What are your lordfhipY commands ? 
 Gelon. Let the palace-door be fhut to-day, to 
 4S but Palinu:us> Beware of fullering any per- 
 fon 
 
ji8 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 fon to enter, that may endanger the king's life, 
 under pretence of imploring his mercy in favor 
 ©f Damon. 
 
 Argus. Alas! who would be fo hardy as to 
 intercede f©r the wretch ! 
 
 Gelon. He is- unworthy of pity. 
 
 Argus. Ah ! my Lord, let me at leaft be per- 
 mitted to lament his defhny. 
 
 Gelon. Beware of exprefling fuch fentiments. 
 I fee, you partake in the infatuation of the cre- 
 dulous populace. Damon is no more than an 
 impoftor, who hoped to deceive the king by an 
 affected heroifm, and to fave the life of his friend, 
 
 Ar%us. You will admit, at leaft, that he ex- 
 pofed his own, very generoully, at the fame time. 
 
 Gelon. Do not you fee that he ccuhhtake no 
 other courfe, fearing, as he difl, that Pythias, o~ 
 vercome by the torture, fhould difcover him to be 
 an zccomphcc in his treafon. 
 
 Argus. But Pythias himfelf has not been con- 
 victed. 
 
 Gelon. His crime is; a fecret, lodged in my 
 breaft. The intereft of the State forbids it to be 
 divulged to the people. • Go, and let my orders 
 be performed. . I repeat them to you in the 
 name of the king himielf. Remember that your 
 life lhali anfwer for. your obedience. 
 
 3 C E N E III* . 
 
 Gskn. . 
 
 Fortune, I thank thee ; this day wilt'thouxle^ 
 liver /ne. from .the laft Syracufan, whole virtue 
 
 CDUld 
 
■DAMON AND PYTHIAS. i^ 
 
 could eclipfe my greatnefe. He has of himfelf 
 brought about his. deitruc~Hon. My^efign was 
 but to get rid of the rich Corinthian Pythias, in or- 
 der to enrich myfelf with the fpoils of his for- 
 tune, and now have I a lucky opportunity of be- 
 ing revenged of Damon's pride. He ihall , rind 
 .the confequenceof defpifing the favorite of a ty- 
 rant. And for thee, Dionyfius, I know to what 
 fentiments I owe thy generality. In vain thou 
 talkeft to me of friendthip ; thou loader! me with 
 kindnefles, only to encourage me in being the ia- 
 itrument of thy barbarity, to which thou would* 
 eft alio facrijke me in my turn. But no, I Ihall 
 rind means to prevent thee. Exalt my. fortune 
 : but a little higher, I will C2ft thee into that pit 
 which thou art already meditating to prepare for 
 me. (Perceiving a wan^ who advances ivith figns 
 of far, ) What do I fee ? 
 
 S C E ;N -E IV, 
 
 Gelon, Palinurus. 
 
 • G'ehn. Is it you, Palinurus^ 
 
 Palinurus. Yes, my Lord. 
 
 Gelon. (eagerly.) Well, 
 
 Palinurus, Are we alone ? 
 
 Gehrig You may fpeak, without fear. Diony- 
 sus has juft now retired. 
 
 Palinurus. I am but this moment landed, and 
 have with all fecrecy hastened hither to pve you 
 myfelf an account of the fuccefs of your orders. 
 
 Gelon. Satisfy my impatience : have you 
 performed them \ 
 
 Palinurus* 
 
120 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 Palinurus. You have nothing to fear from 
 Pythias : he. is no more. 
 
 Gelen. 1 am. alive again. You could never 
 bring me thefe happy tidings more iealonably. 
 But hade ; acquaint me with all the circumltan- 
 ces. 
 
 Palinurus, I had fet /ail, having in chare 
 from Dionyfius, to convey Pythias "to Corinth, 
 and from you, to prevent his ever arriving there. 
 The third night after our departure from Syra- 
 cufe, there arofe a violent tempeit, which enabled 
 me to put my defign in execution. 
 
 Gelon. How ? Proceed. 
 
 Palinurus. By the flames of the 1'ghtning, I 
 perceived Pythias on his knees, at the (hip's fide, 
 with his hands lifted up toward heaven, "im- 
 mortal Gods, cried he, it is not for my own life 
 that [ fupplicate you, but for that of my friend. 
 Let me live to return, and break thofe chains 
 with which his friendship forme has loaded him. 
 I refign you then my life, when i have faved his. 
 Would you, by my definition, caufe the gene- 
 rous Damon to fall a victim to his virtue ? Ye 
 know, who read the hearts of men, that ye have 
 not a more noble ima^e of yourfelv.es upon 
 earth." " Thy lips, anfwered I, infult the gods, 
 in daring to compare a mortal to them — thus 
 they punifh thy impiety j" and I (truck him 
 with a dreadful blow that plunged him to the 
 bottom of the devouring deep. 
 
 Gelon. O dear Palinurus ! none could have 
 been a more happy inftrument of my vengeance. 
 Damon's pofleilions (hall, after his death, be the 
 reward of your fidelity. I hear a door open. 
 The king comes. Remember to tell him that 
 Pythias refufed to come with you. SCENE 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS, 
 
 SCENE 
 
 Dlonyfius^ Gehrig Palinurus^ Guards, 
 
 Dlonyfius. What means this audacious flran« 
 ger ? Seize him. 
 
 Melon. Let my fovereign vouchfafe to fufpend 
 his orders. It is the pilot Palinurus, to whom 
 your majefty's wifdom . confided the charge of 
 conducting Pythias to Corinth. 
 
 Dicnyfius. How! has he brought him back 
 too? 
 
 Palinurus. No, Mre. As foon as he found 
 himfelf landed in his native country, he told me 
 that it was unnecefiary to wait for him, and that 
 I might return to Syraeufe alone. This is all 
 the mefTage that he has given me for Damon. 
 
 Dionyfius. You may deliver it to him your- 
 (z]{. Let him come before me, as I have now 
 no favor to grant him. Go ; (to one of the 
 guards) tell Argus to bring him hither. 
 
 Gelon. Your majeity fees how juft my fufpi- 
 clons of Pythias were. 
 
 Dionyfius, There needed no more ro prove 
 him worthy of death. 
 
 Gclon. By an action of the moft horrible per- 
 fidy, he leaves his belt friend to die in his ftead. 
 ,Does not this afford theftrongert prefumption of 
 his treafon to your majefty ? Take my advice, 
 this moment deliver up to death the accomplice 
 L of 
 
122 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 of his guilt. He deferves it well for having dif- 
 appointed your juft revenge. 
 
 Dionyfius. Jt is not my intention to retard hie 
 punilhment. 
 
 Gekn. Why then would you lofe the preci- 
 ous time, in lifiening to him ? 
 
 Dionyfius. ..No ; it is my pleafure, His ccn- 
 ndence in friendship feemed an infult to my pow» 
 er. I (hall rejoice to confound him. 
 
 Gehn. Here he is. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Dionyfius, Gelon, Palinurus^ Damon, [in chains) 
 Guards. 
 
 Dionyfius. Well, Damon ; this is the day on 
 which Pythias fhould have returned. 
 
 Damon. Alas ! I tremble ftill. It is not paft. 
 
 Dionyfius. Why do you not pray to the gods 
 to lengthen it ? 
 
 Damon. What fayed: thou, Dionyfius ? Thou 
 art not capable of conceiving either my fears or 
 my wifnes. Ah ! if the night was come ! if 
 heaven would keep back my friend's veflel from 
 the harbour until to-morrow ! if it would per- 
 mit me to fave his life by facrificing mine for 
 him ! 
 
 Diony/lus. You may take that rare fatisfaclion 
 very foon. 
 
 Damon. O Dionyfius, thou filleft me with 
 joy. I dreaded the virtue of Pythias more than 
 I dread thy executioners. 
 
 Dionyfius. 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 133 
 
 Dionyfius. Bani(h your alarms. Pythias will 
 never come back. Palinurus is come to inform 
 you of the matter. 
 
 Palinurus, I can allure you from- himfelf, 
 that it will be to no purpofe to wait for his re^ 
 turn. 
 
 Damon, (with vehemence.) Peace, vile flander- 
 cr ; if thou hadft told me that his wife, his chil- 
 dren, all his fellow-citizens, were earneft to de- 
 tain him, and demanded to come in his ftead 3 I 
 could for a moment have believed fuch a forgery ; 
 but Pythias never ufed the language imputed to 
 him by thy effrontery. 
 
 Dionyfius, Strange infatuation ! 
 Damon, Pythias will return this very day, if 
 he has not ceafed to breathe the vital air. But 
 no, he ftill Jives ; heaven will not permit the 
 mod virtuous of mortals to perilh, while I can 
 redeem his life. 
 
 Dionyfius, What, do you refufe to believe fo 
 pofitive a teftimony ? 
 
 Damon, i believe much more firmly in the 
 innocence of my friend. Now, Dionyfius, it 
 refts with you to perform your promife. 
 Dionyfius. What have I promifed you ? 
 Damon. To do no ill to Pythias, if he returns 
 after my death. 
 
 Dionyfius. Blockhead ! Doft. thou not fee, 
 then, that the wretch betrays thee ? At this very 
 moment, when thotf trembleft for him alone, his 
 heart beats with joy at having deceived thee. 
 
 Damon. No, it is of your friends that fuch 
 
 treachery is to be fufpeded. I know mine bet- 
 
 L 2 ten 
 
X2i, DAMON AND PYTHIA.' 
 
 ter. Would to heaven I could rely as fecureir 
 on your faith as on his. 
 
 Gelon. What* unheard-of infolence ! 
 
 Dionyfius. His death (hall foon atone for it. 
 
 Damon. I am more impatient than thou art. 
 to haften it. Iwait only a word from thy mouth : 
 Swear once more to fpare Pythias at his return. 
 
 DknyfiUs. Why do you urge fo ufelefs a pro- 
 mife? The knave has taken too good care of 
 himfelf to have any occafion for it. 
 
 Damon. Affront not virtue, Dionyfius ; it is 
 the grofTeft impiety to diftrufr. if. 
 
 Dionyfius. Does it belong to you to defend 
 Virtue, when you are going to fall a victim to 
 treachery ? 
 
 Damon. Even to my la ft breath, virtue mall 
 receive my homage. 
 
 Dionyfius. I pity your blind fanaticifm. 
 
 Damon. But it is not your virtue that I im- 
 plore, I claim your juftice. Put me to death, 
 but fwear to fpare Pythias. Let me carry with 
 me to my tomb the hope of faving him. 
 
 Dionyfius. Since you require only a fuperflu- 
 Ous oath, I give it to you : \( Pythias returns af- 
 ter your death, I fwcar that he (hall live. 
 
 Damon, (ratjmg bis hands t$ heaven.) Immortal 
 gods, receive this oath from his lips, and if ever 
 he meditates -a violation of it, let all your thun- 
 ders compel him to perform it. (To Dionyfius,) 
 Tyrant, J am farisfied ; one innocent victim I 
 have matched from thy barbarity. I now by 
 another at thy feet : (falls down before him.) Let 
 me fupplicate you for a favor which may be 
 granted, without difficulty* 
 
 Dicr.yfiui.. 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 125 
 
 Dionyftus. Speak. 
 
 Damon. Let me be led this inftarit to execu- 
 tion. I muft certainly be guilty in your eyes, 
 fince I dare to defy your indignation. , 
 
 Dionyftus. You mall be fatisfied. Drag him 
 to the fcaffold. (7 he guards feize Damon.) Ar- 
 gus, afTemble all my guards to keep the populace 
 in order. Let the firft man be punifhed with 
 death who (hall dare even to murmur. 
 
 Damon, [as he is led off.) I bleis you, mighty 
 gods, that I have faved my friend. 
 
 S C E N ' E VIL 
 Dionyftus, Gelon, Palinurus. 
 
 Dionyftus, (after a Jhort Jilence.) Is Damon in- 
 fenfible ? Is he the moil generous *of men? If 
 he had afked mercy for himfelf, I think, I could 
 have been inclined to grant it to him. 
 
 Gelon. O beft of kings ! Never did a crimi- 
 nal dare to defy you fo audaciously ; and is your 
 heart itill moved for him ? But in this cafe your 
 majeity's clemency might bring on the moft fatal 
 confequences. The ftubborn Syracufans would 
 not fail to think it weaknefs, and would only be- 
 come the more infolent. 
 
 Dionyftus. Yes, I am fatisfied, this rigorous 
 example is neceffary to my fecurity. Rebelli- 
 ous people ! whoever would rule you, muft ex- 
 hauft your blood, and load you with indignities. 
 
 Gelon. The guilt of Pythias orcafioned Da- 
 man's crime ; therefore he deferves a double 
 death. 
 
 L 3 Dionyftus, 
 
no DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 Dlonyfws. Gelon, I thank thy zeal. Conti- 
 nue to find out new victims to my power. P refh 
 marks of my favor fhall reward you. And do 
 you, Palinurus,. hafte to acquaint the people with 
 the treachery of Pythias, and particularly with 
 Damon's crime. I will not have him receive a 
 iingle mark of pity. (Palinurus going out, Jlarti 
 back with furprife. ) 
 
 S C E N E vnr. 
 
 Dionyftus, Gelon, Palinurus, Argus, Damon and Py*» 
 thiasy {both in chains-. ) Guards. 
 
 Dlonyfius. What do I fee ? 
 
 Gelon, (aftde.) Ah! traitor Palinurus! 
 
 /Irgus. As I conduced Damon to executrony 
 according to your majefty's order, this ftrangcr 
 came running toward me, out of breath. " Stop, 
 cried he ; ftrike off my friend's chains. D*=» 
 roon is no longer your hoftage ; Pythias himfelf 
 is here, and he alone muft die." They threw 
 themfelves into each other's.arms, and prefled 
 forward with emulation toward the fcaffold, as 
 if they were going to drfpute a throne. I thought 
 It my duty, on this unexpedted incident, to brin^ 
 them both before your majeity. 
 
 Dionyfiui, [with extreme ajlon 'foment.) Is this 
 pofiible ? May I believe my eyes ? . 
 
 Damon. My fears were well grounded. Ah } 
 Dionyfius, why did not you order my execution' 
 an hour fooner ? 
 
 Pythias. Do you think, then, that I could 
 have furvived your death, if I had thus occafion-^ 
 
 cd 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. ft'j 
 
 ed it ? if 1 had thus become your murderer, my 
 deareft friend •? BlefTed be the gods, who at 
 length feconded my impatience. O Damon, let 
 me embrace thee for the laft time. (7 hey embrace 
 Gjfcdlionaiely. ) 
 
 Damon. Faithful, but cruel friend ! Diony- 
 fiiis, grant Pythias his life, or let us- die toge- 
 ther. 
 
 Pythias. Tyrant, you are furprized at feeing 
 me again. My miraculous prefer vation forces 
 you to believe in thofe-gods which your heart 
 would fain annihilate. "When you caufed me xo 
 be plunged into the fea, you did not forefee th-at 
 a friendly wave would call: me upon fome rocks 
 which were near at hand. 
 
 Damon. What then ! you have not k^n your 
 country ! you have not embraced your wife and 
 children ! 
 
 Pythias. Could I think of rafting that plear- 
 fure, when the leaft dehy would be fatal to yotr? 
 
 Damon. Wretch that I am-1 then 1 have not 
 ferved you in any refpecr. 
 
 Pvthias, Alas? was it not your intention to 
 procure me, at the hazard of your life^ that fa- 
 tisfaction which fortune has envied me ? What 
 did I not fuffer under this reflection ! fcxpoltd 
 on defart rocks, fL-nd ins up night and day upon 
 the higher! part of them, to have the farther 
 view of a fhip's approach, I no longer directed 
 my wifhes towards Corinth, but inceflantly called 
 •upon Syracufe, Syracufe- ! 
 
 Damon. You knew well, that, even expiring, 
 I fnould have been convinced of your fincerity. 
 
V23 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 Pythias. And I fhould have betrayed that ge- 
 nerous confidence. Some god, touched with 
 my forrow, vouchfafed to fend me a light bark, 
 which I beheld himfelf defend againft the rage of 
 the waves. At length, when i was made eafy 
 with regard to your fate, on beholding this more, 
 with what joy did I hail it ! I am now in your 
 hands, Dionyfius ; deliver my friend, and then 
 arm, when you will, your executioners — or my 
 afTaiTin there, (Pointing it Paiinurus*) 
 
 Dionyfius. What do I hear, Palinurus ? De- 
 clare the truth inftantly, or the cruelleft of tor- 
 ments fhall tear it from you, 
 
 Palinurus, I only obeyed your majefty's fa- 
 vorite. Gelon had ordered me to throw Pythi- 
 as into the fea in the night time. 
 
 Pythias. Ah ! Gelon-; I pardon the crimes 
 which you forged r.gainft me, in order to feize 
 upon my fortune. I pardon your attempt upon 
 my life. But what had my friend done, that 
 you ihould fo cruelly involve him in my deftruc- 
 don ? 
 
 Dionyfius, Anfwer, villaii 
 
 Gelon, (in the deepeji corifhrnatioy.) Does your 
 majerty doubt that my attention to your fafe- 
 ty 
 
 Dionyfius. Be filcnt. Pythias was innocent, 
 and you knew it. Friendship between guilty 
 fouls, never rifes to this degree of heroilm. No- 
 ble friends he free, and you wretches go and re- 
 ceive your death. Argus, lead them both to ex- 
 ecution. 
 
 P)thias. Stop, Dicn)fius ; you have juft now 
 felt how glorious it is to be juft— 
 
 Damon, 
 
, DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 129- 
 
 Damon. Learn the happinefs of being gene- 
 rous. 
 
 Dionyfiu*. What manner of men are ye, who 
 kneel to me for your murderers ? But no, they 
 muft die 5 it is the only^hing that I can refufe 
 to fo much virtue. G* Gelon ; feek a friend 
 who will facrifke himfelf for you. On this con- 
 dition alone, I pardon you. 
 
 Daman and Pythias, Ah ! prince !— *• 
 
 Dionyfius. It is in vain. If I have already 
 fhed fo much innocent blood, I will not let the 
 guilty efcape. Bafe traitor ! I have read his in- 
 moft thoughts. Heavens ! am I then condemn- 
 ed never to find a faithful heart ? From you,, a- 
 lone, incomparable men, I expect to find that 
 happinefs. Permit me to hope that I fhall one 
 day be the third in your friendship. 
 
 7'HE 
 
f }§& ) 
 
 THE SIEGE OF" COLCHESTER: 
 
 A D R A MA IN O N E A C T. 
 
 Ch A r! C T £ R S. 
 
 j ;o RD Fairfax, - General of the Parlia- 
 
 went Army, 
 Lord Cape l, - - Governor of ' Colchejler, 
 
 „:\ionlv - - Fairfax's Son. 
 
 Arthur, - Capet's Son. 
 
 Colonkl M O R G A N, Friend of Fairfax. 
 Colonel Kingston, Friend of Cape!. 
 oURRV, - - a Captain under Fairfax* 
 
 Guards and Soldiers. 
 Scene Fairfax's tent before the zva'lls of Cokheflcr, 
 
 THH civil war in England under Charles I. 
 being, as it were, re-kindled, after a fhort 
 reflation, the parliament, by refolving to prefent 
 no more addretTes to that unfortunate prince, 
 then a prifoner in the lile of Wight, rilled the 
 hearts of all honeft men with indignation. Scot- 
 land, Wales, fome towns in the North, part of 
 the county of Surry, and even ieventecn men of 
 war in the parliament's pay, declared for the 
 king. There were fome rifings alfo in his 
 favour in the counties of Eifex and Kent, which 
 were fupported by the zeal of the Earl of Surry, 
 Lord Capel, Sir Charles Lucas, and Sir George 
 Lille. Againft thefe Sir Thomas Fairfax was 
 with a pretty numerous army. That able 
 
 general 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. i 3 r 
 
 General found no difficulty in defeating a few 
 troops newly raifed, and ill difciplined. He 
 gained a complete victory over them at Maid- 
 ilone in Kent ; and purfuing their fcattered re- 
 mains, he obliged both them and the royalifts in 
 Effex to fhut themfelves up in the town of Col- 
 chefter, which he haftened immediately to inveft. 
 
 The liege of Colchefter is one of the moft re- 
 markable events of that unfortunate period, on 
 account of the obftinate defence* made by the be- 
 fieged. It hfted from the 18th of June, to the 
 end of Auguft, 1648. The walls and fortifica- 
 tions of the town, faid to have been built by the 
 Romans, and remarkable for that ftrength and 
 folidity which their works ufually difplay, (till 
 exhibit dreadful marks of the fury of the .fiege.' 
 The greateft part of the churches in particular 
 were half demolished by the batteries of the par- 
 liament army ; but the befieged, notwithstanding 
 -the violent affaults of their adverfaries, notwith- 
 ftanding the extremities to which they were re- 
 duced for want of provifion, infomuch that they 
 had nothing left for fubfiftence, but the horfes of 
 the garrifon, continued to makebrifk fallies, and 
 defied all the force of the befiegers, in the un- 
 certain expectation of relief from fome quarter 
 or other. 
 
 At this period commences the action of the 
 following drama, in which the principal object: 
 is, to delineate in its proper ftrength, the refolute 
 and generous character of Lord Capel, which 
 was invariably difplayed in every circumftance. 
 of his life and death. Such a character, it is 
 
 pre- 
 
iii THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 prefumed, will not be found uninterefting to the 
 mind of a young reader ; and in order to re- 
 prefent it to the fulleft advantage, at the end of 
 the drama, are fubjoined fome interciling par- 
 ticulars concerning the death of that virtuous 
 nobleman. 
 
 It remains, however, to be obfcrved, that the 
 fact upon which the drama principally turns, is 
 by no means advanced as authentic Neither 
 Lord Clarendon, or any other writer of that age, 
 takes the leaif. notice of it. Nor has Hume, or 
 Rich modem hiftorians, as from -their averfion 
 to the republican party, it might be fuppofed 
 would not let flip fuch an incident, made any 
 mention of the circumftance. It depends, there- 
 fore, entirely upon the credit of Monfieur Xa- 
 guenet, who in his life of Cromwell relates it at 
 large, with many particulars, which at leait give 
 it the appearance of probability. 
 
 The SIEGE of COLCHESTER. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Fairfax, Morgan. 
 
 Fairfax, (reading a paper volnch he has J lift re- 
 ceived f rem Morgan.) Is it pofiible that laft night's 
 attack fhould have coft us i'o many brave foldiers ? 
 
 Morgan. Y.es, general, eight hundred men ; 
 and, to fay the truth, the ilower of our troops. 
 
 Fairfax. It would be a fatisfaclion, if we had 
 purchafed fome advantage by this lofs : but 
 
 after 
 
TUK SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, 133 
 
 after (o many afTaults, Colchcftcr refifts our arms 
 as obftinately as at firft. The late example of 
 Oxford fwells the hearts of the townfmen - s and 
 that obflinate Capel— — — 
 
 -Morgan. He alone is a furer defence to the 
 town, than all its ramparts. In vain (hall we at- 
 tack, them, as long as he determines to hold out. 
 
 Fairfax. He will not defy me much longer. 
 
 ■Morgan. How, Sir Thomas ? 
 
 Fairfax. If I cannot overcome his refinance, 
 his fon (hall. 
 
 Morgan. His fon ? 
 
 Fairfax. Yes, Morgan ; young Arthur (hall 
 open me the gates of Colchefter this very -day. 
 For this purpofe I have fent for him and my own 
 fon from London, and I am juft now informed 
 of their arrival. 
 
 Morgan. Here comes Surry, returned from 
 Colcheiter* 
 
 *S C E N E II. 
 
 Fairfax^ Morgan^ Surry. 
 
 Fairfax. Well, Surry, is the truce accepted ? 
 Does Lord Capel agree to the interview that I 
 kave propofed to him ? 
 
 Surry. Yes, General ; hoftilities are fufpend- 
 ed for fix hours, and this very morning Lord 
 Capel is to come to your tent. 
 
 Fairfax. I fufjpofe to difplay his triumph to 
 my face. How did he receive you ? 
 
 Surry. With an air of cool unruffled firmnef?. 
 Resolution is painted in his countenance. 
 
 M Fairfax. 
 
j 34- THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 Fairfax. That this proud royal ill: fhoujd 
 alone ftand immoveable, while even the genius 
 of Britain trembles with difmny ! No ; he (hall 
 foon be fhaken. i will aflfail him in his tenderer! 
 part. Surry, call hither my ion. (Surry goes 
 out. ) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Fairfax^ Morgan, 
 
 Morgan. Shall I take the liberty, Sir Tho- 
 mas, to afk what is your defign ? I cannot (o 
 much as conjecture what it is. 
 
 Fairfax. Perhaps not ; , but I mall inform 
 you. Laft night I received intelligence that the 
 Duke of Hamilton, with a numerous army, 
 fuppprted by Sir Marmaduke Langdale, who 
 follows him, is coming to relieve Colchefter. 
 In order to prevent him, if poflible., I ventured 
 !aft night upon a third aflault, of which you have 
 feen the fuccefs. But ftratagem mall put me in 
 porTelTion of what I could not feize by force. 
 
 Morgan. How can young Arthur arTift ycu 
 in this fcheme ? 
 
 Fairfax. I will reprefent to him in the mod 
 lively colours, the danger that threatens his 
 father. They (hall fee each other here. Ar- 
 thur, trembling for a life fo dear to him, will 
 prevail on him to furrender. 
 
 Morgan. Do you think (o y General ? 
 
 Fairfax. I hope fo. A man whom the whole 
 univerfe in arms could not conquer, has often 
 been overpowered by a fingle tear. 
 
 Morgan, 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 135 
 
 Morgan. Capel feels, it is true, the affecYicn. 
 of a father, but he is alfo endowed with the firm- 
 nefs of a hero. 
 
 Fairfax. If the moft powerful energy of 
 nature cannot bend him — But I fee my fon ; I 
 would fpeak with him alone. Go you, Colonel, 
 arid join young Arthur, and leave nothing un- 
 tried to bring him to my purpofe, 
 
 SCENE IV, 
 Fairfax^ Edmond. 
 
 Fairfax . Come to my arms, my dear boy. 
 
 Edmond, (embracing him.) O father ! how 
 happy am I that the duties of war have not en- 
 tirely removed me from your thoughts. 
 
 Fairfax. ' Your joy will be much greater, 
 when you know my motive for calling you down 
 hither. 
 
 Edmond. I am ready to obey your orders. 
 
 Fairfax. Your heart will approve them, if it 
 is actuated by the fentimentsof friendfhip. 
 
 Edmond. You make me impatiently defire to 
 hear them. 
 
 Fairfax. It is in your power to fave young 
 Arthur from the greater! misfortune that he has 
 to fear. 
 
 Edmond. How ! Dear father^ I conjure you 
 let us not lofe a moment. 
 
 Fairfax. My Lord Capel, by a blind ob- 
 
 itinacy, is going to plunge himfelf into ruin. I 
 
 efteem him for his courage, and therefore cannot 
 
 help lamenting his misfortune. Particularly I 
 
 M 2 can 
 
136 THE SEIGE OF COLCHESTE) 
 
 can by no means be indifferent to the lot of hi* 
 Ton, finee he is your friend. Let us fave them 
 both from inevitable deftru&ion. 
 
 Bdmond. What are the means ? how gladly 
 will I embrace them, if they are within my pow- 
 er ! 
 
 Fairfax. I am to have an interview with his 
 lordfhip this morning. I will indulge him with 
 the fatisfavSlion of feeing and embracing his fon ; 
 but when I reprefent to him. the calamities into 
 which his obftinate rafhnefs will inevitably draw 
 him, I fhould wifh Arthur to enforce my remon- 
 ftrances with his own entreaties and folicitati- 
 ons; 
 
 Edmond. Ah, father ! I fear — 
 
 Fairfax. What? that they would have no 
 effect r Ah, child ! nature has given children 
 more power over their fathers, than the laws 
 have given to fathers over their children, 
 
 Edmond, I know Arthur well ; he is too du- 
 tiful a fon to attempt diffuading his father from 
 what he thinks his duty. 
 
 Fairfax. When neceflity obliges him to do 
 fo, it is the ftrongeft proof that he can give him 
 of his refpeel and affection. 
 
 Edmor.'L Fie will never think fo. 
 
 Fairfax^ Mis intereft requires that he -mould 
 be convinced of it. Are not you his friend ? 
 
 Edmond, Q Sir, can you afk that ? Next to 
 my parents, I Jove him beft upon earth. At. 
 fhis. very moment, when our fathers are oppofed 
 in arms, f would lay down my life to fave his. 
 
 Fairfax. Far from condemning this ardor, I 
 
 ire it ; it (hews rqe that my fonVheart is ca- 
 
 ' ' " pabia 
 
THE SEIGE OF COLCHESTER. i 3) 
 
 pable of the nobleft efforts of generofity. Such 
 fentiments make us worthy of the godlike bleffing 
 of friendfhip. You would die for your friend ; 
 then furely you will fave him. If his fortune and 
 his life are dear to you, fupport me in mydefign. 
 Go to hin), and bring him hither ; I will join 
 my perfuafions to your's. 
 
 Edmtmd. I obey, {afide.) Heavens! what can 
 I fay to him r {goes out. ) 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 (Fairfax remains alone for fome time in a fenfive Gi~> 
 titude. Surry enters to him.) 
 
 Surry, Sir Thomas 
 
 Fairfax, Surry, I juft now intended to fend 
 for you ; I am going to have fome converfation 
 with Arthur and my Ton ; in the mean time, go 
 you immediately, and give orders to Colonel 
 Morgan, that the troops be in readinefs to form, 
 at a moment's notice. 
 
 Surry, (furprized. ) I beg pardon for my free* 
 dom, Sir Thomas ; but this order I confefs fur- 
 prizes me, 
 
 Fairfax. I underffond you, but you have no 
 occalion to be uneafy. Fairfax may, according 
 to the ufage of war, attack his enemy by fur- 
 prize, but he will never violate his word. The 
 truce that you have negociated, we mall obferve 
 with fcrupulous fidelity ; 1 only intend, while I 
 am* exhorting proud Gapel to furrender, that his 
 eyes mall be (truck with the fudden' appearance 
 of a courageous and well appointed army. Their 
 M 3 dazzling 
 
3^8 THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, 
 
 dazzling array will perhaps jmprefs liirrv with 3 
 little dread, notwithstanding his obftinacy. 
 
 Surry. Bur, Sir — ^ 
 
 .Fairfax, (with a ion; of authority.) Gq-, do 
 not delay a moment. 
 
 S C E N E VI. 
 
 Fairfax, Edmond, Arthur, [who fahtes Fairfax 
 fpe£\ fully as he enters.) 
 
 /•• 
 
 Fairfax, (taking him by the hand.) I am re- 
 joiced to fee you, my dear Arthur. I know your 
 'friendfhip for my Ton, and that circumftance in- 
 terests me in every thing that concerns you. I 
 will give you a proof of it to-day, by bringing 
 you to your father. 
 
 Arthur. How, Sir ? will you fend me into 
 Colehefter to tight by his fide ? 
 
 Fairfax, I am not furprized at this martial 
 ardor in the fori of the gallant Capel ; but in thg 
 prefcnt flate of things, it could only lead you tq 
 misfortune. 
 
 Arthur. Do you call it a misfortune to dis 
 with my father, fighting for my fovereign ? 
 
 Fairfax. Then you love your father mora 
 than life itfelf ? - 
 
 Arthur. Your own fon, Sir Thomas, will an^ 
 Aver that queftion for me. 
 
 Fairfax. Well then, without parting with 
 life, you may preferve it to your father, or mon? 
 properly reftore it to him. 
 
 ///.'.?-. Ah ! tell me what can I do (or him? 
 
 Fairfax* 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 139. 
 
 Fairfax. It is impoffible that the town can 
 hold out long ;. we muft certainly take it in a few 
 days, and inftead of the laurels which now crown. 
 Lord Capel's head, he can expeft nothing but 
 the executioner's axe. 
 
 Arthur, I conceive your" generous defign • 
 you -.would' have the enemies of my father take 
 his fon's head, inftead of his own. To die for 
 my father, and for my king at the fame time ? 
 Glorious deitiny ! {throwing himfelf at his feet.) 
 How (hall I thank you for having thought mc 
 worthy of it \ 
 
 Edmonds [aftde.) Generous delufion ! how- 
 will it mortify him to be undeceived! 
 
 Fairfax^ (raifing and embracing Arthur.) My 
 young friend, you force me to eiteem you as 
 highly as I do the gallant nobleman to whom. 
 you owe your birth. But do you think me cru- 
 el enough to demand fuch a facrifke? 
 
 Arthur, What do you require of me, then ? 
 
 Fairfax. An effort lefs fatal to both In a 
 few minutes you will fee your father here ; join 
 your perfuafions to mine, and let us prevail on 
 him to furrender a place which all the bravery in 
 the world cannot defend much longer. 
 
 drtbur, What I, Sir ? 
 
 Fairfax, Reprefent to him the dreadful dan- 
 ger of being profcribed by the parliament ; the 
 difgrace of perifhin'j; by the executioner ; the 
 grief of his diftracred widow ; the poignant af- 
 fliction of his fon ; the.connTcation of your efr 
 tates. Defcribe to him the ir/etrievable calami- 
 ties into which his cruel obftinac.y.muft plunge 
 you all, 
 
 Arthur, 
 
340 Ttifi SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 Arthur. Sir Thomas, you were kind enough 
 to exprefs juft now fome efteem for me -, was 
 that expreffion of efteem fincere r 
 
 Fairfax. Do you doubt it? 
 Arthur. Give me leave then to deferve it, 
 and to look upon your propofal, as intended 
 merely to put my virtue to the proof. 
 
 Fairfax. You will prove your virtue fuffici- 
 enlly, by matching your father from the horrors 
 of a cruel death. When he fees you at his feet y 
 trembling for the deftiny that threatens him, can 
 he refill: your fupplicating love ? 
 
 Arthur. If 1 was capable of that unbecoming 
 weaknefs, my father is too wife to be fwayed by 
 the tears of fueh a child as me. 
 
 Fairfax, If he is wife,- he will be fenfible that 
 ihey are {lied for his prefervation. 
 
 Arthur. Put yourfelf in his place, Sir Tho- 
 mas : If you were trulted with the defence of a 
 town, would you give it up, on the folicitation of 
 your fon ? 
 
 Fairfax ■, (embar raffed.) Afk my Edmond what 
 powef his folicitations have over me. Ungrate- 
 ful I It is his attachment to you that makes me 
 alfo tremblingly anxious for every thing which 
 concerns his friend. Your father, too, knows 
 what nature is ; he will not be deuf to her calL 
 
 Arthur. He is deaf to every call, but that of 
 his duty, which will teach him what he mould 
 do, much better than 1 cap. 
 
 Fairfax-. Remember that you hold his life in 
 your hands. 
 
 Arthur. You will pardon me, Sir; it' is nei- 
 ther in my hands, nor in your's. 
 
 Fairfax* 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. i& 
 
 Fairfax. Then you will deftroy him ? 
 
 Arthur. Even if it were in my power to fave 
 him, my blood mould be the facrifice, not my 
 honor. 
 
 Fairfax. I know that blood well, by its in- 
 vincible pride, Hear me, Arthur ; I allow you 
 but a moment to form your refolution. I ihall 
 return prefently, to afk you for the laft time, if 
 you would rather fee your father upon a fcaffold, 
 than in the road to fortune. Edmond, remain 
 you with him, and try if your affection can have 
 more influence over him, than my pity. 
 
 Arthur. Your pity, Sir ? Really it is very ge*. 
 nerous. I did not folicit it. (Fairfax gives him 
 an angry look, and g?e$ out } without anfvsring him,) 
 
 SCENE VII.. 
 
 Edmond, Arthur. 
 {They look ai each other for fome time, without fpeak* 
 
 Arthur. Well, Edmond ; what is your in- 
 tention ? To ferve your father, .will you perfuads 
 me to betray mine ? 
 
 Elmond. We know each other pretty well, 
 No ; you as little fuppofe me capable of fuch an 
 intention, as I you of fufpecxing me to entertain 
 it. 
 
 Arthur. Be^ for a moment, equally Indifferent 
 :o friend (hip and nature, Jf you were, Arthur^ 
 what would you do ? 
 
 Edmond. I would ennoble the name, as you 
 do, by exerting the fame firmnefs and conftancy*, 
 
H2 THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, 
 
 I mould not be the firft to perfuade my father to 
 a bafe action. 
 
 Arthur, {i thefe were not your fentiments, E 
 flrould hold you unworthy of my fritndfhip. — 
 Alas ! I know not whether you will any longer 
 dteem it. 
 
 Edmond. Whence comes this injurious fur- 
 mife, Arthur ? How have I deferved it ? 
 
 Arthur. Pardon me, Edmond ; I am not a- 
 fraid of you. But who knows if your father — 
 
 Edmond. Ah ! fufFer me to believe that he 
 values your merit as I do ; fuftcr me to efteem 
 the author of my being. 
 
 Arthur. [{ he ihould forbid you to love me ? 
 
 Edmond. Do you think, then, that 1 could o- 
 bey him ? Have I not always regarded you as a 
 brother? And can thefe ties of amity be bro- 
 ken, when every circumfiance of our lives on 
 the contrary tends to ftrengthen them ? My fa- 
 ther, with all the authority which that name 
 gives, could not difTolve them. 
 
 Arthur. There was a time when I alfo was 
 beloved by him. Ke took pleafure in feeing us 
 grow up together, ' companions in play and a- 
 mufements. How often has he made us prfl- 
 rniie to live in ftri'cl: unity, as he was with his 
 dear Capel ! Yet you fee with what fury he now 
 purfues him.' Not fetisfied with his ruin alone, 
 lie would cover him with eternal infamy. 
 
 Edmond. If he mould fo far forget himfelf, 
 Heaven pardon me the thought, I mould forget, 
 I fear, that I am his fort. 
 
 Arthur. Mutt a name, fo dear, be the caufe to 
 *is of fo much forrow and affliction ! Why can- 
 not 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, gjg 
 
 not I think, without terror, of him who gave me 
 life? Alas ! I know it too well j the town can- 
 not hold out much longer, and the gallant Ca- 
 pel is too proud to furrender. If he does not 
 die, overpowered by his enemies, if he falls into 
 their hands alive, what will be his lot ? The 
 more courage and magnanimity he mall have 
 fhewn during the fiege, the more will their re- 
 venge endeavor to diihonor him, and one of the 
 worthieft men of this country will fuffer as , a 
 criminal. His enemies are too implacable to 
 forgive him ; and that head which their weapons 
 could not reach, tbey will lay under the vile axe 
 of an executioner. 
 
 Edmond, (vehemently.) No ; he (hall not pe- 
 rifti. There is one who .will deliver him. 
 
 Arthur. Who is he ? 
 
 Edmond. I. 
 
 Arthur. You, my dear Edmond ? Alas I 
 whither does friendship lead you aftray ? Its 
 wiihes are unavailing. 
 
 Edmond, It is more. powerful than you ima- 
 gine. But time prefles, we can deliberate no 
 longer. Do you promiie to perform whatever I 
 enjoin you ? 
 
 Arthur. All that honor will permit me- 
 
 Edmond. Will your honor, do you think, 
 difallow any thing that I (hall propofe ? 
 
 Arthur. Well, you have only to fpeak, and I 
 obey. 
 
 Edmond. Come then, follow me ; our two 
 horfes are ftill belide the tent. Let us fly to 
 France : 1 put myfelf, into your hands, to be as 
 
 a 
 
144- THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTEHi 
 
 a hoftage to Capel, againft the attempts of Fair- 
 tax. 
 
 Arthur. What, take you -from your father ? 
 
 Edmond. He has not fcrupled to do ib by 
 you. 
 
 Arthur. 'Then I mall never be guilty of an 
 action that I- blame in another. 
 
 Edmond. But this would hinder him from 
 committing it. In the name of our friendihip, 
 I conjure you, my dear Arthur, for my father s 
 hkt, for my own, fave me from endlei's remorfe ; 
 fave me fiom the anguifh of feeing him ms.de 
 unhappy, by it. 
 
 Arthur. Do you wifh me, then, to bear it ? 
 
 Edmond. You will have nothing to reproaeh 
 yourfelf with. My father himfelf, after his firft 
 tranfport of paflion is over, will blefs you from 
 his heart, for having faved his honor. 
 
 Arthur. What wouldil thou have me do? 
 Never, Edmond, never. 
 
 Edmond, (Jeizing his hand.) Come, I'll hear 
 you no more ; you fhall go along with me. Let 
 us fet off this moment. {Fairfax appears^ r fbl- 
 hwed b\ fame footers* ) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Fairfax, Arthur, Edmond, Sildiers. 
 
 Fairfax. Hoa, guards ! feize them both. 
 Arthav. Heavens ! my dear Edmond ! 
 Fairfax, {to Edmond.) Ungrateful ion ! is it 
 thus that ycu perform my orders ? 
 Edmond, Did I promife it I 
 
 Arthur. 
 
TEE SIEGE GF COLCHESTER. 145 
 
 Arthur, (falling at his feet.) Ah! Sir Tho- 
 mas ! if honor is dear to you, reproach him not 
 for difobeying you, or only punifh him in trie. 
 It was iri compliment to his friendship for me, 
 that he would have withdrawn himfeif from your 
 power. 
 
 Edmorul. No, father ; believe him not; his 
 generofity would deceive you : the dengn was 
 mine, though he takes the blame to himfeif. I 
 had not even, I confefs, perfuaded him to aiTent 
 to it. You have no discretion over him, where- 
 as I belong to you. My liberty, my life is your's ; 
 I yield them up to your reientment. If it falls 
 on me alone, you fnall never hear me murmur. 
 
 Fairfax. Be filent ; I know whom I am to 
 punifh. Let them be guarded here in my tent, 
 apart from each other. 
 
 Arthur. Ah ! fuffer me at leaf! to (hare my 
 friend's confinement. 
 
 Edmond, {to the guards.) No; you /hall ne- 
 ver tear him from my arms. 
 
 Fairfax, [to the guards.) Obey your orders. 
 
 {The guards fepar ate them-, and lead them off, in 
 fpitc of their refill l ance.) 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 Fairfax*, {after a long filence^ during which he 
 appears greatly agitated.) Shall I then fee my de- 
 figns baffled through my own child ? His info- 
 lent reiiftance only confirms me in my refolution. 
 Capel, you (hall find one as obftinate as yourfelf. 
 I will prepare you a fight that (hall make your 
 N ftubbornnefs 
 
j 4 6 THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 ftubbornnefs bend bfore my face. As, through 
 your ion, hdmond has dared to defpife my pow- 
 er, fo Arthur (hall avenge me onyqurfejf. 
 
 S C E N E X. 
 
 Fairfax^ Surry. 
 
 Surry. Sir, I have obeyed your orders ; yet, 
 if I were permitted to represent to you 
 
 Fairfax. It would be out of feafon ; I do 
 not defire it. 
 
 Surry. A .friend of Lord Capel is without, 
 and would fpeak with you. 
 
 Fairfax . Let him cume .in.. (Surry goes out, 
 and returns with King/ion.) 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 Fairfax y Surry y King (ion. 
 
 Kingfton. <jeneral, the Governor of Colchef- 
 ter requefts to know, by me, if he can have the 
 honor of a conference. 
 
 Fairfax. I (hall always be ready to receive 
 him. I haften to give fame orders, that our con- 
 vention may not be interrupted. Surry, I 
 charge you to receive Lord Capel with the .tirft 
 honors of my tent ; as foon as his lorcifhip ar- 
 rives, let me be informed of it. I (hall be with 
 Colonel Morgan. {Fairfax and King/ion go 
 out.) 
 
 SCENE 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 147 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 Surry, [alone,) 
 
 What defign is he meditating? His looks are 
 clouded with an angry gloom. Even his Ion's 
 tears could not (often him. Does he intend to 
 facririce young Arthur to his revenge ? I fhudder 
 at the thought. Fairfax is generous, but the 
 enthufiafm that univertally predominates over 
 men's reason, in thefe times of trouble and dif- 
 traclion, has already produced fo many attrocious 
 adfcs hovever, he (hall not make me the partner 
 of any fuch ; nor if he wifhes to engage me in a' 
 bafe action, will I difguite to him my opinion of 
 its infamy. Yes, i will fave him, in fpite of 
 himfelf, from everything that can tarnifh his 
 glory. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 Cape}, King/Ion^ Surry. 
 
 King/ion. This is his tent, my Lord. 
 
 Surry, (approaching Capel re fp eel fully.) Brave 
 defender of Colchefter! allow me to pay my 
 humbleft tribute of refpect to fo heroic a charac- 
 ter — 
 
 Capel. I thank you, Sir, but rather wim to 
 decline all marks of honor ; it is not for me to 
 receive them, while my Sovereign is in chains. 
 Where is General Fairfax ? 
 
 N 2 Surry. 
 
i 4 8 THE SEKxE OF COLCHESTER, 
 
 Surry. I haften to inform him of the arrival 
 of his noble enemy. 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 Cape i \ King ft on. 
 
 King/fan, I think it my duty to obferve tc5 
 your Jordihip, that every thing here appears 
 ftrangely fufpicious to me. 
 
 Cppely {calmly.) As how, my friend? Do not 
 imagine vain terrors. 
 
 Kington. Thofe terrors will not appear fo 
 vain, if you reflect but a moment. Fairfax knew 
 from me the moment of your arrival. Why 
 not flop and receive you himielf ? Why go out 
 immediately, under pretence of giving orders ? 
 And, in fhort, why v/as all his camp under arms 
 as you patted ? 
 
 Capel. What do you think to infer from thefa 
 circum (lances ? 
 
 King/Ion, May they net indicate fame fecret 
 treachery ? 
 
 Capel, Kingfton, I fear nothing. The laws 
 of war are fa c red m all nations. Hie moll am- 
 bitious conqueror, the fterneft man of blood, re- 
 fpec^s them in dealing with others, that others 
 may treat him with reciprocal attention, 
 
 Kingfton. He who take* up arms agajnft his 
 king, may well violate his word to fubjecis. 
 
 Capel, He would not chufe me for the objecV 
 pf his perfidy. 
 
 fiing/lon, But, my lord 
 
 Capet 
 
THE SEIGE OF COLCHESTER. 149 
 
 Capel. No, I know Fairfax : I have too high 
 an opinion of his character, to fuppofe him ca- 
 pable of a bafe action. Republican enthufiafm 
 may have perverted his understanding, without 
 demeaning his fentiments : though party-differ- 
 ences now keep us difunited, we were formerly 
 intimate friends. I know, he w ould (till pride 
 himfelf in my efteem, and it is not before my 
 eyes that he will deviate from the ways of ho- 
 nor. 
 
 King/Ion. I hope, my Lord, it may be fo ; 
 but here he comes. {Capel advance): toward: Fair- 
 fax, with ajleady countenance.) 
 
 SCENE XV. 
 Fairfax, Capel, Kingfton, Surry. 
 
 Capel. I cannot give you a greater mark of 
 my confidence, Sir Thomas, than by coming in- 
 to your tent with only a fingle friend. 
 
 Fairfax. Since you think him worthy of this 
 title, he may be prefent at our interview. 
 
 Capel. Were he an enemy, I would not (hrink 
 from his teftimony. Sir, I am prepared to hear 
 you. 
 
 Fairfax. I have to offer your lordfhip, from 
 the parliament, every advantage that confifts with 
 the very high eftimation which they bear for 
 your virtues. 
 
 Capel. If they merit any reward, it is from 
 mine and the parliament's fovereign that I muff, 
 receive it, 
 
 N 3 Fairfax, 
 
to THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, 
 
 Fairfax. What can a prince, without domi- 
 yfions, do for you ? 
 
 Capel. I mould, perhaps, be lefs zealous in 
 ftipport of his interefts, if mine depended on. 
 *hem ; but I am prouder to ferve him, as long as 
 ply loyalty expects no recompenfe. 
 [ 'Fairfax. This is the fentiment of a great 
 foul: but you fee, a revolution in the govern- 
 ment is inevitable. Is it in your power to pre- 
 vent it ? What do you intend to oppofe againft 
 si victorious party ? 
 
 Cupel. My i£uty, which commands me to be 
 faithful to an unfortunate prince. 
 
 Fairfax. You have already done whatever 
 can be -ex peeled from a man of honor. 
 
 Cupel. No, not yet, while it is frill in my 
 power to ferve him.. 
 
 Fairfax. And how do you expect to do it ? 
 the walls of your town are but fo many heaps of 
 ruins : your men are reduced to the laft extremi- 
 ty, for provifions. 
 
 Capel. They have ammunition (till, and cou- 
 rage to make ufe of it, 
 
 Fairfax. They cannot fail in courage, while 
 under your command ; but, without force, of" 
 what fervice will it be to them? ColcheOer, 
 (hough defended by your arm, mult very foon 
 Surrender, 
 
 Cupel. Did^it tell you fo in laft night's at- 
 tack ? 
 
 Fairfax. If not to-day, it muff to-morrow : 
 
 but to-morrow the parliament will pro&ribe you, 
 
 as an enemy to the commonwealth ; whereas, 
 
 they offer you, through me, the title of 
 
 duke, 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, z 5 i 
 
 duke, and the government of a garrifon. [Cape! 
 turns away, and bides his face ivitb bis hands.) 
 
 Fairfax. Why do you turn away from me ? 
 
 CapeL Left you mould fee me blum both for 
 you and for my country. 
 
 Fairfax. Be calm, my Lord, and, confider 
 my offer, coolly. 
 
 CapeL Is it to be the only object of our eon* 
 ference ? 
 
 Fairfax. It is of importance enough to be io 5 
 fince your fafety depends on it, 
 
 Capel, (going.) Farewell, Sir Thomas. 
 
 Fairfax, (ajide ) Why muft I be obliged to 
 conftrain myfeFf ? (takes him by the hand.) Stop 
 a moment longer. Take my advice ; banifh 
 the blind prejudice of monarchical llavery. Will 
 you facrirlce to them the honors that are ready 
 to be heaped upon you and your family ? 
 
 CapeL O noble Englishmen ■! how are you 
 fallen from your ancient glory ! Your honors 
 are fold for the vile price of difloyalty, 
 
 Fairfax. It is your country that freely offers 
 you thcfe honors. 
 
 CapeL My country ! Supprefs that facred 
 name, if you can only blafpheme it. 
 
 Fairfax. Do you dare to appeal to your 
 country, you who krve under her opprertor ? 
 But your arm is henceforth too weak to throw 
 chains over victorious freedom. The throne 
 totters to its bafe ; another day, and it will be 
 levelled to the ground. 
 
 CapeL Then I will bury myfelf under its ru- 
 ins, 
 
 Fairfax* 
 
E$l THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 Fairfax, The parliament will drag you forth 
 Hive, and condemn you to an ignominious 
 death. 
 
 CapeL Should I avoid this, by accepting a 
 life of infamy ? 
 
 Fairfax, What elfe, then, will your life be, 
 when England, freed from a difgraceful yoke, 
 will pronounce your name with horror ; when 
 your wife, involved in your difhonor, will exe- 
 crate the hour that joined her to you ; when 
 \our fon, purfuing you to the very fcaffold, with' 
 cries of defpair, will reproach you for leaving him 
 Vo penth in indigence and contempt ? 
 
 Cape!. Audacioufnels beyond example! Is 
 it you, traiterous fubject, that" would terrify me, 
 by difgraces which are due only to your rebelli- 
 on ? No, no, 1 /hall have the good wifhes of all 
 honeft men : my wife and my children will blefs 
 my memory : heaven will be a protector to my 
 widow, and a father to my children. 
 
 Fairfax, 1 can bear no more, vile Have of 
 dtlpotifm. Since >ou are not moved by a regard 
 to your own life, tremble for one more dear to- 
 you. {he calls.) Morgan ! 
 
 S C E N E XVi; 
 
 {A curtain r'fes an I difc overs Arthur in chains, and 
 two joldiers befule him, holding each a dagger to 
 his hreajl. Behind themfands A'lorgan,) 
 
 CapiL Heavens ! What do I fee ? {Fails into 
 King/Ion's aims, 
 
 Fairfax . 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER, 25; 
 
 j'ufax. Do you know him ? 
 
 Capel, (raifing himfelf with indignation. ) My 
 fon in your power ! Ah, dafhrd, not by force 
 of arms. 
 
 Fairfax. Surrender, and T reftore him to you, 
 There is no other way left. Do you wifh to 
 fave his life ? 
 
 Capel. Yes, traitor, by your death, (laying his 
 hand haftily upon his /word.) 
 
 Morgan, if you ftir, my Lord, you and your 
 fan are ruined. 
 
 Arthur. Father, let nothing fcop your arm* 
 Avenge yourfelf. Your fon is not afraid to die, 
 
 Capel^ (Jbeathing his fword y zvhich he had half 
 drawn.) Barbarian ! I fay nothing of our for- 
 mer friendship ; it fubfifts no more, fince your 
 treafonous revolt ; I afk no favor from you j 
 but what has this innocent victim done ? 
 
 Fairfax. He has defied nle, but a few mi- 
 nutes ago, with as much haughtinefs as his fa^ 
 ther. 
 
 Capel. You mail hear him again defy your 
 threats, and your executioners. O, my beloved 
 Arthur, why am ! not permitted to embrace you 
 for fo well defer ving my affection ! 
 
 Kingflon, (to Fairfax.) How, Sir Thomas, 
 would you fully your renown for ever, by the 
 murder of a child ? 
 
 Fairfax. It is his cruel father who devotes 
 him to death, not I. He has only to blame his 
 favage obftinacy. Let him furrender to me a 
 town which he cannot defend, and I give him up 
 his fon ;j Qthecwife he muft die, to ftrike a terror 
 
 into 
 
>54 THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 into thofe cowardly (laves, who would turn their 
 backs on freedom, when (he rears her ftandard. 
 
 Cape/, (to Arthur^ with earnejlnefs.) My fon, v 
 let this, then, bt your mottc - y " God and your 
 prince." 
 
 Surry, (ofirfe*) I will not fuffer this deteftable 
 faenrice to be made, if it colts me my Jife. (goes- 
 oat.) 
 
 SCENE XVII. 
 Fairfax, Capcl, Arthur, Morgan, Kinglhn, foldierti 
 
 ( Capcl and Arthur look at each other affectionately^ 
 and with open arms.) . 
 
 Cupel. Arthur, my dear Arthur, what (hall I 
 fay to your difconfolate mother r 
 
 King/ton. Ah, rn'y Lord, will you fuffer hrm 
 then to be thus mafTacrcvI ! 
 
 Capel. What would you do, Kingfton ? Would 
 you fhake my refolution, when )ou Ihould 
 ftrengthen it? It is fufficienf to contend againft 
 nature. 
 
 Fairfax. You have but a few minutes, my 
 Lord Capeft 
 
 Capd. Then why prolong my anguifii ? Suf- 
 fer me to depart ; 1 would not expire before your 
 
 c)CS. 
 
 Morgan. Arthur, have you nothing to fay to 
 your father ? 
 
 Arthur, [with firmnefs.) Nothing. He knows 
 what pafies in my breafL 
 
 Morgan, 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 155 
 
 Morgan, {to thefoldiets.) Be .ready at the fig- 
 nal. 
 
 CapeL Farewell, my Ton. Once more, VGod 
 and your prince.' I only furvive you a little 
 while, to revenge your death, {turns to go,) 
 
 Fairfax, {aftde.) Inflexible virtue, which I 
 am forced to admire in fpite of myfelf ! (aloxd.) 
 gut what do I fee ? 
 
 :s S C E.N E XVIil. 
 
 Fairfax, Capel, Edmond, Arthur, Morgan^ingilon^ 
 Surry, foldiers. 
 
 Edmund^ (entering precipitately, and throwing his 
 arms round Arthur.) O Arthur, my friend, you 
 fjiall not die, without me. 
 
 Fairfax. What are you doing, my fon ? 
 
 Edmdnd. Call me no more by a name which 
 I deteft. Satiate your barbarity. You hays 
 another victim mote, 
 
 Fairfax. Infolent ! who has brought you 
 hither ? 
 
 Surry. It was I, Sir Thomas : I "forced his 
 place of confinement, and boaft of the action. 
 
 Edmond, {to Fairfax.) You alone are de(ii~ 
 tute of pity, {to the foldiers,) but I afk none from 
 y.pu : hafle to ftrike. Why do you tremble ? 
 
 Arthur, {endeavoring to dif engage himf elf from 
 Edmond.) Let me go, my dear friend, why 
 fhould you make death more painful to me ? 
 
 Edmond* 
 
. ?5 6 THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 Edmond. I mall not quit you : I will not fur- 
 vive my friend, when i have loft him who mould 
 be my father. 
 
 Cape/, (to Fairfax.) You would rob me of 
 my fon : I have my revenge, as you are renoun- 
 ced by your own. 
 
 Edmond. Let me hold you ftill clofe to my 
 heart, my dear Arthur. I will die by the fame 
 blow. 
 
 • Cape!. You fee, then, Fairfax, nothing re- 
 mains but that you ftrike the blow yourfelf. 
 
 Fairfax. Enough, Capel, I am conquered : 
 Edmond, take off your friend's chains, and re- 
 store him to his father. My hands are not wor- 
 thy to touch that young hero. [Morgan and the 
 two foidiers retire.) 
 
 Arthur. Deareft Edmond, to you, then, I 
 owe my life ! 
 
 Edmond. O my friend ! {He takes off his 
 chains, and leads him to Cape!^ who embraces them 
 both.) 
 
 Arthur. My dear father 1 
 
 Edmond. My noble friend ! 
 
 Cape!, (looking zvith fondrufs at each of them al- 
 ternately.) Give me, both of you, the fame 
 name, my dear children : you are now both e- 
 qually dear to m«. 
 
 Edmond, (feeing his father in tears, quits Lord 
 Cape! 's arms, and throws hinfelf at the feet of Fair- 
 fax.) I now find my father again. Ah, do not 
 rob me of thole tears : be witnefs, Lord Capel, 
 Arthur, Surry, my father weeps. 
 
 Fairfax, (raifiucr him.) My deareft Edmond, 
 I will never forget that you have fayed me from 
 
 a 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. i 5; 
 
 a difgraceful action, {prefenting him to Arthur. ) 
 Continue to love each other, and may your vir- 
 tuous friendship be defUned to fiourifh in happi- 
 er times than your fathers have feen. {To Ca- 
 peL) My Lord, you are free to return into the 
 town : my admiration accompanies you. Would 
 to heaven^ that I were alio worthy of your ef- 
 teem. 
 
 Arthur^ (To Cape/, taking his hand.) O father, 
 let us never part again. 1 will go and light by 
 your fide. 
 
 Capel, You have done enough for your caufe ; 
 your name .alone will be the .firmeft fupport of 
 Colchcfter. What foldier, who fliall hear of 
 jour courage aud refolution, will ever be fo bafe 
 ,as to fpeak of furrendering ! 
 
 Arthur. Let my anions give proof of that 
 courage, I rnufr. go with you. 
 
 Capel, No, my boy. Alas ! that cannot be : 
 Farewell ; it is, perhaps, the lail time that I (hall 
 -ever embrace you. My duty is to go and face 
 -death, for my country ; your's is to live, that you 
 may one day ferve it better, in the full maturity 
 •of life, than you can at prefent. {To Fairfax,) 
 After what has paffed, Fairfax, I have nothing to 
 fear on your part, therefore I leave my fon to 
 your care, fatisiied as I am that you will fend him 
 back to his mother, and, in the mean time, 1 hafte 
 to wait your coming on the breach. 
 Q 
 
 SEQUEL. 
 
158 THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 S E CL U E L. 
 
 Cromwell, who was fent by General Fairfax 
 to pppofe the Duke of Hamilton and Sir Mar- 
 maduke Langdale, having defeated thofe two ge- 
 nerals fuccemvely, and taken the duke prilbner, 
 and the Earl of Holland having alfo been defeat- 
 ed, and made prifoner, by another detachment of 
 the parliament-army ; the inhabitants of Col- 
 cheiter, who only held out, in hopes of being re- 
 lieved, faw themfelves, at length, reduced to the 
 necemty of capitulating : they deputed perfons 
 to Fairfax, to treat of the furrender of the town 
 upon honorable terms ; but he, provoked at the 
 obftinacy of their defence, offered them no other 
 than to iurrender at difcretion. Upon receiving 
 this anfvver, the befieged fpent two days more in 
 confultation : the firft refolution taken by the of- 
 ficers, was, to force their way through the ene- 
 s camp, fword in hand ; but the few horfes, 
 which their hunger had fpared, were found too 
 weak for this attempt : on the other hand, the 
 foldiers, exhaufted with fatigue, were unable to 
 fuftain another affault ; (o that they were obliged, 
 at length, to open the gates to Fairfax, and $o 
 fubmit to the conditions that he fhould think 
 proper to impofe on them. 
 
 He fuffered the foldiers to depart, but without 
 arms or baggage ; but the officers he ordered to 
 be.confinedin the town-hall, and a lift of their 
 name,s to be fent to him. Ireton, whom Crom- 
 well, 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 159 
 
 well, in his abfence, had left as a fpy upon the 
 unfufpecling general, chofe out of this lift fuch 
 as were more particularly his enemies, in order 
 that they might be put to death. Sir Charles 
 Lucas, therefore, Sir G. Lifle, and Sir Barnard 
 Gafcoyne, were brought before the council of 
 war, where Fairfax declared to them, that for a, 
 punifhment of their obftinate refiftance, and a 
 warning example to all others who mould be in- 
 clined to imitate it, they were fentenced to die 3 
 that very day, at the foot of the caftle- walls. 
 
 When this fentence was communicated to the 
 other prifoners, Lord Capel prevailed upon an 
 officer of the guard which was over them, to de- 
 liver to the council of war a letter figned by the 
 principal officers, intreatmg them to revoke their 
 cruel fentence, or elfe to extend it to all the pri- 
 foners, who blufhed to fee themfelves excepted 
 from it. This generous requeft had no other ef-' 
 feci:, than to haften the execution of their unfor- 
 tunate companions. 
 
 Sir Charles Lucas, who was the firft officer 
 mot, gave the fignal to his murderers to fire, with 
 as much coolnefs as he would have delivered the 
 word of command to his own men. Lille, fee- 
 ing him fall, ran to him, and embraced his dead 
 body, and then rifing, looked with a ftern air 
 upon the foldiers by whom he was to be fhot 5 
 and ordered them to come nearer. One of them 
 anfwered him, that they were near enough, and 
 that they mould not mifs him. My friends, re- 
 plied he, frniling, I have been nearer to you, and 
 yet you have miffed me. 
 
 O2 ?'r 
 
160 THE SEiGE OF COLCHESTER, 
 
 Sir B. Gafcoyne, or Guafconi, a Florentine 
 gentleman, was fpared by the council of war, 
 under the apprehenfion left the Grand Duke of 
 Tufcany, informed of fuch a violation of the 
 laws of war, mould retort upon the Englifh who 
 might be found in his dominions. 
 
 After the execution of Lille and Lucas, Ge- 
 neral Fairfax, accompanied by G. Ireton, went 
 to the town-hall to fee the prifoners. In ad- 
 dreffing himfelf to the Earl of Norwich and 
 Lord Capel, he endeavored, with a foothing ci- 
 vility, to excufe the rigour which military jultice 
 had exacted from him. But Lord Capel, who 
 looked upon Ireton as the fole inftigator of this 
 barbarity,loaded him with the bittereft reproaches, 
 which, however, the latter very foon found an 
 opportunity of revenging. 
 
 The parliament having ordered the Lords. 
 Norwich and Capel to be confined in Windfor 
 Caftle, they found the Duke of Hamilton there 
 before them, with whom they had the melancho- 
 ly fatisfaclion of deploring their misfortunes in 
 common. They were foon, however, removed" 
 to the Tower, there to await the deftiny which, 
 parliament mould think proper to allot to them. 
 
 About a month after King Charles I. was be- 
 headed, another high court of juftice was formed 
 for the trial of thefc three noblemen, as alfo of 
 the Earl of Holland and Sir John Owen, who 
 had taken an active part in Wales, in favor of 
 the king, and killed, with his own hand, a merifF 
 of the oppollte party. 
 
 Lord Capel appeared with the greateft firmnefs 
 snd dignity in the prefence of his judges, and re- 
 
 fufed 
 
THE 8EIGE OF COLCHESTER. 161 
 
 fufed to acknowledge their authority ; alledging, 
 that as a foldier and a prifoner of war, he was, 
 not amenable to 'the civil law. Upon which 
 Bradfhaw, who was prefident of the court, an- 
 fwered him with unfeeling infolence, by alluding 
 to their form of proceeding againft the king, 
 c< that they had tried a much better man than 
 his lordthip." After fome debates, in which 
 Ireton broke out with all the violence and fury 
 of his natural difpofition, fentence was palled 
 upon Lord Capel and the other prifoners. ^They 
 were all condemned to lofe their heads ; upon 
 which it is faid, that Sir John Owen made the 
 judges a low bow, and thanked them for the 
 high honor which they conferred on him, in or- 
 dering him, who was but a poor Welch gentle- 
 man, to lofe his head in company with noblemen 
 of fo considerable rank ; adding, that his greateft 
 fear had been, left the common hangman mould 
 have terminated his deftiny. The prifoners 
 were allowed but three days to fet their affairs in 
 order, and to prepare for death. 
 
 Lady Capel employed this lhort fpace in draw- 
 ing up a petition to be laid before parliament ; 
 when read, it was very ftrongly fupported by fe- 
 veral members, who fpoke in the higher! terms 
 of Lord Capei's many and eminent virtues. E- 
 ven Cromwell praifed his lordihip fo highly, and 
 profefTed fo much refpect and friendfhip for him, 
 that every one expected him to be inclined in his 
 favor, -when he added, in a hypocritical earning 
 tone, that his zeal for the public caufe got the 
 better of all his private affections ; that he knew 
 Lord Capel to be the laft man in England who 
 O 3 would 
 
i6a THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 
 
 would abandon the royal party ; that his inflex- 
 ibility of principle, his experience and valor, the 
 number and attachment of his friends, made him 
 the mo ft formidable enemy that parliament had ; 
 that as long as he lived, let him be reduced to 
 whatfoever condition he might, they would find 
 him always a thorn in their fides ; and he con- 
 cluded with protefting, that his conscience, and 
 the interefts of the commonwealth, impofed it 
 on him as a duty to give his vote againft the pe- 
 tition. 
 
 The implacable Ireton vented his hatred and 
 animofity with lefs difguife : he vehemently main- 
 tained, in the houfe of commons, the fentence 
 which he had procured to be pafled in the high 
 court of juftice. Though there was not a fingle- 
 perfon who knew Lord Caper's character, but 
 entertained the higheft efteem and veneration for 
 him, and very few who had any fubjeft of per- 
 fonal quarrel againft him, yet Cromwell and Ire- 
 ton thus appearing his declared enemies, thejuf- 
 tice due to his virtues, and the companion which- 
 his misfortunes ini'pired, were put to filence by 
 the terror of thofe two names, and his fate was 
 given up to their revenge. 
 
 Of the number condemned, the Earl of Nor- 
 wich and Sir John Owen received a pardon. 
 The former having prefented a petition to par- 
 liament, the houfe divided upon it, and the num- 
 bers on both fides were found to be equal > the 
 . therefore, whofe vote was to determine 
 : s defliny, having formerly been under o- 
 >ns to him, was induced, from a motive of 
 ide, to fave his life. 
 
THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 163 
 
 Sir John Owen was fa indifferent about his, 
 that he had not fo much as thought of petition- , 
 Jug* Ireton whimfically made this very negli- 
 gence a plea in his favor, when he moved the 
 houfe to fpare his life, He thought, perhaps, by 
 this exception, to offer a frefh infult to the three 
 noblemen, and to make their death more grat- 
 ing, by fhewing them a private perfon faved 
 from the rigour of his fentence, without ever pe- 
 titioning, while their applications were fo con- 
 temptuoufly rejected. 
 
 A fcaffold was therefore erected under the 
 windows of the. parliament houfe. After the 
 Duke of Hamilton and the Earl of Holland had 
 fuffered, Lord Capel was called : he walked 
 down Weftminfler HaN with a ferene counte- 
 nance and a firm ftep, faluting his acquaintances 
 with dignity. Dr. Morley, his friend, who had 
 .not quitted him, from the moment of his con- 
 demnation, was felicitous to accompany him 
 now, that he might receive his Iaft commands : 
 but he was Mopped by the foldiers, at the foot of 
 the fcaffold. ' My lord took leave of him, em- 
 braced him affectionately, thanked him for all 
 his attentions, and would not fuffer him to go 
 any further, left he mould be expofed to the bru- 
 tality of the guards. Advancing then towards 
 the edge of the fcaffold, he looked round him 
 with a placid countenance, and afked whether 
 the other lords had fpoken to the people unco- 
 vered, and being anfwered in the affirmative, he 
 gave his hat to one of the attendants to hold ; 
 then, with a clear bold voice, he declared that he 
 came to iofe his life for an action which he could 
 
 never 
 
i6 4 THE L A W S U I T. 
 
 ncverrfpent of; that having been brought up 
 in principles of attachment to the conftirution of 
 his country, loyalty to his fovereign, and fidelity 
 to his religion, he had never violated any of thefe 
 principles ; that he was now condemned to die, 
 contrary to all the laws of the realm, and that, 
 neverthelefs, he fubmitted to this unjuft fentence. 
 He then enlarged, upon the praifes of that 
 king whom they had recently murdered, and be- 
 fought heaven not to avenge this crime on the 
 deluded nation. He concluded, with earneftly 
 exhorting them to acknowledge the lbn of 
 Charles as their rightful fovereign. Laftly, after 
 a fhort and fervent prayer, he ftretched his neck 
 to the fatal blow, which deprived England of the 
 moft virtuous citizen that the had left her. 
 
 THE L A W S U I T. 
 
 FARMER BLUNT, when he died, left two 
 Ions, the one named Roger, the other Hum- 
 phrey. His death put them in pofleffion of 
 farms fufficiently advantageous to afford them a 
 decent competency. V crj little was wanting to 
 their happinefs. Alas ! then, why could they 
 not live in that harmony and good underftand- 
 ftandinn which N"-' - ' (hould fubfifl be- 
 
 tween brothers, when the formed them or the 
 
 fame blood ? 
 
 Among 
 
THE LAWSUIT. 165 
 
 Among the poffeffions left by their father, was 
 3 very fine orchard, which he had cultivated in 
 his- life time with particular care. As it bore, 
 moft years, a prodigious quantity of apples, re- 
 markable for making the beft cyder, it appeared 
 to both the brothers a very defirable lot ; but, 
 unfortunately, in the partition of their father's 
 lands made by his will, the property of this was 
 left undetermined. 
 
 Each,, therefore, claimed the porTefiion of it, 
 and obftinately periifted in fupporting that claim. 
 They no longer fpoke to each other in amicable 
 terms ; on the contrary, their mutual obftinacy 
 degenerated on both fides into a confirmed ha- 
 tred. You are not an honeft man, faid Roger, 
 for claiming what is my property, and you do 
 not deferve to be matter of fo good a piece of 
 ground. Humphrey, in a rage, would anfwer, 
 it well becomes you to talk fo, lazy fellow as yoa 
 are : Have you not always made my father un- 
 happy, by your drunkennefs ? What would be- 
 come of thofe trees, in your idle hands ? In two 
 or three years the orchard would not be worth 
 fixpence. 
 
 The curate of the village being informed of 
 their quarrel, went to them, and expostulated 
 with thefti in the moft friendly manner. What 
 are you doing, my friends ? faid he ; wherefore 
 are you weary of living happily together ? Shall 
 this orchard be the means of difuniting you ? 
 Why not rather join your induftry to improve it, 
 m$ afterwards divide the produce ? 
 
i66 T H E L A V; 3 U I T. 
 
 I do not intend any fuch thing, faid one, I 
 will have it all to myfelf, We (hall fee that, re- 
 plied the other, I think /{hall have it. 
 
 Well, then, faid the clergyman, let the moft 
 reafonable of you refign his claim, upon receiv- 
 ing a fuitable confideration from the other. 
 
 With all mv heart, cried they, both at once, 
 let my brother give it up to me. I have moft 
 right to it, faid the eldeft. It belongs to my 
 farm, faid the youngeft. — Oh, 1 am refolved to 
 have it, now [ have once taken it in my head.—- 
 You may take it out again, if you will 3 I would 
 fooner give you my right hand. 
 
 Since you are both fo obftinate, faid the cu- 
 rate, and cannot agree together, will you leave 
 the cleci'fion of the matter to fortune, anddifpofe 
 of it by Jot ? No, I will rifle nothing, faid Hodge. 
 Nor I, neither, faid Numps. La ft of all, the 
 gentleman propofed to them to fell the orchard} 
 and divide the money j but this propofal alfo was 
 equally rejected on both fides, 
 
 I feei faid the worthy clergyman, nothing can 
 overcome your obftinacy : you will loon find the 
 miferable effects of mutual hatred in hearts, 
 which were intended by nature to be dear to 
 each other. 
 
 The brothers did not trouble themfcives about 
 this prophecy, but each of them vent to the 
 man of law whom he thought molt capable of 
 fetring off his claim to advantage. Thus began 
 a lawfuir, which feemed eafy enough to be deci- 
 ded, but was kept on foot, neverthelefs, for five 
 whole years; the counfel on both fides being 
 veterans in the buiinefs. If o^e party put in a 
 
 plea] 
 
THE LA W S U I T. 167 
 
 plea, the other intercepted it with a demurrer. It 
 was, every term, frefh writs, declarations^ and re~ 
 joinders. The orchard all this while, we may 
 fuppofe, was notfo well cultivated as in the time 
 of honeft Farmer Blunt : thofe fine apple-trees 
 were neglected, and did not produce near their 
 ufual quantity. Horfes and pigs were fuffered 
 to break, in and damage them ; Humphrey, who 
 had the orchard in his hands, being too much 
 taken up with his Iawfuit to attend to the culture 
 of it. 
 
 - They were both married to very amiable wo- 
 men, and had many children, in whom they 
 would have been perfectly happy, had their minds 
 been more at eafe. 
 
 Each of their wives would fometimes accoft 
 them thus : My dear hufband, why are you fo 
 uneafy ? We have every thing that our hearts 
 can wifh ; Have we not ? You are in very good 
 health, fo am I. Our little family goes on 
 charmingly; then we have an excellent farm ; 
 and, you know, it is your own fault if you do 
 not make money by it. Why will you not chufe 
 to be happy ? Each of them would mutter be- 
 tween his teeth, and anfwer, How can I be hap- 
 py, while I have fuch a good-for-nothing bro- 
 ther ? His injuftice and obftinacy are poifon to 
 my happinefs. 
 
 - When;, at their return from the field, they faw 
 their children running joyfully towards them, 
 they would cry out to them, before they came 
 near, What do you want with me \ Get away* 
 I am not in a humour, now, to mind your tricks 5 
 I am too angry : and if the poor children ftrove 
 
 to 
 
168 THE LAWS U I T« 
 
 to foften them, by their innocent fondnefs, they 
 would pufh them away hardily, and fometimes 
 give them very yiolent blows. 
 
 At table, nothing could pleafe them, becaufe 
 their hearts were rilled with gall ; and, in bed, it 
 was out of their power to fleep, becaufe they 
 were eternally thinking how to hurt each other. 
 
 Perhaps you may fuppofe that I have now told 
 the worft. Alas ! no. From ill-will they were 
 carried to flander and calumny : each ftrove how 
 to blacken thecharadler of his brother the mod. 
 If Numps happened to be in company with o- 
 ther farmers, he would ftrive to perfuade them 
 that Hodge was a very bad man, who labored to 
 ruin him rirft, and would then go to law with 
 every man in the pariih. And as Hodge, for his 
 part, was not backward in faying much the far.ie 
 of Humphrey, the end of it was, that people be- 
 lieved them both : fo that, in fhort, they were 
 fhunoed by every body, as dangerous perfors - 9 
 and there was not one of their neighbours who 
 did not wifh to fee the village fairly rid of them. 
 
 After five years of jarring and brawling at 
 law, judgment was given ; and he who gained 
 the caufe, faw himfelf obliged, very foon, to fell 
 not only the orchard, but the greater part of his 
 farms, to pay the expenfes of the fuit. 
 
 I leave you to guefs how the lofer came off., 
 In fact, the confufion of them both may more 
 eafily be imagined than defcribed. 
 
 Well, faid Numps, we. have both of us defer- 
 ved this. It was in our own power to have a- 
 voided it. We might Aill have had our farms 
 and our money. Inftead of all the trouble that 
 
THE LAWSUIT. tf$ 
 
 ^e have each caufed the other, we fhould have 
 -nude oae another, as well as our own families, 
 •happy, and have giined the friend(hip and efteem 
 of our neighbors. 
 
 See, fa id Modge, all this we have loft by cur 
 folly. Ah! if things were to begin again ! 
 
 Marry, faid Nu'ropjS, let us be wifer for the fu- 
 ture. Come, brother, here is my hand, I will 
 never be your enemy as long as I live. 
 
 Nor I your's, replied Hodge, taking his hand. 
 So faying, they both (lied tears, and the' bitter- 
 nefs of hitr.ed departed from their hearts. 
 
 They very foon found themfelves much eafier 
 in living opon friendly terms with each other; 
 but the ill effects of their former perverienefs 
 they were-deftined.to feel for a long time. They 
 faw their orchard, which had been the poileiTion 
 of their family for fome generations, turn to 
 good account in the hands of ftrangers, while the 
 little that remained to them of their own farms 
 took fome time'to recover from the ill-manage- 
 ment of five years. Befides, deiifion was fwift 
 to purfue them in the village, while confidence 
 and amity returned to them vvirh a flow pace. 
 The alacrity of their advocates, in receiving the 
 fee, had thinned their purfes, while fatigue, fret- 
 tingj and large draughts of unwholefome law, 
 impaired their health. Even their children did 
 not now falute them with the free unconfhained 
 affection which appears in the children of the 
 virtuous and the benevolent. And their wives — 
 Alas ! it was fome time before they could view 
 their hufbands with the tendernefs of former 
 \ears. 
 
 P LOST 
 
( *7° ) 
 
 LOST TIME RECOVERED. 
 
 LORENZO'S parents were fo much engaged 
 in the way of bufmefs, that they found it 
 impofiible to fuperintend his education them- 
 felves. They had heard of a remarkably good 
 fchool, where a number of young pcribns had 
 been bred, who were diftinguifhed for their im- 
 provement in learning, and for the principles of 
 honour which they had imbibed. Though it 
 was upwards of a hundred miles from his houfe, 
 yet Lorenzo's father fent him thither, recom- 
 mending him, in the ftrongeft terms, to the 
 matter This gentleman, who regarded each 
 of his pupils as his own Ion, fpared no pains to 
 correct his faults, to encourage him to ftudy, and 
 to implant fentiments of honour and gcnerofity 
 in his young bread. The perfons alio, whom 
 he had chofen to aflift him in thefe labours, ex- 
 erted their uimofr. to promote the fame laudable 
 purpofes. 
 
 Yet thefe endeavours, fo affectionately under- 
 taken in his favour, were not fo fuccefsful as 
 might naturally be hoped : Lorenzo was of areft- 
 Iefs, inconftant difpofition, and would forget the 
 fenfiblc advice which was given him, even at the 
 very moment that he received it. In the hours 
 slotted to ftudy, he Tuffered his thoughts to 
 wander in fuch a manner, as not to poffefs the 
 fmalleft attention for the leffons of his mafters. 
 
 All 
 
LOST TIME RECOVERED. 17* 
 
 All his occupations were facrificed to the moft 
 frivolous amufements ; and he (hewed the fame 
 negligence in the care of his perfon and his books. 
 His clothes were always in diforder ; and, not- 
 withflanding his agreeable face and figure, one 
 could not approach him, without feeling a certain 
 diftafte arife, on feeing fo much flovenlinefs. 
 
 It is" eafy to conceive how prejudicial this in- 
 attention was to his advancement in learning. 
 All his clafs-fellows left him far behind. There 
 •was not one, even to the fmalleft, who came to 
 the fchool long after him, who did not look upon 
 him with contempt, as they were, every day ? 
 ©utftripping him. Whenever any ftrangers of 
 condition vifited the houfe, he was always fent 
 out of the way, left his fhabbinefs and wild ap- 
 pearance mould difgrace his companions. He 
 never appeared in the public yearly examinations 
 that were held in the fchool : his ignorance would 
 have been confidered as a reproach to theefta- 
 blifhment. 
 
 All thefe humiliating circumftances made no 
 impreffion on him : ftill he continued in the fame 
 levity, the fame diffipation, the fame negligence. 
 His teachers beheld him with a fort of inward 
 regret ; and their zeal for his improvement grew, 
 every day, cooler and cooler. They would 
 often fay to each other, Poor Lorenzo ! how 
 unhappy he will makehimfelf! What will his 
 parents fay, when they fee him return home fo 
 full of ill habits, and fo deiicient in learning ? 
 
 Two whole years had thus flipped away, with- 
 out the leaf* profit to his education; when, at 
 P 2 the 
 
\fi LOST TIME RECOVERED, 
 
 the end of that time, he received a parcel, fealed 
 with black : he opened it, and read the following 
 letter : 
 
 My dear Son, 
 
 YOU have no longer a father. Heaven h?s 
 deprived us of our protector and our friend ; 
 there now remains but you upon earth, who 
 can afford comfort to my forrow, by (hewing 
 your actions and your fentiments to be worthy 
 of my affection ; but if you were to deceive my 
 expectations, if I muft renounce the pleafing 
 hopes of feeing the virtues of him, whom I have 
 loft, revive one day in your breaft, I mould have 
 nothing left, but to die in defpair, I fend you 
 your father's picture, and conjure you to carry 
 it always about you. Look at it often, and en- 
 deavour to become as worthy a man as he was. 
 I will let you continue at fchool the remaining 
 part of this year, that you may have fo much 
 more time to accomplish yourfeif, both in mind 
 and perfon, Canfider that you hold my deftiny 
 in your hands, and that you alone can now afford 
 a moment's happinefs to your 
 
 Affectionate Mother, 
 
 Lccnzo's giddinefs had not fuppreffed the 
 feelings of nature in him ; and this letter awaken- 
 ed them effectually, He bunt into tears, wrung 
 his hands, and, in a voice, broken with fobs, he 
 c^iesj Ah ! my father, my father \ have I then 
 !<*ft yen for ever ! Taking the portrait, he prefTes 
 ft to hi: 6 heart and his lips, and apoftrophizes it 
 
 with 
 
LOST TIME RECOVERED, 173 
 
 with thefe words : O dear author of my being, 
 you have expended fo much for my inflru&ion, 
 and 1 have not profited from it ! You were fo 
 worthy a man, and I — No, I do not deferve to 
 be called your fon. 
 
 He fpent the whole day in thefe bitter reflec- 
 tions. At night he went to bed, but in vain 
 he turned himfelf to and fro : fleep vHIted him 
 not. Hfe imagination reprefented before his 
 eyes, the form of his father, who, in an angry- 
 and terrible voice, thus rebuked him : unworthy 
 boy, I have facrifked my repofe and my life, to 
 make you happy, and you bring dishonour on my 
 name, by your mifcondudt. His thoughts would 
 then turn on his mother, and on the .diftrefs- 
 that he muit occasion to her, inftead of the con- 
 folation which fhe expected to receive from his 
 return. What will be her $iftrefs, laid he, when 
 I mall appear before her, and have none but the 
 rooft mortifying teitimonies of my inattention to 
 mew her, from my inftrudtors ! Jnftead of having 
 caufe to be proud of the education that (he has 
 given me, 1 mail force -her to blufh : fhe will 
 whh to love me, and I mall deferve but her 
 hatred. O my dear parent ! I (hall, perhaps, 
 be the caufe of her death. Oh, that I had pro- 
 fited better by the inftruclions that have been 
 lavifhed upon me ! Oh that I could recover the 
 precious time that I have loft ! 
 
 Thus did he torment himlelf the whole night, 
 and bathe his bed with his tears. As foon as it 
 was light, he rofe in hafte, intending to begin 
 an immediate and perfevering application to his 
 ftudies 3 but meeting the head matter, as he de- 
 P 3 fcended 
 
>74 LOST TIME RECOVERED, 
 
 feended to the fchool, he fell on his knees before 
 him, and, O Sir, faid he, you fee here the moil 
 unfortunate child upon earth. I have not at- 
 tended to your words. I have learned nothing of 
 what I fhould now know perfectly. Have com- 
 panion on me ; I would not wifh to make my 
 mother die of grief. 
 
 The matter was fenfibly touched with this ad- 
 drefs : he raifed Lorenzo, and embraced him, 
 My dear child, faid he, fmce you fee your fault, 
 you may ttill repair it. You perceive how dread- 
 fully mortifying it is to have caufe for felf- 
 reproach. Before you had a clear kn(e of your 
 folly, you were barely blameable ; but a con^ 
 ijnuance of it would be criminal in you now. 
 Two whole years you have entirely loll : you 
 .have but another for the fmifhing of your ftudics, 
 Judge how you muft exert yourfelf. However, 
 be not difcouraged : there is nothing that cannot 
 be accomplished with afliduity and nerfeverance* 
 Begin, this very moment : it mall not be the 
 fault of my zeal, if you are not very foon as weH 
 fatisfied with yourfelf as you now have reafon to 
 be otherwife. 
 
 Lorenzo could thank him no otherwife, than 
 by taking his hand, and preffing it to His lips. He 
 then ran immediately to his form, and began to 
 iiudy his leiT.m, and continued to do the fame 
 every day following. His matters, attonifhed 
 at inch perfevering diligence, fat immediately 
 about cultivating his natural parts, with more 
 i are and attention than they had ever ufed be-. 
 fore. His companions, who had conceived a 
 :.,(\p ; rJo:i of him, were foon obliged to 
 
 clva 
 
LOST TIME RECOVERED, 275 
 
 change it> for efteem. Encouraged by all thefe 
 fortunate circumftances, Lorenzo every day re* 
 doubled his ardour and vigilance. He was no 
 longer that giddy child who neglected every duty 5 
 to indulge himfelf in filly, trifling amufements. 
 Order and cleanlinefs fucceeded to his former 
 fbvenly manner ; and his teachers were new 
 obliged to force him away from his ftudies, in 
 order to make him enjoy fome relaxation. He 
 would, fometimes, indeed, find himfelf infenfibly 
 relapiing towards his old habits, but he needed 
 only to caft an eye upon his father's picture, to 
 ftrengthen him afreih in his laudable resolution. 
 
 The year which his mother had allowed him 
 for the rinifhing of his ftudies, was drawing near 
 a period : it feemed to glide away very rapidly, 
 as he filled up every moment of his time, and 
 therefore found it hardly fufficient for the fub- 
 jects of his application. 
 
 At length the hour of departure arrived. The 
 change wrought in his character, had attached 
 his companions to him fo affectionately, that the 
 thoughts of parting with him gave them extreme 
 concern. His -matters -were grieved to fee a 
 youth depart, who now began to do credit to 
 their instructions ; and he was grieved no lefs at 
 leaving his matters, whofe prudent advice had fo 
 well fupported him in his refolution : the head 
 matter, in particular, who began to felicitate him- 
 felf on Lorenzo's progrefs, as his own proper 
 work, was inconfolable ; and his concern ap- 
 peared very ttrongly exprefTed, in a letter which 
 he wrote $0 Lorenzo's mother, rendering her the 
 
 in oft 
 
ir6 LOST TIME RECOVERED. 
 
 moft advantageous account pofiible, of her fon's. 
 behaviour. 
 
 During the whole journey, Lorenzo's emo- 
 tions of hope, joy, and expectation, kept him 
 tremblingly alhe. His heart throbbed with the 
 idea of re-vifiting the fcenes of his infancy ; nor 
 did he now dread fo much to fhew himfelf be- 
 fore his mother, becaufe he was confcious, that 
 for a twelvemonth paft, he had neglected nothing 
 that could tend to his improvement. Yet he 
 could not help faying to himfelf, now and then, 
 Tool that I was ! Could I not have done the 
 fame thing three years ago ? I mould be, at this 
 day, much farther advanced in learning. How 
 many things," of which I am now ignorant, 
 might I not have learnetl in that interval J Alas, 
 1 might have fpared myfelf many ibrrowful and 
 ( mortifying reflections. 
 
 His mother had come a part of the way to 
 meet him. With what joy did (lie behold her 
 dear fon once more ! The head mailer's letters 
 had before informed her of his happy reforma- 
 tion : he now brought one from him, the con- 
 tents of which were mil more flattering. A 
 mother only wiihes for new reafons, to love her 
 fon with redoubled tondnefs. Thofe reafons (he 
 found in the idea that Lorenzo had reformed his 
 conduct, only out of affection for her ; and, with 
 a mother's eye, Ihe looked prefagingly forward 
 to the happineis of his future life. 
 
 Lorenzo did not disappoint thefe hopes. Af- 
 ter dedicating a few days to the vifits of his re- 
 lations and friends, he returned, with frefh ardor, 
 to a life of application. The habit of being al- 
 ways 
 
JASPER AND EMILIUS. 277 
 
 ways employed, gave ftrength to his yndefftand- 
 ing, fo that he foon acquired every information 
 necetfary, to qualify him for putting himfelf at 
 the head of his family affairs. The manage- 
 ment of them was too laborious for a tender wo- 
 man, already much depreiTed by her grief ; and 
 her fon's activity, diligence and fkill, foon 
 brought them into a flourifhing (rate. A wealthy 
 eftablifhment, which he formed foon after, and 
 the good order with which he conducted it, pla- 
 ced him in a fituation, fufficiently at eafe, to ena- 
 ble him to undertake, himfelf, the education of 
 his numerous children. He endeavored, above 
 all things, to make them thoroughly perceive the 
 ineftirnable value of time ; and to caution them, 
 by his own experience, againft ever expofing 
 themfelves to the unpleafant regret of having illy 
 employed it, 
 
 JASPER AND EMILIUS, 
 
 MR. MEAN WELL, who had been long 
 2bfent from his native country, on ac- 
 count of a confiderable employment that he held 
 in the End-Indies, was at length returned to his 
 family, in order to enjoy, in their peaceful foci- 
 ety, the ample fruits of his labors. He had but 
 one fon, about fourteen years of age, in whom 
 1 is fondefr hopes' were centered. It was in or^ 
 der to iecure to this fon the advantages of 3 
 
 inleadid 
 
178 JASPER AND EMILIUS. 
 
 fplendid fortune, that be had devoted his Hi 
 bufinefs of the moft laborious nature, far from 
 his country and his friends. His views, in this 
 refpe<5f, had been gratified beyond the extent of 
 his withes. He returned, loaded with wealth ; 
 but, alas! he very foon perceived how much 
 better the time which he had fpent in acquiring 
 it, would have been employed, in perfonal atten- 
 tion to his fon's improvement, and how much 
 more likely fuch an attention would have been,- 
 to eniure liim happinel's, than all his riches. 
 
 Mrs. JVltrinwell, who was as weak in under- 
 ftandmg as iri conftitution, had put young Jaf- 
 per under the care of a family-tutor, who, in or- 
 der to keep his employment, had only ftudied to 
 gratify the child's whims, and impofe on the 
 blind foLidntfs of a mother, who idolized her 
 fan. intoxicated with the flattery of all about 
 him, Jal'per had irifenfibly grown hardened in all 
 the ili-habits that he had been fuflered to con- 
 tradl from his infancy. His tutor, whofe igno- 
 rance, though tolerably profound, fcarce equalled 
 his meannefs, frequently gave him to underftand, 
 that with the treafures which he was one day to 
 poffefs, he had no occafion to impair his health 
 by a clofe application to f-udy ; and that For- 
 tune, by the care which (he had taken of him, 
 had too favorably dillinguiihed him from the reft 
 of mankind, to fubjeft him to the fame labours. 
 Thefe perfidious iniinuations accorded fo well 
 with the natural weaknefs and prefumption of 
 his pupil, that they effected the complete corrup- 
 tion of his heart and his underftandinj ; Jafper 
 Ytzs therefore become a confirmed liar, flothful, 
 
 infenfible 
 
JASRER AND EMILIU3. i 79 
 
 ; infenfible to the affections of his fellow-creatures, 
 and fo difguft.ingly conceited, as to look down 
 upon all who were his inferiors in fortune, as if 
 they were no better than beads of the field. Of 
 all the ftories with which the tutor amufed his 
 idlenefs, he liftened only to thofe that afforded 
 examples of pride and effrontery, initan :es of 
 
 .courage, g;reatnefs of fpul, and humanity, made 
 no impieiTion upon him ; nor were his eyes ever 
 moiltened with thofc delicious tears which the 
 recital, of a virtuous action draws from the eyes 
 of thofe who poffefs true generofity. 
 
 This odious character was not long concealed 
 from Mr. Meanwell's obfervation. What a fa- 
 tal difcovery tor an affectionate father, who, re- 
 turning from the farther!: parts of the earth, with 
 the hopes of one day finding, in his fon, the 
 comfort and glory of his old age, fay/ him al- 
 ready poffeffed of every quality that was unpro- 
 .mifing and difgraceful. His firft care was, to dif- 
 mifs the contemptible perfon, who had been 
 made his inftructor. Notwithstanding the bodi- 
 ly infirmities which already began to attack him, 
 he refolved to take upon himfelf alone, the charge 
 of remedying the faulty education of his fon. 
 He imagined, however, that he fhould fucceed 
 better in this undertaking, if he placed near him 
 a, child of a good difpofition, and nearly his own 
 age, whofe behaviour might infpire him with a 
 noble emulation. The choice of fuch a com- 
 panion, he thought, mould not be left to chance. 
 For feveral weeks he fought ineffectually for fuch 
 an one, but happening one day to be riding in 
 the country, and earneftly meditating upon his 
 
 project, 
 
iSu JASPER AND EMILIUS. 
 
 project, he perceived, at the entrance of a village, 
 a number of young boys at play : one of them 
 was potleiled of fo happy a phyfiognomy, that, 
 at the fir ft fight, Mr. Meanwell was captivated 
 with him. He approached him, afked him a few 
 queftions, in a mild tone of voice, and received 
 anfrvers i'o replete with candor and fimplicity, 
 that they effeit.ually confirm id in his mind the 
 good opinion which the youth's countenance 
 hid excited. He learned from him, that he was 
 the eldeft of fix children, that his father was the 
 apothecary of the village, and barely able to 
 maintain him and the reft of his family in the 
 inoft limited mediocrity. Thefe particulars hav- 
 ing given Mr. Meanwell fome hopes, he begged 
 the boy, whofe name was Emilius, to conduffc 
 him to his father. He found him to be a fenfi- 
 ble man, and one whofe abilities, in a more en- 
 larged fphere, might have procured him the high- 
 eft eftimation. But, moderate in his defires, he 
 preferred the tranquility of a retired country life, 
 to the noify buitle of the capital ; and contented 
 himfelf with the happinefs of doing good to his 
 poor neighbours, and of fulfilling the duty of a 
 parent, to his numerous children. His wife, who 
 was ftill young, had adopted his views, and pru- 
 dence feemed to divide, with happinefs, the go- 
 vernment of his family. Mr. Meanwell, after 
 having, for fome time, difcourfed with them con- 
 cerning their children, in order the better to un- 
 der/land the principles which they had followed 
 in their education, foon perceived them to be 
 fuch as correfponded with his own ideas. In the 
 fullncfs of his joy, he took the apothecary by the 
 
 hand, 
 
JASPER AND EMILIUS. iSr 
 
 hand, and imparted to him the defign that he 
 hid in view, with refpetSt to his (on, alluring .hi id, 
 that he would bring him up as his- own, and 
 that from that day forward he would take upon 
 him the care of his fortune, The well-known 
 Integrity of Mr. Meanwell, and the reputation of 
 his wealth and intereft, would have induced pa- 
 rents, who were lefs affectionate, or more ambi- 
 tious, to accept his offers, without hesitation » 
 but the parents of Emilius found a difficulty in 
 parting with a (on y who formed their principal 
 happinefs ; and the boy himfeif was no lefs a- 
 Verfe to the propofal, thati they were. However, 
 the more objections they railed to the fcheme, 
 the more Mr. Meanwell, acluate^i by frefh fe'nti- 
 merits of efteem, adhered to it. rrt fhert, he 
 redoubled his foiicitations fo powerfully, that he, 
 at lengthy (hook their resolution. The frequent 
 opportunities which would offer of feeing their 
 ion, and the hope that his advancement might* 
 one day, contribute to that of his brothers and 
 lifters, induced them, at length, to yield their 
 confent ; and Mr. Meanwell took his leave, filled 
 with the mod perfect and heartfelt fatisfa£Hon. 
 
 Three days were demanded by the parents of 
 Emilius, to prepare him for appearing in town ; 
 at the end or that time, Mr. Meanwell appeared 
 at their door. I will not attempt to delcribe to 
 you the grief occa Honed by the departure of a 
 child, fo dearly loved by his family. Emilius, 
 who had had the courage to retrain his tears in 
 the prefence of his mother, for fear of incrcaiing 
 her forrow, was no fooner feaced in the carriage, 
 than he let fall a Hood of tears. Mr. Meanwell 
 Q. did 
 
JASPER AND EMILIUS. 
 
 did not feek, at firft, to interrupt them, otherwise 
 than by filcnt careffes ; but when the firfl: gu{p 
 of Torre w was over, he took Emilius by trite 
 hand, and, killing; him, My bey, faid be, be no* 
 sfHidted ; you fee in me a fecond father, who will 
 cherim you with as much affection as the parent 
 whom nature has given you. Be honcfr, cour- 
 teous, and diligent, and nothing ihall ever be 
 wanting to your happinefs. 
 
 Emilius was fomething eafed by thefe rmrks 
 of tendernefs and affection. Then you (hall be 
 my other father, faid 'he, prefiing Mr. Mean- 
 well's hand between his, and 1 will make myfelf 
 worthy of your friendfhip and regard. 
 
 Mr. Meanwell introduced Emilius into his 
 houfe, upon the footing of a fon, and ordered all 
 his fervants to treat him with the fame refpecl ; 
 and his mild and fenfible manner, foon gained 
 him the affcition of all that approached him. 
 Jafper was the only perfon of the family, who 
 could not behold him, without an emotion of 
 envy. He foon perceived that the prefence of 
 this rival laid him under the neceffity of altering 
 his behaviour, and of becoming more diligent in 
 his ftudies. Not being able to rind in his heart 
 any juft foundation for hating Em'dius, he thought 
 that he might at leaft reafonably defpife him, as 
 the foon of a poor country apothecary. Dread- 
 ing, however, His father's difpleafure, he was o- 
 bliged to keep thefe thoughts to himfelf, anji 
 therefore difguifed them under the mafk of friend- 
 fhip. Emilius, who could not fufpecT: in others 
 a falfhood to which his own heart was a Gran- 
 ger, grew tenderly attached to him ; he endea- 
 voured 
 
JASPER AND EMILIUS. i$| 
 
 -/birred to arTift him in all his exertions, and td 
 facilitate the labours of his ftudy ; at the fame 
 time, he put up with his pride and capricioufnefs, 
 as one ufually winks at the defects of a beloved 
 friend. 
 
 He had already been accuftomed, under the 
 immediate direction of his father, to exert his 
 powers of appreheniion, fo that he met with no- 
 thing, in the courfe of his ftudy, that was capa- 
 ble of damping his ardour. Endowed with a 
 lively penetration, and a powerful memory, and, 
 efpecially, animated with the defire of meriting 
 the applaufe and encouragement of Mr. Mean- 
 well, he made fo rapid a progrefs, that his maiters 
 could fcarcely believe it poifible. He improved 
 hlmfelf no lets fuccefsfully in the exercifes of the 
 body ; thus his manners became graceful, at the 
 fame time that his underftanding was enlighten- 
 ed, and his heart expanded with fentiments of 
 honor and generoiity. Mr. Meanwell beheld 
 him every day, with renewed affection ; and even 
 Grangers were feldom twice in his company,with- 
 out feeling a fecret prepoffeffion in his favour. 
 Polite,without affectation, attentive, without fer- 
 vility, chearful, without thoughtlefsnefs, he enli- 
 vened, by his prefence, the joy and happinefs of 
 the whole family. In the midft of thefe flat- 
 tering circumftanees, Emilius, far from fuffering 
 the illufions of vanity to fieal upon him, became 
 only the more modeit. Although he could not 
 be infenfible to his own fuperiority over Jafper s 
 he would have been contented to call it in quef- 
 irion, and mil better pleafed to have hid it from 
 the obfervation of others, for fear of mortifying 
 0,2 his 
 
184 JASPER AND EMILR 
 
 his friend. He was the firft to defend him; or 
 to make him appear to advantage. Ah ! iaid he 
 to himfeif, if my friend had not been fo benefi- 
 cent to me, and fo powerfully affifted me in eve- 
 ry laudable acquirement, 'fpite of the -affection- 
 ate cares of my father, 1 mould ftill .be far from 
 knowing even what little I know. Other chil- 
 dren, in m> fituation, would, perhaps, have pro- 
 fited better from the opportunities indulged me 
 by Providence. Jafper himfeif would, perhaps, 
 have fur pa (Ted me, had he been in my fituation, 
 and I in his. He can do without learning, better 
 than I can ; the abfolute necettity of acquiring 
 it, has done every thine: for me. 
 
 Eight years pa (Ted on thus, during which, E- 
 milius made himfeif matter of every accomplilh- 
 ment that is conferred bv the mod liberal educa- 
 tion. Time and place would fail me, were I de- 
 firous to particularize to you the various mental 
 acquirements with which he had ftored his un- 
 derstanding. As to Jafper, it would be a rtill 
 longer tafk, to enumerate all thofe which he had 
 nor. His natural felf-fufficiency had perfuaded 
 him, that with a few terms cf fcience, which 
 *vas all that remained to him from his ftudies, he 
 was a match for fome of the ableft mailers. His 
 difpofition, in the mean time, was, at bottom, 
 very little altered ; the fear of his father had, 
 indeed, a little retrained his vicious impetuofi- 
 ties, but, in return, it had bellowed on him hy- 
 'ify, as a convenient mafk to conceal them. 
 Mr. Meahwell, whofe penetrating eyeobferved 
 them, even through this veil, would have fallen 
 2 victim to the chagrin which he felt on this mor- 
 tifying 
 
JASPER AND EMILIUS. 185 
 
 tifying difcovery, if the good behaviour of Emi- 
 lias had not afforded him a pleafing confolation. 
 Neverthelefs, when Jafper had reached his twen- 
 tieth year, the apprehenfions that he formed to 
 himfelf of his fon's future impropriety of con- 
 duct, overbalanced every other consideration. 
 While his heart was torn with thefe cruel refleo 
 tions, he was feized with a violent diforder, 
 which carried him off in a few days, in lpite of 
 the affectionate cares and ardent wiihes that E- 
 milius teftified for his recovery, even to the fatal 
 moment which feparated them for ever. 
 
 Jafper, freed as he now was from the curb 
 which formerly reftrained his palfions, had fcarce- 
 ly paid the laft offices to his father, befoie he be- 
 gan to ihew forth his natural difpofition. Un- 
 grateful to the memory of an excellent father, 
 in the perfon whom he had adopted as a fecond 
 fan, and forgetting the obligations that he him- 
 felf bore to the fame youth, hefurioufly ihut his 
 doors upon him, and flew down to his paternal 
 feat in the country, there to make himfelf amends 
 for his former conftraint, by indulging a life of 
 favage tumult and unbridled licentioufnefs. 
 
 How different were the emotions which im- 
 pelled the heart of Emilius, who was now re- 
 turned to" the mediocrity of his father's houfe ! 
 he grieved, indeed, but not on account of his 
 change of condition Mr. Meanwell had made 
 him a ; handfome provifion for life ; but his in- 
 t^reft gave' him very little concern ; it was the 
 Jofs of his'genero us' benefactor that he felt moft 
 fenfibly : the recent lofs of that friend who had 
 taken care of his youth, whom he was accuftom- 
 
 0.3 «» 
 
i86 JASFER AND EMJJ.IUS. 
 
 fd to look upon as a father, and in whom lie had 
 found all the affections of one. The forrow oc- 
 cafioned by this lofs, brought on a ficknefs, which 
 had nearly fent him after the friend whom he 
 mourned. In the mod violent fits ot his deliri- 
 um, he pronounced only the name of Mr. Mean- 
 well. He even called his father by this name, 
 whenever he fat by his bed, as the diforder de- 
 prived him of all knowledge of his relations. 
 They were leng apprehenf.ve for his life : in ef- 
 fect, he owed his recovery to the vows and inde- 
 iblc cares of a family,who all feemed only to 
 ex ill in hino. 
 
 After devoting s few months to the fatisfa£H- 
 on which his friends enjoyed in feeing his health 
 re-eftablifhed, and in admiring his virtues and 
 accomplifhm< nlius returned to the capi- 
 
 tal, intending to enter upon one of the learned 
 profeffions, and, in the mean time, rfifuming his 
 ftudres with more eagernefs and advantage than 
 ever. He had gained the friend (hip and efteem 
 of many perfons of quality, during Ins refidence 
 at the houfe of Mr. Meanwell, who now united 
 ii intcre(t to procure him an advantageous 
 efhb.'iihment. The duke of- — ' — — < — , having 
 juft finished his fUidies, was about to make the 
 tour of Europe, and Emilius was recommended 
 to his family, as a proper perfon to accompany 
 jrum. i hough he appeared very \oung, for fuch 
 iHce, he, neverthelefs, imprencd them fo fa- 
 ably, with refpeel to his character and con- 
 duel, that he was judged to be as- trufty and in- 
 telligent a governor as they could fend with the 
 tbleman. In thecourfe of this tour, he 
 
 found 
 
JASPER AND EMILIUS. 187 
 
 found numberlefs opportunities of enlarging and 
 applying the knowledge that he had acquired 
 from ftudy. His iprightly wit and engaging 
 manners, made him a favorite at every court 
 which his pupil vifited. There were even fome 
 foreign princes, who diftinguifhed him in a very 
 flattering manner, and wifhed to attach him to 
 their fervice ; but his engagements to the young 
 duke's family, made him decline every offer,how- 
 ever fplendid. He was not long, without receiv- 
 ing the reward of his fidelity. He had fcarce 
 conducted his pupil home to his native country, 
 when a nobleman of the fame family, being ap- 
 pointed ambaffador to one of the foreign courts, 
 cfcofe him for his fecretary. During a long ill- 
 nefs of the ambaiTador, Emilius managed the 
 principal hufmefs of the embaffy, which he per- 
 formed with fo much ability, that, upon the mi- 
 nifler's recommendation, he was entrufted with a 
 very delicate negociation, in which he had the 
 honor, as well as fatisfaction, of rendering his 
 country a fervice of the moil important nature, 
 
 Jafper, in the mean time, had met with very 
 different fortune : we left him in the country, 
 upon his eftate, harafTing his game and his te- 
 nants. This way of life gave the finishing ftroke 
 to his manners 3 that is to fay, it rendered them 
 thofe of a brute, and his underflanding feemed 
 degraded to the groffeft degree of rufticity, A 
 quarrel with a neighboring country gentleman, 
 in which his paltry behaviour covered him with 
 fhame and mortification, forced him to quit his 
 country refidence, and to come up again to Lon- 
 don ; but even thither his infamy purfued him ; 
 
 and 
 
1 88 JASPER AND EMILIU3. 
 
 and being aggravated with the additional im- 
 peachment of fraud, became a iubje£t of the moft 
 public notoriety. 
 
 Jafper now found himfelf excluded from all 
 genteel company, where his father's name had 
 formerly procured him a welcome. Unable to 
 find a refource, either in ftudy or reflection, he 
 fuffered himfelf to be carried away by the torrent 
 of vicious example ; and gaming foon fuggefted 
 to him the delign of feiling his eitate, and after- 
 wards furnifhed him with opportunities of difli- 
 pating his money, whale intemperance and de- 
 bauch, at the fame time, made rapid havock with 
 his constitution. In order to elude his creditors, 
 whofe importunities now became preffing, he 
 determined to tranfport himfelf to the continent, 
 and, by a lingular accident, a/rived in the very 
 fame town where Emilius refided, and where, for 
 his many amiable and refpeclable qualities, he 
 enjoyed the univerfal efteem of a!! parties. 
 
 The unhappy Jafper carried with him ftill his 
 extravagant pailion for play : fortune feemed at 
 firft to favour him in this new fccne ; and his ex- 
 penfive manner of living procured him credit. 
 But it was not long* before his affairs fell into 
 confulion ; and his creditors, finding that he had 
 treated them with the groiTeh nnpofitions, fent 
 him to priibn, upon his not being able to fatisfy 
 their demands. i he rumour or fuch a difgracs' 
 happening to one of his countrymen, foon occa- 
 iioned Emilius to come to the knowledge of kid 
 name. u Heavens !" cried he, " is the fon of 
 my deareft benefactor in a priibn ?" for he im- 
 mediately forgot Jaipur's ungenerous behaviour 
 
 toward 
 
JASPER AND EMILIU3. 189 
 
 toward him. He flew, therefore, to the dunge- 
 on where he was confined. But, alas ! in what 
 a dreadful condition did he find him J Pale, dif- 
 figured, pining in diftreis, wafted by pain, har- 
 rowed by remerfe, and a prey to all the convul- 
 flons of rage and defpair. He ftrikes- off his 
 chains, fnatches him from this manfion of hor- 
 ror, carries him to his own houfe, and there treats 
 him with the moft affectionate care and attenti- 
 on. He would have facrificed all his Jbrtune to 
 reftore him to life, and to be the author of his 
 happinefs. But heaven had already dealt the a- 
 venging blow. Jafper furvived this event but a 
 few days. Emilius was grieved at his death, as 
 much as if he had loft the moft affectionate friend. 
 He was inconfolable, that fate had put it out of 
 his power to render to the fon of his benefactor 
 the kindnefles which he had received from the 
 father. This reflection deprefTed his fpirits a 
 confiderable time. Images of gloomy fadnefs 
 were ever before his eyes, and haunted him, even 
 in his moft collected hours of bufinefs ; but the 
 alacrity with which he attended to his duty, and 
 the command which he was accuftomed to exer- 
 cife over .himfelf, reftored him at length to his u- 
 fual ferenity of mind ; and he continued toper- 
 form the offices of his employ, with a zeal and 
 integrity, that loon advanced him to the exalted 
 Ration in which we fee him at this daw - 
 
 THE 
 
( i"9* ) 
 
 MtHBMMMBH 
 
 THE PUNISHMENT OF PRIDE, 
 
 •UPLilvT. the ion' of an honeft laborer, had 
 early unified a ilrong inclination for the 
 proreffion oi arms. He was continually exerci- 
 ling wkh-his fpad*e, and had {'craped acquaintance 
 with every game- keeper in the neighborhood, i$ 
 oidcr that he might have an opportunity of hand- 
 ling their fowling-pieces. At the age of eigh- 
 teen, ho -enliited as a ibldier; end being (through 
 the good care which his father had taken of his 
 education) a tolerable proficient in writing and 
 figures, he was very loon made corporal, and, af- 
 ter that, ierjeant. '■ 
 
 At the commencement of the war, his regi- 
 ment going abroad, he behaved himfelf lb re- 
 markably well, the iirft campaign, as to obtain a 
 pair of colours* • He had been lent upon feveral 
 hazardous expeditions, in which he mewed him- 
 feff to hz equally intelligent and brave ; and it 
 was rerriar&edV t0 * us praife, that a foidier had 
 netfer turned his back, while under his command. 
 
 The general, who had been a witnefs to his 
 bravery, in many engagements, now promoted 
 him to the command of a company, in order t« 
 t the emulation of his troops, by the exam- 
 of Rupert's good fortune. And, forne cam- 
 paigns after, a very fplcndid aclion, that he per- 
 fbrtned in a battle in which nicil of the elder cap- 
 tains 
 
THE PUNISHMENT OF PRIDE. 191 
 
 ggains were killed, was the occafiq.n of his being 
 elevated to the port of major. 
 
 Honorable mention had frequently been made 
 of his name in the public papers ; and his bro- 
 thers were often gratified by their neighbors, with 
 the recital of adiions considerably to his praife. 
 It may eafily be imagined how proud they were 
 of bein£ fa nearly related to him. Whenever 
 they fpo&e of him, they fhed tears of joy. Their 
 affection to him jeenied to entitle them to a fhare 
 in his reputation ; and they wiihed for the hap- 
 py moment of his fafe return, that they might 
 embrace a brother who did lb much honor to his 
 jcirulred. 
 
 With all thefe good qualities, however, Ru- 
 pert poiTeiT-d one which was very odious ; his 
 words and aaions were marked with the mod. 
 ...infupportab'e arrogance. There was no man in 
 the world (to take his word for it) fo fcnfible, or 
 fo intrepid as himfelf. He fpoke of his own va- 
 liant deeds, as a flattering courtier would of thofe 
 of a fovereign prince, before his face. He arro- 
 gated to htmfelf more glory from them, than was 
 juftly due to him ; and feemed infenfible to the 
 merit of the other officers, whenever they ac- 
 quitted themfelves with as much gallantry as him- 
 felf. 
 
 At theconclufion of the war, his regiment re- 
 turning home, was fent into country quarters, 
 and (as it happened) by a route that led very near 
 his own native village. As foon as ever his bro- 
 thers were apprized of this circumftance, they 
 went off to meet him on the road, accompanied 
 by a few friends, and arrived in a neighboring 
 
 town 
 
i 9 2 THE PUNISHMENT OF PRII'l 
 
 town, juft as the divifion which he commanded 
 of the regiment had entered, and was forming 
 in the market-place. 
 
 My dear Rupert, faid the elder brother, how 
 happy I am to fee thee, and how happy would 
 our aged father be, were he alive this day ! Hea- 
 ven be praifed that we behold you fate returned 
 from the dangers of war. For my part, I never 
 felt myfelf fo happy In my life as at this moment. 
 Saying thefe words, he held out his hand, invi- 
 ting Rupert to a fimilar demonftration of frater- 
 nal amity. But the major, fwelling with fhame 
 and indignation, to fee a man, in a frize coat, call 
 him brother, rejefted his proffered falutation. 
 You had better go home, faid he, my friend. I 
 have not time to talk to you at prefent. How ! 
 cried the younger brother, do not you know me 
 neither ? Look well at me : I am your brother 
 George. You ufed to be very fond of me* It 
 was from you that I learned to plow, when I was 
 a boy. 
 
 The major now foamed with rage anddefpite, 
 and having no other means to be rid of his un- 
 welcome relations, he caufed his foldiers to make 
 a fudden movement or evolution, which obliged 
 the furrojoding populace, and, among the reft, 
 his brothers, to fall back, and retire from the 
 fpot of ground where he flood. 
 
 The two peafauts, who had promifed them- 
 3 fo much joy and happinefs in meeting with 
 a brother that had been abfent frorrvthem fo ma- 
 ny years, returned home, full of grief and refent- 
 They were fcarce able to credit their 
 fenfes, that fuch had been their indifferent recep- 
 tion 
 
 
rEE PUNISHMENT OF PRIDE. 193 
 
 J ion with one whom, notwithftanding his unna- 
 tural pride, they found themlelves ready ftill to 
 love as a brother. 
 
 The ioldiers who were prefent at this difguft- 
 ing fcene, did not, it is true, exprefs their fenti- 
 ments of it aloud, but they faid to each other, in 
 whifpers, A 111211 muit have a very bad heart in- 
 deed, to be afhamed of his relations Does our 
 major think it a difgrace to be the fame as we 
 are ? He ought, much rather, to be proud of 
 having made his way, in the army, by merit, than 
 to put on the airs of a man of family. 
 
 Rupert had not a foul formed for thinking Co 
 nobly : inilead of remembering that he had once 
 been a private foldier, bethought, by his a {Turned 
 Joftinefs, to make his former comrades forget it. 
 He treated them, therefore, with the laft degree 
 of contempt ; but he appeared, in their eyes, 
 much move worthy of this parTion. His prefer- 
 ment, which before had given them fo much fa- 
 tisfaclion, now only ferved to mortify them. 
 They obeyed his orders, but with reluctance ; 
 and every foldier in the regiment, wifhed him 
 fairly out of it. 
 
 One day, when the corps to which lie belong- 
 ed, was parting in review before a general, this 
 officer made fome remarks on the manoeuvres 
 performed by the major, with his divifion, to 
 which the latter replied in terms of the mofl 
 pointed difrefpeet. His fupercilious deportment 
 had, already, more than once, offended his gene- 
 rals. 1 nis frefh breach of military fubordina- 
 tion, underwent the fevered animadverfion ; for, 
 as it was too public and grofs to bepaffed over in 
 X .filence. 
 
194 THE PUNISHMFNT OF PRIDE. 
 
 filence, it became the fubjecl of a general-court- 
 martis), the decifion of vbich ccmpleated his 
 ruin ; for, even here, he exprefled himfelf in lan- 
 guage fo unguardedly perfonal againft his profe- 
 cu tor, and perfifted with fuch inflexible haughti- 
 nefs, in refuiing 'o make a fubmiflion, that he 
 was fentenct-d to be cafhiered, to the univerfai 
 joy of his regiment. 
 
 Reduced, by this ftroke, to his original pover- 
 ty, he was obliged to embrace the alternative, ei- 
 ther of ftruggling with indigence and necefiity, 
 or of employing means for his fubfiftence, which., 
 before, he would have fpurned, as unworthy of 
 Fus rank and confequence. He had a fmall farm 
 (if a piece of ground might be fo called, that 
 was fcarcely large enough for a cabbage-garden) 
 fituated clofe by his native village. As (by his 
 father's will ; he had not the power of felling it, 
 in the life time of his brothers, he had let it to 
 one of them upon his entering the army, but al- 
 ways thought the rent of it, though accumulat- 
 ing, an object of fo fmall importance, particular- 
 ly after he was made an officer, that he rnuhfince 
 that time, in his own mind, almoft wholly re- 
 nounced the property of it, as he had the memo- 
 ry of his origin, and the relationfhip of the per- 
 fon who was his tenant. He now found him- 
 felf, however, under the neceffity of deriving, 
 from this patch of ground, the means of his im- 
 mediate fubiiftence, by making application to ln's 
 brother for the rent arifing from it. For this 
 purpofe, a journey to the place of his nativity 
 was, if not indifpenlable, at leaft highly expedi- 
 ent j and then it was when the peafants and vil- 
 lagers, 
 
THE PUNISHMENT OF PRIDE. 195 
 
 lagers, his former acquaintances, faw him come 
 down among them, ftripped of his plumes, and 
 reduced to the fame ftate of harmlefs obfeurity 
 with themfelves, thai they repaid him his former 
 infolence, with ufury. However, as he courted 
 the friendfhip of none, in return none offered 
 him their fociety. Thus he faw himfelf depri- 
 ved of one of the greateft bleflings that human 
 life can afford, particularly to thofe who are un- 
 der the prelfure of adverfity, 
 
 if the other inhabitants of the village were of- 
 fended at Rupert's unnatural pride, his brothers 
 had, certainly, the firft caufe to refent it, having 
 been the more immediate objects of his infult. 
 Perhaps, therefore, you fear, left they mould, in 
 their turn, have flighted him. " We know 
 you not," vould have been a juft anfwer to all 
 his applications and advances toward reconcili- 
 ation : but, fortunately for him, the brothers 
 poifefTed rhat real greatnefs of fpirit which he 
 wanted. They fought no other fatisfaction, than 
 that of conferring kindneffes on him. For this 
 purpofe, the renter of his little farm, not only re- 
 ftored it to him in good condition, together with 
 the revenues thence accruing, but concerted with 
 the other brother, the means of fettling hint 
 comfortably, on a moderate farm, if he chofe to 
 embrace that way of life. This, as thev were 
 thriving;, refponfible perfons, they found no p;reat 
 difficulty to effe.:t ; and Rupert returned once 
 more to the happy occupation, from which am- 
 bitious and chimerical dreams of glory, had for- 
 merly feduced him. But he was, by no means, 
 happy in his condition. Every day, as he went 
 R2 about 
 
196 THE INCREASE 
 
 about thofe labours, which he had (o long dis- 
 dained, the thoughts of his former elevated hopes 
 and expectations, continually haunted him. How- 
 did he fufYer, under the mortifying thought, that 
 lie owed almcft his prelent exigence, to thofe, 
 whom he, en ihe 'contrary, might* comparatively 
 fpeaking, have made rich men. Aecurfed pride ! 
 he Would lav, to what a p i liable degree haft thou 
 humbled mc ! 
 
 This cutting rejection -filled his hours witlv 
 b'tternefs ; and he died, in a (hort time, devour- 
 ed with chagrin, leaving a melancholy example 
 to thofe whom the fame intoxicating pai'lion 
 might tempt to tlef^ifq the found admonitions of 
 reafon and modeity, 
 
 •/ r* %y4Tj&;jc^-n 
 
 THE INCREASE OF FAMILY, 
 
 HONEST farmer Townfend was on a vi- 
 fit to his fitter, who had been a few years 
 married^ and lived at the diftance of nine or ten 
 miles from his habitation. One evening, a little 
 before fupper, as he fat with her and her hufband 
 befide their cottage door, and difcourfed with 
 them concerning family affairs, there palled by a 
 little girl about rive years of age, and totally in 
 rags. Townfend remarked the miferable ap- 
 pearance of her whole perfon, aud laid to his 
 filter, " There is a poor Utile girl, very much to 
 
 be 
 
THE INCREASE OF FAMILY. 197 
 
 be pitied. Not one rag about her feems to af- 
 ford her a covering. It is a difgrace to your pa- 
 rifh. Her rather muft have very little induftry, 
 and her motner very little feeling." 
 
 Alas ! anfwered his fifter, (he has no father 
 nor mother, and there are two other children, 
 betide her, of [he lame family, who are equally 
 wretched. 1 hrough fome dilpute between two 
 different parishes, (each aliening this deftitute 
 family to belong to the other) the poor children 
 wanuer up and down the counrry, without 
 houle or home. They lie, at night, in barns, 
 or under hedges. When hunger becomes trou- 
 blefome, they go and fit down before the doors 
 of cottages. If any body gives them a morfel 
 ot bread, they receive it with joy 5 but they ne- 
 ver afk any thing. Their father^ who was a 
 man of fpirit, though reduced by ficknefs, to the 
 moft deplorable ftate of poverty, forbad them, 
 with his dying lips, to beg. 
 
 This recital affected the honeft farmer very 
 much. It is Ihockingj faid he, that any poor 
 creatures mould be fo neglected by the reft of 
 their fpecies : I will' take them, added he, under 
 my care, fince nobody here withes to be chared 
 with them. Hn> fifter, and her hufband, thought 
 it their duty to diiTuade him, asftrondy as poili- 
 ble, from this undertaking. They told him, 
 that he had children of his'own, that lie knew 
 nothing about thefe, that they were, for three 
 months pail, accuftomed to a 'lazy vagabond life, 
 and that it was a matter of doubt, whether they 
 would ever turn to good. Then, brother, con- 
 fider, added they, what an addition of trouble 
 R 3 they 
 
i 9 3 THE INCREASE OF FAMILY. 
 
 they will caufe to your wife, and what a burden 
 they will be in your family. 
 
 Townltnd was not one of thofe weak men, 
 who fuffer themfelves to be diverted from the 
 performance of a laudable defign, by a few diffi- 
 culties accompanying it. He was not very feli- 
 citous to heur ail their objections, and ftilj lefs 
 to anfwer them. 
 
 He rofe, therefore, from his feat, in order to 
 retire to reft : but his fcheme of benevolence, in 
 favour of the orphans, kept him long awake, by 
 exciting, in his mind, reflections of a tenderer 
 caft than ufual ; and the moiiture of generous 
 .compafFion was ftill upon his eyelids, when they 
 doled in fleep for the night. 
 
 The next morning early, he fent lor theeldeft 
 girl, who was about twelve years of age. I was 
 given, faid he, to underfrand, yefterday, that your" 
 father and mother are dead, and 1 Jee, by your 
 drds, that they have not left you any great mat- 
 ters of fortune. 
 
 The little girl* No, indeed, we are poor e* 
 »ough. 
 
 Townfend* Have you no relations, who would 
 i'ke you home ? 
 
 The Hide girik Yes, we have fome, but they 
 are too poor, as well as ourfelves. 
 
 TcwjcrJ. Well, would you go with me, and 
 be my child ? 
 
 The little girl. Ah ! if you would take me. 
 
 Town/end, Come, then, that is fettled : but I 
 
 orn going home on horftback, and could not 
 
 take ^ou all three together. It was the younge.Il 
 
 r that I faw firft : I will begin with her, 
 
 Brmj 
 
THE INCREASE OF FAMILY. iqy 
 
 £ ring the child to me. Let us be -acquainted - 
 together. 
 
 The youngefr girl foon came. She had a 
 countenance fo mild, and gained fo much vtpon 
 the -fanner, by her little fond careffes, that he 
 looked upon him kit already as her father. He 
 took her up, therefore, before him, on his horfe ; 
 and when they arrived at the farm-houfe, his 
 wife aiked ham whofe child that was. it is your s, 
 Maria, anfwered he, and began withal to relate to 
 her, how, the day before, he had feen the little 
 child, and been informed of her 'wretched and 
 friendiefs" fituatiori 5 how he had companion on 
 hef ? and took her home with him, in order to 
 fupport hef as one of his own children. 
 
 During all this relation, the Jitt-e girl crept 
 dofe to the farmer's fkirt, and ihed tears without 
 ceaiing. Maria,-, who was as companionate as 
 her hufband, Sympathised with the little orphan ; 
 fhe took her up in her !ap : and endeavoured to 
 foothe her with thefe words :' " Since my huf- 
 band has promifed to be your father, I will be 
 your mother too. Come then, my dear child, 
 do not cry any more," 
 
 Tmtftfmdi But, wife, there are two others be- 
 6 ies, who are equally worthy of our companion, 
 the brother and lifter of this little one. 
 
 Maria, M\\ my wear, I fee what you mean. 
 We!', we muft (end for them. 
 
 The next clay, the farmer put the hoffe to his 
 Chaife-carr, and went for the ocr-ir two orphans; 
 
 Go, ibid his wife, embracing him at hisdepar- 
 ture ; go, my dear ; and that Being, who lends 
 
 us 
 
too THE INCREASE OP FAMILY. 
 
 us thefe children, will not fail - to fend us, zlfo) 
 bread for their nourishment. 
 
 Mr. Juitice Garboil, howe'/er, thought other- 
 \vife. He had been" landlord to the father of 
 thefe unfortunate little ones, and was well appri- 
 zed of their diftrefs. Hearing the farmer had 
 taken them home to his ; houfe, he difpatched his 
 clerk to him, with a peremptory injunction to 
 fend the children to their own fettlemen', (which, 
 It has been obferved before, was in litigation) or 3 
 in failure thereof, to give fecurity to his own pa- 
 rifh, that they ihould never become chargeable 
 to itc 
 
 Farmer Townlend was filled with indignation 
 on receiving fuch a meffage if this, cried he, 
 be his worship's humanity, l would rather be the 
 child of mifery, for an age, than accept the con- 
 dition of that overfwoln bafhaw, during his moft 
 felf-complacent hour, Let me know, however, 
 what bail is required j ' \ am ready. Poor inno- 
 cents ! the more I fee oppreilion endeavour to 
 tread you down, the dearer you become to me, 
 and the more I feel myfelf interested to protect 
 you. 
 
 After the farmer had latisfied every demand 
 of Juitice Garboil, he returned to his houle, and 
 now. faid he, furely thefe children are mine. No- 
 body will queftion my being a father to them 3 
 by one title or other. 
 
 You are anxious, no doubt, my young friendsj 
 to know what became of th* fe children, in the ie- 
 rjuei. Luckily, i can inform you, by relating to 
 you a converlation between Farmer Townlend 
 
 and 
 
THE INCREASE OF FAMILY. 201 
 
 and a perfon who happened to be travelling in 
 that part ot the country, fame years afterwards. 
 
 All the little family were at play together, one 
 evening, before the farmer's door, while Maria 
 was getting their fupper ready. He himlelr was 
 in the midft of them, partaking of their fport and 
 feflivity. The traveller happened to pafs by, jufl 
 at the. time, and flopped to gaze on this ipeci- 
 men of rural happinefs. 
 
 Are all thefe children ycur's, neighbour ? faid 
 he to the farmer. 
 
 Yes, Sir, anfwersd Townfend : I have ten of 
 them alive ; feven that Providence beftowed on 
 me, and three that I have purchafed. 
 
 Purchafed? faid the traveller, much furpri- 
 zed. 
 
 Why, Sir^ it was, in fome fenfe, a purchafe> 
 replied the farmer, and, upon this, told him the 
 whole dory, adding, as he> concluded it, thank 
 heaven, neither my wife nor I have, at any time, 
 repented of the aclion. It was the bed: bargain 
 that ever I made in my life. 
 
 The traveller. There muft be no frnall ex- 
 penfe in the maintenance of fuch a family. 
 
 Townfend. It feems, at firft view, a difficult 
 matter to rind bread for them all, without an ef- 
 fate ; for any one can eafily fpend the fruits cf 
 his own labour : and, unlefs you were to make 
 a trial, you would fcarceiy think, it poffibJe to be 
 done. I owe, perhaps* to this difficulty, the 
 good management which has. ever kept me above 
 want ; but when a man is fober, hborioas and 
 circumipeel, he will always have a trifling fuper-i 
 
202 THE INCREASE OF FAMILY, 
 
 The traveller. And your children arc not jea- 
 lous of thefe ftrangera ? 
 
 Toivr.fend. Strangers? There-are none here. 
 We are all one family promifcuouily, ■ There is 
 no ftrife, but which will be the moft loving and 
 affedfcfcnate. I give you leave to guefs which 
 arc my children by birth ; at times T can hardly 
 diitingiiifh them myfejf; 
 
 1 hi traveller. But I do not fee the elder of 
 the girls -among them. • 
 
 Towkjehd. No, dare fay not, for fhe has cr- 
 ther bufmefs in hand ; (he mu-ft look after her 
 own ho u (hold, • 
 
 The traveller, Is fhe married, then ? 
 
 Toivnfind. Yes, that (he is. She fell into the 
 piets of a fifhei man, one that hauls them to fome 
 account^ ! promife yoti, and makes a good liveli- 
 hood by his trade. It is true, t fumiflied him, 
 pretty nlentifully with dock. 
 
 The traveller. What, did you give her a por- 
 tion, then ? 
 
 Towrifend. - That- muft be done, to get a 
 daughter off yoUr hands. Look you at his boats 
 and rifhing-tackle, if they are not the complcateft 
 on this coafh ■ 
 
 The traveller. Still you have no occafion to 
 have done that. She was nothing to you. 
 
 lownfend. No? She made me happier than 
 any of my own has been able to make me as yet, 
 on account of their age. She has a young 
 daughter already, who calls me grandfather. — • 
 That founds (o droll ! 
 
 Farmer Townfend then entertained the tra- 
 veller with the happinefs and fatisfaclion that he 
 
 enjoyed, 
 
THE HUMOROUS ENGAGEMENT. 203 
 
 enjoyed, in the improvement of the other two 
 orphans. 
 
 The youngeft girl, -fays he, is big enough al- 
 ready, to afTift my wife in the bufinefs of the 
 houfe. As to the boy, there is not his fellow in 
 the country, for tending, a flock. Ah! if you 
 knew how, fond they all are of me, and how 
 much I love them in return ! 
 
 His heart was foftened at this recital of his 
 own, and a tear of benevolence moiftened his 
 eye. He wiped it away, Jiowever, immediately^ 
 and faid, with an , ironical imile, Ah! Juftice 
 Garboil, Juftice GarboiJ, you might have had all 
 this happinefs, if your heart could have known 
 a duty beyond -the letter of the law. You forced 
 me to give bail ; but you little thought it was to 
 enfure to me, forHife, a happinefs to which you 
 have ever been a ftranger. 
 
 .THE HUMOUROUS ENGAGEMENT* 
 
 TOMMY Merton, the fon ©f a gentleman 
 of fortune 3 and Harry Sandford, the fon 
 «f 2n honeft farmer, were both under the care 
 and inftruclion of Mr. Barlow, a country clergy- 
 rnan. Harry, in one of his walks with Mr. Bar- 
 low, had faved a young chicken from the claws 
 
 of 
 
 * This ftcry is taken from the hiftory of Sandford 
 .And Merton, and the following piese from a DutcJ? 
 wevel, in a feries of letters? 
 
204 THE HUMOROUS ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 of a kite. He had taken the greateft care pota- 
 ble of its little wounds, and feci it every day with 
 his own hands. The little animal was now per- 
 fectly recovered of the hurt it had received, and 
 fhewed fo great a degree of affection to its pro- 
 tector, that it would run after him like a dog, 
 hop upon his (houider, nelUe in his bofom, and 
 eat crumbs out of his hand. I am my was ex- 
 tremely furpnzed and pieafed, to remark its tame- 
 nefs and docility, and afked by what means it 
 had been Bia.de iu gentle. Harry fold him he had 
 taken no particular pains ab<*ut it, but that, as the 
 poor little creature had been fadly hurt, he had 
 fed it every day till it was well, and that in con- 
 sequence of that . kinunels, it had conceived a 
 great degree of affec+ion toward him. Indeed, 
 faid Tommy, that is very furprizine, for I 
 thought all birds had tiown away, whenever a 
 man came near them, and that even the fowls 
 which are kept at home would never let you 
 touch them. 
 
 Mr. Barlow* And what do you imagine is 
 the reafon of that ? 
 
 Tommy. Becaufe they are wild. 
 
 Air. Barlow, And what is a fowl's being 
 wild ? 
 
 Tommy, When he will not let you come near 
 him, 
 
 A4r. Barlow. Then a fowl is wild, becaufe 
 he will not let you come near him ; and will 
 not let you come near him, becaufe he is wild : 
 this is faying nothing more than, that when a 
 fowl is wild, he will not let you approach him. 
 But I want to know what is the reafon of his 
 being wild I Tommy. 
 
THE HUMOROUS ENGAGEMENT, acg 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell, unlefs it 
 is becaufe they are naturally fo. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. But if they were naturally fa, 
 this fowl could, not be fond of Harry. 
 
 lommy. That is becaufe he is fo good to it, 
 
 Mr, Barlow, Very likely. Then it is not 
 natural for an animal to runaway from a perfoa 
 that is good to him ? 
 
 Tommy. No, Sir, I believe not. 
 
 Air. Barlow.. But when a perfon is not good 
 to him, or endeavours to hurt him, it is natural 
 for an animal to run away, from him ; is it not ? 
 
 Tommy. Yes. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. And then you fay that he is 
 wild 5 do you not ? 
 
 Tommy, Yes, Sir, 
 
 Mr. Barlow, Why, then, it is probable 
 that animals are only wild,becaufe they are afraid 
 of being hurt, and that they only run away, from 
 the fear of danger. I believe you would do the 
 fame from a lion or a tyger. 
 
 Tommy r Indeed I would, Sir. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. And yet you do not call your- 
 felf a wild animal. 
 
 Tommy laughed heartily at this, and faid, no. 
 Therefore, faid Mr. Barlow, if you want to 
 tame animals, you muft be good to them, and 
 treat them kindly, and then they will no longer 
 fear you, but come to you, and love you. In- 
 deed, faid Harry, that is very true : for I knew 
 a little boy that took a great fancy to a fnake that 
 lived in his father's garden, and when he had 
 his milk for breakfaft, he ufed to fit under a nut- 
 tree and whittle, and the fnake would come to 
 him, and eat out of his bowl. 
 
 Tommy. And did it not bite him I 
 
 S Harry. 
 
266 THE HUMOROUS ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 Harry. No ; he fometimes ufed to give it a 
 pat with his fpoon, if it ate too fail ; but it 
 never hurt Rim. 
 
 Tommy was much p leafed with this conver- 
 fatiorf', and being both good natured, and defirous 
 of making experiments, he determined to try his 
 fkii! in tamina; animals. Accordingly he took 
 a large flice of bread in his hand, and went out 
 to feek fome animal, that he might give it to. 
 The rirft thing that he happened to meet, was 
 a fucking pig that had rambled from its mother, 
 and was balking in the fun : Tommv would not 
 neglect the opportunity of (hewing his talents ; 
 he therefore called Pig, pig, pig, come hither 
 little pig ! But the pig, who did not exactly com- 
 prehend his intentions, only grunted, and ran 
 away. You little ungrateful thing, fa id Tom- 
 my, do you treat me in this manner, when I want 
 to feed you ? If you do not know your friends, 
 I muM teach you. Saying this, he fprung at 
 the pi£, and caught him by the hind leg^ in- 
 tending to have given him the bread which he 
 had in his hand ; but the pig, who was not ufed 
 to be treated in that manner, began ftruggling 
 and fqueaking to that degree, that the fow, who 
 was within hearing, came running to the place, 
 with all the reit of the Utter, at her heels. As 
 Tommy did not know whether llie would be 
 pjeafed with his civilities to her young one, or 
 not, he thought it mod prudent to let it go $ 
 and the pig, endeavouring to efcape as fpeedily 
 as poC?ole, unfortunately ran between his legs, 
 and threw him down. The place where the ac- 
 cident happened was extremely wet ; therefore 
 
 Tommy, 
 
THE HUMOROUS ENGAGEMENT. 207 
 
 Tommy, iri failing, dirtied himfelf from head 
 to foot, and the fow, who came up at that in- 
 ftant, paffed over him, as he attempted to rife, 
 and rolled him back again into the mire. Tom- 
 my, who was not the cooleft in his temper, was 
 extremely provoked at this ungrateful return for 
 his intended kmdriefs ; and lofing all patience, 
 he ieized the fow by the hind leg, and began 
 pummelling her with all his might, as (he at- 
 tempted to efcane. The fow, as may be imagined, 
 did not feiifh fuch treatment, but endeavoured 
 with ail her force, to efcape; but Tommy keep- 
 ing his hold, and continuing his difciphne, fhe 
 ftruggled with fuch violence, as to drag him 
 feveral yards, fqueakmg in the mod lamentable 
 manner, in which fhe was joined by the whole 
 litter of pigs. During the heat of the conteif, 
 a large flock of geefe happened to be croffing 
 the road, into the midft of which the affrighted 
 fow ran headlong, drawing the enraged Tommy 
 at her heels. The goflings retreated with the 
 greateft precipitation, joining their mournful 
 cackling to the general noife ; but a gander, of 
 more than common fize and courage, relenting 
 the unprovoked attack which had been made 
 upon his family, flew at Tommy's hinder parts, 
 snd gave him feveral fevere fVrokes with his bill. 
 Tommy, whofe courage had hitherto been un- 
 conquerable, being thus unexpectedly attacked 
 by a new enemy, was obliged to yield to for- 
 tune ; and not knowing the precife extent 1 of his 
 danger, he not only fuffered the fow to efcape, 
 but joined his vociferations to the general fcream. 
 This alarmed Mr. Barlow, whs, coming up to 
 S 2 the 
 
ac8 THE HUMOROUS ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 the place, found his pupil in the moft woful 
 plight, daubed 'from head to foot, with' his face 
 and hands as black as thofe of any chimney- 
 fweeper. He enquired what was the matter, and 
 Tommy, as foon he had recovered breath enough 
 to fpeak, anfwercd in this manner ; Sir, this is 
 all owing to what you told me about taming ani- 
 mals. I wanted to make them tame and gentle, 
 and to love me, and you fee the confequences. 
 Indeed, faid Mr. Barlow, I fee )ou have been 
 very ill-treated, but 1 hope you are not hurt ; 
 and if it is owing to arty thing 1 have faid, I (hall 
 feel the more concern. No, faid Tommy, 
 I cannot fay that I am much hurt. Why then, 
 faid Mr. Barlow, you had better go and waih 
 yourfelf ; and when you are clean, we will talk 
 over the affair. When Tommy had returned, 
 Mr. Barlow afked him how the accident had 
 happened, and when he had heard the tlory, he 
 faid I am very forry for your misfortune, but I 
 do not perceive that I was the caufe of it, for I 
 do not remember that 1 ever advifed you to catch 
 pigs by the hinder legs. 
 
 'Tommy. No, Sir ; but you told me that 
 feeding animals was the way to make them love 
 ine, and fo i wanted to feed the pig. 
 
 Air. Bar/oiv. But it was not my fault that 
 you attempted it in a wrong manner. The ani- 
 mal did not know your intentions, and there- 
 fore when you feized him in fo violent a manner, 
 he naturally attempted to efcape, and his mother 
 hearing his cries, very naturally came to his af- 
 jfrftarvce. All that happened, was owing to your 
 inexperience ; before you meddle with any ani- 
 
 ma!,, 
 
CHARLES II. 
 
 209 
 
 trrat, you fhould make yourfelf perfectly acquaint- 
 ed with, us nature- and difpohtion. Had you 
 obferved this rule, you would never have at- 
 tempted to catch the pig by the hinder leg, in 
 order to tame it; and it is very lucky that you 
 did not make trie experiment upon a larger 
 animal. 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 A Drama in Five Acts. 
 
 From the German of Mf. Stephanie, but with 
 considerable deviations from the Original, in 
 the two laft Acts. 
 
 Characters. 
 
 Charles II. Cromwell, gen. 
 
 Earl of Derby". Luke, captain 
 
 Lord WyndhaM Pemsel, \r 1P 
 Lady Mar \rj>h mother. T Algol y 
 h^dyWYNDHAM^biswi/e. Pope, 1 Servants 
 Henry, his fin. Thomas, 1 to Lord 
 
 Elizabeth, his daughter. James, jIVyndham. 
 
 PRE.FACE, 
 
 THE part which James I. king of England, 
 took, in the dihvute between the bithops 
 and the Preibyterians, had fo violently enraged 
 the latter, that after his death, the) took the ad- 
 vantage of fome arbitrary meafures in the go- 
 vernment of his fon and iucceiibr, Charles I. to 
 excite the whole nation to open revolt. The 
 S 3 intent 
 
no CHARLES II. 
 
 intent of the Prefbyterians was, to annihilate E=- 
 pifcopacy, and to lefTen the royal prerogative : but 
 the Independents, a new feci which had fprung 
 up from the former, aimed at the total abolition 
 of royalty, and the eftabliihment of a common-* 
 wealth in its ftead. Cromwell, who had made 
 both parties equally fublervient to his ambitious 
 views, declared, at laft, in favour of the indepen- 
 dents. After having filled the parliament and- 
 the army with perfons devoted to his fortune, or 
 the dupes of his hypocrify, he procured a formal 
 fentence of death to be pafled againft his fove- 
 reign. The Prefoytehans", though "they faw 
 themfelves plainly outwitted by his cunning, did 
 not dare to rife up againfVthe power which he had 
 ufur'ped. Thofe of Scotland had more courage ; 
 they called over the eldeft fon of Charles 
 I. from France, whither he had fled for re- 
 fuge, and they received him as their king, though 
 under the mod fevere reftriclions. Cromwell, 
 however,, foon marched into Scotland, and de- 
 fea ed them in the famous battle of Dunbar, 
 September 3, 1650. 
 
 Mobilities, which were fufpended during the 
 winter, began afrcih the year following. Charles* 
 If. whom the Scots had proclaimed king, 
 was, notwithstanding, fo difguited at the fhte 
 of fubjeclion and reftraint to which they would 
 have reduced him, that he took the refolution 
 of quitting Scotland, Whither Cromwell was 
 come to purfue him, and of entering England 
 with an army of fourteen thoufand men, in 
 hopes of feeing it augmented by the Engliih 
 byterians, and the fecret friends of the royal 
 
 eau 
 
C H AR L-E S II. 211 
 
 eaufe. But Cromwell did not give him time to 
 receive thefe additions of ftrength : he>folIowed 
 him by forced marches, overtook him with a 
 fuperior army, and entirely routed the Scottifh 
 troops. After having fought bravely to the very 
 ja'ft, Charles, with difficulty, efc2p®d off the 
 field of battle, accompanied by fifty men. The 
 diftreffes to Which he was reduced after his de» 
 feat, obliged him to conceal himfelf under the 
 mearteft difguifes, in order to efcape from the 
 foldiers, whom Cromwell had fent out, every 
 where, in fearch of him ; the inftances of fidelity 
 that he received from the Earl of Derby, the 
 companion of his flight, from' Colonel Wynd- 
 hain * andhisfervants, who kept him concealed, 
 notwithstanding the fevere penalties denounced 
 by the parliament >, the fanaticifm of the parties 
 which theri diftracled England, and the deplora- 
 ble ftate of the' nation in general, during this fea- 
 fon of tumult, prefent a multitude of interefting 
 iituations, and inflfu&ive fcenes, to which the 
 author has endeavoured to give connexion in the 
 following drama, at the fame time, that he has 
 iludied to preferve hiftorical truth iri the leading. 
 icliens of the piece* 
 
 CHARLES 
 
 ** In the Drama he is called Lord Wyndham* 
 
( 212 ) 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 A Drama. 
 
 Act. I. Scene I. A For ell, before Day flight, 
 
 Charles drejjed as a peajant, is hid among the boughs 
 of an oak. Lord Derby, dfguifcd in the fame 
 manner, comes out from the middle of a thicket, 
 and advances towaru the king. 
 
 Lord Derby. It is too foon to quit your re- 
 treat, as yet. . The parliament (okiiers continue 
 to fcaur all quarters of the foreft. We are lia- 
 ble, at every ftep, to fall into their hands. 
 
 Cbanes. Derby, 1 rind myfelf endowed with 
 fuffieient courage to itrugele with the chagrin 
 that preys upon my mind, but my body is total- 
 ly broken down with pain and tarigue. I have 
 already pafTc-d twenty hours in this deplorable 
 fit nation. I cannot poflib'y fupport it any long- 
 Drby. Sire, I conjure yon, pat up With thefe 
 inconveniences, which ainnot be of Ions durati- 
 on, rather than tail into the hands of your ene- 
 mies. They would be implacable. Our mis- 
 fortune, By intoxicating them with fuccefs, has 
 only whetted their barbarity. The weight of it 
 wou d fall on )ou. Hut 1 hope we lhall foon 
 find a retrcu more commodious, and Jeis dan- 
 gerous than tins. 
 
 Char. a. it cannot be lor.2; before the fun 
 will appear. If you thought darknels lb little 
 
 favourable 
 
€ HA K L E S II. 213 
 
 favourable to our fafety, furely theiight of the 
 day will be much more againft us. How (hall I 
 be able to hold out till night, in my prefent fitu- 
 ation ? The mind arms herfelf in vain, with all 
 her force, if the body has loft whatfhould fuftain 
 her. 
 
 Derby. I feel, with double weight, the pains 
 that you fuffer, and would lay down my life to 
 exempt you from them ; but fate coiitrools our 
 "Wimes. its laws are immutable, and true cou- 
 rage is, to obey them I would facrifice myfelf 
 for 'your prefervation : nevertheleis, fhall 1 con r 
 fefs to your majefty ? It would give melefs re- 
 gret to lofe you here before my eyes, than to fee 
 you fall into the hands of rebels, and adorn their 
 infolent triumph. I hear foldiers coming. ide 
 yourfelf from their fight. When they are paft ? 
 1 will return and keep you company again. (He 
 goes into the thicket.) 
 
 Charles. Well, faithful Derby, I will follow 
 thy advice. I will bear up my load of pain and 
 kard[rVp,rhough i were at laft to fall dead at the 
 foot of this tree. (ffe bides himfdf among tht 
 branches.) 
 
 S C E N E II. 
 Talgol-, . Pembel. 
 
 Talgol. Should not we do better to reft our^ 
 felves here till day-light ? 
 
 Pembel. Why here ? We (hall be much more 
 at our safe, before a table, at fome inn. 
 
 TskeL 
 
214 CHARLES II. 
 
 Talgok You may try the experiment, if you 
 will. Everybody is fair, afleep yet. Inftead of 
 going to iofe my time in knocking at doors, I 
 will itretch myfeif d>- n here. (He lies down un- 
 der the. oak in whir! the kin)r is concealed.) 
 
 PembA. Ffom the top of this tree yon may 
 fee the day ready to break between yon hills. 
 Do not you hear the cocks crow, to fummon the 
 hufbandman to his early toil ? We fhall rind all 
 the houles juit opening.. Come, rife; let us 
 
 ''ial^oL What I have once refolved, I am fure 
 to perform. 
 
 :,nbeL I might fay as much, and then we 
 muft feparate, I change my refolves no more 
 than you : my beard (hews it. Until Charles 
 Stuart (hall fall into my hands, I have ("worn that 
 the razor fhall never touch it. You fee how 
 long it is grown already. 
 
 Ta/goL It is ealier to bear the inconvenience 
 of a beard, than of wearinefs and fatigue. 
 
 Pembel. Are you not afhamed to be w<tary in 
 a purfuit that may make your fortune 
 
 TulgoU I would not defire a fortune at this 
 price. 
 
 Pembel The thing is, thou art net fuffici- 
 enrly enlightened. Hut 1 can prove to thee, that 
 it were impious for faints to faint in the execu- 
 tion of heaven's commands, for the fake of a 
 little weannefs. 
 
 TlilgoL Heaven has not commanded me. I 
 have not fvvorn by my beard to take Charles 
 Stuart. And if 1 may afk, what right have you 
 over him i 
 
 Pembel 
 
CHARLES IL 215 
 
 ,PembeL A right, founded on the good old 
 caufe : Shall the ungodly have dominion over 
 faints ? We were ftrayed from the paths of 
 righreoufnefs, and heaven, in Its^wrath, fent us a 
 tyrant, armed with a rod of iron. Now that we 
 are fanctirkd, power is given us to break the rod 
 with which we hay? b^cn fo long chaftifed. 
 
 TJgoL Still 1 fay, it is wicked to reject the 
 kings, who were allotted to us from above. 
 
 Pembel. The Lord will have no king, but 
 himfelf, to govern his people. No fight is more 
 pleafing to him, than that of the army at prayers. 
 That; is what has carried the good old caufe fo 
 far. 
 
 Talgol. Much too far. Had we (topped at 
 the abojifhing of popery and epifcopacy, it had 
 been well, i took up arms rayfelf to attain thefe 
 ends ; and with this view alfo we called you to 
 out affirmance ; but you have managed fo as to 
 get the power all into your own hands, and now 
 you exercife it according to your errors. You 
 have put your king to death. That will cofl: you 
 dear. 
 
 Pembel. If you were only to hear Cromwell, 
 he would teach you what 'to think on the fub- 
 jecl:. Thefe are his words : " When ! would 
 have fpoken for the re-eftabhfhment of the king, 
 I felt my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. 
 A plain indication that heaven had hardened his 
 heart, and rejected him." But arifwer me your- 
 felf ; Was this king worthy to govern us ? Did 
 he not attack us firft ? 
 
 Talgol 
 
a«i6 C-H ARLIS fH. 
 
 Talgol. Yes, certainly, he would have en* 
 thralled our conferences to his own imaginati- 
 ons. 
 
 PembeL Who was the firft that rofe up to 
 oppofe his defigns ? Was it not you ? 
 
 Talgol. Our arms were not aimed at him, 
 but at his wicked counfellors. 
 
 PembeL They were the fame as himfelf, and 
 he as they. To let them do the evil, was it not 
 t{ie fame if he did it himfelf \ 
 ■lalgol. True, he was blameable for it. 
 .-.PembeL And what was your object ? 
 , TalgoL Liberty of confcience. 
 PembeL Did he grant it to you ? 
 . Talgol. No. 
 
 PembeL Would you ever have obtained it, if 
 -the parliament had not. Supported you ? 
 lalgol. Never, i allow. 
 PembeL And is npt the parliament the voice 
 of the nation ? 
 
 ^Talgol. Certainly, inafmuch as it represents 
 the nsrion. 
 
 PembeL It is the parliament, therefore, that 
 is the nation, that we m.uft obey, efpecially when 
 we are to well paid for it. 
 
 c Iaho ] . Your arguments begin to appear 
 fomerhing weightier than before. 
 
 Pernb-!. See how thou wert blinded. The 
 Lord was deiirous to pumfh a tyranr, and . chofe 
 you firit to begin his vengeance. Other instru- 
 ments were wanting for the confummation there- 
 of, and we came to put the laft hand to this 
 great jvork. Do we not act then in concert with 
 you ? and is not the good old caufe our's as well 
 
 as 
 
CHARLES If. 217 
 
 as your's" ? Ought we then to bear with one of 
 the ungodly, tiiat would have bruifed us to 
 pieces ; us who are the children of the Lord ? 
 
 TalgoL I begin to fee clearly. 
 
 PcmbeL Have patience, the light will come 
 down upon thee (till more. When delivered 
 from our firft tyrant, why did we go, with fwords 
 in our hands, to Worcefter ? Was it not to hin- 
 der his fon from overturning the foundation 
 that we had laid for the fecurity of our confci- 
 ences and our liberties ? Has not heaven appro- 
 ved our actions, by the glorious victory that we 
 have gained ? Stuart came sgainvt us with a nu- 
 merous army. Did we not make him flee, like 
 the chaff before the wind ? When the Lord 
 (peaks, are we to refift hi? voice ? 
 
 TalgoL Thou art right. He hath clearly 
 manifefted his will. 
 
 PembcL fie requires that our confeiences be 
 pure : Stuart would defile them with his errors ; 
 znd (hall we ceafe to piirfue him wiHi vengeance ? 
 
 TalgoL Heaven forbid. The fon is not yet 
 fufficiently warned from the impieties of his fa- 
 ther, to rule over us, the eleft. We mould feize 
 him where-ever we can find him, left, otherwife, 
 we ourfelves difobey the Lord. 
 
 PembeL Perhaps we mould have had, before 
 this time, the good fortune to take him, if your 
 heart, by its doubts and waverings, had not 
 offended heaven. Others, lefs fcrupulous, may 
 havefeized this happinefs before us. Yes, we 
 fhall certainly find Stuart in the cuftody of 
 Cromwell. 
 
 TalgoL How 1 I fhould never pardon my- 
 
 feif, were I to fee him taken by any other hands 
 
 T than 
 
218 CHARLES II. 
 
 than our's. The cock crows again. It is a good 
 omen. Let us go and fearch every quarter of 
 the country for our victim. I no longer feci 
 myfelf fatigued. 
 
 Pembel, {in a canting tone.) If heaven had not 
 given me patience and inward light, your under- 
 ftanding would have ftill been in darkiiefs. {They 
 go out.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Charles, 
 
 Perndious Cromwell, this is your manner of 
 acting ! It is not fufficient to arm againft nie 
 ambition, by the allurements of power, audaci- 
 ous violence, by the charms of wild licentioui- 
 nefs, and avarice, by the incitements of rapine ? 
 Your bafe emiffaries would arm againit me igno- 
 rance and fuperftition, by the workings of en* 
 thufiafm. Your impious hypocrify would make 
 heaven itfelf initrumental in ftifling rne lait re- 
 mainder of virtue in men's confeiences. I com- 
 plained of my own fufferings and diirreiTes ; I 
 fhould lament over the fate of my people, '['hey 
 do not fee the chains which your murderous 
 hand is forging for them. I lofe but my crown, 
 and perhaps my life, whereas they lofe liberty ? 
 peace, virtue and honour. 
 
 SCENE 
 
C H A-RL-ES II. 219 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 (The fan is on the point of rifing.) 
 
 Charles, Pope. 
 
 Pope, [dreffed in livery ; he flips under the ocJ? % 
 a*id looks at the rifing fun. ) A new day begins. 
 Gracious Lord, hear me. May our fovereign 
 efcape this day aifo from his perfecutors. Vouch- 
 fafe to take him under thy prote&ion, and to 
 watch over his life. There are faithful fubje&s 
 enough who wifh for his reftoratioh, but few who 
 dare to take up arms in his favour. Thou alone 
 remaineft, O Lord, of all who could affift him. 
 S'hevv forth thy power ; reftore to our fovereigrt 
 his crown, and to us peace and lawful govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Charles. I can reckon, at leaft, one faithful 
 fubjecl:. I will fee him, and fpeak to him. {He 
 puts the leaves and branches ajtde y and Jhews him- 
 
 m . . 
 
 Pope, (turning his head every way to hflen.) I 
 think I hear a voice. (Go'n.g.) 
 
 Charles, (coming down from the tree.) Stop a 
 moment, my friend, I befeech you. 
 
 Pope, (with a look of fufpicion.) What do you 
 niake there ? 
 
 Charles, ^goihg tovjard him.) You feem to 
 me to be an honeft man — 
 
 Pope. So I am ; what then ? 
 
 Charles, I have a favour to requeft of you. 
 
 T2 Pipe. 
 
220 CHARLES IL 
 
 Pope, In the firft place, who are you ? 
 
 Charles. I aai one who efcaped after the bat- 
 tle of Worcefter. I have palled the night on. 
 vhis tree, to efcape from the parliament ibldiers, 
 becaufe I am of the oppofite party. I perceive, ., 
 by your feivent prayer juft now, that you are of 
 the fame party, and therefore it is that I have ta-.- 
 ken the liberty to addreis you. 
 
 Pope, tf what you fay be true, you have no- 
 thing to fear from me. But what would you 
 have me do for you ? 
 
 ChavL-s. I fee, you wear a livery. Who is 
 your mafter ? 
 
 Pope. Lord Wyndham, who lives in this-, 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Charles. I have heard people fpeak of him. 
 e. Well, I hope. It is true, what I call 
 would make him criminal in the eyes of 
 many, But ftij] I muft do him juitice. 
 
 Charles. I recoiled*, this nobleman lived re- 
 tired from all party. 
 
 Pope. True, but do you know for what rea- 
 fori ? He ferved, with his family, in the army of 
 the deceafed king. At the battle of Nafeby, he 
 toft his eldeft fort, the hopes of his family. Af- 
 ter the overthrow of the royal army, and the 
 taking of the king, he came down here to the 
 country, to mourn in filence, for the cruel fate of 
 his mafter. He (wore never to return to Lon- 
 don, before the people mould fubmit to the fon 
 of their lawful fovereign. And he adheres unct- 
 ly to his word \ fmce that unfortunate battle, he 
 
 h2$ never quitted his houfe. 
 
 Charles ? 
 
CHARLES II. 221 
 
 Charles^ (afide.) Heaven be praifed* I find 
 an afylum at length. 
 
 Pope. Now tell me what is your intention ? 
 Charles. Let me requeft you to conduct me 
 to my Lord. He will companionate my diftref- 
 fes i and certainly he will not refufe me fhelter 
 for a few days in his houfe. 
 
 Pope. I am going thither immediately. I 
 have walkea, :il night with difpatches from him, 
 on bufinefs of importance. I would chearfully 
 take you with me, if I were fure that you were 
 of the right fide ; for, otherwife, it would be of 
 no ufe for you to appear before him. You are 
 aftoniihed, perhaps, that I dare/peak my mind 
 to you with fo much freedom; but, infpiteof all 
 the tyranny of the parliament, we are! not afraid 
 to give our thoughts vent. It is true, we are 
 too weak to Item the torrent of rebellion. Powd- 
 er may oblige us to be quiet, but not to betray, 
 or even to difguife our fentiments. 
 
 Charles, I am delighted to fee you in this 
 way of thinking. For thefe four and twenty 
 hours pari, 1 have concealed myfelf in this tree, 
 in order to efcape the purfuit of Cromwell's fol- 
 diers. I have fhed tears of blood, for our iofs 
 of the battle of Worcefter. My heart is the 
 king's 1 and whatever may be my fate, 1 will ne- 
 ver be feen to change. 
 
 Pope. Nor f, nor my mailer neither. Ah ! 
 that unfortunate battle has plunged us all in 
 grief. What can have become of our young 
 k'ng ! Oh heaven ! may he ftill be alive, and ef- 
 cape from his enemi s ! 
 
 Charles. Have yc u heard any thing of him ? 
 i 3 Pope. 
 
CHARLES II. ' 
 
 Pope. Nothing, unlefs that he wanders through 
 the country, with a fmall number of friends. 
 Who knows whether he has not fallen, this 'lad 
 night, into the hands of the parliament party ? 
 But no, I hope that my prayers may have pre- 
 served him. 
 
 Charles. My brave friend, he would be hap- 
 py to teftify his gratitude to you, for fo faithful 
 an attachment. 
 
 Pope. Alas ! perhaps he is not able to pro* 
 vide for his own immediate neceflities. He is, 
 no doubt, much more diftrefTed than I am. It 
 mould be my part to aflift him with the little 
 that I poflefs. 
 
 Cbwles^ (feghing.) Ah ! fuch generofuy can- 
 not fail, fooner or later, to meet with the re- 
 ward that it deferves. 
 
 Pope, What do you talk of reward ? Let 
 England only receive her king, and I am paid s 
 to the fulleft of my wifhes. But if you will 
 come with me, it is time to fet off. I mould be 
 at home now. 
 
 Charles^ {holding him by the hand.) My friend ! 
 flo>> but a moment. (He makes afignal.) 
 
 Pope y (furprifed.) What are you doing? I 
 fear you are a traitor. Well, I will not deny 
 what [ have laid. I have neither wife nor chil- 
 dren ; and my fingle perfbri is not of fuch con- 
 feqlience, that I mould make myielf uneafy about 
 it : befrde^, i is but too great an honour for me, 
 to perifli by the fame axe which hss beheaded 
 the king, and fo many great noblemen. Let 
 your crew come on. 1 hare no reafon to blufh, 
 for I haye only fpoken the truth. 
 
CHARLES II, 223 
 
 Charles, No, my friend ; you judge wrong 
 of me :' I am calling one of the companions of 
 my flight, who lies hid in yonder thicket. Ws 
 lay the moft implicit confidence in you. I could 
 only whh to fee every Englishman have fa nobis 
 a way of thinking as yqur's. is, 
 
 SCENE V, 
 Charles, &erby> Pcp> 
 
 Derby, (fiarihd.) What do I fee ? 
 
 Charles, There is no danger, I am going t3 
 follow this worthy man/ He ferves Lord Wynd- 
 ham, whofe dwelling is hard by. 
 
 Derby, Lord Wyndham I Are we fo near to 
 his feat ? 
 
 Pope. It is but an hour's walk from hence. 
 
 Charles. Do you fee any danger in afking him 
 for fhelter r 
 
 Derby. Nofife at a]h My. lord is a faithful 
 friend to the royal caufe. 
 
 Pope. Yes, by my faith, is he, and whoever 
 is of a different way of thinking, ought not to 
 come into his houfe. We pray, every dav, for 
 the fafety of the prince, I do not know if my 
 lord prays with more earneftbefs for his only 
 fen. Nay, when I attended him at the battle of 
 Nafeby, and the corpfe of His eldeft Ton, ail co^ 
 vered with blood, was brought before him, his 
 tears, I believe, were fl ed as much for the king's 
 >*tef€at, as for his own lofs. 
 
 Charley 
 
%2* CHARLES IK 
 
 Charles, (af/de to Derby.) Shall we go to- his 
 houfe, then ? 
 
 Derb), (ajtde to Charles.) Yes, if 1 might ad- 
 vife your majefty. 
 
 Pope, (overhearing.) JVIajefty ? — Heavens ! I 
 believe it is the king himlelf. Yes, my heart 
 aiTuies me that it is. [Fails at his feet.) Your 
 majefty will pardon me for having fpoken fo 
 rudely. But how mould J imagine that a king 
 or England was concealed in this drefs ? I mall 
 be pardoned.* however, by your majefty, fince, 
 without making yourlelf known, you difcovered 
 my inmoft" thoughts. What can 1 fay more? I 
 have not power to fpeak, 1 am fo tran/ported 
 with joy* W hat a fttppinefs tor fo poor a mart 
 as 1 am, that the foyereign of three kingdoms 
 ihould command my fer vices ! 
 
 Charles. What are you doing,' my friend ? 
 Ycur ardour tranfports you; .1 am not what 
 ycu fay., 
 
 Pope. Oh ! yes, you are, in the fight of hea^' 
 ven aw\ earth. Why mould you difguife your- 
 felf ? Your countenance difcovers you.— And I, 
 that dared to call you a traitor ! I am as much 
 in the right now, as I was deceived before. On- 
 ly let your majefty lay your hand upon my heart. 
 M outd i beat with fa much violence, if I was 
 IK t in \hc prefence of m\ king ? 
 
 Gharhsi Rife, my friend, your miftake may 
 cam our ruin. 
 
 Derby, Would the king be without a reti- 
 nue ? 
 
 Pope. He fhould not. But, alas ! the vil-- 
 Jain Cromwell has left hiui none. However, he 
 
 needs 
 
CHARLES II. 225 
 
 needs no retinue to be ftill my king. I befeech 
 you, tell me that you are lb. You do not deign 
 to anfwer me. I fee, you both fear to truft me : 
 and yet I dare to appeal to your majefty ; after 
 Yfhat you have heard from my own mouth, can 
 you refufe me your confidence ? If there is, in 
 all my veins, a drop of difloyal blood, let it over- 
 flow my heart, and choke the fprings of life. 
 
 Charles. I am perfuaded you are an honefr 
 man, and therefore I do not wifh to deceive 
 you. 
 
 Pope,'- Wei!, my liege, it is enough. - Men 
 do not follow a guide whom they diftruf':, This 
 road leads to my lord Wyndham's, Go thither 
 without me : but firft, here are my piilols ; take 
 them, and (hoot me through the head, I dars 
 not anfwer for myfelf, finee you have fufpicions 
 of my hondty. [Charles makes fign 5 to Lord Der^ 
 fy y for his advice^ who fortifies his approbation.) 
 
 Charles^ {to Pope.) You deferve to know me. 
 I am the unfortunate king of Scotland. 
 
 Pope y (vehemently.) And of England too, and 
 Ireland ; V\\ maintain it. Your majefty has as 
 much right to on^ as- the other. 
 
 Chirks, You fee our danger ; make hafte to 
 bring us to a place of fafety. Conduct us to 
 Lord Wyndham's ; but I conjure you, tell no- 
 body who I am, not even your mafter. 
 
 Pope. Sire, I am but a poor peafanr, yet X 
 know that the requeft of a king is a facred in- 
 junction to a faithful fubject ; and I would no: 
 iofe that name; efpecially to-day, for the whol? 
 world. 
 
 Charlu 
 
2%6 C H A R L L S IL 
 
 Charles. You poiTefs the mod important fe~ 
 cret of the State, but, i. believe, you are capable 
 of treafuring it up faithfully in your breaft. 
 
 Pope. Ah ! Sire, 1 would face the trioft 
 dreadful torments, to defer ve your praife. 
 
 Charles. Derby, my legs have not flrength 
 enough to carry me as far as our horfes. 
 
 Pope^ (eagerly.) Where are they ? Where arc 
 they ? 
 
 Derby. Down *mong thofe thickets. I will 
 go for them. 
 
 Pope, No, no ; we are too near the road- 
 here ; we may be furprized. Let me carry your 
 majeily to them. Then we (hall have the foreft' 
 all the way home. 
 
 Charles. I would not give you this trouble, if 
 I could fland. 
 
 Pope^ (taking him in his arms.) Come, my 
 Liege, (as he goes along.) Shew me a man of* 
 more importance than myfelf. The greateft fe* 
 cret of the itate in my breaft, and the fate of 
 *he three kingdoms upon my fhoulders. (Ihey 
 g* out.) 
 
 ACT 
 
CHARLES II. 2%y 
 
 A C T II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 A room in Lord Windham's Cafile. 
 
 (Windhcun fitting at a table^ thought fid and melan- 
 choly, H:nry y his fon y enters and falutes him, 
 Windham does not obferve him^ but continues full 
 buried in profound medication, ) 
 
 Henry. Father, I conjure you, banifh this 
 XDelancholy tbat opprefTes you. 
 
 Windham, {looking at him with an air of dejec- 
 tion.) My fon, the battle is loft ; that battle on 
 which our laft hopes were refted. Nor is it 
 known what is become of the king. I tremble 
 to think that he may have funk under his mis- 
 fortunes. Then who could ftop the fury of the 
 rebels, or oppofe their defigns. And do you bid 
 me not to mourn for the fate of my country ? 
 
 Henry. Your grief is juft, but it endangers 
 your life. What would become of your wife 
 and your children, if they .were fo unfortunate as 
 to lofe you in thefe turbulent times. 
 
 JVyndham. Death would, perhaps, be the 
 moft deferable thing for us ail. You fee what, is 
 our fituation. All the valuable remains that 
 time had fpared, of an ancient nobility, have 
 perimed under tortures, or languish in proscrip- 
 tion and exile. Adventurers, more defpicable 
 for their vices than their obfeurity, occupy the 
 feats of our peers in parliament. Inftead of our 
 
 bravo 
 
225 charles rr. 
 
 brave generals, we fee ignorant tradefmen fill the 
 firft polls of the army. Fanaticifn*, of the moft 
 abominable nature, reigns in the place of religi- 
 on. Frantic preachers, pf a thoufand fects, 
 drown the voice of the regular minifters of the 
 gofpel. Hypocrify, under the appearance of pi- 
 ety, gives a loofe to the moft fcandalous excef- 
 fes ; fhej uftifies her crimes by the moft atroci- 
 ous blafphemies, which (lie afcribes to the Su- 
 preme Being, The true friends of this country 
 are perfecuted ; and infamy is feated on the 
 throne of juftice. Can life be of any value, 
 while it is confined to view fuch horrid lights as 
 thefe ? 
 
 Henry, No, father, it would be intolerable, 
 were thefe evils to continue for ever. But why 
 fhould we fuffer our courage to be caft down ? 
 Who knows I — 
 
 Windham. On what foundation can we build 
 a hope? The royal army is difperfed. If the 
 prince were even living, where would he find 
 forces to retrieve his fortune ? His friends, dif- 
 heartened by» a Ions: feries of overthrows, far 
 from daring to refill the torrent of rebellion, are, 
 perhaps, deftined, by their ruin, to augment the 
 general devaluation. ' Our laft refource is only 
 the fwelling of this tyranny to its height. That 
 period approaches ; and the people of this na- 
 tion, finding themfelves oppreded by a heavier 
 yoke than they ever yet experienced, will arm 
 themfelves with all their native refolution, to 
 (hake it off. Bur how many troubles and difor- 
 ders will bring about that happy revolution ! I 
 fhail not live Ions; enoueh to be a witnefs to it : 
 b but, 
 
: H A RLES II. 229 
 
 but, my fon, if thou (halt furvive me, remain, 
 for ever fteady in the principles which I have 
 .taught thee. Never efpoufe the caufe of a des- 
 potic parJiament.: it will become the moil dread- 
 ful fcourge that ever opprefied this nation. Re- 
 main rather inactive (it will be the moil prudent 
 conduct) until the people, recovered from their 
 fatal errors, be conftrained to wifh for the go- 
 vernment, which they have juft now abolimed. 
 
 Henry, I fwear, under your hand, that thefe 
 facred in ft rucHons (hall never depart from my 
 heart and memory. 
 
 S C E N E II. 
 if'yndbam, Henry y Pope, 
 
 Pope. My lord, her ladyfhip, your fitter, is 
 much better, but (he earneftly deiires to fee her 
 mother to-day. Colonel Lane prefents his re- 
 fpec~ts. He is going to embark. 
 
 Wyndham. For what country ? 
 
 Pope. For France, my lord. I faw them 
 fend his baggage aboard j for the fliip is to fail 
 to-morrow, by break of day. 
 
 Wyndham, (fighing.) One brave citizen more 
 banifhed from his country ! The commonwealth 
 vrill foon behold its foundeft members Scattered 
 far, far away. Have you learned nothing of the 
 king's deftiny ? 
 
 Pope, He is ftill alive, my lord. He wanders 
 about, this part of the country, accompanied by 
 a faithful friend. 
 
 U Wyndham, 
 
230 CHARLES IL 
 
 am. Reduced to hide himielf in his 
 
 own dominions ! What a lamentable fituation ! 
 But heaven be praifed that he ftill lives. Run 
 immediately, and carry this news to my mother. 
 
 Pope. I have brought hither two perfons, who 
 efcaped from the battle of Worcefter, and requeft 
 fhelter in your houfe for a few days. 
 
 Wyndham, Let them come in. [Pope gc,e$ 
 aid, ) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 JVyndham, Henry c 
 
 Henry, W hat, father, will you receive thefe 
 Grangers, without knowing them ? Suppofe they 
 were enemies, in difguife ! 
 
 Wyndham. And what then, my dear child ? 
 What harm can they do to us? Bear witnefs, 
 that we are faithful to our king. All England 
 knows it. I have never denied my principles, 
 which are dearer to me than my life. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Charles, Derby, Wyndham, Henry, Pope. 
 
 Wyndham. Good-morrow, friends. I un« 
 derftand that you defire to take fhelter in my 
 
 Jzoufer 
 
 Charles* 
 
€ H A R L E S II. 231 
 
 Charles Yes, my lord, we are come, with 
 confidence, to throw ourfelves under yo\ar lord- 
 fnip's protection. 
 
 'IVyndbam. I am ready to receive you, when 
 I know who you are. 
 
 • Charles. Some of the king's moft zealous 
 friends. Your lordfhip knows, I fuppofe, that 
 the royal army was defeated, three days ago : we 
 were feparated from his company. The dread 
 of falling into the hands of rebels, forced us to 
 put on this difguife. We beg your lordlhip to 
 allow us a fafeguard, until the roads are more 
 clear, that we may return. 
 
 Pope^ (afide to Wyndham, after he had placed arm 
 chairs for them.) My lord, they are fatigued. 
 
 Wyndham. Sit down and reft yourfelves. I 
 am willing to believe your bare word. Indeed, 
 what view could you have in calling yourfelves 
 of another party ? The parliament has conquer- 
 ed the king, but not the hearts of his faithful 
 fubjects : I profefs myfelf one of that number. 
 If you are only come to be fpies on me, or to 
 found my principles, you fee, I avow them j your 
 commiflion is fulfilled. If you were to ftay 
 longer, you would learn no more. However, f 
 give you the protection that you demand, and if 
 you are what you fay, I give it with pleafure. 
 
 Charles.- My lord, receive our thanks, and be- 
 lieve us to be incapable of impofing on you. We 
 belonged to the Scottiih army. 
 
 JVyndham. In that cafe, 1 Kjoice that I car: 
 
 be of fervice to perfons of worth. Command 
 
 my h-oufe ; but -firft (in a Pathetic voice) make 
 
 Vz ' hails 
 
23* CHAR L E S IE 
 
 hafte to inform me whatever you know of the 
 king. . 
 
 Charles. After the unfortunate battle, he left 
 Worcefter about fix o'clock, in the evening, ac- 
 companied by a body of fifty men. He galloped 
 twenty- fix miles, without halting ; after which, 
 he thought it moft advifeable to feparate from 
 his efcort, and, with the Earl of Derby, alone, in 
 his company, he threw himfelf into the adjacent 
 foreft. Since then, nothing particular has hap- 
 pened to him. 
 
 Wyndham. Let heaven's protection attend all 
 his Heps. My heart is relieved from a heavy 
 anxiety. Fie has, at leaft, efcaped the firft dan- 
 ger. We were ignorant, whether he had efca- 
 ped alive from the field of battle, [wiping bis eyes.) 
 Happy Derby ! Heaven has trufted to your 
 hands, the pledge of England's happinefs ; jne- 
 ferve this facred" depofit for us, even at the ha- 
 zard of your life. You have ever been fteady 
 to your duty ; let your conduct mil be worthy 
 cf your former virtue. 
 
 Derby, (with vehemence.) It will, my lord, it 
 will. 1 know him fufBciently to fwear for him. 
 
 Wyndham^ (looking earnejlly at Derby.) My 
 friend, your features are not quite unknown to 
 me. 
 
 Derby. I muft be greatly altered, Wyndham, 
 if you do not know me again. 
 
 Wyndham. What, can it be Lord Derby him- 
 felf? 
 
 Derby. The fame. 
 
 ff^'ndham. (embracing him.) Brave Derby ! 
 (perceiving Derby to look anxioryly at the king^ he 
 
 turns 
 
. CHARLES II. i 33 
 
 turns his eyes toward him, and cries, with an emo- 
 tion offurprize,) Shall I believe my eyes ? 
 
 Derby. They are as true as your heart is. 
 Here you fee my facred depofit. I confign it to 
 your charge. 
 
 Wyndham, (feizing the king's hand, and kijfmg it, 
 with tranfport.) Ah ! Sire ! how happy am I! 
 Receive, in thefe tears, the firft tefiimony of my 
 principles. I fee heaven declares itfelf in your 
 favour, fince it has made choice of me to receive 
 you. 
 
 Charles. My lord, I know your loyalty well ; 
 I therefore refign myfelf to you, without fcruple. 
 
 Wyndham. Then I vail not go about to offer 
 your majefty unnece±Fary aflarances. This is 
 my only (on. I have brought him up in my 
 own principles. He burns already with impa- 
 tience, to fried his blood in his fovereign's caufe. 
 
 Harry. Yes, Sire, I have often, in my own 
 mind, vowed to do fo. With joy I now renew 
 that vow, upon your majefty's hand. 
 
 Charles. I accept your fervices, againft a hap- 
 pier time. 
 
 Wyndham. Will your majerty permit me to 
 prefent to you the reft of a family, who are en- 
 tirely devoted to your interest ? 
 
 Charles. You excite a ftrong defirc in me, of 
 knowing your lordfhip's family ; 1 was going to 
 a,']; you the favour of being introduced to them. 
 
 Wyndham, (to Pope.) Make hafte j call my 
 
 mother, my wife, and my daughter j let them 
 
 come hither -immediately : but 1 forbid you to 
 
 ;o them what you have j'uil now 7 heard, 
 
 U 3 Pope, 
 
234 CHARLES II. 
 
 Pope. My lord, I knew every thing, and yet 
 I kept it Tecret, even from your lordihip. Judge 
 if I can do the fame with others. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Charles^ Derby ^ Wyndham^ Henry. 
 
 Wyndham. We have not let a fingle day pafs, 
 without addreffing to heaven the molt ardent 
 prayers for your majefiy's fafety. They have, 
 no doubt, been heard. You deign to truit your- 
 ielf to my faith ; by fo doing, you honour my 
 fceal with the mod flattering recompenfe. 
 
 Charles* And I, on the other hand, look on 
 this generous avowal, as a mitigation of my mis- 
 fortunes. Had it not been for you, I was not 
 eyen fure of finding a fhelter. 
 
 Wyndham. Why has not fate placed the fame 
 force in our hands, that we feel invigorate our 
 fouls ? Your deftiny would foon be decided. 
 But, alas ! i have nothing to offer you, but in- 
 effectual vows, and a weak, unarmed family. 
 While our withes would be to replace your ma- 
 jefty on the throne of your fathers, at the cod 
 of our blood, our power goes no farther than to 
 offer you an opfcure retreat. 
 
 Charles. And that is ail that we have to de- 
 fire, at prefent. We have been borne away by 
 a torrent of ill fuccefs. It is violent and im- 
 petuous, but in time it fpends its force. The 
 blood of my fubjec'ts is too dear to permit me to 
 
 opnoie 
 
CHA RL E 5 II. 235 
 
 oppofe the invincible fway of fortune, with an in- 
 effectual refinance. Let us, at the fame time, 
 avoid the dictates o( a blind defpair, and reft, 
 armed in our courage alone. The time will 
 come, when we fhall be able to make ufe of it 
 with more prudence and dignity. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Charles, Derby, Wyndham, Henry, Lady Mary, 
 Lady frVyndharn, Elizabeth, Pope, 
 
 Lady Mary, Son, what was the fo prefTmg 
 occafion of your fending for us ? 
 
 Wyndham, {prcfenting his family to the king. ) 
 This is my mother ; tins is my wife ; this young 
 perfon is my daughter : they have ail the fame 
 fentiments with myfeif. i have the honour to 
 prefent 'o your majefty fome of your rnort faith- 
 ful iubjefts. 
 
 Lady Mary. What do I hear ? His Majefty ? 
 
 Lady Wyndham and Elizabeth, O heaven ! 
 
 Wyndham, (with tears in his eyes.) Yes, your 
 king. 
 
 Lady Mary, {falling at his feet.) Ah I Sire, 
 do you ftill live ? — My children, it is ftill our 
 fpvereign, though in this drefs. Follow my 
 example. Receive him as a king. Fall at his 
 feet, and fwear fealty, refpe&, and allegiance to 
 him. 
 
 Wyndham. Your majefty will pardon me : 
 the excefs of my joy had made me forget my fir ft 
 
 duly. 
 
236 CHARLES II. 
 
 duty. (He falls at his feet, as do Lady Wyndhart, 
 Elizabeth and Henry. ) 
 
 Charles, Rife, my friends. Thefe marks of 
 honour are very little fuitable to my fituation. 
 I am very far from my throne. (He taifes Lady 
 Mary : the others rife.) Lord Wyndham, is this 
 all your family ? 
 
 Wyndham. Yes } Sire : I could wifh it more 
 numerous, that I might offer you a greater num- 
 ber of devoted fervants. 
 
 Charles, (placing h'wf If between Lady Mary and 
 Lady Wyndham, and taking each of them by the hand.) 
 My lord, and his fon, have promifed me their 
 fervices ; but I will be under your particular 
 protection. The joy which appears in your 
 eyes, perfuades me that 1 (hail not have much 
 trouble to obtain it. 
 
 Lady Alary. We (hould be happy,- were it in 
 our power to /hew our attachment to your ma- 
 jetty's crown, in circumftances lefs difcouraging. 
 I have loft, in the defence of your caufe, three 
 fons and a grandfon ; but their death never 
 made mebluih, as they received it in the perform- 
 ance of their duty. You fee here all that re- 
 mains of our family, except a daughter that I 
 have ftill living. There is none of us to whom 
 life is more dear, than your honour. We all 
 burn with zealous emulation to ferve you. Your 
 misfortunes, and thofe of your father, embitter- 
 ed mi [t feems .'s if heaven would re- 
 lax of its feverity, by placing before my e)es, the 
 object of my moft tender anxiety, and by giving 
 me the means of preserving his life. Ah ! Sire, 
 what a happy compenfatio 
 
 Charles, 
 
C KARLES II. 2p 
 
 Charks^ {pr effing her hand between his. ) I am 
 no: furprized to behold fuch noble virtues in a 
 family which does honour to you ; but I admire 
 that you yourfelf fhouid have fall preferved fuch 
 conikney and refolution, and that my ill fuccefs, 
 which has made my very belt friends fall off, has 
 not abated the firmnefs of your courage. 
 
 Wyhdbdm. Sire, we inherit thefs principles 
 from our anceftors, A few days before his 
 death, my father fent for me, and in a voice, 
 which, even from its weaknefs, was heard the 
 more attentively, he fpoke to us thus : ct My 
 children, England has feen, during the lafr three 
 reigns, a fucceilion of peaceful and happy years ; 
 but I fee now riling, on every fide^ clouds that 
 forebode the 'moft violent (terms. Prepare to 
 encounter them. They will ihike the whole 
 realm to ire centre. But -fland ye firm, in the 
 fmdft of the tempeft. Continue to love your 
 country ; be faithful to your fovereign, and ne- 
 ver forfake the crown, though you fee it hang on 
 a bu(li. ,> Thefe words made fo powerful an 
 impreflion upon our rninds, that all the tumul- 
 tuous revolutions, which have lince taken place 
 in the commonwealth, have not been able to ef- 
 face them, 
 
 Charks. Lord Wyndham, you are worthy of 
 the virtuous inheritance which your father has 
 Jeft you. 
 
 Lady JVyndham. My hufband would have loft 
 my efteem, if he had not cultivated that inheri- 
 tance for his children. 
 
 Henry. And I will count it my glory to tran- 
 smit It to mine. 
 
 Elizabeth, 
 
233 CHARLtS IL 
 
 Elizabeth. Sire, I am, as yet, nothing on the 
 theatre of this world ; but, after the example of 
 my parents, [ feel myfelf capable of undertaking 
 every tiling for your fervice. 
 
 €3tUrliik Rcfpe£bble family \ what tranfport- 
 ing happin-efs do I experience in the midft of 
 you ! After having fuffered fo much from in- 
 gratitude and perfidy, my heart breathes here at 
 liberty, while I receive thefe affectionate proofs 
 of your attachment. 
 
 Derby. At prefent, my friends, it is time to 
 confuit the fecurity of the king. Prudence for- 
 bids us to prolong our ftay here. The whole 
 country is full of parliament foldiers. I know 
 not whether there be fo much as a fingle corner 
 in the three kingdoms, that can afford us a fe- 
 cure retreat, in the prefent general ferment of 
 people's minds. The bufinefs is, therefore, to 
 confuit means for quitting England, by the leaft 
 dangerous way, 
 
 CbarLs. My defign is to embark for France, 
 in the firft veflel that I can rind. Lord Wynd- 
 ham, you know the country, and can eafily fa- 
 vour this defign. ■ 
 
 Wyndham, Chance feems to have difpofed 
 every thing for its fucceeding. A fervant, whom 
 3 Jvad fent to my fifter at Shoreham, informed 
 me, that a veflel is to fet fail from thence to- 
 morrow, at day-break, for Normandy. Colonel 
 Lane, a zealous friend to your majeily's caufe, 
 takes advantage of this opportunity, to efcape 
 from the purfuit of Cromwell's people. 
 
 Derby. And the opportunity feems pretty fa- 
 vourable. 
 
 Charles, 
 
CH A R L E S II, 239 
 
 Charles. I am ready to embrace it, provided 
 -we can go to the harbour, without any danger. 
 
 Wyndham. That mall be my care. I have 
 triifty perfons to accompany you. 
 
 Derby. Our horfes have had fevere duty. 
 We (hall have occafion for them to-night. Will 
 your lordmip order care to be taken of them ? 
 
 Wyndham. Pope, go and look, after them. 
 Provide every thing for them that is neceflary. 
 
 Pope. My lord, I obey you. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Charley Derby, Wyndham, Lady Mary, Lady 
 Wyndham, Elizabeth, Henry. 
 
 Wyndham. We muft ufe the moft delicate 
 precautions, in order to remove the flighted caufe 
 offufpicion. Your majefty knows, I prefume, 
 that our infamous parliament has promifed a re- 
 ward to thofe who fhould apprehend your per- 
 fon ; and have threatened, with the moft fevere 
 punimment, all. fuch as (hall harbour or conceal 
 you, I will anfwer for my domefttcs ; they are 
 equally above fear and corruption ; but we are 
 furrounded by a fanatical populace, againft whom 
 we mud be upon our guard. 
 
 Lady Mary. You need only keep yourfelf 
 concealed during the day v , and fet oft in the dufk 
 of the evening, in order to be at the harbour 
 before day-break. 
 
 Charles, This plan agrees perfectly with my 
 rjrefent occafions. It will be a real kindnefs .to 
 
 me. 
 
2 4 o CHARLES II. 
 
 me, ai well as Lord Derby, to be permitted to 
 refrefh ourfelves, after our fatigues, with a pretty 
 long ileep : and thus too, we ihall be able to e- 
 lude all inquifitive eyes. 
 
 Lady Il'indham. Would not your majefty ra- 
 ther chafe firft to recruit yoyrftrength withfomc 
 nourifhment . ? 
 
 Charles. I confefs to your ladyihip, that drow- 
 finefs gets the better of hunger : reft is the molt 
 immediately neceffary to us at prelent. 
 
 Lady Wyndbam* I will give orders, that your 
 majefty may retire, when you pleaie. Elizabeth) 
 come with me. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 Charles^ Derby, Wyndham, Lady Alary, Henry, 
 
 JVyndhanu A thought ftrikes me. My fifter 
 has invited my mother to go and fee her this e- 
 vening. 
 
 Lady Mary. Son, let me have the honor of 
 fettling our plan for the king's fafety, as I ihall 
 that of putting it in execution. 1 will let out at 
 nightfall ; and our facred guefts may, under fa- 
 vour of the darknefs, accompany us in fome dif- 
 guife, without the leaft danger. 
 
 Charles. My fafety will be ftill more dear to 
 ipe, fince I Ihall owe it to you. 
 
 JVpidbam. In the mean time, I will fend a 
 tneftage to my lifter, and defire her to engage a 
 piriTage with the captain of the fhip, for two other 
 
 gentlemen, 
 
CHARLES 1L 241 
 
 jgetitlemen, and to requeft him not to fet fail, until 
 .they arrive. 
 
 Derby. A good thought, my lord, and b 
 Colonel Lane, to take the charge of feeing pro- 
 per accommodations prepared for us, but with- 
 out mentioning our names. 
 
 IVyndham. Henry, tell James to get himielf 
 ready to fet off immediately for my lifter's. 
 
 Henry, Yes, father, I will let him know your 
 orders. 
 
 Lady Mary. Your majefty vwll permit me al- 
 Jo to go and make the neccffary preparations for 
 our departure* 
 
 S C E N E IX, 
 Charles, Derby, IVyndham, 
 
 Wyndham. I hope that with thefe precauti- 
 ons, your majefty will efcape the firft fury of the 
 tempeft. 
 
 Charles. I mud own., I draw a favourable 
 prefage from the appearance of our plan. But, 
 my friends, now we are alone, fit down each be- 
 fide me. Let us devote a few minutes to the 
 examination of my circumftances : fuppofe me 
 arrived in France, without accident, what re- 
 fources remain to me for the future f The cold 
 reception that I met with at Paris, two years a- 
 go, do not allow me to expect mighty £uccour§ 
 from that kingdom. 
 
 Derby. France is fcarcely recovered from the 
 
 confufion of her own civil wars. Policy |orbids 
 
 X her 
 
H2 CHARLES II. 
 
 her to arm in your caufe : but the defcendants 
 of the brave Henry IV. cannot fail of being ge- 
 nerous. The laws of hofpitality, at leaft, will be 
 facred in favour of your perfon ; and that is the 
 only object of our concern at prefent. 
 
 Wyndham. The wounds of this diftracled 
 country, can only be clofed by the hands of well- 
 affecled and judicious citizens. Time, alone, 
 will finally heal them. Leave to us the charge 
 of preparing the way for this event, and of for- 
 warding its accomplishment. 
 
 Ghat its. I refign myfelf to your zeal ; but I 
 fhudder to think of the infults and perfections 
 that you will, perhaps, be obliged to undergo. 
 When I landed, laft year, in Scotland, the tirft 
 object that irruck my view, was the bleeding head 
 of gallant Montrofe, whofe only crime was, 
 his inviolable fidelity. This appalling fight, 
 purlues me even in my dreams : it afflicts me 
 more than my own dangers. How much pre- 
 cious blood may the re-eftablifhment of my for- 
 tune (till cort me ! Even yourfelves, whofe loy- 
 alty I can never Efficiently reward, who knows 
 whether even you may not fall melancholy vic- 
 tims to the undertaking ? There wanted but this 
 cutting thought, to make my calamities com- 
 plete. 
 
 Derby. Such fentiments as thefe, on your 
 majefty's part, would be fufficient to repay us 
 for the facririce of our lives. The duty of the 
 nobility, is, to fupport the rights of your crown, 
 and their chiefeft honour, to defy all the dangers 
 to which this great undertaking may expofe 
 them. 
 
 • Wyndham* 
 
CHARLES II. 243 
 
 Wyndham. Yes, Sire, there is nothing but I 
 dare expect from our endeavours, if your for- 
 titude only feconds them. The prefent violent 
 crifis of affairs cannot laft long. The foundefl 
 part of the nation figh for that tranquility which 
 they enjoyed under your father and grandfather. 
 The people, loaded with taxes, impofed on them 
 for the maintenance of a murderous foldiery, 
 will foon rife againft exactions that become every 
 day more tyrannical. Difcord is ready to break, 
 out between the parliament and the army. 
 Cromwell, who underhand foments it, will, 
 fome time or other, throw off the mafk all at 
 once, and by difcovering his ambitious fchemes, 
 will exafperate even his own party. Become the 
 object of general execration, he will endeavour 
 to fupprefs it, by violence and terror ; but a 
 people ftill (haken from the impulfe of a long and 
 vehement concuffion, do not fubmit in filence to 
 the yoke. The tyrant's life will be parled in 
 Continual alarms. Iir.psired by the exeefTes of 
 his youth, tormented by his crimes, and har- 
 raffed by remorfe, he will foon finifh his days, 
 without eRablifhing his ufurped power ; and for 
 the completion of.his views, will leave none be- 
 hind him, but two fons, who muftfoon bend 
 under the weight of their adventitious fortune, 
 becaufe not endowed with their father's daring 
 genius. Then it will be that the nobilitv, tr?s 
 at length to exert their voice, and to fup'port it 
 with their arms, will make the nation acknow- 
 ledge you as their fovereign, a fovereign worthy 
 of ruling them, after having matured his virtues 
 in the fchool of adverfity. # 
 
 a* 
 
 X 2 Chirks* 
 
244 CHARLES II. 
 
 Charles. Sage Wyndham, I accept your pi 
 phecy '.-Mi joy. 
 
 v/. As a faithful fubject' to your ma-' 
 jefty, I thought it my duty to lay before you the 
 profpecl Of thefe hopes, in order both to ttftify 
 our zeal, and to fupport ) our courage. But I 
 fhould, alfo, on the other hand, think myfelf a 
 betrayer of the conftitution, if J did not lay be- 
 fore your majefty, what the people have a right 
 to expedf. from you. While I deteft the attroci- 
 ous crime committed on the perfoh of )our fa- 
 ther, I muft prtfume, with the laudable freedom 
 of ah Englishman, to fay, that he frequently vi- 
 1 our privileges, in order to give the greater 
 ftrerch to his prerogative, and that a prince ought 
 to he the firft to refpect the laws of his country. 
 
 Charles. 'The misfortunes, and the faults of 
 his reign, will .afford me a ftriking leflbn all my 
 life time. But, Wyndham, you know whether' 
 they mould be attributed to him : his temper 
 breathed indulgence and humanity : his lull fenV 
 ttments teftify his courage and great nefs of foul. 
 Heaven grant that 1 may refemble him in thefe 
 virtues. I know no reproach with which li is 
 memory can be lo ded, fave that of having pla- 
 ced his confidence it: perfons unworthy of it, and 
 who abufed it, both to his people's prejudice, and 
 his own. The choice of true friends is difficult, 
 in private life. Is it eafier for a prince to 
 diffTnguifh wife minifters, in the midft of fo many 
 courtiers, who are intcreited to impofe on him 
 by aiTumed good quahtfeS ? The more he loves 
 hh people, the Iefs can he fufpeft thofe who are 
 round him, of being Grangers to the fame fenti- 
 v ments. ' 
 
CHARLES H. 245 
 
 ments. The misfortune of my father, and 
 
 which many kings have fufTered in common with 
 
 him, was, to have lived long in profperity. I 
 
 fhall have the advantage of him, in the falutary 
 
 experience of misfortune. Perhaps, at no other 
 
 price, will heaven give me the inflrudtion that 
 
 can enable me to govern wifely. I fhall not 
 
 think that I have paid for it too dear, if I can. 
 
 render it conducive to the happinefs of the nati- 
 
 on ; and if I can make England forget, under a 
 
 reign of juftice and of peace, the troubles which 
 
 have fo long diflracled her, I will take, for my 
 
 pattern, that Henry, whofe name will be for ever 
 
 dear to the French, and' whom we ourfelves are 
 
 forced to revere. I go into his country, to col= 
 
 Ject the remembrance of all his virtues, Firm, 
 
 like him, in adverfity, I will imitate his clemen- 
 
 cyj when 1 mount the throne. The r e are my 
 
 engagements with my people; and do you, whom 
 
 I look upon, at this moment, as reprefenting my 
 
 people, receive the oath, which I make to refpeci 
 
 and defend its rights, until my dying day. 
 
 Wyndham. Yes, Sire, with pleafure we re- 
 ceive this facred vow. Your own happinefs de- 
 pends on it, as much a^that of the nation. 
 
 Derby, And mine fhall be to confecrate eve- 
 ry hour of my life, to the purpofe of enabling 
 you to accomp-ifh it, 
 
 x 3 
 
2 4 6 CHARLES II. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 Charles^ Derby, JVyndham, Lady Wyndham* 
 
 Lady Wyndham. Sire, every thing is prepared 
 for your retiring to reft. 
 
 Charles. Your ladyfhip could not, at this 
 moment, bring me more agreeable new6. My 
 body is fo weighed down with laffitude and fleep- 
 inefs, that I feel it fink under its own weight. 
 My dear Lord Derby, I would afk your affiit- 
 ance ; I have fcarcely flrength to ftand. (Lady 
 Wyndham and Derby fipport him.) My Lord, \ 
 hope, when I rife, that you will find my fpirits 
 
 v:r, and my fenfes lefs heavy than at prefent. 
 \mdham. Our hearts will watch round your 
 majefty. 
 
 Claries, I go, then, to repofe, with as much 
 fecurity, as if 1 had a numerous guard at my 
 gate. (Lady Wyndham and Derby conducl him out, 
 Wyndham following them, flops, on feeing fames and 
 Pope enter.) 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 Wyndham, James, Pope, 
 
 James. My lord, lam ready to fet off. 
 
 Wyndham. Hark ye, James, I am going to 
 charge you with a very important commiiTion. 
 I would not truft you with it, did I not know 
 you to be a man of probity and honour. In 
 
 your 
 
CHARLES It. 24? 
 
 your whole life, you never will be able to acquire 
 to much glory, as on this occafion. It is the 
 moil fignal proof that you can give of your pru- 
 dence and loyalty. 
 
 James. My lord, with refpecT: to loyalty, I 
 will yield to no man in England j as to prudence^ 
 I hope that your lordfhip ihall have no reafon to 
 repent making choice of me, 
 
 Wyndham. Well, take my own horfe, and 
 ride, in all hafte, to my filler's. You will tell 
 her that my mother will go to her houfe this e- 
 vening. At the inftant of your arrival, (he muft 
 engage two places in the vefiel which fets fail to- 
 morrow for Normandy. They are for two per- 
 fons whom all our family moft highly regard. 
 You will find Colonel Lane at my filler's ; con- 
 jure him, from me, to take this trouble upon 
 himfelf, and not to fuffer the captain to weigh 
 anchor, until my two paffengers are aboard. It 
 is a favour that I requeft of him by our former 
 friendfhip. I would give you a letter for him, if 
 I were not afraid of your being flopped by the 
 parliament foldiers, in which cafe, the letter 
 would difcover our project. 
 
 James. My lord, I will fpeak to as good ef- 
 fect as any writing. 
 
 IVyndham. If any one a(k you whence you 
 come, or whither you are going, take care not 
 to appear confufed, but have your anfwer before- 
 hand. 
 
 James. It is ready. Your fitter is fick. I 
 am fent by you to learn how (he is. I will even 
 tell her to feign herfelf worfe than (he is, to her 
 own people 5 and 1 will do the fame here in the 
 
 village, 
 
~4 CHARLES H. 
 
 village, that her mother may have a fufficient 
 pretext for fetting off" at night, to fee her. 
 
 PVyv.dkam. But that you may be there in time 3 
 ftop no where on the road. 
 
 fames. Your lordfhip fhall be fatisfied with 
 my conduct in every refpeit. 
 
 JVyjidbayn. That you may underitand why I 
 fpeak to you in fo earned a manner, know that 
 the king's fafety is the object of your comrnifii- 
 
 James, (kif[:ng the fkirt of his coat.) I will 
 thank your lordfhip, to my dying day, for think- 
 ing me worthy to perform it. 
 
 Wyndbam. None but fouls that are alive to 
 honour, can know the value of confidence. Ha- 
 pten to execute your charge, and may heaven 
 Nvatch over your expedition. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 James, Pope* 
 
 (James going out, is flopped by Pope.) 
 
 Pope. James, it's the king ! 
 
 JameSy {overjoy t J.) Do you think I did no't 
 hear ? 
 
 Pope, (graveh.) I tell you it's the king. 
 
 James \ Well ? 
 
 Pope. I have brought him fafe into the houfe ; 
 do you take care that he may come out as fafe- 
 
 james* 
 
CHARLES If. 249 
 
 James, Have I ever been behind you, upon 
 any occanon ? 
 
 Pope. On this, I hope, you may furpafs me, 
 James. It will not be the fault of my zeal, 
 Pope. Think of the glory that awaits us, 
 when it will be faid, over the whole world, Pope 
 and James, in the fervice of Lord Wyndham, 
 had it in their power to difpofe of the king's life, 
 and they -faved him. Though but poor fervants, 
 they thought and a6ted as nobly as their mafter. 
 James. Comrade, my name, I'll warrant, 
 mall not be blackened in biftory. 
 
 Pope, (Jhaking him by ihe hand.) We will both ' 
 be written in letters of gold. 
 
 III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Pope, Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. I have juft been Tiftening at the 
 king's chamber door. He is found afleep. I 
 affaire you, comrade, fince I know him to be in 
 fafety, my heart is at eafe, juft as if f were come 
 out from a long imprifonment, Our prayers 
 muft have rifen up to heaven. 
 
 Pope. I do beiieve that thofe of rioneft men 
 will be heard, before thofe of hypocrites, 
 
 Thomas, 
 
ISO CHARLES II. 
 
 Thomas. And yet I mall tremble, until the 
 king be fairly landed on French ground. If 
 thefe curfed rebels were to feize his perfon, they 
 would (hew him no more mercy than they did 
 his father. 
 
 Pope. My hair (lands on end at the thought. 
 Heaven preferve us from fo great a misfortune ! 
 
 Thomas. I think, heaven mult declare on our 
 fide. We merely wifh right to take place, and 
 religion to be maintained ; whereas thefe new 
 fects outrage the Almighty, by their pride. Lafl: 
 year, before the battle of Dunbar, did not the 
 Scottifh army look upon itfelf as an army of 
 faints ? Were not their minifters heard faying 
 aloud, to the Supreme Being, that if he did not 
 fave them from their enemies, they would no 
 longer own him for their Lord ? Infatuated 
 men I o 5 if j* )~ iac } * been : n tnc i r p 0W er to make 
 
 to themfelves another! 
 
 Pope. By that pride they were undone. I 
 am not forry for it. They did not ferve the 
 prince's caufe fincerely. He had thrown him- 
 felf into their arms, and they treated him as a 
 prifoner. They removed him from the army, 
 becaufe they faw that he gained the affections of 
 the foldiery, by his valour. They alfo fent home 
 five thoufand brave fellows, whom they thought 
 too ftrongly attached to his intereft. They 
 v/ifhed to have the glory of fubduing Cromwell, 
 all to themfelves. They had reduced him to 
 extremity. It was all over with him, if they 
 had continued upon the heights, as their general 
 would have had them : but their head-ftrong 
 minifters faid, that they had wreftled with the 
 Lord, in their prayers, that they had forced him 
 
 to 
 
CHARLES IL 251 
 
 to grant them the victory, and to deliver the e- 
 nemy into their hands. They came down, 
 therefore, like madmen, into the plain, and were 
 beaten. They deferved it, for their blindnefs. 
 They talked of difcourfing with the Lord, in the 
 fame manner as of a familiar converfation with a 
 friend. If they had been victorious, perhaps, 
 they would not have treated the king any better 
 than Cromwell himfelf would have done. 
 
 Thomas, I like much better to fee his majefty 
 in our houfe, than in their camp. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Wyndham^ Pope y Thomas, 
 
 JVyndham, Thomas, mount your horfe ; 
 crofs the foreft, and go poft yourfelf upon the 
 hill. Take care that you fuffer none of the par- 
 liament foldiers to approach us, without inform- 
 ing me. As foon as you fee any of them come 
 this way, gallop down hither as fail as poffible, 
 to acquaint me. 
 
 Thomas. It is enough, my Lord. I thank 
 you for being fo good as to employ me. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Wyndham^ Pope, 
 
 Wyndham. Thomas is an honeft lad. One 
 can fee, on his coum^- j nce } the joy that he fe Is 
 for the king's fafety. 
 
252 CHARLES II. 
 
 Pope. My countenance mull be very deceit. 
 ful too, my lord, it you do not read the fame fen* 
 timents in it. 
 
 IVyndbam. Oh ! I am not uneafy on your ac- 
 count. You are the firft that gave proof of your 
 loyalty. But what is the matter ? you feem 
 thoughtful. 
 
 Pope. My lord, I recollect, this moment, 
 that the blackfmith, to whom I gave the king's 
 horfe to fhoe, looked at it with great attentiono 
 If he fhould fufpect any thing, and fpread an a- 
 larm ? 
 
 Wyndhanu - Why need we create to ourfelves, 
 imaginary terrors ? One cannot guefs at the 
 fight of a hqrfe, who, his mafter is. However, we 
 mull neglect nothing : go and keep watch be- 
 fore the gate, and have an eye upon every thing 
 that may happen without there. 
 
 Pope, should 1 deny that we have ftrangers? 
 
 Wyndham. No, certainly, fin.ee they were feen 
 Xo alight here. To deny them, would raife fuf- 
 picion. We muft only all agree to fay, that they 
 came from Dorchefter. 
 
 Pope, it is hard to have occafion for a lie, in 
 order to avoid harm, and to fulfil one's duty, 
 [He goes out.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Wyndhatn. 
 
 With fo true hearts about us, I think we may 
 defy the molt vigilant enquiry. How happy am 
 
 It 
 
■*€■!! AiL £ S if. 253 
 
 *[, In the prefeiit circumftance, that I always 
 found means to have honeft people about me ! 
 Had I been lefe particular in the choice of my 
 fer vanes, i (hould have loft the glory of laving 
 my Sovereign's life. The bare thought of hav- 
 ing contributed to his prefervation, lifts me a- 
 bove myfelf. Audacious rebels ! overturn our 
 ancient conftitution, trample upon Jaw and ho- 
 nour, glut yourfelves with the blood of your fel- 
 low-citizens 1 This vain ihado^ of liberty that 
 you purfue, draws you on, by licentioumeis, to 
 llavery. You will foon be obliged to invite him 
 to the throne, with all your vows, whom yoa 
 now fo furioufly profcribe. The whole nation 
 will blefs thofe who defended him from your 
 blind phrenzy* That benediction will reach me 
 and my remoteft pofterity. The precious blood 
 that you have (bed, will .difturb your confeience, 
 while i, in the decline of my life, (hall behold 
 futurity with a tranquil and contented eye. I 
 ihall have fulfilled my feveral duties to my God, 
 Q2y king, my. country, and my family. 
 
 •S C E N E V. 
 
 Wyndham^ Lady IVyndham, 
 
 Ivyndham. Well, my dear, is not this a fig- 
 nal mark of heaven's favour, that we are entrust- 
 ed with the deftiny of the king? 
 
 Lady Wyndham. Ah, my lord, if we could 
 conduct him in triumph to London ! 
 
 V Wyndham* 
 
254 CHARLES II. 
 
 JVyn.iham. This wifh, worthy of the great- 
 nefs of your foul, is beyond our feeble power* 
 Jt is fufficient for us } *if we can fend Charles over 
 in fafety to France, until the rage of a frantic 
 people be appeafed. This people mull firft feel 
 the oppreffive yoke that they haveimpofed upon 
 themfelves. The performance of no fteady 
 purpofe can be expecled from their principles, 
 until they have undergone this proof. 
 
 Lady Wyndbam. If it be fo, our hopes are 
 very far removed. In the prefent univerfal 
 anarchy, pride makes the evils of it to be fup- 
 ported, beca'ufe every one hopes to partake in 
 the government. 
 
 Wyndbam, True ; but we foon fee pride 
 bafely yield to intereft. The Englifh complain- 
 ed under their laft king, of the opprefiion of fhi^- 
 money and the ftar-chamber. Taxes are in- 
 finitely heavier at prefent, under the arbitrary 
 adminiltration of parliament : immenfe fums 
 have been confumed for the levy of troops whofe 
 pay is extravagant. It will be neceiTary to keep 
 thefe armies up for a long time, in order to be- 
 come formidable to honeft citizens, as well as 
 to foreign enemies. It is the nation that fup- 
 ports thefe additional expenfes, at the fame time 
 that its manufactures lan^uifh, and its commerce 
 is interrupted. Difcontents will breakout every 
 where, at once. Thofe whom fortune has left 
 in their original obfeurity, inflamed with envy, 
 on feeing people of their own clafs raifed above 
 them, will rather wifh the fovereign power re- 
 placed in the hands of thofe whofe rank and 
 birth more naturally aualify them for it. We 
 
 toll 
 
d H A RLE5 II. 255 
 
 toll foon fee that Cromwell and the parliament 
 have overturned royal authority, in order firft 
 to divide it between them, and afterwards to 
 quarrel for it. Open violence ?nd fecret perfe- 
 cution will be exerted to re'prefs the murmurs of 
 difcontent : then the people at large will be 
 fenfible that tyranny never rofe to more (hock- 
 ing excefles of oppreffion and audacity, than when 
 they were amufed with the vain hope of liberty, 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Wyndham, Lady Mary y Lady TVyndham. 
 
 Lady Mary, Dear fon, I tremble with anxiety 
 and perturbation. A croud of country people 
 and Grangers are gathered before the houfe. I 
 am afraid they have discovered the king's retreat. 
 
 Wyndham. Do not be uneafy, madam. You 
 know, in thefe troublefome times, the people 
 quit their work, and afl'emble in the high roads 
 to talk of the news. The moft uncertain 
 rumour is fufncientto put them in motion. Has 
 any one heard any thing of their difcourfe ? 
 
 Lady Mary. Nothing troublefome as yet ; 
 they content ihemfelve's with gazing ftupidly at 
 the walls ; but they Ihake their heads, with a 
 myfterious look, as if they fufpecled fomething 
 extraordinary to be going on here. 
 
 VFyndham. Had they the leaft fufpicions, they 
 
 would have forced an entrance, before this. The 
 
 blind populace indulges every fort 0/ caprice. 
 
 Y 2 They 
 
25* C H A R L fe S ft. 
 
 They chofe to affemble here to-day, rather th2t; 
 any where elfe. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, But, my dear, may not 
 fomebody have betrayed us ? 
 
 Tvpidham. The treafon could have come but 
 from our own people, and to them fufpicion 
 would be injurious. They are all as much de- 
 voted to their fovereign, as we are ourfelves. 
 
 Lady Alary. Q ft ! my fon, if we fhould be 
 io unfortunate as to render this retreat more 
 fatal to the king than even the dangers of his 
 flight, it would be the hit wound that grief 
 would give my old age. 
 
 fVyndbam. No, my dear mother,- fpare your- 
 felf thefe ground iefs fears. A few hours more, 
 and the king is fafe. At the clofe of the evening; 
 you mult let out with him. It is known that 
 for fomedays pait my fitter's health has been out 
 of order, i have reported to-day that fhe defired 
 earneftly to fee you. Your vifit is natural enough 
 to avoid all fufpicion ; and 1 hope that, under 
 the Care of Providence, you will arrive fafe at 
 bhoreham. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Charles, Derby, Wyndham, Lady Mary, Ladys 
 Wyndham, Henry, Elizabeth. 
 
 Chirks. My lord, I have recovered my 
 ftrength. Thanks to your care, \ never tafted the 
 fweets of repofe more to my fatisfa£tion. On my 
 waging, 1 found vour fon centinel at my door ; 
 F* thank him for his attention, {Henry kijfes his 
 
 hand.,} 
 
CHA R L E 3 II. 257 
 
 hand. We are nearly of the fame age, I {hall 
 never forget my kind guard, as long as I live ; 
 and will recompenfe, in your fon, my Lord 
 Wyndham, the hofpitality that you have fhewn 
 me, if I mould not be fo happy as to find you 
 alive at my return. 
 
 Wyndham, My fon has only performed his 
 duty to your majefty. 
 
 Charles. A duty rendered to me in my pre- 
 fent circumftances, has all the merit of an actu- 
 al kindnefs, and in this light I view it. 
 
 Henry. Sire, I am happy to have begun, near 
 your facred perfon, the apprenticeship of my fu- 
 ture profefTion in life. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, (feeing Pope approach with a 
 napkin upon his Jhoulder . ) Our eagernefs to ex- 
 prefs our fentiments of attachment to your ma- 
 jefty, makes us forget that you have a preffing 
 call to Satisfy. Would your majefty chufe that 
 we Should order up what is prepared ? 
 
 Charles. Your ladylhip always anticipates my 
 wimes. 
 
 Pope. Every thing is ready, {He lays a table, 
 with two covers* Henry is going to fet the things 
 in order ) 
 
 Pope, (taking hold of his arm.) I beg your par- 
 don, youngmafter, but every one to his fervice. 
 I would not yield you mine, to-day, for all your 
 fortune. 
 
 Elizabeth^ (running to take a bottle of wine, arid 
 a tumbler ) Sire, my brother had the honour to 
 be your captain of the guard, give me leave to 
 be your cup-bearer. 
 
 Y 3. Charles, 
 
$$* CHARLES II. 
 
 Charles, (failing, ) You will treat me, then s 
 like Jupiter on Mount Olympus ? 
 
 IVyndhanu All our wifhes, at prcfent, would 
 be to form a court lefs unworthy of your majef- 
 ty. 
 
 Charles. Fortune, in the height of her favor, 
 can never afford me any on which my eyes will 
 dwell with fo lively a fatisfa&ion, as now, on this 
 company. Amidft the pomp of a throne, the 
 homage that I receive, is the offering of ambiti- 
 on or intereft j here, poor and forfaken, I owe it 
 to fentiments of perfonal regard. {He locks at 
 them by turns, with his eyes lathed in tears, yet en- 
 deavouring to conceal them.) Come, my Lord 
 Derby, let us tafte the only peaceful refreshment 
 that we have enjoyed thuefe three days. {As they 
 >3re going to fit down, Thomas enters hajlily, with 
 ~xildnejs in his looks.) 
 
 SCENE VII I. 
 
 Charles, Derly, JVyndham, Lady Mary, Lady 
 IVyndham, Henry, Elizabeth, Pope, Thomas, 
 
 "Thomas* Ware ! Ware ! Captain Luke is 
 cc [Jjing ftraight toward the houfe, with two fol- 
 diers. I have barely been able to get before 
 them. They are at my heels. 
 
 Lady Mary and Lady JVyndham. Oh i Ilea* 
 ttns ! 
 
 Elizabeth, We are undone. Mercy on us ! 
 
 ihnry. There are but three ; we can itand 
 «. ■ : jainft therm 
 
 Dr 
 
C H ? ARLE S If, ^9 
 
 Derby* (vehemently.) Lord Wyndham, fave 
 the king ; firft of all, let him retire. We will 
 receive "their attack here, in order to favour his 
 retreat. 
 
 JVyndham* No, Lord Derby, do not quit his 
 rnajefty a moment. Henry, conduct them by 
 the fecret door. 
 
 Henry, Yes, Sire^ truft yourfelf with me-; 
 while I have a drop of blood remaining, they 
 lhall not take you out of my hands. 
 
 Wyndham. Elizabeth, do you follow them 
 alfo, with your mother, 
 
 S C E N E IX. 
 
 Wyndham^ Lady Mary y Pope^ Tbsmas* 
 
 Wyndham, Mother, I conjure you, beware of 
 betraying yourfdf,' by any marks of trouble or 
 agitation. Perhaps chance aione brings them 
 here* Let us fit down to table, to anticipate 
 their curiofity as to the meaning: of thefe two co- 
 vers. I hear them in the court yard. Tho* 
 mas, run to meet them, and conduit them hi- 
 ther, directly, to me. 
 
 Thomas* Enough, my lord, 
 
 S C £ N 1 
 
26o CHARLES If. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 Wyndharriy Lady Mary, Pope* 
 
 Wyndham* And, Pope, you will take care 
 that nobody goes out, fo that we may be able to 
 affembie all our forces, upon occafion. Take 
 care to have two horfes ready at the little door 
 of the park. 
 
 Pope. I fly to perform your orders. 
 
 Wyndham, No, ftop ; remain here a moment \ 
 X will give you a fign when it will be time. 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 H*yndham> Lady Mary y Pope y Thomas, Captain Luke\ 
 Ptmbely TalgoL 
 
 Captain Luke. Heaven enlighten you, profane 
 ones ! Night hath overtaken us on our road. 
 We come to take up our lodging here for the 
 night, I and thefe two brave foldiers, who fup- 
 port the good old cauie. 
 
 IVyjndham, All tfi€ apartments of the houfe 
 are taken up by my own family. I haye not 
 room to receive you. 
 
 Luke. I tell you, neverthelefs, in the parlia- 
 ment's name, that you triuft lodge us. 
 
 IVyndham. You are men of war, and harden-* 
 ed to fatigue. \i youl can put up with narrow 
 quarters, I can lod^e you. 
 
 Luke, 
 
C H A & L E S II. 26k 
 
 Luke. We are men of war, and our fwords 
 will open us a fuitable place. For whom is this 
 Sable prepared I 
 
 Lady Mary. For my fon and me. We were 
 abfent at dinner time. 
 
 Luke. And fo were we, i'faith ; juft the fame 
 luck. ; fo bring, us three covers more : we will 
 dine together. 
 
 Wyndham. Take this table to yourfelves ; 
 for fear of incommoding you, we will go and eat 
 fomewhere elfe= 
 
 Luke. With all my heart : we are the maf- 
 ters here : we do not ftand upon ceremony with 
 Grangers. (To Thomas.) One cover more, and 
 then bring up the dinner. 
 
 Lady Mary^ (to Thomas, zvho fsems at a iofs.) 
 Do as you are ordered. 
 
 Wyndham, (to Pope.) Stay and wait upon 
 them j then come to me. (He goes out with 
 Lai) 'Mary.) 
 
 SCENE Xil. 
 
 Luke , Pembel, TafgoI y Pope* 
 
 Luke. Come, children of grace, let us fit : 
 
 down to table. 
 
 Pc?;ibei. Let us do honour to the good old' 
 caufe. (Thomas brings a third cover.) 
 
 TalgoJ) (taking it.) Give me this : I will be • 
 of the party. ( thfy fit down to table, arid begin tQ> 
 e& v:yih extraordinary voraeioujhefs.) 
 
 Luke, 
 
162 CHARLES II. 
 
 Luke, (/peaking to Pope, wit}? his mouth full.) 
 Well, my Jad, what news ? 
 
 Pope. You ought to know the knews better 
 than I. There are fo many reports, who the 
 deuce can come at the truth ? Is it fact, that the 
 king is taken ? (looking at him earnefllfi) 
 
 Luke. He is not, fince I have not been able 
 to take him. For three days paft, I have beat 
 about all the country. He would not have ef- 
 caped me. He muft have been left dead upon 
 the field of battle. 
 
 Pope, How fay you ? 
 
 Luke. How fay I ? Some wine here. (7V 
 Thomas, handing him an empty dijh.) Go and 
 bring us fcmething elfe. 
 
 Pope 'j (ufule as he brings fo?ne bottles.) Heaven 
 be praifed ! they do not know that he is here. 
 
 PembeL This news confounds you, rogue. 
 
 Luke. Go, ring his knell : but I advifeyou 
 to do it fo gently, that the parliament may not 
 hear it, or dk I wilt ring your's. 
 
 PembeL What fhould comfort you is, that 
 your king is not alone in the other world. He 
 will find the half of his army there. We have 
 difpatched his moft faithful fervants to wait upon 
 him. 
 
 Luke. Blockheads ! fome of them took it in- 
 to their heads, to afk me quarter : but, with my 
 fword, I cut the word in two in their throats. 
 
 Thomas, [bringing another difl).) Here is all 
 that is ready in the houfe. 
 
 Luke, It will do : only bring us wine. D'ye 
 hear ? 
 
 PmbtU 
 
CHARLES IL tM 
 
 %> 
 
 Pembel, [to Pcpe.) What are you about there, 
 Shaking your head • It feecbs as if you did not 
 wifh us well. 
 
 Luke. Lay us fix bottles here upon the ta r 
 ble, and go about your bufmefs, until we caH 
 you. (7 he wine is brought up.) 
 
 Pope,\afide at he goes^out.) Thefe fellows do 
 honour to the parliament. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 ■Luke^ Pembel^ TalgoL 
 
 Pembel, {toTalgol.) What fay 'ft thou, com- 
 rade ? How doft thou find thyfelf now thou art 
 illuminated? 
 
 Luke* See if any thing be wanting to the 
 children of the Lord. All that is found in the 
 land, belongeth, of right, to us. 
 
 TalgoL I did not think that the elect had 
 been permitted to eat meat in the dwellings of 
 the profane. 
 
 Luke. That is becaufe you do not yet under- 
 hand our principles. They command us to tal^e 
 pofTeflion. of every good thing pofiible, at tne 
 expenfe of the children of darkriefs. Now, cer- 
 tainly, nothing can better fulfil this obje£t, than 
 to intercept their meat, as it were, before it 
 reaches their mouths, and to eat in their ftead. 
 
 Ta'gol. Very well explained. 
 
 Luke. When will you know the infinite ad- 
 vantages which the eteift enjoy*? Whatever en- 
 gagements we enter into with the ungodly, 
 
 though 
 
M* C H ARLES IL 
 
 • though even confirmed with an cath, are, 2nd 
 of right ought to be, null, the moment they turn 
 to our prejudice. In conformity to this princi- 
 ple, you fee what cur conduct was before Pen- 
 dennis-caftie. Did we not receive the exprefs 
 order of the Lord, to Hay the befieged with the 
 e/ige of the fw.ord, notwithstanding the articles 
 of capitulation ? 
 
 PembeL The bufinefs is only to underftand 
 well the fundamental points of our doctrine. We 
 ,are the friends of heaven, and every thing ought 
 to be in our favour againit its enemies. It would 
 be infulting heaven to refufe the gifts that it 
 vouchfafes us ; and all our actions are lawful 
 and fanclified, becaufe we a£i only from the fuc- 
 cour of its grace. Was it not heaven that in- 
 fpired even our women, with a zeal quite divine, 
 fpr the good old caufe ? .Have we not feen thofe 
 of the higheft diili nation, Strip themfelves, with 
 alacrity, of their moft precious jewels ; and the 
 very fervants bring us the amount of their wa- 
 ges, in order to raife troops for the glory of hea- 
 ven, and to force all England to walk in the ways 
 of falvation ? Do we not, every day, hear the 
 Lord declare to us his lacred will in his revela- 
 tions \ 
 
 TalgoL And yet the Scots faid the fame at 
 Dunbar; and prophefied, that if they came down 
 from their hills, they would beat Cromwell. 
 
 PembeL True ; but Cromwell had alfo his 
 revelations, which told him, that he mould beat 
 the Scots if they came down from the hills. The 
 prayers of the two parties, were, an appeal to the 
 judgment of the Lord, who declared by the 
 
 victory 
 
CHARLES It 265 
 
 victory, that party which he judged mod wortht 
 to profper, as he hath lately teftified again by 
 new bleffings. 
 
 Lake, Come, enough of this : let us drink, 
 my friends. (They drink.) 
 
 Pembel, Captain, (hall we go now, and fee if 
 they have taken proper care of our horfes ? 
 
 Luke, Yes, my lad, and then we will go and 
 examine every corner of this houfe, to fee whe- 
 ther it contains any thing that may fuit the fa- 
 vourites of tliQ Lord. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE L 
 
 Pope and Thomas (entering together, and clearing the 
 table in a hurry.) 
 
 Thomas, It feems as if thefe knaves came on 
 purpofe to eat up the king's dinner. 
 
 Pope, Do not be uneafy ; the king has had 
 his part. I referved the beft for him. 
 
 Thomas. Yes, but while they were here feaft- 
 ing at their eafe, he was obliged to fnatch a haf- 
 ty repaft in the midft of terror and apprehen- 
 fion. 
 
 Pope, I that exulted fo much in the thought 
 
 of waiting upon his majefty, to fee myfelf, on the 
 
 Z contrary^ 
 
-66 CHARLES II. 
 
 contrary, obliged to wait upon his greater! ene- 
 mies ! 
 
 Thomas. I was in the mind, twenty times, to 
 knock my bottle at their heads, when they afked 
 for drink. 
 
 Pope. And I followed them, while they rum- 
 maged the houfe all over. 1 arTure you, if they 
 had come to the private chamber, where the king" 
 was, I had my piftols ready, and ihould have 
 blown their brains out. 
 
 Thomas. It is happy for us, that they are fo 
 certain of his death : but with what an exulting 
 tone did they fpeak of it ! I never faw infolencc 
 equal to theirs. 
 
 Pope. And the captain too had a better ftock 
 of it than the others. 
 
 Thomas. That is becaufe he remembers his 
 former honourable ftation. Would you believe 
 that I have feen him a butcher's boy in Briftol ? 
 
 Pope. Then I do not wonder that he carries 
 fuch a cutting flafhing look with him. 
 
 Thomas. And his friend there, Mr. Pembel, 
 the taylor's apprentice, who was firft the fpiritu- 
 al guide of his wandering neighbours, and then 
 one of Cromwell's preaching foldiers. I would 
 lay a wager that he has perverted more by his 
 curfed tongue, than ever he has killed with his 
 fword. 
 
 Pope, Do you know the third ? 
 
 Thom&s. No ; but, by his fmoke- dried ap- 
 pearance, I mould take him to be one of thofe 
 miferable kettle-menders, that travel the coun- 
 try under the name of tinkers. The party muft 
 have picked him up on the high roads. 
 
 Pope, 
 
CHARLES If. 267 
 
 Pope. Yes, they (hot him flying, that's plain ; 
 and a noble acquiiition he is to them, no doubt. 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 
 Lady Mary ', Wyndham, Pope, Iboinas. 
 
 Wyndham. Well, Pope, where are the foldi- 
 ers ? 
 
 Pope. I believe, my lord, they are all faft a- 
 ileep by this time. I carried four bottles of wine 
 into their chamber, which they emptied as they 
 were going to bed. I'll warrant, my lady will be 
 at ohoreham, before they awake. 
 
 Wyndham. We muft take the advantage, then, 
 of this precious moment. Let every thing be 
 prepared, in the greateft filence, for my mother's 
 departure. 
 
 Lady Mary, Thomas, go, and give a look to 
 my equipage, and haften the getting of them rea- 
 dy. Henry is now making the king put on the 
 difguife neceffary for his attending me. When 
 all things are prepared, you will come and let us 
 know. 
 
 Thomas. Madam, I obey. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Lady Mary, Wyndham, Pope. 
 
 Pope. My lord, fhall I accompany the king? 
 Z 2 Wyndbam, 
 
269 CHARLES II. 
 
 IVyndham. No ; I will have my fun to be 
 one of the party, and the fewer they are, the lefs 
 fufpicions they will create. 
 
 Pope, But if, by any untoward accident, 
 there mould be a neceflity for defending him, 
 can you arm too many for his fafeguard ? 1 think 
 now, I might go a little way before, on the road, 
 to reconnoitre, without feeming to belong to my 
 lady's carriage. 
 
 Wyndha?n. That charge I will give to Tho- 
 mas. 
 
 Pope, (forrowfully.) To Thomas, my lord ? 
 Do you doubt my courage or fidelity ? 
 
 IVyndham. No, Pope, I believe them both to- 
 be proof; but I have occafion for your prudent 
 management here, both to deceive the foJdiers 
 who are in the houfe, and the country people in 
 the village, in cafe of any unforefeen accident. 
 
 Lady Mary. Be aflured, if any important bu- 
 finefs required dexterity or addrefs, you fhould 
 be the firit perfon chofen to conduct it. I give 
 you my word you mould. 
 
 Pt>pe, This aiTurance comforts me a little ; 
 yet L muft fay, I would rather attend the king, 
 and fave his life, or die with him. 
 
 IVyndham. It is fufficient ; I know your prin- 
 ciples ; but time preffes. Go and fee if his ma- 
 jelly be ready, and tell my fon he may bring him 
 here with fafety. 
 
 Pope y (going out.) Yes, my lord. 
 
 SCENE 
 
CHARLES II. 269 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Lady Mary^ Wyndham. 
 
 Lady Mary. I am charmed with Henry's be- 
 haviour to the king. His refpect is fervent, 
 without having any thing of fervility. His words 
 are tempered with arTedtion, deference, and ge- 
 nerofity. He comforts the prince ; he animates 
 him ; he fwears to ferve him at the expenfe of 
 his life. We may difcover, already, in his youth, 
 the good fenfe and firmnefs of more advanced 
 experience. 
 
 .. IVyndbam. My fon will be indebted to you 
 for his virtues. By prelenting us, conftantiy, 
 with the example of my father's great qualities, 
 you imprefs your children with the defire of e- 
 mulating them. 
 
 Lady Mary. Thefe are tempeftuous times, 
 and will afford frequent opportunities of putting 
 them in practice, i would fiin believe, that in a 
 feaion of trial, your fon will prove himfelf not 
 unworthy of his name. 
 
 Wyndham. O, Madam ! how proud you 
 make me by that hope ! That I owe you my life, 
 is nothing ; 1 owe to. you the honour of all thofe 
 in whom 1 live and exilt. 
 
 Z3 SCENE 
 
270 CHARLES II. 
 
 S C E N E V. 
 Charles, Derby, Lady Mary, Wyndham, Henry* 
 
 Charles. Lord Wyndham, do you know thefe 
 clothes ? (He draws afide the cloak in which he 
 is wrapped up, an* flaws thefuit of livery under it,) 
 
 Wyndham. Oh ! how afflicting to fee my 
 prince reduced to this dreadful neceffity ! 
 
 Lady Mary, {looking down.) I dare notdirecl: 
 my looks to your majefty, left I mould give you 
 offence. 
 
 Charles, {with dignity.) No, Madam, be 
 under no uneafinefs, you will not fee me blulh : 
 this is not the firft time that Chance has con- 
 demned me to ftrange metamorphofes. Forced 
 as I was a few days ago to ply the axe as a wood- 
 cutter in the foreit, why fhould I be aftonifhed 
 it this new difguife ? Jt is but another inftance 
 of the inconftancy of Fortune. The more (he 
 loads me with infers, the more pride 1 take in 
 defpiiing them. I wifh even to rife above her, 
 above myfelf, from the low eftate to which flic 
 reduces me. A king, in this drefs, receives an 
 important leffon from Providence to tranfmit to 
 other fovereigns. 
 
 Derby, (returning afide, and lifting up his eyes io 
 heaven.) O, Mr ! 
 
 Charles. Lord Derby, in thefe garments }0U 
 fee nothing but what is abjecT: ; I can look upon 
 if as the apparel of triumph. The diadem upon 
 my forehead could not, perhaps, imprefs my 
 enemies with refpec~r, whereas, in the livery of 
 
 fervitude. 
 
 
CHARLES II. 2.71 
 
 fervitude, it is my glory that I reign in the faith- 
 ful hearts of my fubjecls. Derby and the reji 
 throiv themfehes at the king's feet.) 
 
 IVyndham, You fee us ready to facrifice our- 
 felves for your majeity. 
 
 Charles^ [with tranfport.) This is homage 
 that raifes me far higher than the thrones of the 
 earth : but rile, my friends ; your place is not 
 at my feet, but by my fide. My lord, Ihave 
 kQa virtues in your houfe which do not always 
 accompany a crown, and which eclipfe its fplen- 
 dor. If my love for my people and the laws of 
 honour did not make it my duty to fupport my 
 crown, this peaceful retreat, and the enjoyment 
 of your friendship, would be the utmoft bound 
 of my ambition. 
 
 Lady' Mary. For pity's fake, Sire, do not 
 exprefs fuch fentiments ; they will make our 
 forrows too bitter. 
 
 Wyndham. Alas ! fuch is our fituation : though 
 the fight of your majeity fills me with the live- 
 lier!: joy, yet I am reduced to the neceffity of 
 wifhing you foon to be at a diftance from my 
 view. 
 
 Charles. My prefence, my lord, has occafion- 
 ed difordcr and confufion in your houfe ; but I 
 fwear that I will never forget the danger to 
 which 1 expofe you,, nor the generous rinnnefs 
 with which you brave it. 
 
 IVyndham. Ah, Sir ! animated as we are with 
 a deep concern for the interefts of our country, 
 whatever perlbnally regards us alone is but a very 
 feeble confideration. It is neither my own fafety 
 
 nor 
 
272 CHARLES II. 
 
 nor that of my family that difturbs me ; yours 
 occupies my whole thoughts. Fortune has put 
 it out of our power to be ufeful to our country : 
 but your majefty may ftill make her happy. 
 
 Charles. While I labour to obtain that great 
 object, I fhall ever recollect that you have fur- 
 niihed me with the means. If 1 arriv at the 
 accomplifhment of it, you mail not a Ik the com- 
 monwealth for your reward ; I will charge my- 
 felf with acquitting the national gratitude. 
 
 Wvyulham. Let me fee my country happy, and 
 I (hall be fufficiently rewarded : but, alas ! my 
 flrength, exhaufted by long fervices, hardly al- 
 lows me that hope~ I leave it, however, as a be- 
 queft to my fon, together with the inheritance of 
 my principles. Permit me, Sire, to recommend 
 this my only remaining fon, to your notice. I 
 afk nothing tor him, bur that your majefty would 
 employ him -ufefully in the fervice of his coun- 
 try. I dare anfwer for him, that he will neither 
 difgrace your choice, nor impair the honour of 
 his anceftors. 
 
 Chirks. My lord, I will give you my word, 
 as a pledge of my regard for him ; and if ever I 
 mould be unfortunate enough to forget it, [he 
 takes Henry by the hand") brave fon of my bene- 
 factor, come boldly before my throne, and fay, 
 " I am Wyndham ;" my heart will quickly tell 
 me what my duty is. 
 
 SCENE 
 
CHARLES II. 273 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 Charles, Derby, Lady Mary, TVyndham^ Elizabeth^ 
 Henry, Pope, Thomas. 
 
 Pope and Thomas^ (as they enter.) My lord, all 
 is ready for his majefty's departure. 
 
 Derby. There is not a moment to be loft. 
 Lady Mary y [lifting up her hands toward heaven. ) 
 
 God, the defender of kings, deign to take us 
 under thy protection, (fVyndham appears buried 
 in thought.) 
 
 Charles, (approaching him,) Lord Wyndhar% 
 you have not a word for me. 
 
 Wyndham. Sire, I would I could conceal 
 from you, the perturbation which my heart feels 
 at this moment. 
 
 Charles. And I would I could exprefs to you 
 the workings of mine. I came into your houfe 
 a fugitive ; you have treated me as a king ; now 
 
 1 depart your friend. (Wyndham going to throw 
 himfelf at his feet, is rejirainedby Charles, who opens 
 his ar ms to him.) What are you doing? I will 
 receive no homage from a friend. Let him em- 
 brace me. (He embraces him with trarfport.) Fate, 
 my lord, will not be fo cruel as to deprive me of 
 the happinefs of feeing you again. (lPyndham y 
 unable to anj'JJer him, takes his hand, kiffes it, and 
 bathes it v.) lib his tears. Charles looks at him af- 
 fe&ismtety. Pope, in the meantime, approaches, t$ 
 kifs the fklri of the king's cloak, who, perceiving him % 
 gives him hh hand to kifs, and fays,) I ow§ to you 
 
 the 
 
274 -CHARLES IT. 
 
 the prefervation of my life. Honour alone can 
 repay fuch fervices, and I offer you no other re- 
 ward : but watch carefully over the fafety of 
 your excellent matters ; that will be a kindnefs 
 to me, and fuch a one as I (hall repay, if ever I 
 come again to this country, . with a handfome 
 fortune. {Approaching Lady Mary, and offering her 
 his band.) Madam, I am your lady (hip's moft 
 obedient. ( Henry embraces his father.) 
 
 Wyndham, (with fervor.) My fon, I confide 
 to you the facred perfon of your king. You are 
 anfwerable to me for his fafety. Dare, if it be 
 neceiTary, to die in his defence. 
 
 Henry, (with vivacity) I pledge my life to that 
 end, in the prefence of heaven and you. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Lady Mary, Lady Wyndham, Charles, Derby* 
 PyrJham, Elizabeth, Henry, Pope, Thomas. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, (entering in a fright, and foU 
 lowed by Elizabeth.) Ah, flop, Sire! Mother, 
 you conduct his rnajefty to dehruclion. 
 
 Lady Mary. My dear child, what is the caufe 
 of this confternaticn ? 
 
 Lads Wyndham. All is loft ! 
 
 Charles. How ! I befeech your ladyfhip to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, How fliall I find ftrength to 
 tell you \ 
 
 Wyndham. 
 
CHARLES IL 2 7 $ 
 
 Wyndham. Endeavour to collect yourfelf, my 
 *dear. For heaven's fake relieve us from the 
 anxiety that you have occafioned us. 
 
 Lady Wyndham. {out of breath.) The fmith — 
 who (hod the king's horfe— ftole in hither pri- 
 vately—He went up to the room where the fol- 
 
 diers' lay and awaked them — he told them 
 
 that the king was in the houfe— I faw him go 
 out, in order to raife the country people — while 
 the foldiers are drefling themfelves, to come here 
 and feize his majefty. 
 
 Charles, {with fir mnefi.) I mull yield to fate ; 
 but not without lofing every drop of my blood 
 .firft. 
 
 Dtrby. Ah ! if I can fave your life at the 
 expenfe of mine ! What have we to fear 3 while 
 our i words are (till left us ? 
 
 Wyndham. No, brave veteran, refinance 
 would be ineffectual. The whole village is, 
 perhaps, already up in arms. Let not your ma- 
 jefty yield to the dictates of a blind defpair. I 
 befeech you, my dear Lord Derby, conduct the 
 king again into his fecret apartment, and do not 
 leave his perfon a moment, if we mutT come 
 to open force, I will go and join you with my 
 fon, and we will all fight together till our hft 
 breath. (He leads them toward a private fiaircafe.) 
 Thomas, run and pull up the draw-bridge, to 
 hinder the populace from entering. {Thomas 
 goes out.) And you, my fon, I fear the heat and 
 vivacity of your youth ; retire with Pope, into 
 the next room. I forbid you to come out, with- 
 out my orders. 
 
 Henry, {with warmth.) What, Father 
 
 fflyndham* 
 
27S CHARLES II. 
 
 Wyndham. I hear the foldiers coming. [Hen- 
 ry fprings forward to meet them. Wyndbam holds 
 him back) calls a fever e look at him, and fays, with 
 an authoritative voice,) Obey, [Henry goes, with 
 Pope> into the next chamber. ) 
 
 JVyndham, [to Lady Mary.) G, Mother, it 
 is now that I have occafion to be fupported by 
 your courage ! [He turns toward Lady Wyndham 
 and Elizabeth.) My love, you will pardon me, 
 and you, my dear child, if I expofe you to the 
 view of an infolent foldiery : but, in fuch a 
 danger, I cannot think of fuffering you out of 
 my fight. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Lady Mary, Lady Wyndham, Elizabeth, Wyndham^ 
 Luke, Pembel, Talgol. 
 
 [The foldiers rujh into the room.) 
 
 Luke, (with a voice like thunder.) Where are 
 they ? Where are they ? 
 
 Wyndham, [calmly.) Whom do you feek ? 
 
 Luke. Stuart, and the companion of his 
 flight. 
 
 ^Wyndham. Stuart .? I know none of that 
 name but the king of England, and it is always 
 pronounced, before me, with refpecl. 
 
 Luke. We have no king. 1 afe for Charles 
 
 Stuart. 
 
 Pembel. 
 
C H A R L S S XI. 277 
 
 Pembel. He is here, in your houfe ; do not 
 think to conceal him, or it will coft you your 
 life. 
 
 IVyndham. I mould defpife my life, if I thought 
 It were at your mercy. 
 
 Luke. Fewer words, and anfwer me. Where 
 are the two men who came here this morning ? 
 
 Pembel. The fmith, who mod their horfes, 
 obferved their fhoes to have belli made in the 
 north. Other circumftances prove that one of 
 them is king of Scotland. 
 
 Lady Mary. Have you ever feen him ? Would 
 you know him ? 
 
 Luke. No ; but what does that fignify ? 
 Cromwell will foon know him. 
 
 IVyndham, (afide to Lady Mary.) Do you hear 
 him, mother ? Oh, if 
 
 Lady Mary, (afide to Wyndbam.) Sen, I un- 
 derstand your generous wifhes. 
 
 Luke, (interrupting them.) Come ; an end of 
 your difcourfes : let thofe two Grangers be given 
 up to us this moment. (He draws bis /word, and 
 holds it over JVyndbatris head,) Let them be giv- 
 en up to us, or you are a dead man. 
 
 Lady Wynlham, (throwing herfelf between the 
 captain and IVyndham.) What would you do, 
 Barbarian ? 
 
 Lady Mary. Stop, Stop, I will bring them to 
 you. 
 
 Lute, (lowering his f ward. ) Make hafte, my 
 lady, if you tremble for his life. 
 
 A a SCENE 
 
27$ CHARLES II 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 - TFyndbam> Lady IVxndham, Elizabeth^ Lufo> Pern- 
 be\ TaigoL 
 
 Lady IVyndbam^ {terrified — afide to Elizabeth,) 
 What can be my mother's defign ? 
 
 Elizabeth. Tdare not even conje&ure. (7 bey 
 wtbemfehjes into each ether's arms.) 
 
 Luke. My lord, are you ignorant of the pe- 
 nalties denounced by parliament, againfi: fueh as 
 fhould prefume to fhelter Charles Stuart from 
 their power ? 
 
 Wyndbam. Are you ignorant of the infamy 
 that redounds to fuch as violate the rights of 
 hofpitality ? 
 
 Luke. You are a rebel to the law of the land. 
 
 Wyndbam, I know no law that fuperfedes 
 that of honour. 
 
 Luke. How can honour bind you to prare& 
 an out-law, a declared enemy of his country ? 
 
 JVyndbam. The enemy of his country, in. 
 my estimation, is he who overturns the govern- 
 ment, and takes from the people their lawful fo- 
 vereign. Even if the blindnefs of my under- 
 ftanding had drawn me into thofe abominable 
 principles, which you profefs, had Charles come 
 to feek fhelter in my houfe, from his enemies, I 
 mould have thought it my duty to refpe& his 
 misfortunes. Judge if I was capable of betray- 
 ing him, while I look upon him as my fovereign, 
 2nd his perfon as facred. Violence may tear 
 
 him 
 
CHARLES II. 279 
 
 him from my arms, but even the fight of a fcaf- 
 fold, prepared for my execution, couid not make 
 me betray him bafely. 
 
 Luke. v You acknowledge,- then, that Charles 
 Stuart is one of the two men who are going to 
 be brought to us ? 
 
 Windham, When they are in your prefence., 
 you will know it from their own mouths, if they 
 chufe to tell you. 
 
 Luke. They muft confefs," or this fteel ilia II 
 do me right, if they refafe. 
 
 Wyndham, Do you dare to fay [o ? Imagine 
 not that I will fuffer you to exercife your rage 
 •with impunity, r rhis caftle, for three hundred 
 years, has been the refidence of honour. You 
 fhall not defile it by an execrable murder. Dread 
 the confequence of driving me to defpair, You 
 fee a foldier who is lets weakened by age than by 
 the fatigue of war, and who, to punifh you 5 
 could find the vigour of his youth again, upon 
 occafion. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 Lady Mary^ Wyndham-y Lady Wyndham^ Elizabeth^ 
 Luke^ Petnpe\ TalgoL 
 
 Luke^ (to Lady Mary^ who enters.) Where are 
 my prifoners \ 
 
 Lady Mary, They follow. Before I deliver 
 
 them into your hands, I think it neceffary to de- 
 
 clarc to you how much I deteft the action which 
 
 you force me to commit : I am fenlib'e that it is 
 
 A a 2 an 
 
z%y CHARLES II. 
 
 an outrage to humanity ; but my firft duty is t> 
 preferve the life which is mofr. valuable. If I 
 had been free to ranfom it with mine, 1 fhould 
 not have hefitated upon the choice of the vi£tiin. 
 The eye of heaven fees my in molt heart, and 
 will call you to an account for the blood which 
 I expoie to your fury. [Holding her bands to 
 them fuppliantly.) But if you are ftill fenfible to 
 the voice of nature, reject not my earneit entrea- 
 ties in behalf of thele unfortunate men. I have 
 promifed that you will refpec~r their diftrefs. 
 
 Luke. We are too long liftehing to empty la- 
 mentations. Where are they ? 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 Lany Mary, JVyndham, Lady IVyndham, Elizabeth, 
 Lute* T a k o! i Psmbely Henry, Pope. 
 
 Henry, (advancing boldly ^wrapped '..up, as is Pope, 
 in a large cloak) 1 will not wait your coming to 
 
 feck . , 1T 
 
 Lady IVyndbatn, (hiauvg Henry 3 voice.) Hea- 
 ven ! what do I hear ? My fon ? [She falls in a 
 fivoon into Elizabeth's ar/m, who takes her to a 
 
 " Wyndham, {eagerly endeavouring to ojjijt her— 
 uzabeth.) Take care not to betray us. 
 •/, andTalgol, look at Henry for awhile, 
 a mixture offurprife and irrejolution.) 
 \ going up to him. ) Who are you ? 
 
 Idly.) Have you the infolence to 
 
 think that f would deign to anfwer you ? 
 
 Luke* 
 
C H AR.LES II. 281 
 
 Luke, (peremptorily.) I afk you, who are you ? 
 
 Henry. By what right do you dare to quefti- 
 on me ? 
 
 Luke. In the name of the parliament, whofs 
 orders I bear. 
 
 Henry. What ! (hall I acknowledge a parlia- 
 ment that is governed by a rebel ? 
 
 Luke, General Cromwell will find means to 
 oblige you. He is only ten miles off. You 
 muff fpeak in his prefence. 
 
 Henry. Then .you will have but one word 
 from my lips. Lead me to him. 
 
 Pembel. Let us make hafte, before the coun- 
 try people anemble, and come, perhaps, to dif- 
 pute our prize with us. 
 
 Luke, Come along. ( He makes a motion, as 
 if to lay hold on Henry. ) 
 
 Henry y (with an air cf authority, makes Jigns to 
 him to dejifl.y One moment. [To Wyndbam.) 
 My lord, I hoped to have been, one day, ufeful 
 to my country, If my death can fave to her the 
 blood of one more valuable, I devote myfelf, 
 without reluctance, nay, with joy : mean time, let 
 me pay to your lordhhip, as well as* to this lady, 
 the tribute of my gratitude, for your fentiments 
 in my behalf, and particularly for the high opi- 
 nion that you have expreiled for my courage. 
 {IVyndham and Lady Mary endeavour tojiife their 
 grief., Henry looks round for his mother, and fees 
 her in a Jwoon. He takes her handy '\ffei>it*) 
 
 To what a ntuation does the excelTive tenden (% 
 of her feelings reduce her ! Mutt I ? foi ed to 
 ..bandon her, while ftie is thus r My Lord— 
 rdadam— and you, EttfcaDetn ; I . - in 
 
 A a X tl e 
 
282 CHARLto IT. 
 
 the name of al! that is facred, apply your tender- 
 eft cares to recover and confole her. Speak to 
 her often of me : defcribe to her the violence- 
 that I do myfelf, in parting from her at this mo- 
 ment. I could not anfwer for my refolution, if 
 I only faw her tears, or heard her fighs for a mo- 
 ment. (He rifeS) preffes tenderly the hand of Eliza- 
 beth, utters a heavy figh, while he cafls his eyes, for 
 the la ft time, on his mother-, then i all at once, drawing 
 his hat down ever his eyes, and muffling up his face 
 in his cloak, for fear of being known by the country 
 feople, in paffmg through the village, he walks off ve- 
 ry fall, making figyis to the foldiers to follow him.) 
 
 Luke, {accompanying him with his f word drawn.) 
 Come along, my lads. 
 
 Pembel, (to Pope, who afo muffles himfelf up in 
 his cloak.) March. Our general will foon know 
 who you are. 
 
 Pope. I am not afraid to tell it aloud to your* 
 /elves : a faithful fervant of the king, and one 
 V* ho would glory to die for him. 
 
 S C E N ,E XII. 
 Lady Alary y TVyndkanty Lady Wyndham^ Elizabeth, 
 
 Wyndbam. At length, I have full liberty to 
 indulge my grief. O, mother, what a facririce ! 
 
 Lady Mary. To me it is the molt grievous, 
 whom Fortune obliged to prepare and conduct 
 the victims. 
 
 l',)ndham, {bending over Lady Mary .) Look 
 up, my de'arefl life. Ala*, what do 1 fay ! Should 
 
 I 
 
CHARLES IL 283. 
 
 I wifh to fee you out of this peaceful fwoon ? 
 Ah ! that it would change to a long and deep 
 deep ! Wounded as my heart is with my own 
 griefs, how mall I he able to bear your diffracti- 
 on ? 
 
 Lady JVyndham^ (recovering berfelfby degrees—** 
 with a feeble voice.) My fon 1 
 
 Jf/yndharn* In vain you call the beloved youth. 
 Hard fate ! that we fhould be condemned to lofe 
 him, at" the very moment when he mews himfdf 
 moft worthy of our love, 
 
 Lady IVyndham^ (colleiiing her fpirits — with more 
 firength of voice,) My fon ! (looking all round.) 
 Where is he? (rijlng hajlily.) What have you 
 made of my fon ? (JVyndham is quite dejecled^ and 
 not able fb anfiver,) 
 
 Lady Mary\ (making a violent effort to con/train 
 her feelings.) A hero, the honour of our name ; 
 the faviour of our king; the pledge of his coun- 
 try's fafety. 
 
 Lady IVyndham, {in a frantic voice, ) Barbari- 
 ans ! have you facrificed him, then ? 
 
 IVyndham. Would you fee me difhonoured 
 by a bafe ac~fc of treafon, and give up the facred 
 head of majelty to an executioner? Were you 
 reduced to chufe between a hufband- who fhould 
 owe his life to his infamy, and a fon who fhould 
 die for glory, fpeak. what would be your choice? 
 
 Lady JVyndham, How can I anfwer you t 
 But, my fon 1 
 
 Wyndham. He was mine a Ifo. £ leaped alone 
 from the ruins ox a numerous family, I flattered 
 rnyfelf that he would raife it to its former luftre. 
 Indeed, from his eariieil youth, he afforded the 
 
 moil 
 
2&'4 GHARLtS If. 
 
 mod aufplcious hopes ; and, in one moment, he 
 has now gone far beyond them. With fo many 
 claims to my affection, can you think that he is 
 indifferent to me, or that his lofs would create in 
 me lels poignant grief than in you ? Pity my for- 
 rows, therefore, in your turn. You think me 
 inlenfrble, becaufe I would comfort you. Ah ! 
 why cannot I lay bare my heart before you? 
 You w'ould fee it harrowed up with tortures in- 
 exprerTible. What fhall I fay to you ? Such a 
 foul as your's is not to be deluded by unreal con- 
 folations ; but fome fources of comfort are yet 
 open. See your fon, already full of virtues, ac- 
 quire immortal glory in the flower of his age, 
 by faving his prince and his country. Let your 
 affection dwell a moment upon thefe noble 
 thoughts, if we are to lofe our fon, there is this 
 well-founded hope left, which Cromwell's fero- 
 cious cruelty will not render vain, that we mail 
 all be included in the fame proscription with 
 him, 
 
 Lady Wyftdbam, I accept, with pleafure, this 
 dreadful hope. What mould I do with life, 
 were I to furvive my fon ? (with men vivacity.) 
 But where >s he ? I will fee him. Bring him 
 back to me, that I may, at Ieatt, receive his Jail 
 embrace. 
 
 Wyndham, With difficulty he tore himfelf 
 from your arms, fearing the excels of your ten- 
 dernefs. 
 
 Lady Wyndham. He knew it not, if he only 
 faw me in a ftate of ii y. That might 
 
 be caufed by a woman's terror at the fight of 
 boifterous foldiers. e been wit- 
 
C HA RLES II. its 
 
 ;<jds to a mother's defpair. Has he fccn the 
 burning tears flow from my eyes ? Clafped to his 
 mother's breaft, hath he felt the throbbings of 
 her heart f Mail: he die, without knowing how- 
 dear he is to me ? No, cruel as ye are, fuffer me 
 to follow him, I will go ; I will rufh into the 
 croud of his guards and executioners. I will 
 embrace him a thoufand times. I will expire 
 on his bread, (She rujhes forward, d, ; /lra.??ed-— 
 Wyndbam holdi hef, while fir etching forth her arme 
 and clafping her hands together, Jhe cries with an 
 impqffiontd voice,) My fon ! my fon ! [At this mo- 
 ment, Charle: caters with Derby . He Jfaps Jbort in 
 flent feirprize. ■Wyndbam perceiving hinu approaches* 
 Lady Wyndbam endeavours to contain the iranjp oris 
 of her grief in the king' s pre fence ; and, to civ Old his 
 fight, Jhe leans upon Elizabeth's bread.) 
 
 S C E N E XIIL. 
 
 Charles^ Derby, Lady Mary y Wyndbam^ Laaj 
 IVyndham, Elizabeth, 
 
 Charles. Lord Wyndham, what has been the 
 matter? I hear tumultuous voices repeat on eve- 
 ry fide, with reiterated clamour, " The king is 
 taken.'' The foldiers are dragging off two men. 
 I followed them, with my eyes, a long way into 
 me country, and faw them followed by a fhout- 
 ing populace, and attended with a thoufand lights. 
 I come down, I find you all in the deepeft con- 
 i3enmion 3 1 lee your lady drowned in tears, and 
 
 avoiding 
 
$&6 c ■ :i a i; l e 5' ft; 
 
 avoiding my looks. What is this 
 dread to unravei u\ 
 
 Wyndham. Have you not heard the cries of 
 this difconfol-ate mother ? 
 
 Charles. How \ Is your Ton 
 
 Wyndham. He had fvvorn to fave your life, at 
 the expenfe of his own. He now fulfils his 
 vow. 
 
 Charles, And you believe that I will fuffer 
 him to die, in my itead ? No, no ; I mould think 
 myfelf unworthy of fo noble fidelity, were I to 
 permit this facrifice. Dry up your tears, ma- 
 dams 1 will toon reftore to you a fon fo worthy 
 of your forrows. 
 
 IVyndham. The attempt would be vain. Will 
 Wood-thirfty Cromwell be terrified at the num- 
 ber of his viclims ? It is part with my fon, and 
 you would periiTi, without laving him. 
 
 Ckaritt* Then, at leaft, I will uie with him. 
 
 JVyrtibam, No, Sire • you lhall not die. 
 Your life is no longer at your own difpofal j it be- 
 longs to me, who have purchafed it at the price 
 of ray blood. I prefume to affert my claims 
 upon it, conjointly with thofe of the nation. 
 
 dories. What can you exacl of me ? 
 
 Wyndham. The accomplishment of our great 
 ctefign. Its execution is now become favourable. 
 The falfe report, which has already filled the vil- 
 lage, and will foon be fpread through the whole 
 country, enfures you a free retreat, Make hafte 
 to depart. The delay of an inftant may be fatal 
 to you. The Tyger, difappointed in his firft 
 prey, will come hither, by the traces of my 
 
 Henry's 
 
C HARIE'S IL 2S7 
 
 Henry's blood, to feek for .a fecond. Be you 
 out of his reach, before his fury awakes. 
 
 Derby: Then, Lord Wyndham, withdraw 
 along with us from Cromwell's vengeance. 
 Bring your mother, your wife, and your daugh- 
 ter, together with the moil valuable of your ef- 
 fects, and follow our deftiny. 
 
 Wyndham. I thought, Lord Derby, that you 
 had known me better. Shall f give up my own 
 fon to the fword of the executioner, and with- 
 draw my own head from. It \ 
 
 Charles, Save, at leaft, what remains to you 
 of an unfortunate family. Make hafte to lodge 
 them in a place of fafety. 
 
 Lady Mary. How, Sire ! I abandon my fon ? 
 
 Lady Wyndham. Mine they have torn from 
 me, but they {hall not tear me from my huf- 
 fcand. 
 
 Wyndham. You fee, death has no terrors for 
 us : half of my family has perifhed in your fa- 
 ther's defence ; the remainder will not hefltate to 
 perifh for your fafety. 
 
 Charles. No, I do not accept this fanguinary 
 offering. What a lot purfues me ! Heaven 
 gives kings, to make nations happy, whereas I am 
 fent to bring deftru£lion on my people. My 
 life is a ground of difcord to my fubjecis. I fee 
 fpme proftitute their confcience and their honour 
 to the purpofe of procuring my death, others, in 
 my defence, facritice their too generous blood. 
 It is my blood, it is my blood that the furies de- 
 mand. Deliver me from this detefted life j 1 
 hate it, I abhor it. 
 
 Wyndham. 
 
288 CHARLES H, 
 
 TVyndham. For that very reafon it is I 
 highcft courage to fupport it. Heaven, while it 
 feconds my defign, hath poi-nted out to us ourfe- 
 veral duties ; your's to live, our's to die. Suffer 
 us to fulfil this glorious deftiny. If, on the fcaf- 
 fold, I learn that you are fate, I fhall die happy. 
 
 Charles. And ihall i live happy, even upon a 
 throne, to which the facrifice of your life mui\ 
 fmooth rny way ? 
 
 JVyndham. What is your happinefs cr mine ? 
 it is the happinefs of a whole people, that mould 
 occupy your thoughts. Led aftray by the vio- 
 lence of their palfions, but ever ready, from an 
 innate love of re. htude, to return to the ways of 
 juftice and honour, they mutt be indebted to 
 you alone for fuch a reformation : they will foon 
 come and fupplicate your return. Whenever 
 that happens, grant their defire ; return, not as 
 a conqueror, but as a ; \tx : my blood, then, 
 will not cry out to you for vengeance, but for 
 mercy, liberty, and love 
 
 Charles This ungr eful people, who pro- 
 scribe me ' are they ail worth, in mv eftimation, 
 a fingle citizen like you ? U uler a doubtful hope 
 of returning, mould i fuffer fuch noble victims 
 to perilh? No, Wyadham, I have faid it ; I will 
 not accept an offering of devoted blood, while I 
 can ranfom it with my own, By what right 
 would you force me to - .ceive it ? 
 
 JVyndham. By what right, Sire ? You make 
 me forget the duty of a fubject, and afiume the 
 authority over you which my a^e gives me, and 
 if I mull add, my fervices. When I gave you 
 
 an 
 
■■:€ HARLES II. %l$ 
 
 Sfo afylum here, at the rifle of my fortune and 
 life, tne honour of faving you was a furhcient 
 recompeole ; but when i facrifice my ion for 
 your preservation, with what price can 3 ou re- 
 pay me r And would you fsatch from me even 
 the fruits of this facrifice, and obiige me to grieve 
 that i ever confented to it? No, Sire, you are a 
 king ; I was a father: For your fake, I am no 
 longer one : reftore to me, therefore, in your per- 
 fon, the fon whom I had brought up to fulfil the 
 hopes of his country. You afk me, by what 
 right ? You have given me a right, which L will 
 exact in ail its rigour. Depart. 
 
 Charles, Generous, but cruel, Wyndham — 
 Wyndham. 1 hear no more. Depart, and by 
 faving yourielf, favethe nation. Follow us, mo- 
 ther j and you, my lord Derby, help me to force 
 i\\t king away. {He turns toward Lady IVynd- 
 barn.) My deareft, excufe me, I go to tafle the 
 Jail joy remaining, to me on earth, that of laving 
 my country, and I will return to your arm?, to 
 indulge our grief to its juft excefs. (With Der- 
 by s btip> be jorces off the king. Lady Mary follows 
 them, Elizabeth leads Lady Wyndham to her a£art~ 
 meat. 
 
 Eb ACT 
 
2 9 o CHARLES 1L 
 
 A C T V 9 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Wyndham. 
 
 What a dreadful night have I pafTed ! Alas-! 
 I (hall have nowe but fuch for the fhort time that 
 I am ftill to drag the burden of life ! Trembling 
 for my king, my country, and my fon, what re- 
 mains to fill up the meafure of my calamities ?_ 
 Were 1 even permitted to bear them finely ! O, 
 beloved wife, your defpair affli&s me more than 
 my own forrows. Now clafping me in your 
 arms, now pufhing me from you, with horror, 
 fpent with weeping, convulfed with fobs, paffing 
 by turns, from the frenzy of grief, to a calm ftill 
 more dreadful, and from a mournful filence, to 
 fhrieks of angui(h, how often, in this long night, 
 has my heart been torn with the fight of your 
 fijfferiny;s ! Sleep, at length, fteals upon her eye- 
 lids, and gives me a moment of freedom to ia- 
 dulge my griefs alone. O, my fon! my fon! 
 never did a vice, in you, draw tears from your 
 parents' eyes ; were you, then, dettined to fhew 
 forth (o much virtue, only to make us complete- 
 ly wretched ! (Hefl)cds a flood of iears y hiding bis 
 facs^ at the jams timt* with bis bands, ) 
 
 SCENE 
 
. CHARLES II. ■ 291 
 
 SCENE II, 
 Wyndham, James. 
 
 Jama, (looking at him with affefiionate compaffu 
 an, and not daring to interrupt him.) Could I ex- 
 pe6l to nnd him thus plunged in grief? Is this 
 the reward of his virtues ? (He approaches, and 
 calk him, with a trembling voice.) My lord ! 
 
 Wyndham, (flarts fuddenly from his mufing, fees 
 who it is, and f peaks with eager nefs.) Ha! well, 
 •what news do you bring me ? Have they a ihip 
 ready for the king ? 
 
 James. Yes, my lord ; when I came away 3 
 Colonel Lane had one ready to fet fail the mo- 
 ment of the king's arrival. 
 
 Wyndham, (his countenance brightening tip thrdiigh 
 his tears.) Thank heaven, I feel, at lead one 
 part of my anxiety lightened. 
 
 James. I do not know whether your lord- 
 fhip has any grounds for rejoicing, 
 
 Wyndham. Sayed thou ? 
 
 James. As I returned, I did not meet my la- 
 dy's carriage, until I was three miles from the 
 harbour, 
 
 Wyndham. Well ? 
 
 James. But when I came farther on the road,, 
 I faw foldiers fcouring the country, on every 
 fide, with freih orders from Cromwell, 
 
 Wyndham. Then he is undeceived already as 
 to his victim ? Heavens ! if they were to 
 the king 1 
 
 Bb 1 Jo: 
 
2g2 CHARLES IL 
 
 Janus. I apprehend, they directed their pur- 
 fuit toward the fea-iide, perhaps toward Shore- 
 ham. 
 
 IVyndham, Then I am plunged, again, into 
 the moft cruel alarms ! 
 
 James. Her ladvuYip charged me to infor^i 
 you, that Hie would difpateh 1 homas to you, or 
 e!(e come herfelf, as ibon as the king was aboard 
 the vefTel. 
 
 IVyndham. Let them hafte, then, to relieve 
 me from this dreadful ftare of uncertainty. Go, 
 leave me, I pray you, if you have nothing more 
 to communicate to me. 
 
 Janus. Your lordfhip will pardon me, but I 
 cannot thus leave you to yourfelf : I am only 
 grieved that I was obliged to be away. I fhouLd 
 not have let you facritice my young matter. I 
 would have taken his place — happy in preferving 
 to you a fon worthy of fo much love and efteem. 
 How happy did I return in having fully perform- 
 ed my menage ! The hope of finding your lord- 
 (hip, pleafed with the good news that I brought 
 back, did (o rejoice me. Ah ! my lord, how was 
 I (hocked, on learning what had palled in my sb- 
 fence i and now, when I fee you in grief, you, 
 my lord, who are fo mild and gentle a mafter, I 
 know not how I (hall fupport it. . 
 
 IVyndham. For pity's fake, my good friend, 
 do not aggravate the evils that I endure. 
 
 James, (tiffing bis bend.) My mafter ! my 
 excellent mailer ! 
 
 iVptdham. I thank you for your affection, 
 but this proof of it only affli&s me more. Why 
 do you fpeak to me of myfelf ? I would be entire- 
 
CHARLEi II. 293 
 
 ly taken up with my fon, and nothing elfe. (James 
 goes outy lifting up his hands toward heaven, and 
 looking forrowfully at Wyndham* 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 Wyndham, 
 
 juft at this time, every morning, my fon, my 
 dear fon, came to afk my blefling. With what 
 joy did I prefs him to my heart ! Inftead of re- 
 ceiving thefe embraces from the tendereft of fa- 
 thers} perhaps he lies now under the menaces of 
 the favage Cromwell, furrounded by execution- 
 ers, and the axe lifted over his head, Perhaps, 
 this moment, he expires beneath theftroke. Q ? 
 heaven ! that I fhould lofe all, my country, my 
 fon, my whole family, and yet cannot die. 
 
 SCENE IVo 
 
 Wyndham^ Lady Wyndham^ Elizabeth, 
 
 Lady Wyndham, {enters with dijheveiledhalr, ttfiS 
 tottering fleps^ fiipported by Elizabeth, She cries 
 with a voice Jo feeble, as to be fcarce heard,) Wynd- 
 
 hwn ! 
 
 Wyndham, (turning, perceive* her.) Hesver? • 
 what perturbation in her fenfes i What wildnefs 
 ki her eyss 1 
 
 B b 3 tmdy 
 
294 CHARLES II. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, (with haggard looks.) Wher$ 
 am I ? Is it yet day ? I have not feen Henry. 
 He did not come to falute me this morning. My 
 dear fan I 2nd yet he knows that his afedtion 
 makes the happinefs of my life. (She locks Jhd- 
 foily at fVy id am.) Ah ! I fee him, (j mi ling.) 
 he is in his father's arms — Let him come hither 
 alfo, and embrace me.. (She holds cut hn arms.) 
 He does not come! He loves me not ! She turns % 
 and fixing her eyes upon Wyndham.) Barbarian ! a 
 poniard in your hand! What hss he done, that 
 you mould (tab him ? Ah ! I will defend him a* 
 gainft you. (Endeavours to break away — Eliza~ 
 beth holds her.) They load me with chains, to 
 deprive you of my affirmance. (She Harts and 
 fiudders.) Whence comes this blood that I fee 
 flow in dreams? Is it mine, or my fon's i (She 
 falls back into Elizabeth's arms.) 
 
 Wyndham. This laft ftroke only was wanting 
 to compleat my m fery. (To Elizabeth.) I had 
 juft left her io compofed J 
 
 Elizabeth This was her condition immedi- 
 ate! v upon her awaking. 
 
 I'/ynJham. What (hall 1 fay to her ? I have 
 not even a hope remaining to beguile her for- 
 rows. (Leaning ovr^ety and taking her hand.) 
 Sophia., my deareft Sophia ! 
 
 L.idy i'r j idham, (in a languifhing voice.) So- 
 
 > more, She was the mother of Henrys 
 
 but (he has Jolt him ( IVyndha?n appears ft uti fed 
 
 w> th grief d moment of ftlencc, during which n$~ 
 
 thing is beard, but the jobs, of Elizabeth.) 
 
 SCENE 
 
CHARLES 1L 295 
 
 SCENE V, 
 Lady Wyndbaniy Wfidham, Elizabeth^ James. 
 
 James? [running in^ with vrildnefs in bis counter 
 nance.) My lord, the whole court-yard is full of 
 foldiers, and Cromwell himfe'f is ccn ing. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, (exerting berjelf.) Cromwell? 
 Who is this Cromwell ? Another of my Con's 
 murderers. (She faints.) 
 
 IVyndham, (Having ^iven her fame ajfiftance) 
 Elizabeth, take your mother, away, (Elizabeth 
 leads La iy JVyndham out. ) Let not the barbaric 
 an feaft his eyes with this fight. Heaven ! give 
 me ftrength to overcome my grief, that I may 
 confound and ftrike him dumb. (He refumes bis 
 \fpiritS) and waits Cromwell* s entering, ) 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Cromwell, JVyndbam* 
 
 Cromwell. My lord, you fee me here filled with 
 9 holy indignation. That you ihould feek to 
 deceive me y by delivering your fon up to me, in- 
 flead of Charles Stuart, is not what gives me of- 
 fence, but your betraying the commonwealth^ 
 and attempting ro laugh the commands of heaven 
 to feorn, fuch an excefs of audacious impiety I 
 know not how to pardon. 
 
 IVyndham. Is it none in thee, Cromwell, to 
 fefthyfelf up for the avenger of heaven and the 
 eamiaonweakh ? 
 
 Cromwell* 
 
296 CHARLES II. 
 
 Cromivell, I know that man is nothing in the 
 eyes of the fupreme Being ; but know that he 
 may ferve as an iaftrcmcnt to fignalizc his 
 Maker's power. 
 
 lV\ndham. It was, no doubt, to fignalize 
 tiat power, that heaven chofe )ou from the 
 midft of riot and debauchery, loaded with debts 
 and infamy, and ftained with more crimes than 
 ever took root in the heart of the moft abandoned 
 villain. 
 
 Cromwell, Heaven beheld my weaknefTes, but 
 the love that I bore my country overbalanced 
 them. 
 
 Wvndham. Country ? that name in your 
 mouth is like rlie name of virtue, pronounced in 
 hell. 
 
 Cromwell, The nation treats me with more 
 juftice ; the people are fenfible that I have re- 
 stored them to their former greatnefs. 
 
 JVyndhean, What, by degrading their mindfi 
 to the level of hvpocrify and fanaticifm ? By ex- 
 pofing them to their neighbours on account of 
 the furious inveteracy with which they purfue 
 their own deftru&ion ; and to the execration of 
 the whole world, on account of the deteftable 
 murder of their king ? You have reftored them 
 to their greatnefs, while you make them the 
 tool of your ambition ? Had you only forced 
 them to fufferbafely the indignities with which 
 they have been loaded by you, would it not have 
 been debafin* them fufficiently ? How long mall 
 they be the dupe of your impofture ? Why can 
 they not fee you in your true colours, not as I 
 fee youj for the infinite depth of your villainy 
 
 hides 
 
CHARLES II. 297 
 
 hides half your crimes from the eyes of your 
 neighbours, but fuch as you wou.d fee yourfelf, 
 could the affrightning gleam of remorfe pene- 
 trate to the bottom or your black heart. 
 
 Q-omuAl. slavery always dared thus to calum- 
 niate the noble efforts of courage. Mull >, to 
 pleafe you, have left a generous people groaning 
 under the yoke or tyranny ? 
 
 fpyndhfim. To defcribe the horror with which 
 that tyranny infpires me, it is fufficient that I 
 cannot exprefs how much i abhor you. Yes, 
 rnonller, do you think that I have not marked 
 your ambition, dealing, with perfidious fi!ence 3 . 
 to a throne ? i am not the (lave of kings : I 
 ever deteded their attempts upon our liberty. 
 What curfes then do l not owe your parliament 
 and you, the two -mod cruel oppreiTors of the 
 people ? Under what fceptred tyrant have they 
 (hed more tears or more blood ? Ferocious man- 
 ners, frantic errors, vindictive profcriptions* 
 licentioufnefs, maffacres and depredations, thele 
 bleiltngs your republican knaves have given to 
 sn infatuated populace, by way of liberty, while 
 they crulh them under a load of taxes, and punidi 
 their lead murmur as rebellion. This monftrous 
 chaos is the work of yourgloomy policy : 1 have 
 fcen yrm lurk among the independents; unable 
 to lead the feet by the force of your eloquence, 
 you have agitated them by the ravings of a 
 iMtempered imaginationj you wrapped yourfelf 
 in the veil of religion, to amufe the ambition of 
 your rivals : you urged on all parties to the ufur- 
 parion of arbitrary power, that you might reach 
 it, by treading in their fteps, and then difpofTefs 
 
 them 
 
zrjZ CHARLES II. 
 
 them of it, with the audacious violence natural 
 to your difpofnion. Left fupreme, and without 
 a rival, confounding beneath your feet both arms 
 and Jaws, you now plague the nation withftorms 
 of anarchy, that it may rail exhaufted before 
 your defpotic power. Now tell me of greatnefs 
 and liberty. 
 
 Cromwell. Carnal man ! it belongs to thee 
 truly to judge the kingdom of the faints, and to 
 fathom the infcrutable decrees of Providence ! 
 
 IVyndham. Go, carry thefe canting declama- 
 tions to your inipired foldiers. Go fall into* 
 trances and fee vifions, and fhed hypocritical 
 tears before your parliament : they are well 
 worthy to be condemned to the diferace of ap- 
 plauding them. 
 
 Cromvjeil, J weep for the blindnefs of thy 
 heart; it is incurable, and cannot receive light 
 from me. Nothing but heaven can illuminate 
 thee 3 if ever thou malt deferve that grace. De- 
 liver me now up Charles Stuart ; the fame heaven 
 demands him from thee by my lips. 
 
 IVyndham, Since thou art made the inftru- 
 ment through which heaven's will is declared, it 
 is, no doubt, revealed to thee where thou (halt 
 find thy vi&im. 
 
 Cromwell. It is revealed to me that I fhould 
 feek for him in thy cattle, and all through the 
 country. 
 
 Wjindhawu Well, why do(\ thou hefitate to 
 follow infpi rations that arefo clear ? 
 
 Cromwell. My foldiers are doin^ fo at this 
 moment, while thou thinkeft mebufy in answer- 
 ing thy vain difcourfes. 
 
 JVyndkum* 
 
-CH A R L E S II. 299 
 
 ' Wyndham. Wait then in filence for the event 
 of their fearch, 
 
 Cromwell. Coniider that your life is at flake. 
 Wyndham. I have put that of my fon in your 
 hands, do you think 1 tremble for my own ? 
 
 Cromivdl. You Hull periih with your Ton, and 
 you (hall fee your whole family perifh with you. 
 They have ijl been guilty of rebellion, through 
 you, and through you they. fhall- all fuffer the 
 pnpifhment due to it. 
 
 Wyndham^ We are all impatient to -meet it 
 and to defy yo,ur vengeance. I have fatisfied 
 mine upon you, by forcing you to efteem me as 
 much as 1 defpjfe you. See, Cromwell, the 
 difference between guilt and honour. By dint 
 of violence and intrigues, y ou n^ay find a par- 
 liament bale enough to beftow the fovereignty 
 on you : but, closthed with a power to which 
 nothing invites you, except the charms of the 
 guilt that it mull eoft yoy, it will foon hecome 
 burthenfome, when you find no .new crimes to 
 commit. There will remain to you but the 
 terrors of a confeience alarmed by premature old 
 age. Your children will curie you, and the 
 guilty throne which you leave them to inherit ; 
 whereas { fhah die bleft by my family which I 
 facrifice to the caufe of virtue. 
 
 Crom ■■■ell. Your name, as that of a traitor, 
 (hall be made infamous 
 
 Wyndham it cannot, even by pafTins: through 
 your infamous mouth ; and \i that does not 
 tarnifh my name, jud^e if any thing can : but it 
 will receive itSvgreatejft fplendor from my punifh- 
 ment : it will ioadyour's with eternal difgraee, 
 
 while 
 
300 CHARLES TL 
 
 while they defcend togttlier to the remote^ 
 poitenty. Nay, expect from my death a mil 
 more gl rious effect. Numerous alliances unite 
 me to the tirft peers ut this realm. They will 
 not look oo unconcerned, while the fame blood 
 "which fills their veins, is fhed under the axe of 
 the executioner, *i i»ere never can arife, in the 
 three kingdoms, a montter equal to thee ; but I 
 honour my counrry too much, to fuppofe that it 
 has not citizens left, who furpafs me in virtue. 
 When they lee a whole family perifh with 
 hero.fm, m performance pf their duty, a gene- 
 rous emulation will ie.ze their noire fouls. The 
 finking off q£ my head mil Lea iignal to them 
 to raliVj from ail quarters, i already fee them 
 ruftung on you *• b (lie then to complete a mur- 
 der which ma) deliver me from the fight of your 
 primes, and will arm to many avengers of them. 
 £ofrie y urfejf and prepare my fv3lFoid. 1 will 
 go befoi >. u. (/is be is £«'»£ out, he perceives 
 had) Maiy^ who opproachfi ha/tit) ) 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Gom.veil, La.!y Vtary\ Wyntiham* 
 
 Wyn J) ?f)u Is ir you, my dear mother ? T fee 
 jov fparkle in >our e ; cs ! What news of the 
 king ? 
 
 Lady Mary, (with an exllamnfonofjoy.) He is 
 fawd. 
 
 IP* i t !bam i (travfborted with de^bt. ) YV h at do 
 
 I hear i 
 
 Lady 
 
CHARLES If. 301 
 
 Lady Mary. Yes, my Ton, the (hip which 
 carried him, disappeared from my view, before I 
 left the harbour : a favourable wind blew all the 
 while. It mu ft have conveyed him, by this time, 
 to the coaft of France. 
 
 Wyndham {lifting up his arms to heaven.) Juit 
 heaven ! thou crowneft all my wifhes at once : 
 thou faveft the king through my means : thou 
 rendered my life and my death equally ufeful to 
 my country! Well, Cromwell, you are ftruck 
 with furprize. Where are now ail the hopes 
 with which your holy infpirations puffed up the 
 pride of your foldiers ? Was Charles to have 
 been your prifoner ? Tremble, villain. He goes 
 to prepare chains for you. From the oppofite 
 coafts of the ocean his name will come to ani- 
 mate all good Englishmen, and to freeze you 
 with terror. What tranfport will it be to me, 
 in my lad moments, to fee all your fchemes 
 baffled ! 
 
 Cromwelly (with a fmile of contempt . ) Wy n d - 
 ham, you know me not : you (hall fee whether 
 I fuffer my fortune to depend upon events, or 
 the opinion of men. . (Goes toward the door^ and 
 makes aflgn to the foldiers to came forward,) 
 
 Cc SCENE 
 
3 o2 CHARLE S Ti, 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Cromwell^ Lady Mary^ Wyndbam^ Soldiers, 
 
 (At a diflance Henry is feenjl retching his c 
 forth to Wyndham^ and endeavouring to Jprlng to- 
 wards bitn } but held by Luke^ Ptmbel> and Talgcl.j 
 
 Cromwell^ (to the foldicrs.) Come in, brave 
 defenders of the good old caufe ; come. and re- 
 joice with me: you fee in Wyndham the de- 
 liverer of his country. 
 
 The foldiehj (a/lonlJJoed.) In Wyndham ? 
 Cromwell. Yes, my friends : the parliament 
 ha'd promifed a reward to fuch as fhould deliver 
 Charles Stuart into their hands. The generous 
 Wyndham could have earned this reward, but 
 he difdained it. He had feen me, before, fend 
 the tyrant's younger brother * over fea. H 
 done more, he has driven away the tyrant him- 
 felf, to the end, that none of theaccurfed family s 
 may remain in the land of the faints. 
 
 t'/yndham. How, Cromwell, do you prefume 
 to fay — 
 
 Cromwell^ (interrupting him.) Nay, fear not 
 that 1 mould difapprove your wife policy : you 
 meant to (hew Stuart's deareft friends, how un- 
 worthy he was of their attachment. Trembling 
 
 for 
 
 * The Duke of Glouctfter, the younpeft fort of 
 Charles 1. Cromwell fent him over to Holland, after 
 the beheading of his father. 
 
CHARLES II. 303 
 
 for his own fafety alone, he abandons them to 
 every danger, and expofes them to our juft re- 
 venge. Children of light, blefs the Lord. One 
 tyrant executed by the avenging fword of the 
 laws, and another fent away from this facred 
 iiland, never to return, are pledges to fecure the 
 empire of the faints, and the reign of liberty for 
 ever. 
 
 IVyndham. What, knave ! hiift thou the im- 
 pudence to interpret my actions thus ? 
 
 Crom < ell. Silence, profane; thou feed: not 
 that heaven governs thy actions, in fpite of thy- 
 felf. it manifefts both its power and its favour- 
 ing protection, to the good old caufe, by render- 
 ing thee the blind inftrument of its decrees. 
 Thou haft done fervice to the commonwealth. 
 I am juft, and therefore I reftore thy fon to thee, 
 as the reward of it. Let him be fet free. 
 [Henry is brought forward, andvjhilfl IVyndham in~ 
 dulges in fdence the tranfports of his joy, Cromwell 
 fays to his fildiers) Come, my friends, let us go 
 and return thanks to the Almighty, The price 
 which the parliament had fet on the head o^ 
 Charles Stuart, (hall be distributed among you, 
 fince England is rid of him : 1 will folick alfo 
 frefh bounties for you. It is proper, that the 
 army of faints mould partake of the joy which 
 the Lord himfelf feels on this day of bieflings. 
 ( He goes out with an air of triumph^ and the fold; - 
 srsfoHnv him,) 
 
 C c 2 SCENE 
 
304 CHARLE S- II 
 
 S C E N E IX. 
 
 Wynihartt) Henry. 
 
 races Lady Mary, IVyndharri 
 binty he cries ) 
 The • i •><: ! he efcapes me, before I have 
 been able to unmafk him. 
 
 • )'. O, father, let us think of nothing 
 but the joy of feeing ourfeives once more toge- 
 and the d by our means. 
 
 Lady Mary. Will you pardon me the danger 
 to which 1 expofed your life ? 
 
 < y y (with vivacity.) Pardon you ? Ah, 
 
 -it thanks. To you I 
 
 that, i have preferved the honour of our 
 
 name, fulfilled theirioft (acred duty, and mewed, 
 
 ips, that 1 am not unworthy of — But my 
 
 her — my fitter — let me fee them. I cannot 
 
 in my impatience. 
 
 ' your poor mother ! me 
 
 has ; . iy for the honour that you have ac- 
 
 g fever, brought on by the agi- 
 
 m of her mind, has troubled and difcompo- 
 
 ier fenfes. 
 
 Henry. Heavens ! what do I hear ? 
 
 ulbam* Be not uneafy ; I hope yourpre- 
 knee will focn reilore her to tranquility, by 
 filling her heart with joy. 
 
 Henry. Then let me fly to her. 
 
 ■ f nubam, (taling bis band.) No ; flop : 
 wc mufl coafuk her weaknefs. I will go and 
 
 prepare 
 
CHARLES If. 305 
 
 prepare her to receive you. But what do I fee ? 
 Heavens ! 'tis Ihe herfelf. 
 
 SCENE X. > 
 
 Lady Mary, Wyndham, Henry, Lady Wyndham^ 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, (ftruggling violently to break 
 away from Elizabeth.) It is in vain that you 
 would hold me, I muft fee this Cromwell. 
 He muft give me back my fon. 
 
 Henry, [running to her.) Here he is ! That 
 very fon whom you feek, is here. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, [flopping him at arm's length, 
 and confidering him with a look of aflonifhmcnt. ) 
 Whoever thou art, who reprefentell my dear 
 Henry, I conjure the?) remain thus for ever be- 
 fore my eyes, 
 
 Henry, [embracing her.) No, rather prefs me 
 to your boibm. It is I, your fon, that you hold 
 in your arms. 
 
 Lady Wyndham, {tenderly. ) Yes, thefe are his 
 features, his looks ; and thus my dear fon em- 
 braced me. Yet I dare not believe it ; my dis- 
 ordered brain is (o full of delufive phantoms. 
 
 Henry. No, you are not deceived. Shall I 
 be a ftranger, then, in your eyes ? O, mother, 
 my dear mother ! 
 
 Lady Wyndham, (farting, ivith an emotion of 
 
 joy,) Ah 1 i know thee by the dear name which 
 
 C c 3 thy 
 
3 «6 CHARLES II. 
 
 thy affecVion gives me. Why didft thou not 
 pronounce it before ? 
 
 Hmry. Well, then, I will repeat it to you a 
 thoufanci and a thoufand times. My mother, 
 my tkareft mother, you fee me reftored to your 
 love for ever. 
 
 Lady JVyndham. Is this really fo ? A healing 
 balm compofes and cools my veins. O, my 
 ion, what have I fuffered for thee ! 
 
 Henry. All your fufferings were in my heart': 
 but let us remember fo many evils only the bet- 
 tei to enjoy our happinefs, (He runs to Eliza- 
 beth, and embraces her.) My dear fitter, I have 
 given you much concern and affiiclion. Ah I 
 how I feared, left I /hould never fee you again ! 
 
 Elizabeth, (fighing.) I fhali not be able to 
 exprefs my joy to-day : my heart is too full. 
 
 IVynihairi. My dear Sophia, I can now meet 
 your fight, without apprehenfion. Henry is co- 
 vered with glory ; and without lofing our child 5 
 I have faved our king. 
 
 Lady Wyndham* Since it is fo, I pardon you» 
 My Ton and you are dearer to me than ever. 
 
 S C E N 2 
 
CHARLES II, 307 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 Lady Mary, Wyndham, Lady Wyndham, Elizabeth, 
 Henry, Pope, James, Thomas, 
 
 {Pope enters, conduced in triumph, by James and 
 Thorn a 1 : Henry, perceiving him, runs and takes 
 him by the hand, and leads him to Wyndham.) 
 
 Henry. Father, I prefent to you the generous 
 companion of my facrifice. (Pope, going to throw 
 himfelf at Wyndham* s feet y V/yndham opens his arms 
 to embrace him, ) No, Pope, come to my arms. 
 You were willing to die with my fen : hence- 
 forward you can be nothing elfe than equal in 
 my affection. (To James and Thomas.) And you, 
 my friends, who have (hewn us fo much zeal and 
 arYedion, you (hall live with me for ever : we 
 will form, all together, a family of brothers and 
 good citizens. Let us live to love each other, 
 and let us join our vows for the liberty of our 
 country, while we await an opportunity of (bed- 
 ding every drop of our blood, if neceffary, for 
 the re-eftablifhrnent of it. 
 
 The obfervation of dramatic unity in the fore- 
 going piece, having rendered fome deviation 
 from hiftorical truth neceffary, in the names of 
 perfons, the fituation of places, and the order of 
 dates and events, left we ihouid lead our young 
 
 readers 
 
Jp8 ADVENTURES OF CHARLES H. 
 
 readers into an error, with refpedt. to the circum- 
 ftances of an action fo memorable, we have judg- 
 ed it expedient to fubjoin an account of the 
 flight of Charles II. as hiftory has tranCmitted 
 it to us, together with the genuine particulars 
 which accompanied it. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF CHARLES IL 
 
 IN HIS FLIGHT, 
 
 AFTER the battle of Worcefter, the king 
 left the field, accompanied by fifty horfe- 
 men. He kept his efcort together, during a 
 flight of twenty-fix miles, in order to pro- 
 ted: himfelf, either from the infults of the coun- 
 try people, or againft the detachments that Crom- 
 well had fent out in purfuit of him. He then 
 thought proper to feparate from them, and only 
 retained about his perfon, the Earl of Derby, 
 and Lord Wilmor, with whom he arrived at the 
 old monaftery of Witlade, the occupier of the 
 lands on which the monaftery flood, having for- 
 merly given arc afylum to the earl, after the de- 
 feat of his little army. This fanner, whofe 
 name deferves to be handed down to poflerity, 
 was called Pcntlerel : he had four bi others, men 
 of loyalty, like himfelf, who had another fmall 
 farm at Bofcohel, in the neighbourhood. He 
 feint fur them, and into th , the king re- 
 
 figned his deitiny. They cut off his hair, black- 
 ened 
 
i N 8 IS FLIGH T. 309 
 
 fcftfcd his face, and conduced him, in an old tat- 
 tered difguife, to cut wood in the foreft. They 
 .made him lie in a little chapel, uponaftraw bed, 
 with a wretched bolfter. A woman, whom they 
 were obliged to admit into the fecret, brought 
 him milk, butter and eggs. 1 'he king was fur- 
 prized at feeing her, and not knowing whether 
 the Penderels had trufted her without referve, he 
 afked her, in order to afTure himfelf, how fhe 
 could think of being faithful to one of the king's 
 party. 7'he woman anfwered, without explain- 
 ing herfelf further, that fhe would be faithful to 
 the king as long^as fhe lived, She uttered thefe 
 words with fuch an appearance of feeling, that 
 Charles' apprehenfions were perfectly quieted, 
 and he made a very hearty meal of the vickiais 
 which (he had brought him, necefiity rendering 
 it, perhaps, the molt delicious that ever he made- - 
 in his life. Charles had fcarccly left Witiad'e* 
 before fome of Cromwell's foldiers alighted at 
 the monaftery, and fearched it all through. Luck-- 
 ilv a very abundant fhower of rain hindered 
 them From leaving its to fcour.the neighbourhood; 
 and nothing difturbed the little repofe, which ex- 
 ceflive wearinefs, and violent anxiety,- fuiFered 
 the king to enjoy in his difmal lodging,. 
 
 Informed of this alarm, the next morning, as. 
 Toon as he awoke, he refolved immediately to go 
 into Wales. He promifed himfelf more fecurity 
 there,, until he fhouid be able to make for Lon- 
 don,, whither he had fent Lord Wiimot, to wait 
 his coming. He fat out, therefore, at night, 
 with one of fhe Penderels for his guide. As 
 they paffed near a mill, the miller hearing them 
 
 open 
 
%io ADVENTURES OF CHARLES tC 
 
 open a gate at the end of the bridge that croflecf" 
 his mill-race, fallied out haftily from his mill, 
 and demanded, with a threatening tone, where 
 they were going, at fuch an unfeafonable hour. 
 They continued endeavouring to open the gate 3 
 without amVering him. '\ he miller ran to- 
 wards them, crying out to them to itop, at 
 which fumnfofrs Penderel abandoned the bridge, 
 and ruthed into the ftream : the king followed 
 him, without hesitation, the noife that he made 
 in the water directing his lteps, as the darknefs 
 prevented him from feeing his guide. Luckily 
 the fame darknefs, together with the miller's cor- 
 pulence, hindered him from overtaking them. 
 
 / arrived, quite wet, at the houfe of ?. 
 country-man, named Wolf, an acquaintance of 
 Penderels. Wolf, after having concealed the 
 king as well as he could, went himfelf to the 
 edge of the river, to prepare a palTage for him ; 
 but he found the whole bank fo covered with fol- 
 diers, that he thought it his duty to difiuade his 
 guefl: from fo dangerous an enterprize. Charles 
 was obliged to return to Bofcobel, and from 
 thence to the -chapel, where he kept himfelf con- 
 cealed, while the Penderels examined the coun- 
 try, to difcover whether there were any of the 
 parliament's troops in the neighbourhood. One 
 of them, as he went his rounds, met a perfon, at 
 the fight of whom the king was agreeably fur- 
 prized. His name was Carelefs, one of thofe 
 brave warriors, who, in order to let the king gain 
 a larger diftance from Worcefter, had ftemmed 
 every effort of the enemy for a confiderable time, 
 at the city gates. Carelefs was a native of this 
 
 part 
 
IN HI 3 FLIGHT, 311 
 
 part of the country, and knew the Penderels, 
 who brought him home to their houfe. The 
 king having hurt his foot, came hither at night 
 to have it drefled. Careiefs knew him, and 
 would not quit him afterwards. He re-conduct- 
 ed him to the foreft before break of day, and 
 made him climb into a large tree,, where they 
 both remained concealed among the thick bran- 
 ches, for near four' and twenty hours. They faw 
 Jeverai foldiers walk by at the foot of the tree, 
 many of whom expreficd the mofl ardent defire 
 •of feizing the king. This tree received the 
 name of the royal oak, and has ever fmce been 
 honoured with the higheit veneration by the 
 people of the country. 
 
 Neverthelefs, a fecret report had been fpread, 
 that Charles was fomewhere thereabout. One 
 of the Penderels going into a neighbouring vil- 
 lage, found there a number of foldiers verybufi- 
 ly engaged in collecting every account poilihle 
 concerning the king. The officer, who com- 
 manded them, put many queftions to Penderel 
 himfelf, and promifed him a great reward if he 
 would gi\e information where Charles lay con- 
 cealed. Penderel did not fwerve from his loyal- 
 ty ; but his account of this ci re urn (ranee, indu- 
 ced the king to take the ^efolution of feeking a- 
 nother retreat. 
 
 The guide, whom he had fent with Lord 
 Wilmot, to conduct him to London, returning, 
 informed the king, that his lordfhip, defpairing 
 to reach town, through the crouds of foldiers, 
 who rilled all the roads, had flopped fhort at the 
 iioufe of a gentleman of the royal part}', named 
 
 Witgrave, 
 
S i2 ADVENTURES OF CHARLES II. 
 
 Wirgfayt, where he was in fafety. Charles con- 
 ceived the defign of going to him, and had the 
 good fortune to fucceed, in fpite of every dan- 
 ger that he was to encounter. 
 
 Charles, while he indulged the fatisfacYion that 
 he felt on feeing Lord Wilmot, had not time to 
 deliberate with hirn on the courfe or meafures 
 which would h e mod proper for them to take, 
 when a party of foldiers appeared before Mr. 
 Witgrave's houfe, with an intention of fearch- 
 ing it. Refiftance would have been unfeafona- 
 ble. Witgrave concealed his gueits, and, at the 
 fume time, opened his door with fo much alacri- 
 ty and unconcern, that Ins vifitors were induced 
 to make but a very flight fearch. It was foon af- 
 terwards underftood, that a fre(h infpeclion had 
 been made of Witlade monastery ; and that the 
 officer of the party by whom it was fearched, 
 had feveral times held his piftol to Farmer Pen- 
 derel's breait, to oblige him to confefs where the 
 king was concealed. 
 
 The danger increafing every day, Charles 
 dropped all thoughts of flaying any longer in 
 England, and refolved to get as near the fea as 
 he could, in order to embark, with more fpeed 
 and convenience, the firft opportunity. Colonel 
 Lane, a zealous loyalift, who lived at Bentley, a 
 place but a few miles diflant, promifed to co- 
 operate in effecting this purpofe. The king had 
 made his feet fo fore by walking in heavy boots, 
 or great (floes, which had not been made for 
 him, that he was obliged to ride. He reached 
 Bently, in company with Lord Wilmot, and the 
 four Penderels, who had always been fo faithful 
 
 to 
 
IN HIS FLIG HT. 3(3 
 
 • 20 him. Colonel Lane propofed to convey the 
 king to Brhlol, where they might hope to find 
 Tome veffel that would take him on board. This 
 officer had a- relation, called Mrs. Norton, who 
 lived about three miles from Brirtol, and was 
 then very far advanced in her pregnancy. He 
 obtained a pafTport (without which, it was i-rn- 
 pofilhle to travel in thofe troublefome times) for 
 his filler and a (ervant, under pretence of vifiting 
 his relation in the neighbourhood of Briftol. 
 The king, therefore, fat off on horfeback, and 
 rode behind Mifs Lane's chalfe, pafTing for her 
 fervant. Lord Wilmot leading a brace of fpa- 
 niels, coupled together, and carrying a ha#vk 
 upon his wrift, parted for a fporting country gen- 
 tleman of their acquaintance, who had met 
 them on the road. 
 
 During this journey, which lafted but three 
 days, the king met with feveral adventures, mod 
 of them fufficient to infpire him with well- 
 -rounded terrors. He had only travelled fix 
 miles, when his horfe having dropped a (hoe, 
 he went himfelf to the nearer!: blackfmith, to 
 have him (hod, as he chofeto go through with 
 the character that he had affumed. While he 
 flood by at the operation, the fmith afked hini 
 what news were going, and if the king was ta- 
 ken. Charles anfwered, without changing 
 countenance, that he had not heard any thing or 
 it, and that, in all likelihood, his majesty was 
 gone back to Scotland. I 60 not think fo, re- 
 plied the fmith ; I mould rather fuppofe him to 
 •be concealed in England. Wherever he is, I 
 fhould wifh to know his place of concealment, 
 D-d The 
 
314 ADVENTURES OF CHARLES II. 
 
 The parliament has published a proclamation, 
 offering a reward of iocol. ilerling, to whoever 
 will difcover him. 
 
 This dilagreeable converfation being over, the 
 pnrty fat forward again, and continued their route 
 to near Evelham, where, as they were about to 
 pafs a ford, they perceived, all at once, a number 
 of horfes {landing, faddled, at the other fide of it. 
 Charles was for going right on, but his compa- 
 ny, lefs refolute, prevailed upon him, at length, 
 to turn off. They found themfelves frill in the 
 view of the foldiers, whom they had thought to 
 avoid : but the prince (hewed fo good a counte- 
 nance, and the whole cavalcade appeared fo much 
 in nature, as a country family paying a vifit in 
 the neighbourhood, that the foldiers, who were, 
 at that moment, bulied in feeking him, and him 
 only, conceived not the fmalleil fufpicion of 
 him. 
 
 When they came to Mrs. Norton's, Mifs 
 Lane told her, that (lie had brought with her a 
 young man, whom (he wiihed her to take into 
 her fervice. He was the fon, fhe faid, of a poor 
 countryman, in her neighbourhood, and had 
 caught an ague on the road, for which reafoh, 
 fhe requefted that he might have a room to him- 
 felf. Charles retired to it, and did not ftirout ; 
 but a fervant of the houfe, whofe name was 
 Pope, knew him, and, throwing himfelf at his 
 feet, fs it you, Sire? faid he ; I have ken your 
 majefty when very youne, and therefore was not 
 long recollecting you : if I can ferve your ma- 
 jefty, put my zeal to the teft, and depend upon 
 my fidelity. Charles was furprized and embar- 
 
 rafTed 
 
IN HIS FLIGHT. 315 
 
 nfled at this new adventure. He faw an equal 
 rifk in discovering himfelf to a ftranger, and in 
 fhewing that he diftrufted a man, who had it in 
 his power to verify his fufpicions. In this di- 
 lemma, the apparent fincerity of the man, de- 
 termined the king to conceal nothing. The e- 
 vent proved that he was right. Pope rendered 
 the king great fervices, and contributed not a lit- 
 tle to his fafety, by pointing out to him, as a fafe 
 retreat, the houfe of Colonel Wyndham, where, 
 in effect, he fpent nineteen days, waiting until 
 his friends mould find an opportunity for him 
 to embark on board fome fhip. 
 
 This was not an eafy matter, on account of 
 the precautions taken againft receiving ftrangers, 
 It was even dangerous topropofeit, the captains 
 of (hips fulpeeTmg every body, whom they did 
 not know, to be the king, and dreading the pe- 
 nalties denounced againft fuch as mould refufe 
 to difcover him. A report of his death had 
 prevailed fome time, and would have contributed 
 to rendcr*his life ferene, had it lafted longer. He 
 learned this, from the ringing of bells, and the 
 public rejoicings that were made, on account of 
 it, in the neighbourhood ; but the report /ell to 
 the ground too foon, and did not, in the lea ft, 
 diminiih the difficulties which oppofed his em- 
 barking, notwithstanding all the pains that Co- 
 lonel Wyndham took, in order to forward this 
 object. 
 
 A merchant, of the name of Efdcn, had juft 
 conveyed Lord Barclay over fea, whither he. fled 
 from the perfecution of the parliament. Colo- 
 nel Wyndham, who knew this merchant, went 
 D d 2 direaiy 
 
336 ADVENTURES OF CHARLES it 
 
 directly to Lyme, where he lived, and entreated 
 him to perform the fame kindnefs for a gentle- 
 man, a friend of his, who would- defire to take 
 no more than one fervant with him in the whole. 
 Mr. Efden went with him to the village of Car- 
 mouth, where he directed him to a mafter of a 
 fhip, with whom he might make his agreement. 
 It was fixed, that the captain fliould come the 
 next day but one, and receive his pafTengers a- 
 boardj at a folitary p art of the coafr. The king 
 was exacl: to the hour of his appointment, but 
 no fhip appeared. Thev learned, afterwards, 
 that the preceding day, there had been a fair irv 
 Lyme, at which the parliament's proclamation, 
 againft fuch as fliould harbour or conceal the 
 king, was read. The captain's wife being in- 
 formed, by her hufband, that he was going to 
 convey to France, certain perfons, whom he did 
 not name to her, oppofed his defign very ftrong- 
 ly ; and, in order to hinder him completely 
 from effecting it, me locked him up in his room, 
 untie he was bufy getting ready fome things ne- 
 Gtflaty for the voyage. 
 
 Dreading, left this incident mould become 
 public, Charles was obliged to quit Colonel 
 Wyndham's houfe, without well kr^owing where- 
 to face. He proceeded, however, towards Dor- 
 chefter, accompanied ftill by Wilmot, Colonel 
 Wyndham, with one of his Servants, being their 
 guides. Wilmot's horfe loling a (hoe, the cir- 
 cumftance was very near occaiioning the king's 
 difcovery. They had lent the horfe to be fhod 
 in a village where they had flopped, as night 
 came on. The bJack-fmith aiked the hoffler 
 
 where- 
 
IN HIS FLIGHT, 317 
 
 where his guefts came from, who anfwering, that, 
 by their own account, they came from Exeter : 
 they impofe upon you, replied the fmith, with a 
 countenance full of the important difcovery, 
 thefe (hoes were made down in the north. The 
 heftier, from this obfervation, recollecting that 
 the four horfemen had ordered their horles to 
 remain faddled, and had not befpoke beds for 
 themfelves, he concluded, at firit, that they were 
 certainly people of., quality belonging to the 
 king's army, which had been defeated near 
 Worcefter ; and afterwards, that it might, very 
 poflibly, be the king himfelf. Upon the ftrength 
 of this conjecture; he went to the miniiter of the 
 parifh, a violent parliamentarian, and communi- 
 cated his fufpicions to him. The minifter was, 
 at that moment, engaged in prayer, and would 
 not be interrupted. But the noife of this ad- 
 venture gaining ground, as the blackfmith, on 
 his fide, had not failed to circulate it, the mini- 
 fter took fire, and went to a juftice of the peace. 
 Immediately the whole town is up in arms, 
 fearching for the Grangers, and a party is feat 
 off after them, by the road which they were ken 
 to take. The king could not poflibly have ef. 
 caped them, if, inftead of keeping the main road, 
 he had not turned lhort, and made the bell of 
 his way, by crofs roads, to Saliihury. 
 
 We cannot fufficiently admire his continuing 
 undiscovered during the remainder of his wan- 
 derings. The whole country was full of troops, 
 marching in every direction 5 at every iftep he 
 was furrounded by them. He no fooner flopped 
 at an inn, but the foldiers, .officers, whole com- 
 D d 3 panics 
 
3*8 ADVENTURES OF CHARLES II. • 
 
 pnnies enter the place. Juft as he was going td 
 ftcp into a fhip, which ha<i been prepared for him 1 
 at Southampton, there came up a battalion of 
 foldiers, ordered for Jerfey, and took povleflicn" 
 *>f it before his face : at length, a frcnd contri- 
 ved to procure him a fmall bark at Shoreham, in' 
 SufTex, upon the application of a Mr. Manfell, 
 a rich merchant of that quarter. They met at' 
 night, in a houfe not far from the harbour, end 
 Charles waited on Sir John Wilmot at table, 
 who had kept Mr. Manfell to flipper, and the 
 captain of the bark, whofe name was Tatter- 
 fhall. Supper being over, they were preparing' 
 to go aboard ; and the king expecled now to 
 have no further rifks to run, except thofe of the 
 voyage, when the captain, taking the opportu- 
 nity of his being alone with Mr. Manfell, ad- 
 dreiTed him thus : You have deceived me, faid 
 lie, and your cnterprizing fpirit, might have coft 
 me my life. Mi. Manfell, who appeared igno- 
 jrapf of the matter himfelf, ufed every effort to 
 perfuade him, that the idea was without founda- 
 tion ; and at length, Sir John Wilmot, over- 
 hearing. them, came in, and plied him foftrongly 
 with money and promifes, that he overcame his' 
 refinance. Crptain Tatterfhall ran home im- 
 mediately, and afked his wife for linen and pro- 
 yifions. 1 du are in a great hurry, faid fhe, why 
 not wait till to-morrow ; and as he continued 
 tin-g her to make hade ; Wei!, faid Hie, 1 fee 
 it is for the king. God give you fuccefs, and 
 him too. The attempt is hazardous; but pro- 
 ■ i fave him, I am fatisfied to beg my 
 
THE H A f. p$ 
 
 own and my children's bread, all my life. Ani- 
 mated by thefe words, Tatterfhall went to gite 
 the neceffary orders, that his bark mould be 
 in readinefs to fail the next morning at five 
 o'clock. It took up the king at the appointed 
 place ; ,and his taking leave of his faithful 
 friends, was a very tender fcene. Mr. Manfell, 
 approaching him the la(t, took him by the hand, 
 and killing it with fervor, I was willing, faid he, 
 to have been deceived by your majefty : I pray 
 God, that you may arrive in fafety, at your port> 
 and return, very foon, in peace, to thefe your 
 realms. Charles anfwered him, fmiling, that he 
 would then remember a fervice which was done 
 him with fo good a grace. The bark foon loft 
 fight of the more, and had (o favourable a courfo 
 the whole day, that they anchored, the fame 
 night, at Feicamp, from whence the king fat out 
 for Paris, and arrived there Odober30, 1651. 
 
 T H E ~B A TV 
 
 A COUNTRYMAN came, one day, into" 
 a (hop, in the city, and laying his hat 
 en the counter, begged the mafter of the (hop, to 
 l?nd him half a guinea upon it, as a pledge. Do 
 you take me for a madman, faid the matter of 
 
 the 
 
2*o T H E H A T. 
 
 the (hop? it is againft the law, and if it were not* 
 that fhabby hat is not worth two-pence. Such 
 as it is, replied the countryman, 1 would not give 
 it for five guineas, and yet 1 have very urgent oc- 
 caiion for the furn that 1 afk. I fold my corn 
 at the market, a week ago, to a mealman, who 
 was to pay me to-day j and I depended upon 
 having it to make up my rent, which has been 
 fo long due, that if it is not paid to-morrow, as 
 I promifed it mould, I expedt to be diitrained for 
 ir. But the poor meal-man is almoft broke, he 
 has lately buried his only fon, a grown-up youth, 
 and now, this hit week, his wife died of grief, fo 
 that I cannot be paid until next market-day. 
 As I often come into your fliop, to buy things, 
 and you know me to be an honeft man, I 
 thought you would not make much difficulty a- 
 bout lending me half a guinea : it is nothing in 
 your pocket, but is a great matter to me : at all 
 hazards, there is my hat, to anfwer for the mo- 
 ney, and a better lecurity than you think. The 
 tradefman anfwered him only with a fneer, and, 
 turning upon his heel, attended to other perfons 
 who were in the (hop. 
 
 Sir George Liberal happened to be one of 
 them : he had liitened, with attention, to the 
 country man's difcourfe, and was (truck with the 
 air of honefty, that was apparent in his counte- 
 nance. He approached him gently, and putting 
 half a guinea into his hand, Here is the money 
 that you want, fa id he, (ince you find people fo 
 Joth to oblige you, 1 will be your friend, without 
 a pledge. With thefe words, he went out of the 
 fhop, eying the mailer of it with much con- 
 tempt ; 
 
T H E HAT. £** 
 
 fempf; and bis carriage was gone a good dif- : 
 tance off, before the countryman had recovered 
 from the emotions of his joy and amazement. 
 
 About a month after, as fir George Liberal 
 was going in his chariot, up the Hay- market, he 
 heard fomebody call out, feveral times, to his 
 coachman, to flop, but to no purpofe, for the 
 coachman drove brifkly on, without paying, any 
 regard to him : at the fame time, Sir George 
 looking cut, faw a man upon the footway^ run- 
 ning, with all fpeed, to overtake the carriage ; 
 he, therefore, drew the firing, to make the coach- 
 man (lop. Immediately, the man fprings to the 
 coach-door, crying, I beg your pardon, Sir — I 
 have run myfelf out of breath, to overtake you ;- 
 Did not you, Sir, about a month ago, put half a • 
 guinea into my hand, in a (hop in the city ?— 
 Why, yes, I remember famething of it — Well r 
 Sir, here is the money, which I return you, with 
 many thanks. You did not give me time to 
 thank you then, much lefs to afk your name and 
 addrefs ; and the man of the (hop did not know 
 you. I came to town, every week, with my 
 own hay and corn, in hopes that I might, fome 
 time or other, have the good fortune to meet 
 with you : luckily, I faw you as you paffed up 
 the ftreet. I (hould never have been happy, if I 
 had not had the opportunity of paying my ac- 
 knowledgments to you ; and may Heaven be- 
 f:ow upon you the recompenfe which your ge- 
 nerofity deferves. 1 am happy, faid Sir George 3 
 in having obliged fo honed: a man as you feera 
 lo be ; but I confefs to you, I did not expect to 
 fee the money returned me. I intended it as a 
 
 tmztt 
 
322 THE HA T> 
 
 frnall prefent to you. — That is more than F 
 knew, Sir ; and befides, I make a conference of 
 not receiving money that I do not earn. I had 
 done nothing for you, and yon had ferved me 
 fufficiently, by lending me the fum in queftion. 
 Let me beg you, therefore, to receive it again. 
 No, my good friend, it belongs neither to you 
 nor me, now : Do me the pleafure to buy fome- 
 thing with it for your children, and give it to 
 them as a prefent from me. Sir, your proceed- 
 ing is very genteel, and it would be uncivil in 
 me to refufe your offer. Well, then, fay no 
 more, the matter is finifhed. But pray explain 
 one particular tome, which has not ceafed to 
 engage my euriofity, ever fince I law you : How 
 could ycu have the conference to afk half a gui- 
 nea on your hat, which was fcarcely worth a 
 groat ? Ah ! Sir, it is worth every thing to me. 
 How fo, pray ? I will give you the hiftory of it. 
 Some years fince, my landlord's fori, Aiding on 
 a pool in his father's grounds, fell through the 
 ice. I happened to be at work near the place, 
 and hearing fome people cry out, who faw the 
 child (ink ; J ran to the fpot, and throwing my- 
 felf into the water with my clothes on, juft as I 
 was, I had the good fortune to fave the child, 
 and to reftore him alive to his father : my land- 
 lord did not forget this for vice ; he gave me a 
 faug farm, in addition to what little land I held 
 under him before, which was not much more 
 than a cabbage-garden, fupplied me with flock, 
 and utenfils ofhufbandry, and in fhort fet me up 
 completely in my frnall farm. But this was not 
 
 all. 
 
THE H A f . 323 
 
 all. As T had loft my hat in the water, he placed 
 his own upon my head, faying at the fame time., 
 that he could have wifhed to place a crown 
 upon it. You fee, Sir, if I have not reafon to 
 be fond of this hat. I never wear it in the country? 
 every thing there reminds me of my benefactor, 
 though he has been dead fome time. My 
 children, my wife, my cottage, my land, all 
 feem to fpeak, as it were, continually of him to 
 my remembrance, But whenever I come to 
 town, I always put on this hat, that I may have 
 fomething about me to put me in mind of him. 
 lam only forry that it begins to grow old. You 
 fee, Sir, it is going; but as long as a bit of it 
 remains together, it (hall be ineftimable in my 
 eyes. 
 
 Mr George felt great pleafure from this recital 
 of the countryman, and taking out his card, 
 here, faid he, farmer, take this, it contains my 
 addrefs, [ am obliged to quit you now, but (hall 
 be glad to fee you at my houfe next Sunday 
 morning. 
 
 The countryman did not fail to come, at the 
 time appointed : as foon as the fervant carried 
 in his name, Sir George himfelf came out to 
 receive him, and, taking him by the hand, he 
 iaid, my worthy friend, you have not, it is true, 
 faved me an only fon, but you have, neverthelefs, 
 performed me a very confiderable fervice ; you 
 have taught me to love mankind becter than I 
 did before, by proving to me, that there are itill 
 hearts replete with honefty and gratitude. Since 
 hats figure to ftsch advantage on your head, here 
 
 is 
 
324 THE HA T. 
 
 is one that I wifh you to accept as a prefent : I 
 do not dciire, however, that you fhould leave 
 off that of your benefactor ; only when it is in- 
 capable of being worn longer, I beg the reverfiort 
 of your head for this ; and every year, on this 
 fame day 5 you will find a new one here to re- 
 place it. 
 
 This was no more than a genteel pretext, 
 which Sir George's delicacy fiSggeftedi to him, in 
 order to avoid hurting the countryman's pride : 
 he knew, very well, that we fhould endeavour 
 not to humble thole whom we oblige, but to 
 raife them in their own opinion. After having 
 gained his heart by this iirft tie or friendmip, he 
 acquired fufficient afcendancy over him,toaiTumc 
 the right of conferring the moft etTentia! benefits 
 on him and his family, and of repairing the 
 loffes which they had fuftained by unavoidable 
 ftrokes of fortune. He had finally the fatis- 
 faction of feeing them nearly as happy in their 
 gratitude, as he himfelf was in his generofity. 
 
 LITTLE 
 
{ 3*5 ) 
 
 LITTLE GRANDISON. 
 
 h Letter from William D— to his Mo- 
 ther. 
 
 ODear mama ! every body here is in the 
 greateft confirmation. Charges went out 
 eany this morning, on horfeback, attended by a 
 fervant, in order to pay a vifit to a friend five or 
 fix miles off: and only think, he is not returned 
 yet. His father had defired him to be home be- 
 fore five o'clock, and it is now part nine. Never 
 before, did he difobey the commands of his pa- 
 rents. Something muft have happened to him. 
 It is a very dark night, and a dreadful thick fog. 
 Mr. Grandifon has iuft fent off a fervant, to 
 make enquiry about his fon. How impatiently 
 do I expect his return ! 
 
 Eleven o'clock. 
 What diftrefs ! The fervant is returned from 
 the hotife where Charles went to fpend the day. 
 Charles had left it with his fervant, before four 
 o'clock. What can have become of him ? Can 
 he have gone aftray in the foreft, or fallen from 
 his horfe ? Who can tell ? Or have fome vil- 
 E e lains 
 
326 LITTLE GRANDISON. 
 
 lains robbed and murdered him ? Good heaven ! 
 Mrs. Grandifon will die, with apprehenfion. Fa- 
 mily does nothing but weep. Edward is like 
 one diftraited ; he runs every moment up ftairs, 
 and into the yard. Air. Grandifon endeavours 
 to comfort his wife ; but it is eafy to fee that 
 himfelf is in the deeper! affliction. He lias juft 
 fent out men on horfeback, different way?, to en- 
 deavour to rind poor Charles. If it were not for 
 leaving his wife in her prefent diftreis, he would, 
 before this time, have hurried out in fearch of 
 his fon. Oh ! that I had gone with my friend ! 
 I mould, at lead, have (hared all his dangers : 
 but Tvlrs. Grandifon infifted that 1 mould flay at 
 home, on account of a flight cold. Perhaps, if 
 I had entreated her preflingly, Que would have 
 fuffered me to go with him. I am quite unhap- 
 py. I know not how I fupport my affliction. I 
 can no longer hold the pen. I do not fee what 
 I write. 
 
 One o'clock in the morning. 
 
 No Charles yet. Not a foul has gone to bed. 
 Indeed, who could reft ? The fervants wring 
 their hands : Edward and Emily cry incefTantly, 
 O, brother ! brother ! and this increafes my un- 
 happinefs. I wifh it were morning. 
 
 Half after fix in the morning. 
 
 God be praifed, mama, we have news of 
 Charles. The fervant, who was with him, is 
 juft returned. No accident has happened to my 
 friend. It is not his fault that he caufed us 
 fo much uneannefs : he ftaid out neither through 
 carelefTnefs nor for pleafure. Far from deferv- 
 
LITTLE GRANDISON. 327 
 
 ing to be- blamed, he is worthy of the higheft 
 praife. Oh ! when you (hall hear his adven- 
 ture ! But Mr. Grandifon abfolutely infifts, that 
 we all go and lie down for a few hours, to reco- 
 ver ourfelves 5 after the fatigues and anxiety of 
 the night ; and we muft obey. Farewell, ma- 
 ma, until I awake. My fir ft care mail be to 
 write to you. 1 will rife two hours the fooner., 
 -on purpofe. 
 
 Nine o'clock. 
 
 I will now tell you the whole ftory, mama, 
 from the account given us by the fervant. His 
 young mafterand himfelf, had fet out before four 
 o'clock, as I mentioned, in order to be at home 
 by the time that Mr. Grandifon had fixed for 
 their return. They had fcarcely come the fourth 
 part of the way, when it began, all at once, to 
 grow dark. There came on fo thick a fog, that 
 one could not diftinguifh an object atthediftance 
 of two yards. Charles, who is naturally cou- 
 rageous, did not make himfelf the lead uneafy. 
 They held on their way, at a full trot, when 
 fuddenly they perceived, ftraight before them, a 
 man, itretched at his full length, on the road. 
 What is here? cried Charles, flopping his horfe. 
 I fuppofe, replied the fervant, fomebody that has 
 taken a glafs too much. Let us go on, mailer. 
 
 No, faid Charles, if it be a man in liquor, we 
 mud remove him, at lead out of the coach way, 
 for fear that fome carriage, palling by, fhould go 
 over him, in the dark." He had not faid thefe 
 words, before he was on the ground : but v hat 
 was his lurprize, when approaching the unrortu- 
 Ee2 nate 
 
328 LITTLE GRANDISON; 
 
 nate Granger, he perceived him to be an old on' 
 eer, in regimentals* Ke had a large wound irt 
 his head, from whricfi the blood flowed in abun- 
 dance. Charles fpoke to him, but he returned 
 no anfwer. 
 
 It is a dead man, cried the fervant, who had 
 alio alighted. 
 
 No, no ; he is ftill alive, faid Charles. He is 
 Only in a fwoon. Heavens ! what (hall we do? 
 
 What can we do? replied the fervant ; we 
 mud go on ; then we can call at the fir ft village, 
 and fend fomebbdy to his affiftance. 
 
 How unfeeling you are, John, cried Charles, 
 with vivacity ; before the perfons that we might 
 be able to icnd^ fhculd arrive here, this poor gen- 
 tleman would be dead. See what a quantity of 
 blood he lias loft. Fatten our horfes to thefe 
 trees. We muft ourfelves give him whatever 
 afiiftance we can. 
 
 How, Sir r faid John ; fure you are not feri* 
 ©us. It will be dark night piefently ; and we 
 ftlall never be able to find our way home, in this 
 fog. 
 
 Charles\ Well, then, we will ftay here. 
 
 y^bn. And what will mafter and miftrefs 
 fay ? You may ^uefs how uneafy they will be. 
 
 Ckarks* Oh ! that is very true. I never 
 thought of that. 
 
 Charles was going to mount his horfe again, 
 but turning his eyes, which were filled with tears, 
 toward the officer, he felt himfelf held to the 
 fpot by a fecret power. No, unfortunate foldi- 
 er, cried he, I. will no: leave you in this deplora- 
 ble 
 
LITTLE GRANDISQN. 329 
 
 blv fituation. My parents cannot be angry with 
 rne for it. 1 will not fuffer a fellow creature to 
 perifh, without doing every thing in my power to 
 relieve him. 
 
 As he laid thefe words, he took off his clothes 
 in hafte, and tore his vvaiftcoat in two pieces. 
 
 John. What are you doing there, matter ? 
 
 Charles. I rnuft bind up his forehead, to flop 
 the wounds. 
 
 'John. But, Sir 
 
 Charles. Do not fay a word more, but come 
 and afTift me. 
 
 He then doubled his handkerchief in four folds, 
 and bound the gentleman's head with it, which 
 was mil bleeding plentifully, and taking one fide 
 of his waiftcoat, folded in length, he applied it to 
 keep the bandage on fart, with pins. Afterwards, 
 affifted by John, he lifted the unfortunate Grang- 
 er out of the high road, and carried him on the 
 grafs. 
 
 What mall we do now. Sir? faid John, 
 
 Charles. You mull gallop to the firit village, 
 and bring fome people to convey this poor gen- 
 tleman to a farm houfe. I will pay them for 
 their trouble, and, in the mean time, I (hail wait 
 here for you. 
 
 John. Heaven forbid that I mould do as you 
 fay, No, Maftef Charles, I will do no fuch 
 .thing, What, leave you all alone in this folita- 
 ry place ? Your father would never forgive me 
 for it. 
 
 Charles. I take the whole upon myfelf, and I 
 infill that you obey me. 
 
 £ e 3 John 
 
330* LITTLE CRANDISON. 
 
 John, Well, Sir, fince you order me fo posi- 
 tively, I have nothing more to fay. But remem- 
 ber at leafr. — 
 
 Charles. I will remember every thing. 
 
 John fat off, therefore, as fail as his horfe could 
 gallop. A little farther on the road, he found a 
 cottage, in which were two men at work, making 
 wicker bafkets, with feveral women and children. 
 He opened the door, and, addrcfllng-himfelf to 
 the head of the family, he requeued him to come 3 
 with his elded fon, to the aflifrance of an old offi- 
 cer, who had fallen on the road, and was welter- 
 ing in his blood. They fhewed, at nrft, fome 
 unwillingnefs to go out, on fuch a dark night, at 
 the defire of a perfect flranger. But, at length, 
 |'.erfuaded by the entreaties of John, and by the 
 Sincerity that appeared in his protections, -they, 
 went to fetch a fort of bier, and then accompa- 
 nied him. 
 
 During all this time, Charles had not quitted 
 the old gentleman's fide, a moment, and, by dint 
 of care, had brought him to his fenfes again. 
 
 Shall I take the liberty, Sir, to afk your name, 
 /aid he, as foon as he faw him open his eyes, and 
 by what accident you came to be in this condi- 
 tion ? 
 
 My name is Arthur, replied tlie old man, in- 
 a weak, tremulous voice. I am major in the 
 
 regiment. I had come from my own 
 
 houfe, intending to take a ride. My horfe ftum- 
 bled on the road, hereabouts, and, in his fall, 
 threw me over his neck. My head muck agaihft 
 a ftone. I endeavoured to get up, but v\hat with 
 jpaifi, lofs of blood, and the w eaknefs of old age, I 
 
 fainted 
 
LITTLE GRANDISOR 333 
 
 fainted away, and cannot tell what happened to 
 me from that moment. But you, amiable child, 
 who fo feelingly companionate my misfortune^ 
 is it you, that have dreflfed my wound* and faved 
 my life r 
 
 Charles. Yes, Sir, and i am happy to have 
 had it in my power to ferve you. I had a fer- 
 vant with me: him I have fent to the next vil- 
 lage, to procure you lodging, and afliftance more 
 effectual than mine, - 
 
 The major* What, have you had the courage 
 to ftay by my fide, in this lonely place, notwith- 
 standing the darknefs of the night ! Young as 
 you are, you have paid the moft humane atten- 
 tion to me, What thanks do I owe you ! 
 
 Charles. None, Sir. I have but done my du- 
 ty, and (hail count myfelf happy, if 1 can- be mil 
 farther ufeful to you. „ 
 
 This difcourfe was interrupted by the arrival 
 of John, with the two men. They placed the 
 major on the bier, on which they had, previoufly, 
 laid a good mattrafs : but, in fpite of the pains 
 that they took to convey him gently, the making 
 of the bier, as they walked along, revived the 
 pain of his wound, fo that he fell again into a 
 fainting fit. 
 
 Charles having given his horfe to John folead 5 
 walked in filence by the fide of the bier, and 
 mewed every fort of attention poffible, to the 
 wounded perfon, in order to make him recover 
 his fpirits. When they came to the door of the 
 cottage, he made one of the countrymen mount 
 his horfe, and difpatched him, with all fpeed, for 
 a furgeon. 
 
 Neverthefefs, 
 
2'Sz LITTLE GRAND1SON. 
 
 Neverthelefs, John ufed the moft earned per- 
 fuafions to induce bis young mailer to return 
 home, and reprefented to him the terrors which 
 his parents muit feel, on account of his ftay. 
 
 What, faid Charles, fhould I leave th.s old 
 man to die in the hands of ftrangers ! You fee, 
 he is ftili infenfible. I fhould have done nothing 
 for him, were I to leave him now. No, no, I 
 will fpend the night by his fide. 
 
 John. How, Mafter Charles ! You do not 
 fay fo? 
 
 Charles. My refokition is fixed. Do you 
 haften home to my father and mother ; tell them 
 every thing that has happened, that they may 
 not be uneafy on my account. Tell them thaJ 
 I will wait their orders, here, to-morrow. 
 
 John. Really^ Sir, it is what I cannot think 
 of doing. My mafter would receive mc finely, 
 if I were to return without you. 
 
 It muft be fo, for all that, replied Charles, in 
 a firm tone of voice. Do not lofe time. It is 
 night already. 
 
 It v/as in vain that John protefted a^ainft 
 what he called the imprudence of his young 
 mafter : he was obliged to go. 
 1 Charles was eafie.t then, fuppofing that his 
 parents would (oon hear of him : but there was 
 another unlucky accident ftill deftined to befall 
 them j the fog grew thicker and thicker, the 
 night grew darker, and John, lofing his way in 
 a wood thruL. h he was to pais, and not 
 
 knowing by what courfe he was to get out of it, 
 was obliged, after many ir/efFeclual fcampers, to 
 him!:lr at the foot of a tree, and there 
 
 XQ 
 
ElTTL'E GRANDISON*. 333 
 
 ib wait for daylight, leaving us, all the while, 
 in the molt terrible alarm. The poor man was 
 quite exhaufted with' cold and wearinefs, when he 
 came home this morning. Notwithstanding his 
 hurry to come, he, was afraid to fhew himfelf, 
 left he mould be turned away. I cannot defcribe 
 to you his furprize, when, after finishing his fto- 
 ry, he heard Mr. Granuifon cry out. How much 
 ought I to blefs heaven for haying given mefuch 
 a fon ! And you, John, have done very well, to 
 obey his orders in every refpeel:. Here are two 
 guineas, to make you amends foryqurbad night. 
 Go, rcfrefh ycurfelf, and take .a little fleep, that 
 you may be able to go back to my fon. I am 
 not theleaft angry with him for ah the uneaiinefs 
 that he has caufed us. He did e\Qry thing in his 
 power to relieve us from it. 
 
 But how will my friend be grieved, when he 
 learns from John what we ourfelves have fufTer- 
 ed ! John is fet off already. I faw Mr. Gran- 
 difon give him a purfe of money for his Ton, that 
 he may have wherewithal to provide every thing 
 neceffary. I am impatient now to know whe- 
 ther the poor major be alive or dead. I hope 
 foon to be able to give you feme account of him. 
 Farewell, dear mama, continue to love me, and 
 love alfo my friend Charles 3 for his courage., 
 prefence of mindj and humanity. 
 
 Eleven o'clock. 
 
 At laft, mama, Charles is returned. With 
 what transport did I embrace him I He appear- 
 ed an angel in my eyes. Thanks to his care, 
 the major is much better. His hurt will foon be 
 cured, 
 
 Charles 
 
334 LITTLE GRANDISOK. 
 
 Charles arrived much fooner than we expell- 
 ed. Emily was the lirft who faw him ! She 
 fcreamed out with joy and furprize, Charles I 
 Charles ! and ran precipitately to meet him : 
 they came in, killing each other. Charles quit- 
 ted her at the door, to fly to his father. He 
 threw him felf at his feet, and did not rife from 
 thence, till he perceived his mother hold out her 
 arms to embrace him. I will relate to you, word 
 for word,, the difcourfe that paffed between them, 
 I fliall never forget it as long as I live. 
 
 Charles, Can you pardon me, my dear pa- 
 rents, for having caufed you lb much uneafnefs? 
 
 Mr. Grand'ijon. Pardon you, my fon ? nay, 
 rather let me embrace you a thoufand and a 
 thoufand times. You have performed your du- 
 ty to a fellow creature, without forgetting, at the 
 fame time, your duty to us. I thought it im- 
 poffible for me to love you more than I did. But 
 how was I miftaken ! 
 
 Charles* Your goodnefs overwhelms me, pa- 
 
 Mr, Grandifm. Let us fay no more on the 
 jubjefr, my dear. Hew goes on your patient ? 
 
 Charles. He is much better at prefent, though 
 a little weakitill ; but the furgeon allured me, 
 that his hurt was not the teaft dangerous. 
 
 Mrs, Grand'ijon. Is he fr.il! in the cottage with 
 i poor people ? Will they take good care of 
 him? 
 
 Charles, Oh, mama, do not beuneafy; his 
 fon is with him. As foon as he told me where 
 he lived, I fent thither, exprefs, to inform the fa- 
 mily of his misfortune. The eldeft of his Tons 
 
 came 
 
LITTLE GRANDISON. 33$ 
 
 . cams immediately. What was my fatisfaclion, 
 when I jaw the wounded father in 'the arms of 
 him whom he held mod dear ! • 
 
 Mr. Grandifon. And will the major be able 
 , to procure hi.mfelf every thing that is neceffary ? 
 Charles. Oh, yes, papa, he is very rich ; and 
 .here is your purfe, as you fent it me. I had no 
 occafion to make ufe of it. 
 
 Adr. Grandfm. No matter j it is your's 5 my 
 ■ dear. 
 
 Charles. Mine, papa;? 
 
 Mr. Grandifon. Yes, Charles, I give it to 
 you as a token of my fatisfaction : I am fure you 
 will not open ir, uniefs.for a goodpurpofe. Con- 
 tinue to be, all your lifetime, fuch as you have 
 iliewn yourfelf to-day, and never let your heart 
 be hardened .againft the misfortunes oi\your fel- 
 : Sow- creatures. 
 
 Charles. Oh ! papa, what can I fay ? 1 fear- 
 ed your reproaches, and you overwhelm me with 
 kindnefs. 
 
 Mrs. Grandson. But how did you like being 
 .in that difmal cabin ? 
 
 Charles. I confefs, mama, I did not much 
 mind the place. I had nothing before my eyes, 
 •but the poor old man, whom I was afraid of fee- 
 .ing die, every moment, 
 
 Mr. Grandifon. Then you have not flept the 
 whole night I 
 
 Charles. [ made them lay fome ftraw by the 
 major's bed fide ; but my thoughts of the unea- 
 finefs that you, my brother, my nfter, and my 
 friend, mult fuffer, and my continual fears for 
 the poor wounded gentleman, aii together con- 
 tributed 
 
336 LITTLE GRANBISON. 
 
 tributed to banifh fleep from my eyelids. Oh' ! 
 if [ could have thought that you would have 
 been a whole night, without knowing what was 
 become of me, how would my mind have been 
 tortured ! I ihould have come home, had I been 
 obliged to grope my fteps all the way in the 
 dark. 
 
 Mrs. Grandlfon. Kifs me, my dear boy, and 
 again and a^ain : but I will not indulge myfelf 
 in the pleafure of hearing you any longer. It is 
 full time for you to go and take a little reft. 
 
 We were obliged, therefore, to feparate, and^ 
 I accompanied him to his chamber. How hap- 
 py am I, faid he, fqueezing mv hand, that my 
 parents are pleafed with my conduct ! Notwith- 
 (landing the fatisfaction that I felt in ferving the 
 poor major, I mould never have enjoyed comfort, 
 had I made them angry. 
 
 Dear, amiable friend, cried I, embracing him. 
 It was all that I -could fay, mama ; my eyes were 
 bathed in tears., my breaft heaved with fobs ; I 
 could not tear myfelf from his arms. Oh ! how 
 fweet are the pleafures of fenlibility ! and what 
 happinefs it is to have a virtuous and aifection- 
 ate friend I 
 
 . END OF VOLUME FIRST* 
 
•HUD OF V0"