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SANCHO, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE PROVERBIALIST. 
 
 S A AC HO 
 -«fe PvoTotvtiaim, 
 
D SANCHO, 
 
 OR 
 
 Wht Iprotorfcialtst 
 
 DECIPIMUR SPECIE RECTI. 
 
 ^erontr tuition. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Ellerto?i and Henderson, 
 
 Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, 
 
 FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND; 
 AND J.HATCHARD, PICCADILLY. 
 
 iai6. 
 

DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 All the Lovers of those 
 
 Short, pithy, pointed, popular Maxims, 
 
 called "Proverbs" 
 
 Conceiving that many of the rules by 
 which you live are false and dangerous, 
 and that rules of life both safe and true 
 are to be found, I have thought it my 
 duty to illustrate these positions by re- 
 cording some of the events of my life, 
 and, with much humility, to present the 
 Memoir to you. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 May, 1816. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAP. I. — A Family Picture - 1 
 
 II. — Another Family Picture 9 
 
 III. — Preparation for School 17 
 
 IV.— The History of " Number One" .. 27 
 V. — The Way to treat an humbled Ad- 
 versary 36 
 
 VI. — Another Head of the Hydra 43 
 
 VII. — The History of a Conformist 52 
 
 VIII. —Training for College 70 
 
 IX. — A Morning in College 82 
 
 X. — A mere " honest Man " is not " the 
 
 noblest Work of God " 95 
 
 XI. — The Way to be no Christian "... Ill 
 
 XII. — An Event about which no Sceptic 
 
 ever doubted 123 
 
 XIII. — Journal of a selfish and disappointed 
 
 Man 135 
 
 XIV. — The dying Cottager 143 
 
 XV. — An almost incurable Man restored, 
 without sending him to a Mad- 
 house • 160 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 1HE Author of this little work thinks 
 it necessary to say, in justification of the 
 manner in which it is executed, that it 
 was designed chiefly for a class of per- 
 sons much neglected, as it appears to 
 him, by the writers of the present day 
 — neither the very young, nor the ma- 
 ture, but those who, having escaped from 
 the nursery, or the petty seminary, are 
 entering upon the severer trials of the 
 larger school, or the university. These 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 may be considered as the seed-corn of 
 our future harvests of good and great 
 men. And, so anxious is the Author for 
 its preservation, that he considers him- 
 self as well employed, if, while he leaves 
 the accomplishment of loftier objects to 
 men of higher pretensions, he devotes 
 himself faithfully and affectionately to 
 the prosecution of this. 
 
 Harrow, Nov. 7, 1816. 
 
SANCHO. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 
 
 Of my parents I can say, very little, for they 
 died before I was two years old. But of my 
 aunt Winifred, to whom my father committed 
 me on his dying bed, as she is likely to act a 
 very prominent part in this history, I feel it 
 right to say a great deal.— She was, then, a 
 little, round, well- conditioned person, with a 
 remarkable air of self-complacency. Her eye 
 was rather dull ; her mouth had that sort of 
 gentle elevation of the corners, which is not an 
 unusual symbol of satisfaction with ourselves, 
 and of a kind of quiet contempt for others. She 
 
was neatness itself; so that if the Hindoos, who 
 have, it is said, at least thirty thousand divinities, 
 and therefore must have a god or goddess for 
 almost every thing, should ever determine to 
 erect a pagoda to the Goddess of Neatness, 
 they would, I am persuaded, feel a very serious 
 loss indeed in my aunt, as the priestess of it. 
 She was, moreover, so remarkably punctual as 
 to render any clock or watch almost unneces- 
 sary in the place where she lived. A modern 
 philosophical writer, in illustrating the force of 
 habit, mentions an instance of an ideot, who 
 lived for many years in the same room with a 
 clock, by which he was much interested. It 
 was at last removed; but the poor creature, 
 faithful to his loquacious friend, continued for 
 many years to cluck for sixty minutes, and then 
 to strike, in regular succession, the hours with 
 his hand upon the table. Now, I do not mean 
 to say that my aunt either clucked or struck 
 for the benefit of the neighbourhood ; but she 
 
did what was quite as much to the purpose. 
 When, from Lady-day to Michaelmas, she ap- 
 peared in fine weather at the sheep-fold (for 
 she was scrupulously attentive to her health) to 
 catch the morning breath of the sheep, it was 
 precisely eight o'clock. When she stooped in 
 the broad, sunny, gravel walk, to gather agri- 
 mony or rosemary for her breakfast, it was pre- 
 cisely nine. At five minutes after nine her bell 
 rang— not for family prayers — I wish it had — 
 but for Harry to bring Pug and two cats their 
 breakfast. Exactly ten minutes after this, the 
 first hissings of her own urn were heard ; and, 
 at precisely ten, this great business in the life of 
 an idle person being accomplished, the break- 
 fast vanished — crumbs and all. 
 
 My aunt was constitutionally cautious. The 
 high sense she had learned to entertain of her 
 own value to the community, had so strength- 
 ened this inbred tendency, that the greatest 
 part of every day was spent in considering hew 
 B2 
 
the rest of it might be spent in safety. Some 
 of her neighbours were even scandalous enough 
 to say, that, if she took a long journey, she was 
 always " booked." And, as to weather, she 
 was at once the barometer and thermometer of 
 the neighbourhood in her own person. The 
 minutest variations of cold and heat, of damp 
 and dry, might be traced, with the greatest ac- 
 curacy, in the colour and consistency of her 
 shawl and gloves. 
 
 Having thus noticed her physical properties, 
 I must now proceed to her moral qualifications. 
 She was a person, then, as somebody says, " of 
 " more temper than passions, 9 * The first disco- 
 vered itself so strongly in the circle of the 
 family, that, whoever else might question its 
 energy, the footman, the housemaid, and the 
 cook were never heard (though the subject was 
 most dutifully made the perpetual topic of cui- 
 sinary discussion), to express a doubt upon the 
 subject. As to her passions, I really believe 
 
that the strongest was the love of herself, and 
 of myself. I speak of this love of the two as 
 a single passion, because, I think, she chiefly 
 loved me as her own property — as the child of 
 her own creation — as a piece of living clay, 
 which her own plastic hands were in the act of 
 moulding into man. I would not be ungrateful 
 to her — nor would I for the world undervalue the 
 labours and watchings of those who, through 
 the years of infancy, warm us in their bosom, 
 and gently lead us up to manhood. He is not 
 a man, but a monster, who fails to do justice 
 to the tenderness of a mother, or of those aunts 
 who have every thing of a mother but the name. 
 But my aunt was so singularly selfish ; her faults 
 have inflicted such a succession of evils upon 
 myself; and so entirely does my confident ex- 
 pectation of immensely benefiting the world by 
 the relation of my own history, turn upon the 
 development of them, that I am compelled to 
 
 state them, even at the risk of being deemed a 
 b 3 
 
6 
 
 very undutiful nephew. I ought, moreover, to 
 say, that I do think, if my aunt herself were 
 alive, she would, in pity to the countless gene- 
 rations of aunts and nephews hereafter to be 
 born, desire me to proceed. 
 
 Accordingly, I go on to state that peculiarity 
 in the moral constitution of the old lady, which 
 has given a complexion and shape to most of 
 the events of my own life — which has been, in 
 fact, a sort of destiny, lashing me through a 
 series of large and little occurrences, follies, 
 and distresses ; a very small portion of which 
 are to be faithfully set forth in the following 
 pages.— She was, then, passionately addicted to 
 proverbs. Her whole life, and therefore my 
 whole life, was governed by those maxims of 
 life and manners which are in such general cir- 
 culation, and are of such immeasurable weight 
 in certain classes of society. 
 
 " What !" it will at once be asked by a thou- 
 sand profound moralists; "and is a reverence 
 
7 
 
 M for proverbs imputed to this truly venerable 
 " person as a crime ] Are they not the ' trea- 
 " * sured wisdom of ages]' Do not the Greeks 
 " call them * the physic of the soul ] ' Is not 
 " the reputation of Phocylides, and Diogenes, 
 " and Isocrates, and Solon, and Thales, and a 
 " long list of worthies, chiefly built upon their 
 " proverbs? Nay, was not Solomon himself a 
 " writer of Proverbs]' 
 
 Very true ; but the " physic" of the Greeks 
 may not be suited to the constitution of the 
 English. Wise heathens make very unwise 
 Christians. And as for the " Proverbs of 
 " Solomon," I have observed that the lovers of 
 other proverbs are very often the most ignorant 
 of these. Thus, most certainly, was it with my 
 aunt. She had no acquaintance with Solomon ; 
 but with every uninspired oracle of this kind 
 she had an almost incredible familiarity. She 
 ate, she drank, she walked, she lived, and, what 
 was worse, as I had no choice in the matter, she 
 b 4 
 
constrained me to eat, to drink, to walk, to live, 
 by proverbs. 
 
 Now, as I owe much to my country, under 
 the shadow of whose vine I have sat in safety 
 for seventy years ; and as, moreover, I am about 
 soon to ask of her the additional boon of a space 
 of earth in which I may lay my aged bones, 
 I am anxious to do something for her bene- 
 fit. And as although the history of Achilles, 
 who was fed upon the marrow of lions ; and 
 of Romulus, who was suckled by a wolf, have 
 been written ; but the history of a person 
 fed, nourished, and educated upon proverbs, 
 has not been written ; I think it my bounden 
 duty to lay this narrative at the feet of my 
 country, persuaded that she, who has not 
 spurned a fallen usurper from them, but has 
 mildly bid him " go, and sin no more," will 
 not despise the simple gift of one of the hum- 
 blest and most affectionate of her children. 
 
CHAP. II. 
 
 ANOTHER FAMILY PICTURE. 
 
 He is a very unfortunate man indeed, who has 
 but one aunt, if she is not more amiable than 
 my aunt Winifred. But it was my happiness to 
 have another, who, for her size, which was re- 
 markably diminutive, was, I do think, one of the 
 best creatures in the kingdom ; and the ex- 
 traordinary candour with which I have pre- 
 sented to the reader one family picture, of which 
 the features are certainly not very creditable to 
 the race and name, will, I trust, induce him to 
 acquit me of all partiality in my sketch of the 
 second. 
 
 My aunt Rachel then, was, by the church re- 
 gister, though not by the calculation of my aunt 
 Winifred, at least twenty years younger than her 
 B 5 
 
10 
 
 sister. It is remarkable, in how many instances 
 the eldest child is neither the wisest nor the best. 
 Perhaps, indeed, one solution of the fact is, that, 
 just about the time at which parents become 
 possessed of a second child, they begin to dis- 
 cover the immeasurable mischief of spoiling the 
 first. But I leave solutions to philosophers, 
 and simply state the fact, that such was the case 
 with my two aunts. Indeed, I might briefly de- 
 scribe the younger as having all the excellen- 
 cies, and none, or very few, of the defects of her 
 sister. She was quite as neat, and nearly as 
 punctual. Her temper was so sweet, that she 
 was always known, among the unprejudiced 
 members of the family, by the name of 
 f* Harmony/' But what is most worthy of 
 notice, as it respects the following history, is, 
 that her repugnance to a proverb, or maxim, or 
 any thing approaching to a neat, pointed, pithy, 
 oracular, sententious saying, bore a pretty exact 
 proportion to her sister's unbounded reverence 
 
II 
 
 for them. Not that she instinctively abhorred 
 them; for, by nature, I believe, every person 
 loves a short sentence better than a long one ; 
 just as we should naturally prefer a bank-note 
 to the same sum in Spartan money. But, to 
 pursue the metaphor, she had so often suffered 
 by the forgery of the notes, that she had learnt 
 to prefer the cumbrous coin, with all its disad- 
 vantages, to its fictitious though plausible repre- 
 sentative. Be that as it may, I can, even to this 
 day, remember the sort of doubting, scrupu- 
 lous, inquisitive countenance with which she 
 was always accustomed to receive these dicta of 
 her sister. She had too intimate an acquaint- 
 ance with her sister's mind, and with the means 
 of promoting truth and peace in the family 
 circle, flatly to controvert these sayings. But 
 I often observed, that, about five minutes after 
 the oracle had delivered its sentence, aunt 
 Rachel quietly slipped out some scriptural 
 quotation which bore no inconsiderable resem- 
 
12 
 
 blance to the proverb, and which she endeavour- 
 ed, almost imperceptibly, to substitute for it. 
 
 Now the rationale of this conduct of my aunt 
 was, as I conceive, as follows. Proverbs, for 
 the most part, either contain a portion of truth, 
 or are true in some circumstances, and under 
 particular modifications. The portion of truth 
 conveyed in them is generally conveyed or im- 
 plied in some passage of Scripture. My aunt 
 Rachel then, by dexterously seizing upon the 
 proper passage of Holy Writ, at once corrected 
 the proverb, half satisfied her sister, established 
 the truth, and set at ease (which was no easy 
 matter) her own conscience. 
 
 I must add, however, that partly the consti- 
 tutional mildness of Rachel— partly the irasci- 
 bility of Winifred — partly the sordid fact that I 
 depended for my fortune upon the elder sister, 
 gave such authority to the tones of the one, and 
 such insignificance to those of the other, that I, 
 and others who were foolish enough to mistake 
 
13 
 
 confidence for sagacity, were accustomed to 
 think Winifred a very wise aunt, and Rachel 
 rather a weak one. — Nor is this a very uncom- 
 mon case. " Why/' said a Prussian ecclesiastic 
 of high rank to a celebrated actor — •* Why, 
 " when I and my brethren speak the truth, 
 " does no one believe us ; but, when you speak 
 " falsehood, every one believes you T " Be- 
 " cause/' he replied, " we deliver falsehood as 
 " if it were truth ; and you, truth as if it were 
 " falsehood." — I heartily wish that my aunt 
 Rachel had lived to enjoy the benefit of this 
 anecdote. 
 
 But, to proceed. — These complicated cir- 
 cumstances produced a remarkable state of 
 things in the family. The point to be ascer- 
 tained in any given case was, not what was best 
 to be done, but what my aunt Winifred thought 
 it best to do — or, in other words, as she rarely 
 acted but on the authority of a proverb, what 
 she could find proverbial authority for doing. 
 
14 
 
 This being once discovered, I no more thought 
 of resisting the will of my aunt, backed by a 
 proverb, than a stone, when left to the influence 
 of gravity, thinks of hesitating to descend. I 
 spoke, thought, wept, laughed; and moreover 
 refrained from speech, thought, weeping, 
 laughter — all at her mighty bidding. Rachel, 
 indeed, often whispered, nodded, sighed, or 
 quoted, but generally in vain. I really loved 
 her the best of the two ; but all her dumb-shew, 
 sighs, whispers, and nods, had no point — had 
 not the sanction of a proverb — and, moreover, 
 had never the singular good fortune to be backed 
 by a crown piece ; and, therefore, had little or 
 no authority for me. 
 
 Thus have I discharged the duty of intro- 
 ducing my two aunts to the public — a duty, 
 indeed, from which I might have easily delivered 
 myself, by suffering them, in good time, to in- 
 troduce themselves. But had I so done, it is 
 very possible that some, at least, of my readers 
 
15 
 
 might have mistaken their real characters : for 
 each of them wore a veil— one of confidence, 
 and the other of bashfulness; neither of which 
 is it easy to penetrate. Besides, in this philo- 
 sophical age, when every man who sees an effect 
 is looking for a cause, I thought I should be 
 yielding much gratification to the thinking part 
 of the community, by developing the secret 
 springs of my own character. There is many 
 a strange creature at large in society, of whose 
 follies and infirmities it is almost impossible to 
 give even a plausible account. We look at him 
 as we do at the stones conjectured, by some 
 naturalists, to fall from the moon. Now I was 
 precisely one of those anomalous personages ; 
 and lest any philosopher, for want of a better 
 hypothesis, should be betrayed into so rash a 
 conjecture, as that I also came from the moon, 
 I think it just and charitable to state the truth 
 in the succeeding pages. 
 
 There is one observation which it is desirable 
 
16 
 
 to premise. — My readers may feel alarmed lest 
 it should be my intention to detail to them 
 many of the wise sayings of my aunt Winifred. 
 Now, however worthy multitudes might think 
 them of record, I certainly do not design to 
 force them upon the rest of a thankless world. 
 I shall therefore state only such as both gave 
 the peculiar complexion to my own life, and are 
 likely to influence the life of others. All her 
 other maxims may be found in the works of 
 Cervantes, or of Poor Richard, or in any other 
 repertory for those sayings of which no one 
 knows the author, but nine-tenths of the world 
 acknowledge the indisputable authority and 
 boundless value. 
 
17 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 PREPARATION FOR SCHOOL. 
 
 1 WAS born in the year 1735, in the manor- 
 house of a sweet little country village, almost 
 every cottage of which might be seen reflected 
 in a small lake that spread itself over the valley 
 beneath. I seem at this moment to see my 
 aunt Winifred, as she used to stand, as sad as 
 one of the willows which wept over the water, 
 and, pointing to the shadowy mansion beneath, 
 say, " Aye, child, all is not gold that glitters." 
 
 But though I perfectly remember the man- 
 sion in which I continued to live for a large 
 part of my life, I can call to mind scarcely any 
 of the occurrences of the first half of this time. 
 I remember only, that at about twelve years 
 old, I used to hear the housemaid complain 
 
18 
 
 that I was " of a very fretful temper ;" and that 
 my aunt Winifred took no less pains to assure 
 me that I " was of a very delicate constitution" 
 — of which last piece of information, one of the 
 greatest mischiefs was, that it was considered 
 as furnishing a complete apology for the fault 
 hinted at in the first. — I, moreover, found myself 
 possessed of the name of Sancho ; the singu- 
 larity of which title never struck me, till I found 
 at least half a dozen pointers in the neighbour- 
 hood in the enjoyment of the same distinction. 
 Upon inquiring into the origin of my name, 
 however, I discovered that my aunt had vowed, 
 early in life, that, should she ever be possessed 
 of a human being on whom she might be pri- 
 vileged to bestow a name, he should be en- 
 riched by at least one half of the title of the 
 illustrious squire of Don Quixote, — he being, 
 next to the oracle of Delphos, the greatest ori- 
 ginator and promulgator of those sententious 
 sayings in which her heart delighted. 
 
19 
 
 The first incident of my life, of which I have 
 a very distinct recollection, shall now be re- 
 corded. One morning in the middle of July, 
 when I was about twelve years of age, I was 
 suddenly summoned into the drawing-room, to 
 hold a conference with my two aunts ; or rather 
 to look at the one, and to listen to the other. 
 When I entered, the elder was seated, unem- 
 ployed as to her hands, but with something of 
 the expression upon her countenance usually 
 given by painters to the philosopher who had 
 made the long-desired discovery of the secret 
 about Hiero's crown, and who exultingly ran 
 about the city, crying, " I have discovered it, 
 I have discovered it." Rachel was calmly knit- 
 ting a pair of stockings for an old woman in the 
 village. My aunt Winifred called me to her — 
 took me by the hand — and would have kissed 
 me, but that, alas ! she perceived my face be- 
 grimed to the very eyes with half the contents 
 of a pot of black-currant jelly, which she had, 
 
20 
 
 upon pain of her mortal displeasure, prohibited 
 me from touching about an hour before. But 
 being on the eve of promulgating one of those 
 maxims, on which she deemed that my future 
 welfare in life depended, she thought it, I sup- 
 pose, impolitic to rouse any passions in my 
 breast unfavourable to the lecture. Accord- 
 ingly, with much sagacity, she left the currant 
 jelly to soften the way for her lesson, and thus 
 proceeded. 
 
 " My dear Sancho, I, and your aunt Rachel " 
 (for this was the order in which she always in- 
 troduced the two names) " have been deter- 
 mining to send you to school. You know my 
 deep anxiety for your welfare, and therefore I 
 need not insist upon the point. In order, then, 
 to promote it, I have been consulting my me- 
 mory for some single sentence in which I may 
 treasure up all the advice which it is most de- 
 sirable for me to give you on the present occa- 
 sion. Nor have I consulted in vain. There is one 
 
21 
 
 rule, my dear boy, which will carry you with 
 safety, honour, and splendour through life — it 
 is this, f Take care of Number One!'" 
 
 Rachel, who, I suppose, comprehended 
 the full meaning of the proverb, almost 
 groaned. 
 
 " Sister Rachel," said my aunt Winifred 
 (whose ears on occasions such as these were 
 prodigiously quick), " I know the expression is 
 homely; but what of that] 'Truth is truth, 
 though never so homely.' 
 
 Aunt Rachel answered nothing; but I was 
 far from being so silent on the occasion. I have 
 not yet informed the reader (and it is a fact 
 which T perceive writer^ ^n general have a pro- 
 digious objection, ho' oci well founded, to 
 state to their readers) ffiat I was always a per- 
 son of rather dull uWatf standing. The reader 
 may possibly, if charitable, think me a little 
 improved by this^ ; tne. I nevertheless beg to 
 assure him, that of my dulness, at twelve years 
 
22 
 
 old, there never was tbe smallest question 
 amongst those who knew me best. And of all 
 things difficult to my apprehension, unfortu- 
 nately for my aunt, and as she thought for my- 
 self, proverbs were the most difficult. Accord- 
 ingly, I rarely failed, when my auut first pro- 
 mulgated a sentiment of this kind, to her un- 
 bounded mortification, entirely to misapprehend 
 it ; and thus it was now. When my aunt, there- 
 fore, authoritatively and solemnly pronounced 
 the words " Take care of Number One," it by 
 no means occurred to me that " Number One " 
 was the representative of so dignified a person 
 as myself; but, thinking exclusively of a very 
 splendid set of numbered counters which she 
 had given me a few days before, I very simply 
 asked, " And, aunt, must not I take care of 
 " Number Two also ? " 
 
 " Child," said my aunt, " you are little 
 " better than an ideot. * Number One* means 
 " your foolish self; and, therefore, if I must put 
 
23 
 
 u into common English what is so briefly and 
 " forcibly expressed by the proverb, ' Take 
 " ■ care of Number One/ means ■ Take care 
 u ' of yourself alone/ v 
 
 u Oh/' said I, " aunt, now I do understand 
 " you ; and I am sure you will think me a very 
 " good boy, for I have just been * taking care 
 " * of Number One ' in the very way you mean, 
 " by eating up all the currant jelly which you 
 " left upon the table." 
 
 My aunt Rachel a little archly smiled. But 
 not so her sister. Her perplexity was extreme. 
 For what dilemma could be more complete] 
 Either she was wrong in ordering me not to eat 
 the currant jelly ; or the proverb was inaccurate. 
 One of the two must be sacrificed— and nothing 
 in the world was so dear to her as the reputation 
 and honour of both. The only expedient which 
 occurred to her was the searching for some 
 other proverb which might supply some sort of 
 qualification for this. She would at the mo- 
 
24 
 
 ment, I firmly believe, have given fifty pounds 
 for a maxim so constructed as to say at once, 
 " Take care of Number One, and of your aunt." 
 But no such proverb occurred to her. She 
 called to mind indeed, for she was a tolerable 
 Latin scholar, the proverb in that language, 
 " Proximus sum egomet mihi," and that of the 
 Italians, " Fa bone k te e tuoi, e poi a gli altri 
 " se tu puoi." Then, for as far as proverbs went 
 she was also familiar with the Greek, she re- 
 collected that Athenian saying, Murw o-tHpisrrJv 
 trig en dvrdS trofof. But, unhappily, one and 
 all breathed the same spirit — one and all taught 
 that self-love is the best principle, and self- 
 indulgence the first duty of life. One and all 
 of these maxims, uncontrouled by any higher 
 principle, would evidently lead a boy to disobey 
 his aunt, and eat the currant jelly. What then 
 could be done ] Fortune sometimes assists those 
 whom wisdom and literature refuse to help. 
 And thus it happened now. For at this critical 
 
25 
 
 moment a carriage drove up to the front door ; 
 and the conference was suspended, to wait upon 
 the company. Before, however, they had time 
 to enter the room, I heard my aunt Rachel very 
 gently say, " I think that Roman Emperor was 
 a very wise man, who wrote upon the walls of 
 his palace in letters of gold, ' Do unto others 
 as you would they should do unto you/" 
 I thought, moreover, that I heard her sister 
 answer, " Pshaw !" And that I was not altoge- 
 ther mistaken in this supposition appears to be 
 probable from this circumstance, that when I 
 opened my box at school, ten days afterwards, 
 I found, wrapt up in a triple paper, with a 
 guinea to accompany it, the identical maxim, 
 unqualified and unmitigated, in all its own 
 native simplicity and majesty, " Take care of 
 Number One." 
 
 With such a recommendation, it could 
 scarcely fail to be remembered and valued. 
 Accordingly, thus armed and accoutred for the 
 c 
 
2G 
 
 warfare of life, I entered upon my school 
 career; and whoever wishes to know the feats 
 which I there performed has only to read the 
 next chapter. 
 
•27" 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF " NUMBER ONE." 
 
 ON the twenty-fifth of July, with a whole 
 guinea in my pocket, the contents of a pastry- 
 cook's window in iny trunk, and my aunt's pre- 
 cious maxim in my heart, I descended the steps 
 of a post-chaise to enter for the first time upon 
 all the distinctions and trials of a school-boy. 
 The house was unusually high, covered with 
 narrow windows, protected each, like those of 
 a mad-house, by iron bars. The title, both of 
 the mansion and of its owner, were inscribed, 
 in Patagonian characters, upon its front. But, 
 if it had been watched by Patagonians them- 
 selves, I should not, at that moment, have heed- 
 ed them. Almost every person, knowing the 
 evils of his present situation, and uncertain 
 C2 
 
28 
 
 about the future, expects to be benefited by a 
 change of circumstances. Besides, wiser people 
 than myself have been seduced by novelty. 
 Moreover, there were two monstrous dragons, 
 as yet barely introduced to my readers, which 
 lay perpetually at the door of my aunt's house, 
 namely, her Selfishness and Irritability; from 
 which it is not in human nature not to rejoice 
 to escape. And still more, I had become sole 
 proprietor, occupier, and administrator of the 
 ifore-mentioned accumulation of cakes and 
 sweetmeats, on which, by a reasonable calcu- 
 lation, I might hope to live, if they themselves 
 did not kill me, for at least a week. What 
 more could the most ambitious school-boy 
 covet] 
 
 The master having, by means of a slight ferial, 
 plumbed the depth of my ignorance, I was 
 turned loose upon the school. Almost at the 
 moment of my first entrance, a crowd of boys 
 came round me, not merely to ascertain who I 
 
29 
 
 was, but also what I had got; it being the 
 practice of that particular school— a practice, 
 by the bye, much contemned in loftier semi- 
 naries—for every new comer to purchase his 
 freedom by a liberal distribution of the gifts of 
 his provident friends. Now it instantly occur- 
 red to me that I could not be dutiful too soon ; 
 and that it would be terrible, indeed, to violate 
 one of my aunt's maxims, before the tear she 
 had shed on our separation was dry upon my 
 cheek. And, therefore, I heroically resolved, 
 in a moment, to shew the school that my first 
 principle was to " take care of Number One." 
 Accordingly, I calmly took my sweets from 
 their depository, and, as calmly, one by one, 
 began to devour them.— It is said, that one of 
 the French monarchs, when in a very infirm 
 state of health, in order to deceive the English 
 ambassador, ate an enormous dinner in public, 
 of which he died in a few days ; and, though a 
 private person might not presume to scale the 
 c 3 
 
3% 
 
 Iieights of regal ambition and magnanimity, 
 certain it is, that, in support of my own dignity, 
 and of my aunt's proverb, I devoured three 
 times as much as I should have done in less ar- 
 duous circumstances. 
 
 During this process, I was every instant ex- 
 pecting to receive some public acknowledgment 
 of my superiority to vulgar prejudices and prac- 
 tices from the assembled school. But, what 
 was my surprise, instead of this, to find a storm 
 gathering around me — to see a general muster 
 of the boys — to hear, as a sort of watch-word, 
 the inelegant phrase of " greedy brute " vocife- 
 rated from every quarter ! And, at length, after 
 the way of some bigger folks, the boys, resolv- 
 ing to seize as a right what they could not ob- 
 tain as a gift, literally hustled me from my seat, 
 rolled me on the ground, pounced like harpies 
 upon the cakes, and hurried away into the 
 play-ground, to enjoy the fruits of their tri- 
 umph and of my discomfiture, Nor was this 
 
31 
 
 the whole of my calamity. The attack had, 
 unfortunately, not been made before I had 
 swallowed enough for several people of my per- 
 sonal dimensions. Accordingly, the apothe- 
 cary was sent for; and, between each of the 
 successive phials, the contents of which he 
 deemed it expedient, either for himself or for 
 me, to force down my throat, I could not help 
 sometimes moralising a little upon this first 
 result of my conformity to my aunt's maxim, 
 and saying to myself, " It seems to me as if one 
 of the best ways to 'take care of Number One' 
 was to take care of all the rest of the numbers. 5 ' 
 At last, however, the doctor left me, and 
 1 soon recovered. And, with my strength, my 
 faith in my aunt's opinion returned ; nor was 
 I long, as my reader shali now learn, without 
 reaping some additional fruits of it. Living 
 under the influence of a principle which che- 
 rished such devoted zeal for my own interest 
 and convenience, I was not likely soon to forget 
 c 4 
 
32 
 
 the injury which had been inflicted upon me. 
 Accordingly, I most anxiously watched for an 
 opportunity of finding alone a puny little urchin, 
 who had been remarkably active in the assault 
 upon me, and dealt him some such blows upon 
 the precise spot of his dwarfish person which 
 might be supposed to be particularly gratified 
 by the theft from me, as sent him howling with 
 agony into the school. But, what was my 
 horror, to see the whole body of cannibals pour 
 out in close squadron, and, without condescend- 
 ing to hold a moment's parley, begin to pay 
 me, in kind, and even with accumulated in- 
 terest, for my attack upon one of their as- 
 sociates. And, as naturally no one of them 
 could endure to be outdone by the rest in the 
 demonstration of his loyalty and fidelity to so 
 good a cause, so thoroughly was I beaten, that 
 the marvel is I am alive this day to record the 
 history of my persecutions. At last, however, 
 they left me, black and blue, in a corner of 
 
33 
 
 the play-ground : and here, once more, I had 
 abundant leisure to philosophise ; and I could 
 scarcely avoid questioning, pretty resolutely, at 
 the moment, both the truth and the expediency 
 of my aunt's maxim. 
 
 Still, however, a principle planted by her 
 hand, and highly congenial to our sordid 
 nature, was not soon to be rooted out. And, 
 accordingly, I was doomed, besides enduring a 
 thousand petty mortifications, besides incurring 
 the hatred of the bulk of my school-fellows, to 
 suffer a still heavier penalty of my love of self. 
 
 Self, as might be expected, is not a very 
 accurate distinguisher between mine and thine. 
 The distinctions of property vanish before an 
 eye which sees only one individual in the 
 whole world. Accordingly, in two or three 
 different instances, I had, in compliance with 
 the spirit of my aunt's maxim, laid my hands 
 upon articles belonging to other boys ; but had 
 adroitly " taken such care of Number One," 
 c 5 
 
34 
 
 that no one had discovered the theft. At 
 length, however, I felt an inordinate desire to 
 become possessed of a knife, an article which 
 my aunt, in tender love to my person, had 
 always denied me, and, watching an opportu- 
 nity, I found the desk of its owner open, and 
 carried it off in triumph. But this triumph 
 was short. The knife happened to be no less 
 valuable to its real proprietor than to myself; 
 and, being very popular in the school, he had 
 interest to move and carry a resolution — that 
 the trunk of every boy should be opened, and 
 examined, in quest of it. What could be done ? 
 I first resisted the motion — then vehemently 
 protested that the key was lost — then dexte- 
 rously broke it in the lock. But all obstacles 
 being overcome, the trunk was opened and the 
 knife found, carefully wrapped up, together 
 with my aunt's maxim, in the identical triple 
 envelope in which she conveyed it to school. 
 Here was irresistible evidence of my guilt; and 
 
35 
 
 the master being called in, and detecting at 
 once the cause and consequence of my crime, 
 out of regard for the rest of his school, dis- 
 patched me to my aunt with this laconic 
 note : — 
 
 " Madam, 
 " You have sent your boy to school with a 
 " principle which has made him greedy, cruel, 
 "and dishonest. It is but just that you, who 
 " have given the disease, should endeavour to 
 " cure it; and, therefore, I have sent him back 
 " to you. 
 
 Yours, &c. &c." 
 
CHAP. V. 
 
 THE WAY TO TREAT AN HUMBLED 
 ADVERSARY. 
 
 IT would be very difficult, indeed, to paint the 
 storm which raged in my aunt's mind ( to say 
 nothing of her countenance), upon her receipt 
 of myself and the letter, of which I was the 
 bearer. And as some thousands of writers, in 
 prose and verse, have thought themselves pri- 
 vileged to employ, without any acknowledg- 
 ment, the first iEneid for the description of all 
 scenery of this kind, I shall take the more 
 honest method of at once referring my readers 
 to Virgil for a full and particular account of 
 the whole transaction. Let them but conceive, 
 which is by no means difficult, my aunt to be 
 Juno, and her face to be the sea, and the 
 business is accomplished in a moment. 
 
37 
 
 I had entered the room, not only without a 
 blush, but with considerable self-complacency 
 for my very dutiful conformity to my aunt's 
 wishes. — No sooner was the letter read by the 
 two sisters than, as they had not heard the 
 slightest breathing of my adventures at school, 
 they both with eager voice demanded what 
 could have led to so rapid and extraordinary 
 a catastrophe. I told my story with much sim- 
 plicity — expressed no little horror and amaze- 
 ment at the villainy of school-boys — almost 
 intimated a suspicion of the accuracy of my 
 aunt's maxim— and courageously assured her, 
 that if I had attempted to " take care of Num- 
 ber One" much longer, the boys would not have 
 left a sound inch of " Number One" to be taken 
 care of. 
 
 My aunt wrung her hands — but whether in 
 dismay at my folly — at my sufferings — at the 
 wickedness of the school bovs, or of the master 
 
38 
 
 — or, finally, at the apparent fallibility of her 
 infallible maxim, I am unable to say, as she said 
 nothing herself. She then took a huge pinch 
 of snuff, put the letter into the fire, and hid her 
 face in her hands. Rachel was, as I have be- 
 fore said, a most tender creature ; and, though 
 even a somewhat stern moralist would have 
 scarcely condemned her for feeling a momen- 
 tary triumph in this practical refutation of so 
 hateful a principle — and of a principle, more- 
 over, to which she had discovered so strong a 
 repugnance— she felt no triumph at all. In 
 fact, all her sister's sorrows were her own : 
 therefore, taking her gently by the hand, she 
 said — " My dear sister, however much we may 
 have differed about the value of this maxim, 
 you, I am persuaded, no more foresaw or 
 designed these consequences than I did. You 
 did not mean Sancho to be greedy, cruel, or 
 dishonest/' 
 
39 
 
 " My aunt," said I — for here my pride took 
 fi re — << meant me to 'take care of Number 
 One / and this is all I have done/' 
 
 " My dear boy/' said the good-natured 
 Rachel, "you quite mistake the matter; and 
 as your aunt is too unwell just now to explain 
 herself, I, in my poor way, will do it for her. 
 She could mean no more by ' taking care of 
 Number One/ than that it was every person's 
 duty to take care of himself. But then the 
 best way to take care of yourself, Sancho, is to 
 please God, and to be just and kind toothers." 
 
 u But, aunt/' said I, " there is nothing about 
 pleasing God, and being good and kind to 
 others, in the proverb." 
 
 " No, there is not," she replied; " but still 
 my sister meant all this, and a great deal more, 
 as she would soon convince you, Sancho, if she 
 were well. You understood the proverb to 
 mean, that you should indulge yourself in all 
 that pleased you best at the moment: your aunt 
 
40 
 
 meant that you should do what was best for 
 yourself upon the whole." 
 
 Now, not a word of this last distinction diet 
 I understand. But as I held my tongue — 
 which is a rule I earnestly recommend to all 
 persons in similar circumstances — my aunt Ra- 
 chel did not find me out, and accordingly 
 proceeded. 
 
 " My dear Sancho," she said, " no man ever 
 became good or great who was very fond of 
 himself: good and great men live for others. 
 Look there, my boy !" and I turned my eyes to 
 a fine copy of Ruben's Descent from the Cross, 
 to which she pointed — " The Son of God/' 
 said she, " came down to live and to die for 
 others." 
 
 This argument I did understand ; and I can 
 truly say, that, through my long life, whenever 
 I have wanted a cure for selfishness, I have 
 found nothing so efficacious as following my 
 aunt Rachel's advice. A hundred times at 
 
41 
 
 least, when self has been getting the better of 
 nobler considerations, her " Look there, my 
 boy ! " has sounded in my ears. I have looked 
 with my mind's eye at the picture, and said, It 
 is impossible to be a real follower of Christ, 
 and to be selfish. 
 
 But, to return to our history. While I was 
 looking at the picture, my aunt Winifred rose 
 up, I thought that I saw her gratefully, though 
 rather awkwardly, press her sister's hand, I am 
 sure that I saw her eyes full of tears. She 
 left the room. Rachel immediately followed 
 her, but not till she had said to me, " Look, 
 Sancho, to-night for a verse which I will mark 
 in the little Bible I gave you; and you may 
 venture to use that verse in future instead of 
 the proverb." I did look, and found my aunt's 
 initials marked opposite the words, '* Thou 
 shalt love thy neighbour as thyself;'' and I 
 think it right to say, that if I had literally 
 complied with this command, either at that 
 
42 
 
 time, or for many years of my life, there are 
 very few people in the world who would have 
 loved their neighbour better. But, of this also, 
 the reader may judge for himself in the fol- 
 lowing pages, 
 
43 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 ANOTHER HEAD OF THE HYDRA. 
 
 FlE knows little of human nature who fancies 
 that the follies and vices of the world, in general, 
 are, as it were, to be brought down by a single 
 shot. And he knows equally little of the cha- 
 racter of my aunt Winifred who imagines her to 
 be an exception to this general rule, and con- 
 ceives her likely to be cured of her error by the 
 single incident recorded in the last chapter. It 
 is often the property of those who hold very 
 foolish opinions, to be attached to them just in 
 proportion to their folly — as idolaters love their 
 idols the better, the more deformed they are. 
 I do not say that my aunt entertained quite the 
 same profound respect for the particular pro- 
 verb which had so much dishonoured the family; 
 
44 
 
 but she attached just the same value to all other 
 proverbs. Accordingly, having taken time to 
 collect herself, to let the incidents at school in a 
 measure escape from my memory, and to search 
 into the collected principles of ages, for some 
 other equally great, but safer, principle of action, 
 she at length announced to me her intention of 
 sending me to another school; and having sent 
 for me alone, to avoid the scrutiny of her sister, 
 she thus addressed me : — 
 
 " I will own, my dear Sancho, that when I 
 sent you to school with only one single proverb 
 for a guide and protector, I trusted somewhat 
 too much to its solitary efficacy. As every man 
 has two arms and two legs, and two eyes, and 
 two ears, it is no disparagement of proverbs to 
 admit, that two are necessary to guide you 
 aright in the thorny path of life. I have, there- 
 fore, deeply investigated the influence of the 
 first maxim I gave you, upon your conduct at 
 school; aud I find that you ate, fought, and 
 
45 
 
 stole, in an exceptionable manner, not because 
 you gave heed to one proverb, but because you 
 did not give heed to two. I have had, I will 
 own, some difficulty in discovering what maxim 
 might be best associated with the first; but, at 
 length, my good genius has suggested one, and 
 I now communicate it to you — it is this, " Do at 
 Rome as they do at Rome." 
 
 Now, as the master of the school had not al- 
 lowed me by any means to waste even the few 
 weeks I spent there, and as my reading had been 
 confined, agreeably to the practice of the day, 
 almost entirely to the classics, I had managed, 
 in that short time, to obtain a pretty intimate 
 acquaintance with not a few of the worst cha- 
 racters and practices of ancient Rome. I had 
 heard, for instance, with profound admiration, 
 of the " godlike Cato " stabbing himself — and 
 of the " immortal Brutus " stabbing his friend— 
 of the " divine Julius" abandoning himself to 
 every possible vice— of the " deified Nero" setting 
 
46 
 
 fire to Rome, fiddling while it burned, and, with 
 the most majestic contempt of all those rules 
 of truth so very inconvenient to all orders of 
 society, imputing the guilt of the conflagra- 
 tion to the Christians. My aunt, therefore, had 
 no sooner pronounced the proverb, than a con- 
 fused prospect of daggers, swords, crowns, 
 fiddles, fires, burst upon my delighted eyes. In 
 a moment I bethought myself how delightful 
 it would be on the next fifth of November — dis- 
 daining the ancient tardy and niggardly method 
 of celebrating on that day our zeal for Protes- 
 tantism, and abomination of Popery, by col- 
 lecting a few stray sticks, and lighting up a 
 paltry bonfire — at once, like Nero, to thrust a 
 burning brand into my aunt's largest hay-stack, 
 and, with Robin the gardener, no mean fiddler, 
 to light up a fire worthy of Rome itself— and 
 then to charge the conflagration upon some 
 boys in the village. But this very idea, I sup- 
 pose, by bringing the subject near home, con- 
 
47 
 
 viuced me that I must have mistaken my aunt's 
 meaning. She, who was so invariably attentive 
 to her own interest, could scarcely have in- 
 tended me to burn her hay-ricks. Therefore, 
 that I might fall into no error, I determined to 
 ask, whether she meant that I was " to do as 
 they did in ancient Rome." 
 " No, child/' said my aunt. 
 " What then," said I, " as they do in modern 
 Rome ? " 
 
 " Worse and worse/' said my aunt. " When 
 will you understand, boy, the only species of 
 language that is worth understanding? To 
 1 do at Rome as they do at Rome/ is a sage 
 maxim of antiquity, which teaches us, that ' in 
 whatever spot of the globe we may chance to 
 be, it is our duty kindly to accommodate our- 
 selves to the prevailing customs/ " 
 
 " Indeed," said I, * aunt!" opening wide my 
 mouth, and both eyes, besides manifesting every 
 other conceivable sign of astonishment. 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied my aunt, " and why not? 
 
48 
 
 If you cannot otherwise understand what seems 
 to be so obvious,— apply this principle to the 
 very circumstances in which you have lately 
 been placed, and you will at once see the im- 
 portant effect of it. Had you, for instance, 
 acted upon it at school ; forasmuch as it was 
 not the custom of the school to eat cakes with- 
 out also distributing them — to pommel poor, 
 little, puny, helpless boys in a corner — to make 
 free with the property of others, you would 
 both have escaped a beating, and have been 
 suffered, perhaps, even at this moment, to re- 
 main in the school." 
 
 Now, although my aunt was, as I conceive, 
 singularly injudicious in urging the last of these 
 motives in favour of her argument, seeing I 
 hated the school with all my heart, yet the pro- 
 mise of full immunity in future from all corporal 
 chastisement had such charms for me, that I at 
 once yielded myself a convert to my aunt and 
 to her new proverb. 
 
40 
 
 Let it not, however, be thought that my sage 
 counsellor admitted my profession to be genuine 
 upon too slight a trial. Such suspicion had 
 she of the treachery of my memory and under- 
 standing, that she thought it right to ascertain 
 whether I actually knew the words of the 
 proverb; and her dismay may be conceived, 
 when she caught me in the very act of slipping 
 in the monosyllable " not," after the first 
 "do;" so that I was within a hair of going to 
 school with the following maxim in my mouth, 
 " Do not at Rome as they do at Rome ;" — a 
 maxim unknown, I humbly conceive, to either 
 " Porch" or " Academy," and so very like the 
 scriptural maxim of " not following a multitude 
 to do evil," as not very easily to insinuate itself 
 amidst the fundamentals of large communities. 
 Indeed, the bias I had to insert this " not' 1 was 
 quite whimsical. My aunt's patience was, in 
 fact, nearly exhausted. At length, however, by 
 dint of daily repetition, and a few well-applied 
 
50 
 
 bribes, I was considered as sufficiently perfect 
 in my lesson, and consequently fit for school. 
 
 I trust my reader has kept in mind that my 
 autit Rachel had not been considered as worthy 
 of initiation into these mysteries. Accordingly, 
 when the morning arrived for my departure to 
 a new school, it is difficult to say which of the 
 two sisters most rejoiced at the circumstance. 
 Winifred considered me to be as safe under the 
 guardianship of this new principle, as if tied to 
 her own apron-string : Rachel conceived me to 
 be safer any where than at home. The issue 
 of the last experiment taught her to hope that 
 some practical antidote would be furnished at 
 school, for whatever other mischievous prin- 
 ciple [ might have the misfortune to carry along 
 with me. But herein, I presume to think, her 
 disposition to hope the best from every thing 
 betrayed her into a very capital error. Though 
 school-boys, like all other communities, are 
 likely to punish selfishness for their own sake ; 
 
 
51 
 
 there are certain other vices so much less 
 troublesome as to be infinitely more popular. 
 But I shall not anticipate what it is the province 
 of the historian to record in the subsequent 
 chapter. 
 
 D 2 
 
52 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A CONFORMIST. 
 
 1 HE histories of Non-conformists have often 
 employed the pens of the annalist and bio- 
 grapher. In pity, therefore, to those who may 
 be weary of such narratious, it is my intention 
 to present them with the perfectly novel his- 
 tory, of which the motto at the head of this 
 chapter is an appropriate title. 
 
 Having bid adieu to my two aunts, I soon 
 found myself in a large circle of new school- 
 fellows. During my ride, I had seriously re- 
 flected on the faults in my conduct at the first 
 school, and resolved strenuously to avoid them, 
 " If my aunt," said I to myself, " had felt, as I 
 have done, the personal results of ' taking care 
 of Number One,' she would not, I am persuaded, 
 
53 
 
 have continued to urge the proverb inculcating 
 that duty as strongly as she does. At all events, 
 with such experience of the consequences which 
 attend it, I cannot be expected to extend to it 
 the same unbounded reverence ; and, accord- 
 ingly, I utterly forswear the use of it/' 
 
 Now, it is obvious that nothing could be 
 more favourable to my adherence to her second 
 proverb, than this repugnance to the first. As 
 I hated the first for its selfishness, so I valued 
 the other for its apparent good-nature.—" ' Do 
 as others do V Why," said I to myself, " in- 
 stead of hisses, and groans, and blows, I shall 
 be the most popular boy in the school." Under 
 the influence of this spirit of accommodation, I 
 entered the school. 
 
 For a short period, I was satisfied to act 
 upon my new principle in a general manner, 
 merely putting myself into the stream of the 
 school, and contentedly falling down its broad 
 and impetuous current. During this time. L 
 D 3 
 
54 
 
 was frequently delighted to hear the title of 
 " good-natured fellow" very liberally bestowed 
 upon me ; and the only inconvenience I felt from 
 my spirit of conformity, was the being made the 
 general fag of the school— being always thrust 
 from the fire when any other person wanted a 
 place — and suffering the penalty of all the 
 faults committed by the boys, though myself, 
 perhaps, wholly unconcerned in the commis- 
 sion of them. This penalty, however, became 
 heavier every day ; and, besides, I began to say 
 to myself, " This is concession, not imitation— 
 this is doing what others please, not what others 
 do — this will never satisfy my aunt." Accord- 
 ingly, I resolved to act more strictly in the spirit 
 of the proverb. 
 
 The first endeavour, accordingly, was, to find 
 out a model for my daily life. And it was na- 
 tural enough to begin with those easiest of 
 imitation. Therefore, as doing nothing was far 
 easier than doing much, and doing wrong far 
 
55 
 
 easier than doing right, I as naturally made my 
 selection from some of the idlest and worst boys 
 in the school. With these I strictly allied 
 myself; or, to speak more correctly, I became 
 a sort of u umbra," or shadow, to them : and 
 after a short time, it must be admitted, that my 
 imitation was very successful, and that I did 
 both as little and as wrong as most of them. 
 " Now," said I to myself, " I < do at Rome as 
 they do at Rome/ " 
 
 Many were the not altogether indisputable 
 practices which, in the capacity of a Conformist, 
 I was obliged to adopt. If an exercise, far in- 
 stance, was given out; sometimes a most con- 
 venient illness seized us at the very moment, 
 and the medicines sent by the doctor were dex- 
 terously thrown out of the window : sometimes 
 an old exercise was vamped up to suit the 
 present exigency : sometimes a little boy was 
 thrashed into the execution of the task we were 
 too idle to perform. But these, our literary 
 P4 
 
56 
 
 offences, were by no means the greatest. There 
 was, in fact, scarcely any thing right which we 
 allowed ourselves to do; and scarcely any thing 
 wrong which we judged it expedient to leave 
 undone. This state of things was not, however, 
 likely to last long. Our devices, many of which 
 were not a little ingenious, deceived the master 
 for a time; and we escaped, for that period, 
 with the hearty contempt of all the boys of 
 better and higher feeling, of which there were 
 not a few in the school ; but at last, by the 
 treachery of one of our body, a full develop- 
 ment was made of all our delinquencies. 
 
 I will not stop to describe the catastrophe 
 which followed— the expulsion of the worst 
 offenders ; the punishing of others ; the elo- 
 quent lecture which the master delivered from 
 that line of Horace, " Imitatores servum ptcus" 
 which he chose to interpret, " Imitators, a 
 drove of slaves ;" and the still more forcible 
 lesson which he founded upon the very text of 
 
57 
 
 Scripture formerly quoted, " Thou shalt not 
 follow a multitude to do evil." I must say, I 
 never felt such respect for the master before* 
 I was, happily, too young to be considered and 
 dealt with as one of the ringleaders ; and conse- 
 quently remained at school, to ruminate on past 
 events, and to resolve for the future. 
 
 Now, it may be thought, by some of my most 
 precipitate readers, that I at once arrived at the 
 conclusion that the principle of imitation was 
 false, and that I as rapidly abjured and aban- 
 doned it. But he who so reasons has, I am 
 disposed to think, more good-nature than ac- 
 quaintance with me or with human nature. It 
 is very easy— as the poet, speaking of a some- 
 what similar descent, has long since said — to 
 " descend ;" but to " ascend again" is just as 
 difficult. And, among the various contrivances 
 adopted by those who pretend to be labouring 
 up the ascent, is that of taking, instead of the 
 direct, straight path, any path, however cir- 
 D5 
 
53 
 
 cuitous or remote, which may be conceived to 
 lead to the same point. It was thus in my case. 
 I determined, not at once to abandon all 
 imitation, not to study my duty in the Bible 
 and honestly endeavour to discharge it, but to 
 imitate only those who were better than myself. 
 And as the reader, perhaps, may be disposed to 
 esteem this a very wise resolution, I will fully 
 and candidly reveal to him the consequences 
 of it. 
 
 In the first place, then, I chose a single boy 
 as a model; but as he, though possessed of many 
 good qualities, had also one or two bad ones, I 
 naturally took the bad with the good ; and 
 falling, as it was likely, a good deal below my 
 model, I soon became possessed, together with 
 apart of his excellencies, of every one of his 
 blemishes and defects, upon an enlarged scale. 
 
 I next tried the plan of choosing more than 
 one model ; but the same process took place, 
 and by degrees I found myself possessed in full 
 
of all their faults. If any one had compared 
 me with the persons whom I imitated, I wore 
 something of the air of a servant dressed out in 
 his master's worst clothes. 
 
 But even this was a small part of the evil : 
 I found that every act of imitation tended to 
 degrade the mind. I became a coward; and, 
 when my safety required it, a liar. Under these 
 circumstances, I was not likely to hold a very 
 high place in the estimation of the boys. I was, 
 in fact, a sort of foot-ball to the whole com- 
 munity. Innumerable were the tricks they 
 played upon me. My blood even now runs cold 
 when I call to mind one of them. — Boys are re- 
 markably fond, without precisely going through 
 the rites of baptism, of bestowing a new name, 
 vulgarly called a nick-name, upon all the rest of 
 the world. But, as they had so often presumed 
 upon my conformity as to know that I would 
 patiently suffer every possible indignity, they 
 determined, in my particular case, when they 
 bestowed this new name, not to dispense with 
 
60 
 
 any part of the ceremony; but on the contrary, 
 to administer it after the manner of the ancient 
 Oriental churches. Accordingly, I was conduct- 
 ed to the river; and having received, from the 
 concurrent voices of about a hundred sponsors, 
 the very honourable appellation of "Sneak," I 
 was just about to be plunged, in a December 
 morning, into the water, for the necessary ablu- 
 tion, when, happily, one of the ushers came to 
 my rescue. 
 
 I need scarcely add, that, under circum- 
 stances such as these, my situation was daily 
 becoming more irksome and intolerable. De- 
 jected and ashamed, with no friends but one or 
 two to whom my suppleness was convenient, I 
 dragged on a miserable existence. And such an 
 existence I should probably have continued to 
 drag on — and that without even the smallest 
 interruption — till this very moment, if I had not 
 unexpectedly one morning received the following 
 letter from my aunt Rachel. 
 
 But, before I give the letter, let me briefly 
 
61 
 
 state the history of it. — It seems that her sister 
 had for some time profoundly kept the secret of 
 my discipline and preparation for school; but 
 hearing nothing to the contrary, and conjectur- 
 ing, according to the well-known and much ap- 
 proved maxim of the world, that " no news is 
 good news," my aunt Winifred could no longer 
 contain her joy, and exultingly instructed her 
 sister by what principle she had qualified me 
 for my new situation. Rachel said nothing, but 
 shook her head, much in the same way in which 
 Cassandra, when predicting the fall of Troy, 
 may be supposed to have shaken hers. And 
 she shook it with precisely the same success, 
 Her sister smiled at her incredible simpli- 
 city; and, in that exuberance of good-humour 
 which success often inspires even in very 
 cross people, she said gaily, u Well, sister, 
 we shall see." 
 
 But, if my aunt Rachel was not so profuse as 
 to waste her arguments where they were not 
 
G2 
 
 likely to do any good, she was too conscien- 
 tious not to try them where there was at least 
 some hope of success ; and, accordingly, that 
 very night, she sat up till twelve o'clock pen- 
 ning the letter to which I have adverted, and a 
 small part of which, out of my great love to the 
 public, I shall now copy for their benefit, I 
 extract only a small part of it, because the rest 
 of the foolscap sheet was occupied with details 
 of family occurrences, and, especially, with 
 half a dozen incidents calculated to increase 
 my love for my aunt Winifred— a point which, I 
 must say, my dear aunt Rachel never neglected 
 to labour. After this exercise of her charity 
 and tenderness, the letter thus proceeded : — 
 
 " I was reading, my dear boy, a few days 
 since, a striking story told by a traveller who 
 had visited the celebrated Falls of Niagara. As 
 he was standing amidst the rocks at the head of 
 this stupendous fall, and watching wave after 
 
wave, as it reached the point where it was pre- 
 cipitated some hundreds of feet into the gulf 
 beneath, he suddenly saw a canoe with a single 
 Indian approaching the awful brink. The poor 
 wretch saw his danger; struggled against the 
 stream for a few moments ; and then, at the very 
 instant when he seemed to be mastering his pe- 
 rils, instead of continuing the struggle, with a 
 sort of wild despair calmly folded his arms upon 
 his bosom, left his canoe to drive with the 
 torrent, was hurried over the edge, and shivered 
 to a thousand pieces in the rocky gulf below. — 
 The story is awful. But I could not help say- 
 ing to myself* when I had read it, Things as 
 awful take place in the world every day. Life, 
 my dear boy, with its customs, habits, and 
 amusements, is also a hurried and tempestuous 
 stream. The young set sail upon it in their 
 little barks ; struggle, perhaps, for a moment, 
 with the torrent; then, when every eye is 
 bent upon them and confident of their success, 
 
64 
 
 fold their arms on their bosoms, drive with the 
 stream, reach the fatal brink, and sink to rise no 
 more. — Beware, my dear Sancho, of getting into 
 the stream; beware of imitation; beware of 
 
 * doing as others do/ The only safe rules of 
 conduct are to be found in the Bible : the only 
 safe model of conduct is that Saviour who was 
 
 * without spot and without blemish/ Love, my 
 boy, but do not imitate. 
 
 " Your affectionate aunt, 
 
 " RACHEL ." 
 
 Now it so happened, that, when I received 
 this letter, I was lying, very ill at ease indeed^ 
 under the shade of an oak near the play-ground. 
 I went immediately and fetched a little Bible 
 which my aunt had given me ; read several 
 chapters in the history of the life and death of 
 Christ; and was delighted to find something in 
 it so very different from those whom I had hi- 
 therto been imitating. Then I prayed to God 
 
65 
 
 —for the first time in my life, I believe, with 
 sincerity — to make me good, to make me inde- 
 pendent, to make me a little like my aunt Ra- 
 chel, and altogether like Him whom she was 
 continually striving and praying to resemble. 
 
 But as I did not persist in petitions such as 
 these, this feeling soon decayed. I passed a 
 few years of misery and insignificance in the 
 school, and was then removed to prepare for 
 
 college But my very many readers from the 
 
 two universities will be justly offended, if I do 
 not put my university-history into a distinct 
 chapter ; and my profound reverence for those 
 learned bodies will not suffer me willingly to 
 offer them any offence. 
 
 Before, however, I close this chapter, I have 
 a few observations to offer, in extenuation of 
 those faults which I have, in this chapter, so 
 freely imputed to myself. It is not impossible 
 that some of the least charitable part of the 
 world, in reading the last pages of this history, 
 
60 
 
 may have allowed themselves in a feeling in 
 some degree allied to contempt, for the very un- 
 fortunate author of them. 
 
 Now it may, perhaps, tend to mitigate this 
 feeling, if they will call to mind the not improbable 
 fact, that they themselves perhaps belong no less 
 to the " servum pecus" of imitators than myself. 
 Independence, I am disposed to think, is a plant 
 of very rare growth indeed. Even that which 
 bears the name, is often little better than mere 
 imitation. The apparent substance is no more 
 than a shadow. In illustration whereof I beg to 
 tell the following story. 
 
 On the broad breast of a mountain, in a re- 
 mote part of Hungary, a traveller was confound- 
 ed to behold an apparition of a most terrific 
 aspect. It was at least four hundred feet high ; 
 had all the features of a man; carried in its 
 hand a massy club, which "ever and anon" it 
 swung around, to the infinite horror of the spec- 
 tator. Far from bearing any resemblance to 
 
m 
 
 those quiescent genii sometimes said to be im- 
 prisoned in a chest, or in the Red Sea, by the 
 hand of Necromancy, it exhibited the most as- 
 tonishing activity. The traveller, for instance, 
 no sooner moved a step to the right or left, but 
 he saw his^ tremendous visitor, as it were in re- 
 sentment of the movement, rush with hurried 
 step across the mountain. If the traveller ap- 
 proached the hill, the giant instantly descended 
 it, as though to meet him at its foot. If on the 
 contrary, he retired from the hill, he had the 
 consolation of seeing the giant immediately re- 
 ascend it. — Many saw the phantom, and all 
 concurred in regarding it as the most tremendous 
 spectre that had ever been suffered to discover 
 itself to the pigmy inhabitants of the world. 
 None for a moment questioned its total indepen- 
 dence of every thing below. At last a celebrated 
 philosopher visited the mountain. After par- 
 taking, for a time, of the astonishment of the 
 other spectators, he set himself to decipher the 
 
mystery, and actually discovered that the spectre 
 was the mere image of himself, reflected by the 
 rising sun upon the face of the mountain. How 
 did all reverence for the phantom subside ! How 
 did the credulous spectators blush to discover 
 that all its movements were merely imitative! — 
 that the awful circles of his club were the re- 
 flected movements of a walking-stick ; and the 
 solemn nodding of his helmet, the obscure image 
 of a hat and wig put in motion by the wind ! — 
 And now to apply my story. I venture, then, 
 to assure my readers, that very much of what 
 they are pleased to call independence or origi- 
 nalit} 7 , in themselves or others, is precisely akin 
 to this shadowy visitor — that it is a mere phan- 
 tom—a " dream of a dream, and shadow of a 
 shade ;" — that man is but the mere creature of 
 imitation — that B is too often the mere shadow 
 of A, and C of B, and Z of some or all of the 
 personages who precede or surround him; — and 
 that, after all, nothing is more rare than a per- 
 
69 
 
 son who honestly and independently studies the 
 word of God, to learn his duties as a man and 
 as a Christian; and then proceeds, as honestly 
 and independently, to discharge those duties. 
 
 If any reader of this volume is able, as I sin- 
 cerely hope he may, securely, though humbly, 
 to lay his hand upon his heart, and say that he 
 is such a man ; — all that I will say, in return, is, 
 " Let me have that man for my bosom friend." 
 
 And now for the promised chapter, or, at 
 least, for the preface to it. 
 
70 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 TRAINING FOR COLLEGE. 
 
 As my aunt's last experiment did not issue in 
 any violent catastrophe— or, in other words, as 
 I was neither beaten nor expelled for my rigid 
 adherence to her maxim — she saw nothing in 
 the result of her project which was calculated 
 to undeceive her as to its intrinsic value. Nor 
 was I myself disposed to undeceive her. My 
 long habits of conformity and concession made 
 it much more easy and natural for me to attend 
 to her, than to require her to attend to truth 
 and right reason. Therefore, in spite of what ex- 
 perience might have taught me, I adhered to 
 proverbs, and to every species of oracular sen- 
 tence, with almost as much devotion as my 
 aunt herself. If she might be esteemed a knight- 
 
71 
 
 errant in the cause, I might without presumption 
 pretend to the dignity of squire; and was 
 scarcely, I venture to say, less true to my 
 character than my illustrious namesake and pre- 
 decessor. So that when the time for going to 
 college approached, I cordially concurred with 
 her in thinking that nothing could be more es- 
 sential to my right conduct there, than the ju- 
 dicious selection of half a dozen of these sage 
 maxims, by means of which I, perhaps some- 
 what ambitiously, hoped to exhibit, in the short 
 space of a three years' residence, the collected 
 wisdom of many centuries. 
 
 My aunt Rachel, indeed, would, if an oppor- 
 tunity had been given her, have made me familiar 
 with a very different kind of wisdom. But then 
 her sister always followed so closely and 
 watchfully upon her heels ; she talked with 
 so much more of an oracular tone ; and, 
 moreover, perpetually supplied me with such 
 salutary cautions against the fanaticism, &c. of 
 
72 
 
 her sister, that the mild, gentle creature, had 
 rarely the least influence with me, except, 
 indeed, when my aunt Winifred was cross. At 
 those moments it must be confessed, that I used 
 always to hide my cares in her bosom. But, as 
 few persons would be more attractive (a case by 
 no means uncommon with the whole family of 
 scolds, and, in itself, a sufficient demonstration 
 how much better they might be if they would,) 
 than my aunt Winifred when she had a great 
 point to carry, I was not obliged very often, at 
 this period of my history, thus to take refuge in 
 the tenderness of Rachel. And besides, her 
 requisitions were too high for the then forlorn 
 state of my mind. She required me to be 
 " sans peur," as well as " sans reproche ;' 
 which, however possible to a good or a brave 
 man, is quite impossible to a man determined to 
 " do at Rome as they do at Rome/' 
 
 But to return. — The time was now fixed for 
 my departure. My aunt, by dint of an extra 
 
73 
 
 cup of agrimony, a few additional turns on the 
 broad sunny gravel walk, and much mental com- 
 munion with the sages of antiquity, at length 
 managed to construct the following brief Table 
 of Maxims, which I shall present to my reader 
 in the precise form in which she delivered it 
 to me. 
 
 " MORAL CODE, 
 
 " FOR 
 
 I* MY NEPHEW SANCHO AT COLLEGE 
 
 " COLLECTED 
 
 a FROM THE STORES OF ANCIENT AND MODERN 
 " WISDOM, 
 
 " BY WINIFRED - 
 
 " On Religion. 
 " 1, ' Many men many minds/ 
 " 2. * Seeing is believing.' 
 " 3. ' Never too late to repent/ 
 " 4. ' The nearer the church the farther 
 from God/ 
 
 E 
 
74 
 
 " On Character. 
 " 1. ' Nullum numen abest si sit prudentia ;' " 
 or, as my aunt translated it, ' Where prudence 
 is, no divinity is absent/ 
 
 " 2. * An honest man's the noblest work of 
 God/ 
 
 " On the Choice of Friends. 
 " 1. ' A warm enemy makes a warm friend/ 
 " 2. * He is no body's enemy but his own/ " 
 
 My aunt, meaning this code to descend as a 
 sort of heir-loom to our remotest descendants, 
 was at the pains of having it engrossed in double 
 jet ink, upon the cherished skin of a family 
 donkey which had recently died, by the parish 
 school-master ; and, having moreover set the 
 family name and seal to it, she consigned it with 
 much solemnity to my keeping. 
 
 But let it not be thought that this consignment 
 was made without the addition of that in which 
 my aunt conceived at least one half of the value 
 
75 
 
 of the gift to consist. With this code she gave 
 her own comments upon it. And that such an 
 important document should not be trusted in 
 successive ages to the treacherous medium of 
 tradition, I shall now insert it in this imperish- 
 able volume — presenting to the world, at once, 
 my aunt's lecture, and my occasional observa- 
 tions and interruptions as she recited its several 
 parts. 
 
 " My dear Sancho," she said, " I have, chiefly 
 I will own out of compliment to general opinion, 
 begun with the subject of religion. You know, 
 that I have never maintained any very precise or 
 rigid opinions upon that subject; and the maxims 
 I shall give you are meant rather to restrain you 
 from excess on this subject, than to rouse you 
 to any particular warmth of feeling." 
 
 " Then, my dear aunt," said I, " pray be kind 
 
 enough at once to get rid of this superfluous 
 
 part of the code. I do assure you, that I am 
 
 in no danger upon this point. Far from having 
 
 e 2 
 
76 
 
 any tendency to excess in religion, I scarcely 
 remember ever to have had a religious feeling 
 in the whole course of my life." 
 
 "My boy," she answered, "when will you 
 learn prudence ? You may, as yet, have had no 
 such feelings ; but, in this highly enthusiastic 
 age, it is by no means improbable that you may 
 be thus tempted ; and, therefore, take these 
 maxims as a sort of dead weight to hang round 
 the neck of rising fanaticism. Their value for 
 this purpose is incalculable. Should you be 
 leaning, for instance, to any particular modifica- 
 tion of religion — what better corrective than the 
 truth, ' Many men many minds V Should you, 
 again, be tempted to receive any of the popular 
 doctrines, most mischievously countenanced 
 by the Church of England, about * faith' — what 
 more powerful antidote than the maxim, ' Seeing 
 is believing]' If in danger of religious melan- 
 choly — you may at once defer the consideration 
 ©fall topics, without limit, on the authority of 
 
77 
 
 the third important saying, that 1 it is never too 
 late to repent/ And, if seduced into any very 
 puritanical strictness about attending the church, 
 or embracing its bigoted creeds — you may at 
 once escape, by remembering, that c the nearer 
 the church the farther from God.'" 
 
 I confess, that I was not a little startled at 
 the boldness of some of my aunt's positions, 
 I, moreover, remembered that a part of the 
 pique expressed in them against the Bible, and 
 the church, might be referred to two causes; — 
 first, to my aunt Rachel's so cordially reverenc- 
 ing the Bible ; and, secondly, to the clergyman 
 of the village, as honest a creature as ever lived, 
 being in the vexatious habit of weekly dealing 
 out such plain, pointed, pithy sermons, that my 
 aunt Winifred, every Sunday evening, warmly 
 protested " every one of them must be preach- 
 ed at her." But, however, all the sentiments 
 stated above were conveyed in maxims of such- 
 acknowledged celebrity, that it was impossible 
 e 3 
 
78 
 
 for a moment to dispute them. She, accord- 
 ingly, thus proceeded in her very salutary lec- 
 ture. 
 
 " Sancho," she said, " I have passed on from 
 religion to general character; and have given 
 you, in this department, two maxims which 
 mean much the same thing. But could I have 
 found ^. volume of maxims, to teach you the 
 paramount value of ' prudence/ I would gladly 
 have introduced them. Prudence, my boy, is 
 the religion of this world. And I am free to 
 say, that having this, I do not see the need of 
 very much besides. " 
 
 Now, here again I was not, in the smallest 
 degree, disposed to question my aunt's accuracy. 
 If, indeed, she had in this place substituted for 
 the word " prudence" what she really meant by 
 it, namely, "worldly policy," I might, perhaps, 
 have hesitated for a moment. But who could 
 question whether prudence, properly so called, 
 was a good thing ? And, admitting this, of all 
 
79 
 
 people in the world, my aunt was, perhaps, best 
 entitled to be heard as a lecturer, a final autho- 
 rity, a '* suprema lex," upon this particular 
 subject. She herself was that quality embodied. 
 I firmly believe that, as far as respected her 
 own interest, so inexorably true was she to 
 these darling maxims that she scarcely ever was 
 guilty of an act of imprudence in the whole 
 course of her somewhat protracted life. 
 Again she resumed her discourse. — 
 " The two last maxims/' she said, " respect 
 the choice of friends ; and they need no com- 
 ment. Strong alliances are best wrought out of 
 strong passions ; just as strong chains must be 
 forged in a hot fire. And he who is t no one's 
 enemy but his own/ must be best calculated to 
 become a friend to every other person." 
 
 My aunt said no more, but took (which in 
 her case was always both a cause and a conse- 
 quence of joy) an enormous pinch of snuff at 
 either nostril, gave me her hand with an inde- 
 e 4 
 
80 
 
 scribable look of self-complacency, and, majes- 
 tically quitting the room, left me, I presume, to 
 meditate upon the incalculable value of such a 
 counsellor, and of such counsels. But, as she 
 gave me no express injunctions as to the nature 
 of my immediate employment, instead of proceed- 
 ing to meditate, I ventured to follow my own 
 inclinations, and, accordingly, hurried away to 
 break in a pointer-puppy for next September. 
 In which occupation, however, I think it but 
 just to acknowledge, that I found several of my 
 aunt's maxims of incredible advantage; and, in 
 the fulness of my satisfaction at the moment, I 
 could not help exclaiming, more than once, " If 
 so good for pointers, how very good must they 
 be for men \" 
 
 I have forgotten to say, that for the three 
 months which preceded my removal to college, 
 my aunt Rachel had been confined to her room 
 with an attack of rheumatism. This circum- 
 stance wa&wonderfully convenient for her sister's 
 
81 
 
 plans. For, apprehending many evil conse- 
 quences from our coming in contact, she per- 
 sisted, in spite of doctor, nurse, and patient, in 
 calling the rheumatism a species of fever— and, 
 of course, out of tender regard to my very 
 delicate constitution, in prohibiting my approach 
 to the scene of a contagious disorder. Accord- 
 ingly, I left home for the university, without 
 seeing my aunt Rachel. Often has she since 
 told me what a pang this cost her. But her 
 sufferings little occupied me at the moment. My 
 habit, at that period of my life, thanks to aunt 
 Winifred's maxims, was to think of no one's 
 pangs or pleasures but my own. 
 
 Early in October, I set off for college, where 
 those, who have no such repugnance to an uni- 
 versity life as to prevent their following me, will 
 find me in the next chapter* 
 
 E 5 
 
82 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 A MORNING IN COLLEGE. 
 
 ON as bright a morning as ever shone upon 
 the cloistered windows of an university qua- 
 drangle, I opened my eyes in a cot of six feet 
 by two and a half, where I had slept most pro- 
 foundly for eight hours. I naturally lay in bed 
 a short time, to meditate upon my new circum- 
 stances. I was possessed of rooms, of a well- 
 replenished purse, and of personal independence, 
 for the first time in my life. Nor was this all. 
 It has been said, that no human figure can, by 
 the utmost exertions of art, be so constructed 
 as to stand without the addition of some sort of 
 fulcrum or prop. How much less, then, can 
 the moral man be expected to stand erect, amidst 
 the storms of the world, without certain fixed 
 
S3 
 
 rules or principles of action? But, then, such 
 was my singular good fortune, that I was put in 
 possession also of thes e. In my trunk lay the 
 " code" of my aunt — nothing less than the con- 
 densed wisdom, not only of her life, but of many 
 lives not less illustrious ; and, according to the 
 strict letter and spirit of which, I proposed to 
 begin, to continue, and to end my university 
 career. Now, all these circumstances presented 
 fruitful topics for meditation. But, however 
 attractive, they had not power long to detain 
 me from rising to put my principles and pri- 
 vileges to the proof. I accordingly dressed, 
 seated myself at my breakfast table, and entered* 
 with much composure and self-gratulation, upon 
 the functions of a college life. And I must say, 
 that the debut was remarkably favourable to all 
 my aunt's schemes. In the general devotion of 
 all around to my particular convenience, appe- 
 tites, and wishes, expressed or unexpressed, 
 I found much to encourage me in that Lnfcuse 
 
64 
 
 devotion to self which it was the object of her 
 maxims so zealously to inculcate. Perhaps, 
 indeed, there is no situation in life in which a 
 man is more completely at once the centre and 
 circumference of his own sphere of being than 
 in college. — I would beseech certain comely, 
 sleek, rosy, unruffled persons in jet black, still 
 to be found meandering about the courts or 
 walks of our universities, to remember this 
 simple truth. 
 
 After a little more musing, I determined pre- 
 cisely to reverse the order of my aunt's maxims, 
 and to begin by acting upon those which regu- 
 lated the " choice of friends." — Now, Diogenes 
 is said to have wandered about with a lantern, 
 bunting for an honest man. I did not adopt 
 the same expedient in my search for a friend. 
 On the contrary, I entered the common hall at 
 the sound of a bell at two o'clock, in the full 
 confidence, that, not merely a dinner, but a 
 friend would be there provided for me. Nor 
 
85 
 
 were my hopes disappointed. At one table §at 
 the juniors of the college, and at another, placed 
 transversely, the seniors. I happened to be 
 seated near the last-mentioned body, and soon 
 discovered, if my aunt's theory on the strong 
 passions was accurate, abundant ingredients, 
 even in this division of the hall, for all the 
 loftiest desires and purposes of friendship. The 
 dinner, the weather, the state of the world, and 
 especially of that most important part of it — the 
 college ; the dangers of the church, the preva- 
 lence of sectarism, the new manufactory for 
 fan-sticks ; one and each of these topics sufficed 
 to call out some of those peculiar and somewhat 
 intense order of expressions in which the strong 
 passions appear commonly to delight : " Here," 
 said I, " if my aunt's principle be true, is at 
 once a community of friends. Was ever person 
 so fortunate V 
 
 But it was natural for me to search for my 
 associates among those of my own age. And 
 
accordingly I descended from these higher re- 
 gions to the minores gentes of the lower table. 
 And I beg to certify, that, whether imitative or 
 indigenous, the strong passions prevailed suffi- 
 ciently in every quarter of our table to exclude 
 all necessity of looking higher for friends. 
 
 But here I must pause for a moment, both 
 to explain myself and to vindicate the univer- 
 sities of these favoured realms. If any one 
 expects to find in me a rude assailant of these 
 learned bodies, or indeed any thing but their 
 friend and champion, he is egregiously mistaken. 
 I knew them both some half century since — 
 I love them both — and although I do conceive 
 them even now susceptible of much improvement, 
 especially as to the religious and professional 
 education of their youth, I still consider them 
 as the best guarantees, under Providence, for 
 the learning, the religion, and the welfare of 
 the country. Far, very far, be it from me, 
 therefore, to join hands with those rude inno- 
 
87 
 
 vators who would, in despair of her resuscitation 
 by a gentler process, hew the Alma-mater to 
 pieces, cast her into the fiery kettle of reform, and 
 pronounce over her certain incantations in a 
 broad Scotch dialect of much imagined efficacy 
 in such cases. All intemperate assaults upon 
 our colleges and halls are to be met by a confi- 
 dent appeal to the thousands of good and great 
 men who have issued, and are perpetually issu- 
 ing, from their gates. All such unmeasured 
 hostility will merely provoke the hallowed indig- 
 nation of multitudes, who have there first stoop- 
 ed to drink the cool stream of science — there 
 first wandered in the groves of philosophy — 
 there, especially, first learned to worship the 
 God of their fathers ; first learned their guilt, 
 and bowed before the Cross of a crucified Sa- 
 viour ; first learned their weakness, and cast 
 themselves upon the strength and goodness of 
 God. With the enemies, then, concealed or 
 avowed, of these illustrious bodies, I desire to 
 
88 
 
 have neither part nor lot. But if there be any 
 loving these groves of learning and wisdom like 
 myself, who are disposed gently and reverently 
 to address the sages who watch over them, and 
 to call upon them to add, to " their sound learn- 
 ing," somewhat more of " religious education," 
 I join hand and heart with these friendly moni- 
 tors. I supplicate our instructors to hear and 
 obey 1hese salutary monitions ; and I call upon 
 God, wherever there is a single spot as yet 
 lighted only by the dim and perishable star of 
 human science, to shed upon it the holier lustre 
 of purity and devotion. Having, in the honesty 
 of my heart, said thus much, I return to my 
 history. 
 
 Finding the strong passions so predominant 
 in all quarters of the college, as to promise a 
 large harvest of " warm friends," I thought it 
 desirable to search for some person who should 
 combine, with this qualification for friendship, 
 the second property named by my aunt— that 
 
of M being no one's enemy but his own/' Ac- 
 cordingly, I began my inquiries with much dili- 
 gence and circumspection. My aunt abhorred 
 precipitancy, and so did I. I determined, there- 
 fore, to make no selection till I had collected 
 the most overwhelming evidence upon the point. 
 At length, however, hearing almost the whole 
 college concur in the praise of one individual, 
 in calling him a fine fellow — a spirited fellow — 
 a real good fellow — a good -hearted fellow— the 
 best fellow in the world — and, finally, in declar- 
 ing him to be " no body's enemy but his own," I 
 ventured to decide, and sought by every possi- 
 ble overture to make this individual my friend. 
 And as he was a social, easy sort of person, 
 and, moreover, a prodigious lover of good eating 
 and drinking, I found less difficulty than I had 
 anticipated in accomplishing so momentous an 
 object. Before a few weeks had elapsed we 
 were sworn intimates, and spent almost the 
 whole of our time together. And as some of 
 
my readers may have never had an opportunity 
 of very closely examining the life of a person 
 who is reputed to be " no body's enemy but 
 his own," I shall very liberally give them, with- 
 out the smallest deduction, the full benefit of 
 my own experience. 
 
 In the first place, I soon perceived that he 
 scarcely ever opened a book. Now, in this, he 
 was plainly enough his own enemy. But whe- 
 ther, in so doing, he was not also the enemy of 
 some parent or guardian, who had sent him to 
 the university for the very purpose of study ; 
 I could not at that moment decide, as I knew 
 nothing of his peculiar circumstances. I will 
 own, however, that I could not help, even then, 
 suspecting — in my better moments at least — 
 that, if no enemy to God or man, he was evi- 
 dently no friend to either, or he would not have 
 consumed talents and time to no purpose, which 
 might have been employed to the honour of God, 
 and to the benefit of his fellow-creatures. 
 
91 
 
 In the next place, I soon discovered him, 
 especially when elated by wine, to be enthu- 
 siastically given to every species of riot and 
 disturbance. What is classically termed a 
 H row " was his glory. In this case also, when 
 I heard the casements of a pauper shiver under 
 his fist, or saw the blood of a watchman trickle 
 down his cheeks, I certainly found no small 
 difficulty in conceiving him to be "no body's 
 enemy but his own." 
 
 Moreover, I was not long in ascertaining, 
 that he paid no tradesman's bill which he found 
 it possible to elude. And it must be confessed, 
 that neither the tradesmen thus defrauded (espe- 
 cially when they dated their letters from the 
 town gaol), or their wives and children, ever 
 had the generosity to concur in the declaration 
 that he was "no body's enemy but his own." 
 
 Finally, I perceived that his various exploits 
 were not accomplished without a most enormous 
 expenditure. And what was my horror to learn, 
 
92 
 
 after a short time, that this man of " strong 
 passions'* — this " good-hearted fellow" — this 
 " best fellow in the world" — this " enemy to 
 none but himself" — was, in fact, the only son 
 of a widow living in a garret, who had eco- 
 nomised by abstinence, by days and nights 
 of patient toil, by racking and screwing her 
 aged sinews, the sum of money which he in a. 
 few months had squandered at college. She 
 was the destitute widow of a clergyman — 
 shame to the country there should be any such ! 
 — and the wish of her heart had been to hear 
 her son proclaim to the world the principles by 
 which her husband had lived well, and died 
 triumphantly. Such was her wish — such her 
 endeavour to realize it — and such the fruits 
 which this " real good fellow" paid back into 
 the bosom of his aged mother. On a visit to 
 London, I accidentally discovered his house ; 
 surprised him in the company of his distracted 
 mother; and shall to my dying day thrill when 
 
93 
 
 I call to mind the tone and countenance with 
 which she exclaimed, 
 
 " How keener than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! ■' 
 
 I left the house in disgust, resolved that, 
 whatever might be the consequence, I would 
 never choose for my friend the man who was 
 said to be " no body's enemy but his own." 
 And experience has served to confirm me in 
 the resolution. I have generally found such 
 persons " warm enemies'' perhaps, but certainly 
 cold friends — if men of " strong passions/' yet 
 of little real sensibility— men, finally, who, with 
 few exceptions, thought, felt, schemed, lived for 
 themselves, and themselves alone. In short, I 
 have generally discovered reason in such cases 
 exactly to reverse the estimate of the world, 
 and to consider these persons as in fact " every 
 one's enemy, but their own." And here I shall 
 conclude the chapter, in order to give the reader 
 time to determine whether he ought not to come 
 
94 
 
 to the same conclusion with myself. And hav- 
 ing decided upon this point, I would entreat 
 him further to consider, whether he can employ 
 for himself, or impart to his children, a safer 
 rule for the selection of friends, than the old- 
 fashioned saying of my dear aunt Rachel — 
 "Take for your friends those, and those only, 
 who are the friends of God." 
 
95 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 A MERE "HONEST MAN" IS NOT "THE 
 NOBLEST WORK OF GOD." 
 
 IT was scarcely possible that the events re- 
 corded in the last chapter should not have filled 
 me with disgust for extravagance, and all its 
 train of associate vices. But this was not their 
 only, nor, as my aunt would have said, their 
 happiest result : they left me in the best pos- 
 sible mood for carrying into effect the pruden- 
 tial maxims contained in the second department 
 of her code. He has a very limited acquaint- 
 ance with human nature, who does not know 
 our tendency in avoiding one extreme to run 
 into the opposite. Accordingly, I sat down 
 to the study of this division of the code with 
 the keenest possible appetite, and rose up de- 
 termined, whatever might be my practice as 
 
96 
 
 to other points, to become a prudent and an 
 honest man. 
 
 But, having before discovered the uselessness 
 of all vague and general resolutions, I deter- 
 mined to begin by accurately ascertaining the 
 meaning of the words " honesty " and "pru- 
 dence/* as employed in my aunt's code. And, 
 after nearly a day's severe study, I came to the 
 conclusion, that " prudence " meant " a rigid 
 attention to our own worldly interest;" and 
 " honesty/' the " exact payment of our debts.'* 
 
 As, moreover, I had previously felt the in- 
 convenience of being called into action before 
 I had proved my principles, I resolved, in the 
 present instance, to prepare myself for action by 
 much private discipline. Accordingly, I accus- 
 tomed myself to hold long mental dialogues with 
 " Prudence ; " and, having an excellent por- 
 trait of my aunt suspended over the fire-place, 
 I used, in order to give these dialogues more 
 effect, to personify Benevolence, or any gentle 
 
07 
 
 virtue, myself, — and to make her, by means of 
 her picture, personify Prudence. Thus cir- 
 cumstanced, I was accustomed to hold dialogues 
 with the picture, of which, I venture to say, 
 Erasmus himself need scarcely have been 
 ashamed. Such, indeed, was the sort of fami- 
 liarity I acquired in this sort of silent con- 
 verse, that at length, whatever might be the 
 occasion, I had nothing to do but to look at the 
 picture, and I seemed to hear all that prudence 
 
 and my aunt had to say on the occasion. But 
 
 it is time the reader should be permitted to judge 
 for himself of the effects produced by these 
 dialogues upon my character and conduct. 
 
 In the first place, then, I was soon very sen- 
 sibly mortified by finding myself altogether 
 without a friend. For the fact is, that, in the 
 eagerness of my conformity to my aunt's maxim, 
 I had become either too prudent to choose a 
 friend, or, if chosen, to commit myself to him. 
 Friendship requires unreserve— which prudence, 
 F 
 
98 
 
 in my aunt's sense of the word, sternly prohibits. 
 Friendship must be generous — mere prudence 
 is harsh. Friendship must be a little blind and 
 deaf — whereas mere prudence is all eye and 
 ear for the faults of others. I remember, that, 
 once or twice, when I was in danger of being 
 betrayed into something like candour and open- 
 ness by the frankness of a visitor, my aunt's 
 picture seemed, like the celebrated Madona at 
 Rome, almost to frown upon me for my im- 
 becility. 
 
 In the next place, I soon became such an in- 
 veterate enemy to every thing new, as sometimes 
 to involve myself in the most unpleasant conse- 
 quences. Twice, for instance, I nearly forfeited 
 my life by my pertinacious and romantic adhe- 
 rence to the practices of antiquity— first, by my 
 resolute rejection, in a violent attack of small- 
 pox, to the then somewhat novel remedy of inocu- 
 lation; and, secondly, by resolutely excluding, 
 upon the authority of the ancients, every breath 
 
99 
 
 of air, in a fever, which required me to be kept 
 as cool as possible. I am, moreover, firmly 
 persuaded that I should have been among those 
 who condemned Galileo to expiate upon the 
 scaffold the novel crime of asserting the earth to 
 move round the sun — on this great principle, 
 that " old falsehoods are better than new truths." 
 
 Nor was this all. Prudence, like the lean 
 kine of Egypt, soon devoured every nobler 
 principle. I ceased to sympathise, to pity, to 
 feel. If a case of charity presented itself, I did 
 but look at the picture, and it said, or seemed to 
 say, in language not seldom employed by my 
 aunt, " A fool and his money are soon parted ;" 
 " A penny saved is a penny got;" " Money makes 
 the man;" and who could resist such accumu- 
 lated authorities? 
 
 Perhaps, however, the reader may prefer facts 
 
 to statements on this particular subject. I shall 
 
 therefore candidly record an incident in my 
 
 history, at thia period, which fairly exhibits the 
 
 F2 
 
100 
 
 state of my own mind, and the mortification to 
 which it sometimes exposed me. 
 
 A society of Churchmen, who had, for the 
 last century, been engaged, among other bene- 
 volent designs, in conveying the knowledge of 
 Christianity to the Heathen, convened a meeting 
 near my aunt's mansion-house, to consider the 
 means of extending to about sixty millions of 
 poor idolatrous Hindoos the knowledge of Chris- 
 tianity. Now, whatever Religion and sound 
 Wisdom might urge upon so plain a point, mere 
 Prudence could not but be alarmed at an 
 attempt, however quiet, to disturb the creed of 
 sixty millions of people. Accordingly, having 
 entered the assembly, I rose, and, to the admi- 
 ration of my aunt, made the following oration. 
 
 " I rise, Sir, to oppose the motion which has 
 been submitted to this assembly, on the follow- 
 ing grounds : — 
 
 " In the first place, The Hindoos are savages, 
 and Christianity was not designed for savages. 
 
101 
 
 u In the second place, The Religion of the 
 Hindoos is a very good religion — why, then, 
 should we try to change it? 
 
 u In the third place, Their religion has made 
 them excellent slaves for centuries — why, then, 
 teach them a religion which is fit only for free 
 men] 
 
 u In the fourth place, They are sunk so very 
 deep in vice and misery that it is impossible to 
 release them from it — why, then, attempt it 1 
 
 " In the fifth place, Who would think of be- 
 ginning to convert foreign nations, till we have 
 converted every one of our own people ? 
 
 " Sixthly, When the time comes for the general 
 conversion of the world, some sign will be sent 
 from Heaven to tell us of it. 
 
 " Such, Sir, are my reasons for resisting the 
 measure ; and whoever promotes it, and opposes 
 me, is an enthusiast, and an enemy to the King 
 and to the Church of England." 
 
 Having made my speech, I will own that I 
 F3 
 
102 
 
 expected, as the very smallest return, the loud 
 acclamations of the astonished assembly. But 
 a most profound silence ensued ; till a cler- 
 gyman, who, as I then thought, looked old 
 enough to know better, arose, and thus ad- 
 dressed the assembly: — 
 
 " Instead, Sir, of replying directly to the rea- 
 sonings of the speaker who has preceded me, 
 I will simply put another case, and request his 
 decision upon it. Suppose, instead of the pre- 
 sent assembly, a thousand Peruvians convened 
 on the banks of the Amazon, to take into con- 
 sideration a supplication from the nations of 
 Europe to supply them with that bark of Peru 
 which is the only known antidote for a very large 
 class of our diseases. And conceive, if you 
 will, the preceding speaker, who, I am sure, 
 would be happy to undertake the embassage, to 
 be the advocate for these feverish and aguish 
 nations to the only possessors of this antidote. 
 Imagine him to arise amidst the tawny multi- 
 
103 
 
 tude, and, with much feeling and emphasis, to 
 state, that at least sixty millions of people de- 
 pended upon their determination for health and 
 life. At once, I am persuaded, the cry of that 
 multitude would interrupt the pleadings of the 
 orator, and one, and all, would exclaim, ' Give 
 them bark ! give them bark ! and let not an 
 European perish, whom it is possible for a Pe- 
 ruvian to save.' Thus far all would be well. 
 But conceive, instead of the assembly being 
 permitted to act upon this benevolent decision* 
 some Peruvian, of an age in which the preva- 
 lence of policy or mere prudence over justice 
 and benevolence is more intelligible and par- 
 donable, to arise, and thus to address his coun- 
 trymen : 
 
 " ' Peruvians, you are far too precipitate. 
 Consider, I beseech you, the character and 
 circumstances of the persons for whom this pri- 
 vilege is demanded. 
 
 " ' In the first place, They are civilized 
 f4 
 
J04 
 
 nations ; — they read and write ; they sleep in 
 beds, and ride in coaches ; they wear coats and 
 trowsers; — who, then, will say that bark is 
 meant for such persons as these ? 
 
 " ' In the second place, Their fevers and agues 
 may have many excellencies with which we are 
 unacquainted — why, then, attempt to cure them? 
 
 " ' In the third place, These fevers and agues 
 assist exceedingly to thin their armies — why, 
 then, strengthen them, merely to destroy our- 
 selves ? 
 
 " ' Fourthly, These fevers and agues are so 
 deep seated and violent, that it is impossible to 
 cure them — why, then, attempt it? 
 
 " ' In the fifth place, Who would think of 
 curing foreign nations, till we have cured all the 
 sick in Peru ? 
 
 6< ' Sixthly, When the time comes for the ge- 
 neral cure of fevers and agues, I have no doubt 
 that the Great Spirit will give us some sign from 
 the mountains. 
 
105 
 
 " ? Such, Peruvians, are my reasons for op- 
 posing the wish of the speaker; and whoever 
 promotes it, or opposes me, is a madman, and 
 an enemy both to the Incas and the Great 
 Spirit/ 
 
 " Now, then," continued the old clergyman, 
 " supposing the Peruvian orator thus to reason, 
 I should be glad to know by what answer that 
 young gentleman would repel his arguments." 
 
 He then, to my infinite horror, sat down, and 
 left me with the eyes of the assembly fixed 
 upon me, as if waiting for my reply; but not 
 having any precisely ready, I thought it best to 
 be taken suddenly ill, and to leave the room. 
 
 I was not, however, so easily to get rid of my 
 speech and the reply to it. I scarcely dared 
 shew my face in the country, where I was uni- 
 versally known, for some time, by the name of 
 " the Peruvian." Indeed, almost every body 
 seemed to rejoice in my mortification, except 
 the immediate author of it. He was one of the 
 f 5 
 
106 
 
 first persons who visited me in college after my 
 return from this meeting, and, taking me very 
 kindly by the hand, he said, " I venture to hope 
 that this slight pang may save you from many 
 worse. And this it will do, if it leads you to 
 examine and reject the principle on which I am 
 disposed to think your opinion is founded." 
 
 ** That/' said I proudly, " I am by no means 
 likely to do; for it is nothing less than the 
 indisputable maxim, ' Nullum numen abest si 
 sit prudentia ; ' or, as my aunt translates it, 
 1 Where prudence is, no divinity is absent.' ¥ 
 
 " With due deference," replied the old gen- 
 tleman, "both to the author and translator of 
 the maxim, I should rather say, that where 
 policy is, no virtue is present : I am sure cha- 
 rity is not/ 
 
 *' Charity," said I, " you are to recollect, 
 " begins at home." 
 
 " If it does/' replied he, " it is not unlikely, 
 I fear, also to end there. Real charity, my 
 
107 
 
 young friend, descends from Heaven, Allow 
 me to tell you a story. One of the biogra- 
 phers of Archbishop Usher tells us, that this 
 prelate was wrecked upon a very desolate part 
 of the coast. Under these circumstances, and 
 in a most forlorn condition, he applied for assist- 
 ance to a clergyman of a very prudent cast, 
 stating, among other claims, his sacred profes- 
 sion. The clergyman rudely questioned the 
 fact, and told him, peevishly, that he doubted 
 whether he even knew the number of the Com- 
 mandments. * Indeed I do/ replied the Arch- 
 bishop, mildly : ■ there are eleven/ ' Eleven ! ' 
 answered the catechist: 'tell me the eleventh, 
 and I will assist you/ 
 
 " ' Obey the eleventh/ said the Archbishop, 
 < and you certainly will assist me— A new com- 
 mandment give I unto you, that ye love one 
 another/ 
 
 " Now/' continued my visitor, " this eleventh 
 commandment is worth a volume of mere pru- 
 
% 
 
 1«8 
 
 deutial maxims. Remember this, and perhaps 
 it will be real prudence to burn all the rest." 
 
 " Perhaps it will," said I — for the truth is, 
 he spoke so tenderly, and so very like my aunt 
 Rachel, and I had discovered mere prudence 
 and honesty to be such unproductive and un- 
 comfortable qualities, that I was nearly as 
 anxious to try some other source of happiness as 
 my adviser to recommend the trial. — " Perhaps 
 it will/' then, said I. And, accordingly, no 
 sooner was he gone, than I determined upon 
 the formal annihilation of this second part of 
 the code ; and, applying a pen-knife pretty re- 
 solutely to this portion of the parchment, I had 
 soon the exquisite satisfaction of hearing it hiss 
 in the fire. Moreover, fearing the fascination of 
 my aunt's countenance, I sent the very same 
 evening for a limner of considerable reputation, 
 and engaged him, by a few masterly touches, to 
 get rid of the afore-mentioned prudential, cold, 
 calculating cast which predominated in her por- 
 
109 
 
 trait. And this being accomplished, I further 
 contracted with him to throw something of an 
 opposite character into the mouth and eyes, by 
 which I might be stimulated to kindness. All 
 which, I must add, he executed to my perfect 
 satisfaction — so that whoever shall compare 
 that picture with any other of my aunt, which 
 still glitters in antiquated majesty upon the 
 walls of the family mansion, will be delighted to 
 discover how successfully in this portrait, as in 
 those of some other persons, art has kindly sup- 
 plied the deficiencies and remedied the defects 
 of nature. 
 
 I think it well, however, to add, that one of 
 the evils arising out of this very seducing pro- 
 perty of the fine arts is, that men are tempted 
 to transfer it to the sketches they make of their 
 own mind and character. But I love my readers 
 too well, not earnestly to beseech them never, 
 in such delineations, to borrow the flattering 
 
110 
 
 pencil of the artist. And that they may now, 
 as they always ought before they go to rest, sit 
 to themselves for a few moments, and, in so 
 doing, avail themselves of the above caution, I 
 will at once put an end to the chapter. 
 
Ill 
 
 CHAP, XL 
 
 THE WAY TO BE NO CHRISTIAN. 
 
 REAL charity, then," said I, repeating the 
 old clergyman's words, " according to this good 
 man, descends from Heaven." 
 
 Here was thesis enough for a very extensive 
 argument; and I did not quit the subject till I 
 had come to a fixed resolution to devote myself 
 to the study of religion — a subject which, as it 
 will be remembered, my aunt declared herself 
 to have noticed " only in compliment to general 
 opinion." 
 
 Now, it is but just to myself to confess, that 
 my resolution, on this occasion, was not dictated 
 by the same motive with that of my aunt. I 
 was by no means in good humour with the 
 world ; and, therefore, in no degree disposed to 
 
112 
 
 pay any deference to its opinions. But then, 
 I was also violently out of humour with myself 
 and my way of life ; and this state of mind 
 naturally prompted me to seek my happiness in 
 any new pursuit.— I will acknowledge that my 
 recent disappointments had for a moment shaken 
 my confidence in my aunt's opinions — so that her 
 contempt for religion, perhaps, a little exalted it 
 in my esteem. But if these suspicions carried me 
 thus far, they did not lead me on to the despe- 
 rate length of disputing the worth of the maxims 
 on the subject of religion contained in the 
 code. Though I could consent at the moment 
 to abandon my aunt, I could not at once take 
 so tremendous a leap as, simultaneously, to 
 abandon her and those proverbs which I had 
 valued perhaps more highly than herself. In- 
 deed, had not my nature in itself abhorred pre- 
 cipitancy, the accredited and much-admired 
 maxim of u looking before we leap/' stood in 
 the way of all such sudden apostacy. I adopt- 
 
113 
 
 ed, therefore, the half measure of studying the 
 subject denounced by my aunt, but of studying 
 it by the light of the maxims which she herself 
 prescribed. Duty to myself seemed to require 
 thus much— duty to my aunt to allow no more. 
 
 My reader may now, therefore, if he please, 
 conceive me in my walks, in my chair, in my bed, 
 by day and by night, endeavouring to thread 
 the mazes of religious controversy with these 
 mystical clues in my hand. And possibly he 
 can predict the result of the attempt. But, lest 
 he should fail, I think it right very faithfully to 
 record it. 
 
 Now, in the first place, it is most certain that 
 truth and error are not the same thing — that it 
 is not indifferent what opinions we embrace — 
 that the high and holy God is not alike satisfied 
 with the mere fancies of man, and the dictates 
 of his own hallowed word. And, under the 
 influence of these very obvious truths, I was ac- 
 tually setting down to a creed very like that 
 
114 
 
 which I had every week thoughtlessly or incre- 
 dulously rehearsed in church, when, as my aunt 
 had predicted, her first proverb, " Many men 
 many minds," came to the rescue of my incre- 
 dulity. " If," said I (very sagely, as my aunt 
 would have thought) to myself, "many men have 
 many minds — if there are almost as many opi- 
 nions as human beings — who can have any 
 right to decide between them V And although 
 it be true that the variety of opinions cannot 
 change the truth — that the sun is equally bright, 
 although every beholder should choose to deny 
 that it shines — and that, although men have 
 " many minds," God has but one: — as no one 
 of these palpable truths had the good fortune 
 to be conveyed in a trite popular maxim, they 
 could endure no competition with the brief, 
 pithy, pointed saying," Many men many minds/' 
 In conclusion, as so many persons doubted, 
 I decided to add myself to the community of 
 doubters. Cheerless, indeed, was the region 
 
115 
 
 into which I then entered. " Shadows, clouds, 
 and darkness rest upon it," and upon the unfor- 
 tunate creature who pitches his tent upon 
 
 its cold and barren mountains. But let us 
 
 proceed. 
 
 Doubter as 1 was, there were moments when 
 the overwhelming evidence of religion — when its 
 correspondence with the wants and sufferings of 
 a poor fallen creature — w hen the mild and 
 touching eloquence of the sacred writings — 
 when the glowing and awful pictures of an in- 
 visible world — a little disturbed my unbelief. 
 But, at these moments, that second brief maxim, 
 M Seeing is believing, never failed to come to 
 the aid of the first, and to sustain its wavering 
 authority. " If," said I to myself, " we are to 
 believe only what we see, what can be more 
 evident than that all the scenes of an invisible 
 world are but " airy nothings/' the heated vi- 
 sions of a distempered imagination] — It might, 
 indeed, have occurred to me, that if we believe 
 
116 
 
 exclusively what we see, our belief will be con- 
 fined to a very few points indeed. The Indian, 
 for instance, must not believe that there are 
 countries where the water hardens into ice— 
 the inhabitants of the temperate zone must not 
 admit that the sun continues above the horizon 
 of any country for more than twenty- four hours 
 — every man, in short, must peremptorily reject 
 every fact which occurs at a time, hour, or place, 
 that removes it from his ocular observation. 
 But here again, as these plain truths were not so 
 fortunate as to be conveyed in any light, por- 
 table, popular saying, they had little chance 
 with those which are thus fortunate; and accord- 
 ingly, even without eyes in my head, I should 
 have continued, I believe, to exclaim, "Seeing is 
 believing." 
 
 It may be thought, that, with two such 
 powerful maxims at command, the rest of my 
 aunt's proverbs would be superfluous. But 
 whoever is of this opinion, is not well acquaint- 
 
117 
 
 ed, I apprehend, with the melancholy state of 
 a sceptical mind. Most of those who proclaim 
 religion to be false, have, nevertheless, occa- 
 sional suspicions of its truth. I have seen many 
 stout declaimers against fanaticism, who, in 
 sickness, or in danger, or even in the dark, have 
 discovered, like Tiberius in a thunder-storm, 
 very unequivocal symptoms of orthodoxy; and I 
 will freely own myself to have been of this num- 
 ber. Sometimes, moreover, a pointed sermon 
 cut a little deeper than it was to the credit of 
 my consistency to admit. It was in such cir- 
 cumstances that I found a never-failing refuge 
 in that third maxim of my aunt, " It is never 
 too late to repent." " If, said I to myself, 
 " I should chance to be wrong, I may at least 
 mend whenever I please/' 
 
 Nor must it be thought that the insertion of 
 my aunt's fourth maxim in the code was a mere 
 work of supererogation. Scarcely any thing 
 more endangered my credulity than the services 
 
118 
 
 of the Church of England. Their mild and 
 catholic spirit, their cheerful and affectionate 
 language, their lofty and almost awful simplicity, 
 at times so laid hold of the softer parts of my 
 nature, that I found myself insensibly bowing my 
 knees among her worshippers, and addressing 
 the God of my fathers in the language they de- 
 lighted to employ. And what might have been 
 the final influence of these formularies upon me 
 it is impossible to say, had not my very dutiful 
 memory continually suggested to me the senti- 
 ment, " The nearer the church the farther 
 from God." By dint of which very powerful 
 maxim I easily arrived at the conclusion, That 
 all churchman ship was hypocrisy; and that the 
 nobler the prayers the greater the certainty 
 of their being neither sincerely offered, nor 
 mercifully accepted in Heaven, 
 
 And here let me do the Church of my coun- 
 try the justice to say, that her piety and her 
 services are grievously disparaged, and that by 
 
It!) 
 
 many excellent men. I know of no body of 
 Christians where, on the whole, more piety is to 
 be found. I know of none where the piety is of a 
 nobler cast. I know of no services better calcu- 
 lated to chastise the excesses, without chaining 
 down the free spirit, of devotion. One of the 
 excellencies of the Church is, that the moderate 
 generally love her. Another is this, that the im- 
 moderate usually condemn her. And a third, that 
 her formularies contain a body of truths nearer 
 to the opinions of all contending parties than 
 the opinions of those parties are to each other ; 
 and that, consequently, they in a measure pre- 
 sent a common centre to the disputants of all 
 ages and countries. And when, to cheer my 
 aged eyes, I conjure up those visions of uni- 
 versal harmony in the Church of Christ which 
 many of my ancestors delighted to contemplate, 
 I can fancy no hands which are better calculated 
 to tie the holy bands of universal union and love 
 than those of our mother the Church. It is 
 
120 
 
 true that her venerable garment is not without 
 a few spots — spots, I grieve to say, inflicted by 
 some of her unworthy children. But let them, 
 in the strength of their God, arise; let them 
 cleanse her from the smallest stain of a secular 
 spirit, of bigotry, or of indifference, which may 
 cleave to her ; let her be " brought to the King" 
 in her own spotless and holy robe; and many 
 "virgins" — many a community of pure and 
 simple Christians, hitherto alienated from her 
 community, partly by prejudice, partly by the 
 misconduct of her professed friends — shall " be- 
 come her companions," and shall " enter " with 
 her " into the King's palace/' I may not live 
 to see the union ; but my old veins seem to 
 beat with new life, when I allow myself to con- 
 template, even at a distance, the day in which 
 my honoured countrymen will all remember 
 they are " brethren," and no longer " fall out 
 by the way." 
 
 But I have digressed from the history of what 
 
1-21 
 
 I was at Uiat time to describe, my present feel- 
 ings. At the point of my story where this 
 digression took place, nothing conld be farther 
 from my mind than any such thoughts or desires. 
 I disliked Religion, and in the same degree 
 disliked the Church. 
 
 And here I close this chapter, in order to 
 give the reader an opportunity of asking him- 
 self one of the two following questions : 
 
 1st, Whether his own religion does not con- 
 sist chiefly in bitter hostility to the forms of 
 the Church of England? 
 
 2d, Whether it does not consist chiefly in 
 empty reverence for those forms? 
 
 If the reader plead guilty to the charge in- 
 volved in the last of these questions, I most 
 affectionately beg to remind him how studiously 
 the Church herself exposes this error, and how 
 zealously she repels such heartless and un- 
 meaning homage. — If, on the contrary, he plead 
 guilty to the former, I beg him to recollect, that 
 G 
 
122 
 
 a hatred of form is just as much bigotry, and 
 just as little religion, as a mere attachment to 
 it. And if, unhappily, he should be displeased 
 with this information, all the revenge I will take 
 is, to wish, and to pray, that he may become as 
 good and as happy as the combined spirit and 
 form of the Church of England have a tendency 
 to render him. And happier or better than 
 this, I expect to see no man on this side the 
 grave. 
 
123 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 AN EVENT ABOUT WHICH NO SCEPTIC 
 EVER DOUBTED. 
 
 xi OW long, without any change of circum- 
 stances, I might have continued in the same 
 cheerless state, or to what lower depth of 
 infidelity and wretchedness I might have sunk, 
 it is impossible to say: but as I was one day 
 sitting in my rooms, in an arm-chair which was 
 the favourite scene of my musings, and was 
 diligently reading a celebrated work on " the 
 hidden joys of free-thinking," an express sud- 
 denly brought me the intelligence that my aunt 
 Winifred was dead. 
 
 u Dead ! " said I to the servant : " What ! 
 suddenly, and without any warning ?" 
 
 " Dead ! M he replied ; " and, as my mistress 
 always said, * it is a happy release/ * 
 G2 
 
124 
 
 I asked no more questions; but leaped into 
 a chaise, and proceeded direct to the family 
 mansion. But the comment of the servant on 
 the sudden death of my aunt continued to sound 
 in my ears. The words he .had used had, 
 indeed, been as often in the mouth of his mis- 
 tress as the bell chanced to toll in the parisli ; 
 and what she had so liberally applied to others, 
 he thought fairly due to herself. Familiar, how- 
 ever, as this saying was to every member of 
 her family, I never seemed to have weighed the 
 full meaning of it before ; but now I found my 
 attention irresistibly drawn to it. " If," said I 
 to myself, " my poor aunt is gone to heaven ; 
 it is indeed i a happy release ' to escape from a 
 world such as this. If she is even annihilated; 
 it is better not to be than to be miserable. If, 
 however, the Bible is true, and all my doubts 
 and all her doubts are ill founded; then death 
 may be very far from ' a happy release/ " 
 
 Surrounded by the terrible virfons which this 
 
125 
 
 last supposition was likely to call up, I almost 
 wished myself religious ; and, at the moment, 
 had I known the prayer, " Lord, I believe : 
 help thou my unbelief/' I do think, that, between 
 doubt and conviction, I should have been 
 tempted to offer it. 
 
 When I arrived at home, the state of things 
 was by no means such as either to raise my 
 spirits, or to dissipate the sort of terror 
 with which I regarded my aunt's fate. A sort 
 of solemn awe seemed to reign through the 
 family. Not a tear of affectionate sorrow ap- 
 peared to be shed by the servants. No poor 
 villagers came to inquire into the fate of their 
 benefactress. No officious attendant on her 
 sick or dying bed conveyed to the gloomy circle 
 the cheering intelligence of a single prayer she 
 had offered, of a single hope she had expressed, 
 or of a single sign of inward and unutterable 
 peace and joy which she had made. No 
 person, however familiar with the page of in- 
 G 3 
 
vm 
 
 spiration, dared at that instant to alter a wish, 
 " Let ray latter end be like hers." 
 
 It was scarcely possible for me not to express 
 a desire to see all that remained of her who 
 had been my earliest and most constant friend. 
 Otherwise, I will freely own, that I should have 
 been glad to have escaped the spectacle. It is 
 a singular feature of the mind, that the least re- 
 ligious persons are often the most superstitious. 
 The sailor, perhaps amidst a volley of oaths, 
 nails the propitious horse-shoe to the mast. 
 The solution of this fact probably is, that the 
 man of piety, whilst he believes in the existence 
 of a world of spirits, feels himself to be under 
 the protection of that merciful Being who con- 
 trouls them all; but the irreligious man, though 
 he believes little, suspects much, and has no- 
 thing to oppose to his possible dangers. Be 
 this, however, as it may with regard to others, 
 certainly few persons were more truly super- 
 stitious and timid than myself. I always shrunk 
 
127 
 
 from a scene of death ; felt much more than I 
 chose to confess at the flight of what is called a 
 " coffin" from the fire, or at the appearance of 
 a " winding-sheet " in the candle; and never 
 failed to cross the church-yard with a veiy 
 wary eye, hurried step, and palpitating bosom. 
 The reader, then, will not wonder that I felt the 
 dislike I have expressed to a visit to my aunt's 
 chamber. Perhaps this dread was increased 
 by my having lately perused, in the works of 
 some of the Port-Royalists, the terrific history 
 of the conversion of their founder, Bruno ; 
 which I here record, for the benefit of per- 
 sons unread in their innumerable and immea- 
 surable volumes. 
 
 Bruno, it appears, had an intimate friend, of 
 a profligate character, of the name of Raymond. 
 Raymond suddenly fell to the ground in a fit of 
 apoplexy. No doubts were entertained of his 
 being dead ; and he was accordingly borne, by 
 torch-light, in an open coffin, under the co- 
 G 4 
 
128 
 
 vering of a pall, to his grave. Bruno was, of 
 course, among Ibe mourners. The chapel was 
 hung with black, and lighted by innumerable 
 
 tapers. The anthem of death began when 
 
 suddenly, says the annalist, the pall was slowly 
 lifted, the supposed corpse erected itself on the 
 bier, fixed its glazed eyes upon Bruno, and, in 
 the hollow voice of anguish, solemnly pronounced 
 the awful words — " Justo judicio Dei appellatus 
 sum! Justo judicio Dei judicatus sum! Justo 
 judicio Dei condemnatus sum !" — and then, with 
 a hollow groan of despair, fell back to speak 
 no more ! 
 
 Now, it is very true that the authority of this 
 story is not remarkably good ; but very slight 
 evidence of danger will satisfy a coward; and 
 such, in the largest sense of the word, had I 
 the misfortune to be. 
 
 It is not easy, therefore, to conceive the 
 sensation of dread with which I heard the door 
 fasten that enclosed me in the same room with 
 
129 
 
 the breathless body of my aunt. Nevertheless, 
 by that sort of controul exercised over our 
 senses by terrible objects, I felt my eyes irre- 
 sistibly fixed upon the countenance I had so 
 often watched, studied, feared. And, though 
 I saw nothing of those supernatural horrors 
 which serve to swell the stories of superstition ; 
 though my aunt neither sighed from her coffin, 
 nor arose in it to address me; yet I seemed to 
 see on her pale forehead a frown of deep and 
 unutterable despair, which spoke terrible things 
 to my soul. What would I have given, at the 
 moment, to discover any sign of peace or joy 
 — to hear a voice which said, " To me, to die 
 is gain ! " 
 
 I know of no circumstances in which it is so 
 difficult to be a sceptic, and in which the truths 
 of religion take such easy and complete pos- 
 session of the mind, as in the chamber of death. 
 Who can believe the prostrate ruin before us to 
 be all that survives of man? The plant and 
 G 5 
 
130 
 
 the animal reach their maturity before tiiej 
 perish; but the soul is plainly only in the in- 
 fancy of its powers, when the body falls a 
 victim to disease — the imagination has scarcely 
 tried his wings; the judgment is only beginning 
 to exercise its powers ; the memory is conti- 
 nually adding to its stores ; every faculty, in 
 short, is either developing new powers or ac- 
 cumulating fresh possessions. And can God 
 have made such a creature as man in vain 1 
 Can he have struck off from himself so bright 
 a ray of intelligence only to extinguish it in a 
 moment? If not, then how monstrous is scep- 
 ticism, how reasonable is religion, and how 
 essential a Saviour to cancel the faults of a 
 creature at once so highly endowed and so very 
 deep in guilt ! 
 
 These, and many such reflections, hurried 
 through my mind in the few moments I passed 
 in my aunt's chamber. I will not say that they 
 left me convinced of the truth of religion, but 
 
131 
 
 they disposed me to believe that there was no 
 true happiness without it. 
 
 My first interview with my surviving aunt 
 was of the most painful nature. Her sister had 
 so strictly interdicted all religious intercourse 
 between us, and my own growing gloom and 
 severity had so strengthened the barrier, that 
 she was completely a stranger to my opinions. 
 When we met, I said nothing ; and she- was, 
 after along silence, able only to say, " We 
 have both lost a friend, Sancho : God grant 
 that we may love one another the better." I 
 could see, indeed, that many weighty subjects 
 were pressing on her mind; but we had so few 
 opinions and feelings in common, that all com- 
 munication was very difficult between us. 
 
 It was not long, moreover, before I dis- 
 covered another obstacle to any such inter- 
 course. Upon reading her sister's will, what 
 was my astonishment and indignation to find, 
 that, in spite of every pledge formerly given, 
 
132 
 
 she had left me only a very moderate legacy, 
 and my aunt Rachel the bulk of her fortune ! 
 In the quickness of my resentment, I did not 
 fail to attribute this act of the one sister to 
 the policy and stratagems of the other ; and, 
 accordingly, I determined to revenge myself by 
 unalterable silence and chilling disdain. True 
 it was, that my aunt looked most provokingly 
 simple and innocent — that her heart seemed to 
 be absorbed by the loss itself, instead of dwell- 
 ing upon its consequences — that she discovered, 
 in her manner at least, none of the hatred said 
 by the Roman Annalist to be felt towards the 
 injured by those who have injured them. But 
 what of all this] She was rich, and I was poor 
 — and who could forgive such a mortal offence 1 
 But as I am now entering upon a period of 
 my history with every movement of which my 
 now only remaining aunt was intimately con- 
 nected, I reserve the account of our mutual 
 proceedings for a new chapter. In the mean 
 
133 
 
 time, the reader will not fail to observe, that 
 the want of religion was, in my case, accom- 
 panied by none of the lofty qualities with which 
 the imagination of the irreligious is accustomed 
 to adorn it. Nor could I ever, by the strictest 
 examination, discover the smallest tendency in 
 irreligion to produce great or generous qualities. 
 The man who does not love God rarely fails 
 intensely to love himself; and the mind cannot 
 thus stoop from the highest to the lowest object 
 of veneration, without a corresponding debase- 
 ment. He who would be great, must contem- 
 plate great objects; and whilst the philosopher 
 prescribes to those who aspire to the sublime 
 in conduct or literature, to present to them- 
 selves some " beau ideal," some shadowy image 
 of perfection, the saint sees in his God the 
 Perfect Being of which philosophy dreamt. In 
 the shades of his retirement, or on the steps of 
 the altar, he surrounds himself with Deity — 
 he launches out into the depth of the Divine 
 
131 
 
 perfections— he becomes great, by gazing upon 
 Immeasurable Greatness — he becomes, in a mea- 
 sure, u like " God, for he sees him " as he is." 
 How little, on the contrary, those become who 
 take the opposite course, may be fully ascer- 
 tained by reading the following chapter. 
 
135 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 JOURNAL OF A SELFISH AND DISAP- 
 POINTED MAN. 
 
 1 HAVE promised the reader to exhibit in this 
 chapter an example of the debasing influence of 
 irreligion on the character. Ashamed am I to 
 say, that the unfortunate creature to be thus 
 exhibited is myself. It so chances, however, 
 that I am released from the overwhelming task 
 of delineating afresh my own deformities, by 
 having found, tied up in a bundle of manuscript 
 arguments against Christianity, the following 
 page of a diary written at the period at which 
 this history has now arrived. The reader, 
 when he has examined this journal of about 
 twelve hours of my life, will not fail to acknow- 
 ledge my extraordinary candour in thus pre- 
 senting it to him. It may fairly, I conceive, 
 
136 
 
 have prefixed to it the title which stands at the 
 head of this chapter. 
 
 " Eight o'clock. Awoke, if it can be call- 
 ed awaking from that which is not sleep — 
 Dreamt all night of unpleasant things — fancied 
 myself sitting in my own carriage, which sud- 
 denly turned to a dirty cart — fancied Roger the 
 butler treading on my toes, in his haste to make 
 a bow to my aunt Rachel— fancied myself look- 
 ing over the family title-deeds, which changed 
 in a moment into college bills. 
 
 u Eight to nine. Tossed up and down in 
 my bed— -Could not find one single comfortable 
 subject to think about. 
 
 " Ten. Breakfast alone — The sun very 
 bright — the birds very noisy — both extremely 
 troublesome — Scolded Roger for burning the 
 toast. N. B. Roger never does right — Took 
 down my aunt Rachel's picture from the wall 
 in my study— no truth in physiognomy, other- 
 
137 
 
 wise auut Rachel's picture could not be so very 
 agreeeble. 
 
 <e Eleven o'clock. Read from eleven to two 
 Boileau's Satires — Satire very pleasant reading, 
 especially when it cuts deep— vastly comforta- 
 ble to know that men are not so good and wise 
 as they seem. 
 
 " Two to three. Tried to satirize my aunt 
 and the parson after the manner of Roileau; 
 ljut failed, I believe, for the want of incident. 
 
 " Three o'clock. My aunt knocked at the 
 door, and begged me to walk with her — refused 
 roughly ; but went out half an hour afterwards 
 into a path in which she was sure to see me — 
 The smell of the May and Lilacs quite over- 
 powering — wish there were none — In very low 
 spirits — thought a good deal about my aunt 
 Winifred's death — life bad — death worse — Aunt 
 Rachel deluded, but happy in her ignorance. 
 
 " Four o'clock. Saw my aunt walking with 
 the old parson and his wife — am sure they 
 
138 
 
 were talking of me — Parson very mild, but 
 always preaches at me — preached last Sunday 
 on the happiness of religion, on purpose to 
 plague me— Nothing so vexatious as to, be told 
 that others are happy when we are not. 
 
 " Five o'clock. Dined with my aunt, the 
 parson, and the lawyer — all looked suspiciously 
 at me — Parson begged for his school — always 
 begging, though I must say he gives largely 
 himself. 
 
 " Seven o'clock. My aunt went away with 
 the lawyer — suppose to plot, as before — Left 
 alone with the parson — did not like it — so 
 very gentle, impossible to quarrel with him 
 — All the parish, except the publicans, speak 
 well of him — hate men whom every body , 
 
 praises Parson very talkative — A weak 
 
 man, seems to be pleased with every thing — 
 praised the church, though he has only a poor 
 vicarage — spoke kindly about my aunt Winifred, 
 though she left him no legacy-— all hypocrisy, 
 
139 
 
 — Drew me insensibly to talk on the evidences 
 of religion — very strong on that point — tender 
 in his manner — seemed to love and pity me — 
 called God ' our Father' — spoke of the world 
 as one large family — said we should love one 
 another as brothers — all beautiful, if true. 
 
 **■ Eight o'clock. My aunt and lawyer not 
 returning, parson asked me to walk in the park 
 — afraid to refuse, lest he should think ill of me 
 — Parson a quick eye for the beauties of nature 
 — looked at the landscape as if he thought it all 
 his own — heard him say to himself, c My Father 
 made it all' — Not so weak as I thought— full of 
 information on practical subjects: Count Rum- 
 ford, Howard, patent lamps, cheap cookery, 
 smoky chimneys, schools, medicine, &c. &c. — 
 Useful man in a parish; but always drawing to 
 one subject — Wonderful to see a man's heart so 
 taken up with religion— Came to a very pretty 
 cottage—asked whose it was — Listened to a 
 touching story— parson wept sometimes as he 
 
140 
 
 told it — kind-hearted old man— -Went into the 
 cottage — saw a young creature on the bed of 
 death, without doubts, without fears; longing 
 to be gone : she said, very emphatically, * To 
 depart and to be with Christ is far better* — 
 Envied hen 
 
 " Ten o'clock. Went to my room — thought 
 much of what I had heard and seen — compared 
 my poor aunt Winifred with this young creature 
 — no comparison in their state— Opened aunt 
 Rachel's Bible at the account of the two Apostles 
 in the dungeon at Philippi — very striking : * At 
 midnight they sang praises, and the prisoners 
 heard them '—heard them, but did not sing 
 themselves — perhaps returned groans for pyaises 
 — prison possibly the only place in Philippi in 
 which the voice of joy was heard at midnight — 
 Much power in religion — Prayed more heartily 
 than I have done for years — felt more com- 
 fortable/' 
 
14L 
 
 Here ends the journal which I promised the 
 reader; and, if I am not mistaken, it has let 
 him more into the secrets of my mind than any 
 portrait taken at this distance of time could 
 have done.— And here, as it is not impossible 
 that he may be sufficiently interested, especially 
 in the character of the old clergyman, to feel 
 a desire to hear the story of the young dying 
 person to whom the journal alludes, I will en- 
 deavour to tell it as nearly as possible in the 
 words of the old clergyman. 
 
 I had perceived that when we reached the 
 cottage, he paused opposite to it, as if doubtful 
 whether to go in. I then asked to whom it 
 belonged. After a little hesitation, hg answered, 
 " Will you, Sir, accept, instead of a short an- 
 swer to that question, a somewhat long story? 
 I do think it will interest you; and if not, I am 
 sure that you know how kindly to forgive 
 an old man for talking at length upon a very 
 
142 
 
 favourite topic." I could not but assent to a 
 proposal so kindly introduced, and he therefore 
 proceeded in his narration nearly as follows. 
 — But the story shall have a chapter to itself. 
 
143 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 THE DYING COTTAGER. 
 
 ' TANNY came to our village at the 
 
 age of eighteen — one of the most lovely crea- 
 tures you ever saw. Her eyes were full of 
 intelligence, her complexion bright, and her 
 smile such as at once to fix the eye and win the 
 affection of every one who conversed with her. 
 She was gay, good-humoured, and obliging; — 
 but without religion. She had left her father's 
 house to come here as servant at a public-house. 
 In this situation, the worst that might have 
 been anticipated happened. She was ruined 
 in character; left the public-house when she 
 could no longer retain her situation ; married 
 the partner of her guilt, and came to live in 
 this little cottage. There, as is usually the 
 
144 
 
 case in marriages where neither party respect 
 the other, he first suspected, then ill-treated 
 her. When her child was born, his hatred 
 and anger seemed to increase. He treated bolh 
 with cruelty ; and, after some time, succeeded 
 in ruining her temper, and almost breaking 
 her heart. At length, after a quarrel, in which 
 it is to be feared both had been almost equally 
 violent, he threw her over the hedge of their 
 garden, and brought on the disease of which 
 she is now dying. During the two years in 
 which all these events had occurred, her neglect 
 of God and of religion had, I suppose, increased : 
 all that was amiable in her character vanished ; 
 and she learned to swear and to scold in almost 
 as furious a tone as her husband. I could noc 
 learn that, during all this time, she had more 
 than once discovered the smallest sense of her 
 misconduct, or fears about futurity. Once, 
 indeed, her neighbours told me, that, when she 
 heard the clergyman in his sermon describe the 
 
145 
 
 happiness of Heaven, she burst into tears, and 
 quitted the church. 
 
 " It happened, that, on a fine summer's 
 evening, (you will excuse me, Sir, for referring 
 to the small part which I acted in this history), 
 I was taking my rounds in my parish, to look 
 after my little flock, and came, at length, to this 
 cottage, where I remember to have paused for 
 a moment to admire the pretty picture of rural 
 life which it presented. The mists of the 
 evening were beginning to float over the valley 
 in which it stood, and shed a sort of subdued, 
 pensive light on the cottage and the objects 
 immediately around it. Behind it, at the dis- 
 tance perhaps of half a mile, on the top of a 
 lofty eminence, rose the ancient spire of the 
 village church. The sun still continued to 
 shine on this higher ground, and shed all its 
 glories on the walls of the sacred edifice. 
 J There/ I could not help saying to myself, ' is 
 a picture of the world. Those without religion 
 
 H 
 
140 
 
 are content to dwell in the vale of mists and 
 shadows; but the true servants of God dwell on 
 the holy hill, in the perpetual sunshine of the 
 Divine Presence.' 
 
 " I entered the cottage, and was much struck 
 with the appearance of its owner. She looked 
 poor; and the house was destitute of many of 
 those little ornaments which are indications, not 
 merely of the outward circumstances, but of 
 the inward comforts of the inhabitants. She 
 was sitting busily at work with her sister. — 
 I always feel it, Sir, both right and useful to 
 converse a good deal with the poor about their 
 worldly circumstances. Not only does humanity 
 seem to require this, but I find it profitable to 
 myself: for after, as it were, taking the depth 
 of their sufferings, I am ashamed to go home 
 and murmur at Providence, or scold my ser- 
 vants, for some trifling deficiency in my own 
 comforts. Besides, I love to study the mind 
 of man in a state of trial — to see how nobly 
 

 147 
 
 it often struggles with difficulties — and how, 
 by the help of God, it is able to create* to 
 itself, amidst scenes of misery and gloom, a 
 sort of land of Goshen, in which it lives and 
 is happy. 
 
 " After conversing with her for some time on 
 topics of this kind, and discovering her to be 
 a person of strong feelings deeply wounded, of 
 fine but uncultivated powers, and of remarkable 
 energy of expression, I naturally proceeded to 
 deliver to her a part of that solemn message 
 Avith which, as the minister of religion, I am 
 charged: and not discovering in her the smallest 
 evidence of penitential feeling — being able, 
 indeed, to extract nothing more from her than 
 a cold and careless acknowledgment that * she 
 was not all she ought to be' — I conceived it 
 right to dwell, in my conversation with her, 
 chiefly upon those awful passages of Scripture 
 designed by Providence to rouse the unawakened 
 sinner. Still, Sir, feeling then, as I do always, 
 H 2 
 
148 
 
 that the weapon of the Gospel is rather love 
 than wrath, I trust that I did not so far for- 
 sake the model of my gracious Master, as to 
 open a wound without endeavouring to shew 
 how it might be bound up. Few persons are, 
 in my poor judgment, frightened into Chris- 
 tianity: God was not in the * earthquake' — he 
 was not in the ' storm ' — but in ' the small 
 still voice.' 
 
 " After a pretty long conversation, I left her, 
 altogether dissatisfied, I will own, with her ap- 
 parent state of mind. Nay, such was my prone- 
 ness to pronounce upon the deficiencies of a 
 fellow-creature, that I remember complaining, 
 on my return home, with some degree of 
 peevishness I fear, of the hardness of her heart. 
 I would fain hope, Sir, that I have learnt, by 
 this case, to form unfavourable judgments of 
 others more slowly ; and in dubious, or even 
 apparently bad cases, to ' believe/ or, at least, 
 to t hope, all things.' 
 
149 
 
 " Notwithstanding, however, my disappoint- 
 ment as to the state of her feelings, it was 
 impossible not to feel a strong interest in her 
 situation. Accordingly, I soon saw her again. 
 But neither did I then discover any ground for 
 hoping that her heart was in the smallest degree 
 touched by what had been said to her. But, at 
 a short distance of time, as I was one day 
 walking in my garden and musing on some of 
 the events of my own happy life, and especially 
 on that merciful appointment of God which had 
 made me the minister of peace to the guilty, 
 instead of the stern disperser of the thunders 
 of a severer dispensation, I was roused by the 
 information that this poor young creature de- 
 sired to see me. 
 
 " One of her poor neighbours, who came to 
 desire my attendance, informed me, with appa- 
 rent tenderness, that Fanny ' was very ill;' that, 
 as she expressed it, she had been in a very 
 H 3 
 
150 
 
 ' unked state since I saw her, and that she 
 ' hoped I would be kind enough to come and 
 1 comfort her/ * God grant/ I said to the 
 poor woman, \ that she may be in a state to 
 \ be comforted/ < That she is, Sir/ said the 
 woman : ' she has suffered a deal since you 
 \ were with her. The boards be very thin be- 
 
 * tween our houses, and I hear her, by day and 
 
 * by night, calling upon God for mercy. It 
 ' would break your heart to hear her, she is 
 
 * so very sad. Tom (her husband) scolds and 
 ' swears at her; but she begs, as she would ask 
 
 * for bread, " Let me pray, Tom ; for what 
 ' will become of me if I die in my sins?" ' 
 
 " This account disposed me, of course, to 
 make the best of my way to the cottage. I 
 soon reached it; and there, to be sure, I did 
 see a very touching spectacle, Her disease, 
 which her fine complexion had before con- 
 cealed, had made rapid strides in her coiisti- 
 
151 
 
 tution. Her colour came and went rapidly ; 
 and she breathed with difficulty. Her counte- 
 nance was full of trouble and dismay. 
 
 " It was evident, as I entered the room, how 
 anxious she had been to see me. At once she 
 began to describe her circumstances ; informed 
 me, that, even before my first visit, her many 
 and great sins had begun to trouble her con- 
 science; that although her pride had then got 
 the better of her feelings of shame and grief, 
 this conversation had much increased them; 
 that she had since, almost every evening, visited 
 the house of a neighbour, to hear her read 
 • the Scriptures and other good books ; that she 
 was on the edge of the grave, without peace or 
 hope; that she seemed (to use her own strong 
 expression) ' to see God frowning upon her in 
 every cloud that passed over her head/ 
 
 M Having endeavoured to satisfy myself of 
 her sincerity, I felt this to be a case where I 
 was bound and privileged to supply all the 
 H 4 
 
152 
 
 consolations of religion ; to lead this broken- 
 hearted creature to the feet of a Saviour ; and 
 to assure her, that if there she shed the tear of 
 real penitence, and sought earnestly for mercy, 
 He, who had said to another mourner, « Thy sins 
 are forgiven thee/ would also pardon, and 
 change, and bless her. 
 
 " I will not dwell upon the details of this 
 and many other similar conversations. Imper- 
 fectly as I discharged the holy and happy duty 
 of guiding and comforting her, it pleased God 
 to bless the prayers which we offered together 
 to the Throne of Mercy; and this poor, agitated, 
 comfortless creature became, by degrees, calm 
 and happy. 
 
 " You will not, Sir, I trust, place me among 
 those who are ready to mistake every strong 
 turn in the tide of the feelings for religion. On 
 the contrary, all sudden changes of character 
 are, I think, to be examined with a wary, 
 though not with an uncharitable eye. There 
 

 153, 
 
 are, indeed, innumerable happy spirits which 
 surround the throne of God ; but all of them 
 bear in their hands ' palms' — the signs, at once, 
 of contest and of victory. I was far more 
 anxious, therefore, to know that her penitence 
 was sincere, than that her joy was great. But, 
 indeed, it was not long possible to doubt of 
 either. The rock was struck, and there daily 
 gushed out fresh streams of living water. New 
 and most attractive qualities daily appeared in 
 her. She became gradually meek, humble, 
 affectionate, and self-denying. Her time was 
 divided between the few family duties she was 
 able to discharge, and the study of the Scrip- 
 tures, which she learned to read fluently during 
 her six months' sickness. She bent every fa- 
 culty of her body and mind to the task of 
 reclaiming her husband. And a more affecting 
 picture can scarcely be imagined, than this in- 
 teresting creature rising on the bed of anguish 
 to calm his anger, to melt him by accents of 
 H5 
 
154 
 
 tenderness, to beseech him to unite in her dying 
 prayer for mercy. Indeed, her conduct to him 
 is not the least striking evidence of her change 
 of mind. In the conversations I have heard be- 
 tween them, she takes so much of the blame for 
 all that is past upon herself, that I should never 
 have suspected his misconduct but from the 
 accounts of their friends. But there are other 
 circumstances, no less decisive to my mind, of 
 her sincerity. I observe, for instance, that, far 
 from the sense of her offences being a mere 
 transient emotion, she rarely speaks of them 
 without a blush. And as she feels the colour 
 thus rush unbidden into her cheek, I have 
 heard her say more than once, * Oh ! how sin 
 comes up in one's face!' — Another very satis- 
 factory feature in her religion is her extraordi- 
 nary tenderness for the souls of others. She 
 sends for all her young friends, and, in the most 
 solemn and touching manner, warns them of 
 her past errors, and tells them of her present 
 
155 
 
 happiness. And when a poor creature, whose 
 offences were of a like kind with her own, 
 chanced to settle in a cottage near her, I found 
 she had crawled, though with much pain and 
 risk, to the house, giving this reason for the 
 undertaking, That any other visitor would be 
 * too good to speak to such a sinner. / can tell 
 her/ she said, • that I have been as guilty as 
 herself; and that, since God has pardoned me, 
 he will, if she seeks mercy, pardon her/ A part 
 of this anxiety about others springs, I believe, 
 from the extraordinary degree of emotion with 
 which she regards that state of eternal punish- 
 ment, on the very verge of which she conceives 
 herself to have stood. One day, as I entered her 
 room, she said, c I have been longing, Sir, to see 
 you. I have been reading in " the Book " of a 
 man who enlarged his barns, and said to his 
 soul, "Soul, take thine ease ;" but a voice said to 
 him, " This night thy soul is required of thee." 
 Now, Sir, who required his soul ? ' I answered, 
 
156 
 
 • God/ * Then/ she said, ' that poor man was 
 on the way to the bad place, I fear/ * I fear 
 he was/ I replied. ' Ah ! * she said, ' I thought 
 so ! ' — and the hec^c of her cheek instantly 
 
 changed to a deadly white. 1 am delighted 
 
 also to discover one other circumstance. She 
 is, as I said, full of peace and joy; but, then, 
 her peace and joy are derived exclusively from 
 one source. There is a picture in Scripture of 
 which her state continually reminds me — I mean 
 that of the poor creature pressing through the 
 crowd to touch the hem of our Lord's garment. 
 Such, I may say, is the perpetual effort of her 
 mind. She renounces all hopes of Heaven 
 founded either on herself or any human means; 
 and relies only on that ' virtue ' which goes out 
 of the 'great Physician/ to heal the diseased, 
 and to save the guilty. When she partakes of 
 the sacred rite which commemorates his death, 
 such is the deep solemnity of her feelings, such 
 her holy peace and joy, that you would think 
 
157 
 
 she actually felt the presence of the Lord; and 
 that, in another instant, she would ' spread her 
 wings, and flee away, and be at rest/ 
 
 " But, Sir, why do I continue to describe her, 
 when you may judge of her for yourself] Pray 
 come with me to the cottage. I think you will 
 have no cause to regret the visit." 
 
 I need not tell the reader that I complied 
 with the desire of the old clergyman; nor shall 
 I dwell upon the scene to which I have already 
 adverted ; I will only say, that I did indeed 
 there 'see how a Christian could die* — that 
 I felt it impossible to continue a sceptic, when 
 I marked in her countenance and language the 
 power of religion — that I can trace back to 
 that period a great change and improvement in 
 my own character — that I discovered, even in 
 the short time I spent by her dying bed, much 
 evidence of the precision with which her pastor 
 had described the source of her hopes and joys. 
 
158 
 
 I perceived that no part of her happiness was 
 gained by shutting her eyes upon her own guilt. 
 She remembered it — she acknowledged it — 
 she blushed for it — she wept over it; —but, 
 then, she raised her eyes from herself to the 
 cross of her Saviour, and seemed no longer 
 either to fear or to doubt It is said of a ce- 
 lebrated infidel, the motto of whose banner, in 
 his crusade against Religion, was ' Ecrasez Vln- 
 fame,* that, on his dying bed, he conceived 
 himself to be perpetually haunted by the terrific 
 image of his bleeding Lord. That hallowed 
 image seemed also to be present with her. But, 
 far from shrinking from the vision, she appeared 
 afraid of letting it go. Her eyes seemed some- 
 times to wander, as if in search of it; and 
 then to rise to Heaven in gratitude for what she 
 had seen. This sacred Name was ever on her 
 lips ; and, as my old friend afterwards told me, 
 she died breathing out, in interrupted sentences, 
 that most solemn of all human supplications, 
 
159 
 
 " By thine agony and bloody sweat ; by thy 
 cross and passion ; by thy precious death and 
 burial ; by thy glorious resurrection and ascen- 
 sion; and by the coming of the Holy Ghost; 
 good Lord, deliver us." 
 
 Having thus fulfilled my promise of relating 
 the simple story told by the venerable clergy- 
 man, I shall resume the account of myself in 
 a new chapter. 
 
1G(* 
 
 CHAP. XV, 
 
 AN ALMOST INCURABLE MAN RESTORED 
 WITHOUT SENDING HIM TO A MADHOUSE; 
 
 I TRUST the reader has not so far lost the 
 thread of my history as to forget that he left 
 me retiring to bed after my walk and conver- 
 sation with the old clergyman. I slept quietly, 
 and rose in better temper than usual. But I 
 could by no means cease to look with suspicion 
 on my aunt's conduct; and, more especially, I 
 felt disposed to complain of her long and fre- 
 quent interviews with the lawyer, mentioned 
 above. Nor did the day produce any event 
 calculated to allay my anger : on the contrary, 
 several circumstances contributed to sharpen 
 the edge of my resentment. In the first place, 
 
161 
 
 I found that my aunt had, without the smallest 
 communication with me, summoned a general 
 meeting of the tenantry of the estate — to whom, 
 I felt no doubt, she designed to expose my 
 recent disappointment, and her own triumph. 
 Secondly, and this I took exceedingly ill, con- 
 sidering my known hostility to the education of 
 the poor, it appeared that she had ordered the 
 first stone to be laid of a new parish-school. 
 Thirdly, I discovered that she had determined 
 to enlarge the alms-house, which I always,, 
 though in opposition I will own to general 
 opinion, considered as an eye-sore from the 
 dining-room window. Fourthly, I caught the 
 gardener, acting under my aunt's express au- 
 thority, in the very act of cutting down a branch 
 of a fine oak in the park, in order to let in a 
 view of the spire of the village church. Fifthly, 
 I collected from my own servant, who, with 
 the clothes, professed to adopt the opinions of 
 his master, that my aunt had been busily en- 
 
162 
 
 gaged with the old clergyman in ferreting out 
 from the library every free-thinking book; had 
 actually conveyed them into an out-house ; had 
 deposited them carefully upon two or three 
 bundles of faggots ; and was probably on the 
 eve of consigning them to the same fate with 
 the books of magic in the first ages of Chris- 
 tianity. Sixthly, and lastly, I found that, while 
 I had been walking out, my aunt bad herself 
 entered the study, and, with a hammer and an 
 . infinity of nails, had fastened up her own 
 picture in such a manner as to be absolutely 
 immovable, in the very spot from which I had 
 taken it down. — This last measure was perfectly 
 intolerable. Was I not merely to bear the 
 occasional burthen of her bodily presence, but 
 to have her image pursuing me even into my 
 retirement ; haunting me, like a spectre, by 
 night and by day? " Is this/' said I, " her 
 " chanty ] Can the old clergyman justify this 1 
 " Would he not have been better employed in 
 
163 
 
 " checking this spirit of insult and despotism, 
 " than in carrying, as I see him at this moment, 
 " those noble volumes of Hobbes, and Chubb, 
 " and Collins, to their funeral pile]" It was 
 not that I had not begun to detest these volumes 
 myself: still, in the present state of my mind, 
 I regarded each of these unhappy authors as 
 little short of martyrs to feminine intrigue and 
 priestly bigotry, and could have almost drawn 
 a sword, if I had worn one, in defence of those 
 dishonoured volumes. 
 
 In this state of agitation I passed the day ; 
 slept ill, and rose late. At ten o'clock, how- 
 ever, I was surprised by a summons from my 
 aunt, begging me to attend her in the library. 
 After some hesitation, as it seemed to promise 
 me an opportunity of protesting against these 
 tyrannical proceedings, I determined to clothe 
 myself in appropriate thunders, and to obey 
 her summons. I accordingly descended, opened 
 the door with much dignity, and found my aunt 
 
164 
 
 with some parchments in her hand, and, seated 
 at her side, her now apparently inseparable 
 companions, the lawyer and the vicar. She 
 and the old clergyman rose to meet me — both, 
 I must say, with countenances which left it 
 almost impossible to be angry. We took our 
 seats, and, after a little pause, my aunt began — 
 
 ** I have been examining, my dear Sancho, 
 with much attention, the particulars of my 
 sister's will." 
 
 ** It is the last thing, aunt," I replied, " that 
 I have any disposition to examine/' 
 
 She proceeded, without noticing my answer — 
 " I have always considered it as one of the first 
 duties of the living to watch over the repu- 
 tation of the dead ; and, among other means 
 of guarding them from reproach, I conceive 
 one of the most important to be the endeavour- 
 ing to repair any injury which, in a moment 
 of infirmity or mis-information, they may have 
 inflicted." 
 
105 
 
 " Very true, aunt," said I ; " and now for the 
 application of this remark." 
 
 " I think, then," continued she, u that my 
 poor sister has unguardedly inflicted such an 
 injury; and I now call upon you, Sancho, to 
 assist me in repairing it." 
 
 " What injury do you mean, aunt?" said I. 
 
 " You shall hear," she replied. " My sister 
 educated you, Sancho, to be her heir* She 
 promised you the guardianship of her estate 
 and of her tenants — the privilege of being the 
 friend and the father of all the poor villagers 
 around. In some unguarded moment, or prompt- 
 ed, perhaps, by her unmerited regard for me, 
 she has made a will, giving you a mere legacy, 
 and me the bulk of her fortune. Now it seems 
 to me, Sancho, to be but common justice to 
 one so dear to us both, to reverse the terms of 
 the will ; and, though perhaps a proverb or 
 two" (she said, smiling) " might be found in 
 opposition to such a course of proceeding, to 
 
166 
 
 give the fortune to you, and to keep the legacy 
 myself. In executing this project, my dear boy, 
 I have taken the advice of one of these gentle- 
 Mfetf^' — pointing to the old clergyman, whose 
 face was bathed in tears during the whole of 
 this transaction — " and have borrowed the 
 professional assistance of the other. All that 
 now remains is for you to transfer to me your 
 legacy. And because I wish, Sancho, to be in 
 your debt, I will beg of you my favourite lodge 
 in the corner of the park, which you shall have 
 the pleasure of enlarging and adorning for my 
 residence. There, unless you constrain me to 
 live for a time with you, I should wish to spend 
 the rest of my life. I shall there enjoy the 
 retirement which you know 1 so much love — 
 and which may, I hope, be allowed to an old, 
 useless woman. There, also, I shall be near 
 my poor neighbours. There I may seek that 
 * better country/ where we shall neither weep 
 nor offend any more. There, also, I shall hope 
 
167 
 
 to hear, my dear Sancho, what it will be the 
 joy of my heart to know, that you are good 
 and happy yourself, and a blessing to all around 
 you. I have summoned the tenants to-morrow, 
 and I beg of you to receive them as their master 
 and friend." 
 
 Need I tell the reader with what mingled 
 emotions of astonishment, shame, gratitude, and 
 love I received this declaration of my aunt? 
 I was silent at the moment; and I must beg to 
 be silent now. I remember, that at the time I 
 could only weep; and now, at the distance of 
 thirty years, I feel far more disposed to shed 
 an additional tear over the honoured grave of 
 my benefactress and friend, than to describe 
 my very imperfect manner of acknowledging 
 her greatness, and my own baseness and ingra- 
 titude. 
 
 But, because I do not choose to enter upon 
 the description of this particular scene, is it 
 necessary that I should also, at this very point, 
 
168 
 
 somewhat abruptly cut short my simple tale ? 
 It is — and I will honestly confess the reason. 
 
 It appears, then, to me, that I have been con- 
 siderably too explicit as to the events of my 
 own life, and the failings of one of my near 
 relatives, to render it desirable the readers of 
 this volume should be able, at once, to point 
 to the hand from which it proceeds. But if I 
 were to continue the narrative with equal pre- 
 cision through the latter stages of my life, such 
 an exposure of the family would be inevitable. 
 Although, therefore, whatever I dare reveal I 
 will ; I must yet take the liberty of a biogra- 
 pher, in drawing a veil over the rest. 
 
 My first step, then, on taking possession of my 
 property, was earnestly to request my aunt's 
 society in my house. I soon learnt to love 
 her tenderly. And having convinced myself, 
 by minute examination, that she owed all her 
 charms and comforts to Religion, I was led to 
 carry all my wants, and infirmities, and guilt 
 
169 
 
 to the steps of that Altar of Mercy where 
 never suppliant knelt in vain. There I sought 
 peace, and there, by the mercy of God, I 
 found it. The dove, which could discover no 
 " resting-place" elsewhere for the " sole of her 
 foot/' returned, and found it in the ark of her 
 God. — I respected religion for a time for my 
 aunt's sake, but I soon learnt to love it for its 
 own. Then, indeed, I may venture to say, 
 that it would have been very difficult to find 
 two people happier than ourselves. There 
 are persons, I know, who entertain a widely 
 different conception of religion — who receive 
 a proposition to devote themselves to the ser- 
 vice of God as they would a scheme to immure 
 them in a dungeon which the sun never visits, 
 and where the cheerful notes of nature and 
 the music of the human voice are never heard. 
 But, whatever those may say who have made 
 no trial of the happiness of religion, let not 
 any of my readers, young or old, believe then?, 
 i 
 
170 
 
 " I have been young, and now am old ;" and, in 
 
 the many wanderings of my worldly pilgrimage, 
 
 have visited most of the fabled sources of 
 
 human happiness. I stooped to drink of their 
 
 waters, and always discovered them to be 
 
 either tasteless or bitter. Still thirsting for 
 
 happiness, I turned from these to drink at the 
 
 fountain-head of devotion ; and there all my 
 
 fondest hopes have been realized. Religion 
 
 has, indeed, shut me out from the circle of 
 
 tumultuous joys, and dubious amusements; but 
 
 has abridged me of no real pleasure. On the 
 
 contrary, it immeasurably multiplies the means 
 
 and capacities of happiness. It invites us to 
 
 the cultivation of all our nobler powers, by 
 
 supplying a new field and loftier object for 
 
 them: — it unlocks to the imagination the 
 
 glories of an invisible world — it calls out the 
 
 best feelings of the heart, by allying us to all 
 
 the world — it surrounds us with dear friends, 
 
 who overlook our infirmities in their busy 
 
171 
 
 efforts to subdue their own— it raises ns above 
 the atmosphere of the world's troubles, into the 
 stiller regions of hope and joy — it unites us 
 with the highest and tenderest of Beings, 
 enables us to hold swejet and solemn commu- 
 nion with Him, to call Him our Father and our 
 Friend — it fills us with hope that He who 
 died for the guilty has pity upon us, and that, 
 behind the veil which hides him from the 
 world, he is quickening our drowsy powers, 
 and qualifying us for the enjoyments of the 
 saints in glory. And is not this happiness? 
 And must not all who have tasted of it, when 
 asked, " Will ye also go away V with one heart 
 and voice reply, " Lord, to whom shall we go — 
 thou hast the words of eternal life." 
 
 But, to proceed in our history — 
 
 Although the lodge was enlarged and orna- 
 mented according to my aunt's own fancy ; 
 and although we contrived, there also, to let 
 in a view of the village church, she never 
 i 2 
 
172 
 
 occupied it ; for though she made a faint 
 struggle to escape, when I was united, at the 
 distance of some years, to a daughter of her 
 most intimate friend, we knew her value too 
 well not to detain her. 
 
 It may, perhaps, amuse the reader to hear 
 of a fete prepared for his mistress by Roger 
 the butler — a very capital man in the family 
 — on the first Fifth of November which suc- 
 ceeded my establishment in my mansion. — 
 The family had always been much signalized 
 by its attachment to Church and King; and 
 it had been customary, ever since the days of 
 the Stuarts, to proclaim this attachment to at 
 least half a dozen surrounding counties, by an 
 enormous bonfire lighted up on the top of 
 our hill. I did not think it right to set aside 
 so loyal a custom, but only to prevent the 
 excesses which so often accompany it — and 
 by which, I am well persuaded, neither the 
 Church nor the King are at all benefited. Ac- 
 
173 
 
 cordingly, some of the faggots were prepared. 
 But Roger, a person of no small ingenuity, 
 having discovered, a few days before, the im- 
 mense hoard of free-thinkers and faggots which 
 my aunt and the old vicar had collected and 
 forgotten in the out-house, he caused them 
 to be secretly conveyed to the scene of con- 
 flagration ; and, having earnestly solicited the 
 attendance of the family on the occasion, though 
 without signifying his reason, we ascended the 
 hill, and the old man had the singular satisfac- 
 tion of seeing his mistress both amused and 
 gratified with the result of his ingenuity. It 
 was, indeed, curious to see her, at the first 
 auto da ft at which she ever presided, in the 
 true spirit of a Spanish Inquisitor hurl back 
 to the flames, with her gold-headed cane, a 
 volume of Shaftesbury, which had leapt pre- 
 sumptuously from the fire. Nor did the 
 
 inventions of Roger terminate here. Having 
 learnt something of the distinct character of the 
 
174 , 
 
 authors to be thus consigned by a family act 
 to total oblivion, he determined that the title- 
 pages, at least, of each of these volumes should 
 die a sort of appropriate death. Accordingly, 
 the ambitious Lord Bolingbroke expired in a 
 rocket; — sly Mr. Hobbes hissed away his ex- 
 istence as a serpent ;— and Voltaire, with an 
 enormous band of his associates, were actually 
 broken on a wheel. 
 
 My aunt gave Roger much credit for his de- 
 vice, and, in return, made him a present of a 
 quarto Bible — in which I often hear him read- 
 ing, with his own luminous comment, to the 
 younger servants, in a voice which, with the 
 utmost facility, reaches fram one end of the 
 house to the other. 
 
175 
 
 And now, should there be any of my readers 
 dissatisfied with the degree of information 
 concerning myself, which I have thought it 
 right to lay before them ; and desirous of 
 possessing some few general marks, by which 
 they may, at least, be prevented from imputing 
 this work to any innocent person ; I cannot 
 find it in my heart absolutely to deny their 
 request. 
 
 If, then, they should, in one of the most 
 mountainous of our distant counties, discover 
 an old squire, dwelling in a venerable mansion, 
 which grandly looks over the woody vale, and 
 limpid lake beneath— if they should find this 
 retired person with an unusual quantity of sil- 
 ver hair; with an inclination of the shoulders 
 greater, perhaps, than might be expected at his 
 time of life; with something of that expression 
 which belongs to a countenance where much 
 
17G 
 
 happiness has succeeded to much trouble— If, 
 moreover, they should find that he is a great 
 reader of the Bible, though freely acknowledg- 
 ing and deeply feeling his imperfect compliance 
 with its precepts — that he is a calm and 
 modest interpreter of Scripture, holding what 
 is plain, strongly; but what is difficult, humbly 
 and charitably — that he is anxious rather to re- 
 concile the good of various parties than to dic- 
 tate to any — that he is a man of naturally quick 
 temper, much subdued — a zealous promoter of 
 religion, even by unpopular means — a prudent 
 friend to Church and State, though a hater of 
 bigotry in religion, and of corruption in courts 
 — If, moreover, they should discover in him 
 many infirmities; some, the result of natural 
 constitution ; some, of early habits ; all gra- 
 dually diminishing, and all deeply, constantly, 
 and loudly deplored by himself — If, also, they 
 should detect in him a somewhat unaccount- 
 able repugnance to those short, pithy, sen- 
 
177 
 
 tentious, oracular sayings, called " proverbs," 
 to which a large part of the world are disposed 
 to render a most unqualified homage — If they 
 should find all these circumstances concentred 
 in the same individual — then it is not impro- 
 bable that they have met with the very indi- 
 vidual for whom this memoir is designed — And 
 if not, they have probably met with a better 
 man, and therefore can have no reason to com- 
 plain. More minutely it does not become me 
 to speak. 
 
 But whilst I cannot persuade myself to yield 
 to the wishes of the reader, in revealing the 
 name of the author of this little work; I beg 
 leave, in conclusion, most explicitly to state to 
 them its moral. It is, then, its humble design 
 to shew that mere human wisdom is very de- 
 fective — that a large proportion of the most 
 popular maxims are exceedingly unsafe— that 
 many of them have a strong tendency to create 
 
178 
 
 a sordid and selfish character — that our prin- 
 ciples of action are to be sought in the Bible 
 — and, finally, that if any person desires to be 
 singularly happy, he has only to pray and to 
 labour to become eminently good. 
 
 FINIS, 
 
 Printed by Ellerton and Henderson, 
 Johnson's Court, London, 
 
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