Zitiervorschlag: Eliza Haywood (Hrsg.): "Book III ", in: The Female Spectator, Vol.1\02 (1752), S. 107-161, ediert in: Ertler, Klaus-Dieter (Hrsg.): Die "Spectators" im internationalen Kontext. Digitale Edition, Graz 2011- . hdl.handle.net/11471/513.20.2354 [aufgerufen am: ].

Ebene 1►

Book III

Ebene 2► Methinks it is with great impropriety, that people, when they see an unsocial person, cry out, “How ill-natured such a one is!” — Nature in itself delights in harmony, is loving, grateful, benevolent, pleased in itself, and pleased to see others so. –Every one is born with qualities suited to society; and when they deviate, it is not the effect of nature, but of the influence of those vitious passions, which, by their ill conditions, corrupt nature, and render it no longer what it was: -- avarice, ambition, rage, envy and jealousy, are the weeds that grow up in the soul; and, if indulged, will by degrees choak all the nobler principles. –How beautiful is nature infancy, before those turbulent passions gather strength! And how beautiful would she also be in maturity, could those passions be always under the government of reason! [108] Some may perhaps object, that I pretend to divide what heaven in our composition has thought fit to blend; — that passions are in reality a part of nature, and that none are born without some share of them.—They may say, that in childhood we are no less affected for such trifles, as are conformable to our years, than at a riper age we are for what we then look on as more substantial benefits. –They all quote against me this line of one of the most excellent of our English poets,

Zitat/Motto► “Men are but children of a larger growth.” ◀Zitat/Motto

To all this I readily agree; but then the passions of childhood are too weak to hurry to any thing that can be called a vice, unless strongly indulged indeed by those who have the care of us; and as they increase in strength, our own reason, which is given us for a guide, increases in proportion also; so that it is the undoubted business of our parents and governors, to keep all dangerous propensities in us under the greatest subjection, and preserve nature in its purity while we are young, and our own to do it afterward, since the infallible consequences of any neglect on this score, are no less than to render us obnoxious to the world, and irksome to ourselves.

I would not here be thought to mean, that the reserved, the sullen, the peevish, or even the morose, are always under the dominion of vitious passions: — a continued series of disappointments, calamities, ill-usage, (which, I am sorry to say, is the sure attendant on misfortune) or a long fit of sickness, may in time make four the sweetest temper, but then the gloom which they occasion will not render the person so affected cruel, base, co-[109]vetous, perfidious, or, in fine, any way wicked: — such a one may be tiresome, and looked upon as a dead weight in company, but will never be sound dangerous, and the only mischief he does is to himself.

But where avarice prevails, all that is injurious to mankind may be expected: — I think under this head almost whatever is pernicious to society may be ranged; since, where it does not find other bad qualities, it certainly creates them. It indeed destroys the very need of our being. A mean distrust, envy, hatred, and malice, will neither suffer us to enjoy a moment’s peace ourselves, nor allow it to others, when but suspected of a bare possibility of standing between us and our darling interest. Concord, that universal good, is entirely abolished by it; every public virtue, every pirate obligation of duty, gratitude, and natural affection, is sacrificed to particular views, which centre all in self; and to attain, neither secret fraud nor open violence are spared. How many wars have been rendered unsuccessful! How many well-laid schemes disconcerted! How many once flourishing families reduced to beggary, merely by the avarice of one person, who found his interest in the ruin of the whole! Nothing is more known than this truth, and we often see that those of the same blood, nay, who have sucked the same milk, have proved the most cruel and inveterate enemies to each other. Shocking reflection! Let us quit it, and turn our eyes on the contrast.

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Fremdportrait► The worthy family, of which Euphrosine is a part, has, in a very late instance, given us a most [110] amiable one, and will, I hope, be an example for many others to imitate.

This beautiful young lady was addressed by a gentleman immensely rich, but of more than twice her age, and besides had nothing, either in his person or conversation, capable of rendering him agreeable to a delicate and refined taste, such as her’s. ◀Fremdportrait He made his court to her father before he mentioned any thing of his passion to herself; and at the same time accompanied his declaration with offers of a nature few parents but would readily have accepted. But he referred him to his daughter’s inclinations, only assuring him, that he would lay his commands on her to receive his visits, and that if she consented, he, for his part, should be extremely proud of his alliance.

With this the old lover was obliged to be content; and, since he found it must be by rhetoric his point was to be gained, endeavoured to prove his passion, and inspired one in her by those ways he thought most likely to succeed: he entertained her with all the amorous speeches he could remember out of plays, bought her all the favourite airs in the opera for her spinnet; carried her to Vauxhall gardens, and Ruckhold; and told her “That wherever she came, she was the Venus of the place.”

Euphrosine, who is all obedience, knowing her father authorized his suit, durst neither repulse, nor make a jest of it, but accepted his fine speeches, treats, and presents, as coming from a man, who, in all probability, she was destined for: the contempt she had for him she kept as an inviolable secret; and never spoke of him to her dearest companions, nor even her brothers and sisters, but [111] with all imaginable respect. The constraint she put on herself by this behaviour, however, took away great part of that chearfulness and vivacity which had used to sparkle in her eyes; she grew much more reserved in company than she had been, and was often surprized with tears running down her cheeks, when she thought herself alone.

She was too dear to all belonging to her for so visible a change not to be taken notice of, yet none mentioned the least word to her concerning it; and the courtship continued so for ear a month, when the impatience of the lover, emboldened by his mistress obliging reception, made him very pressing for a day being fixed to consummate his happiness: -- the answers she gave him on that head were, that she was entirely at her father’s disposal, and that it would not be becoming in her either to anticipate or delay his pleasure. When he talked to her father, he told him, that he had not yet examined his daughter’s heart; but when he had so done, he would either hasten or prolonged the time according as he found her in a disposition for it; always concluding with reminding him, that, to render them both happy, it was necessary nothing should have the least air of constraint on either side.

This did not satisfy the other; for, as lovers naturally flatter themselves, he took all the civilities paid him by Euphrosine, in obedience to her father, for so many proofs of her liking his person; and, as he doubted not but she was no less desirous than himself for a conclusion of the affair, seemed to resent these delays, as much as he durst, to him who had the sole disposal of his mistress: he became, however, so urgent, that the father of Euphrosine at length promised him to found her in-[112]clinations the next day, and that he should then know his resolution.

Dialog► Accordingly he sent for her into his closet, and having made her sit down by him, told her how impatient her lover was for the completion of his wishes, and the promises he had given him of a definitive answer; -set forth the passion he had for her in much better terms than he had ever done for himself; and added, hat he was so far from him but his consent.

“This Euphrosine, continued he, is the state of the case, and such the disinterested kindness she has for you: you know that I have several children; that part of my fortune, which I should give with you to a man who required it, will be a considerable addition to their portions: you may believe also, there are not many father who would consult your inclination in this point; but, my dear child, I am not one of those. I am sensible, that true felicity does not consist in wealth alone, and think it both unjust and cruel to make those wretched to whom I have given being: Tell me, therefore, without reserve, or fear of offending me, what your thoughts of this gentleman are, and whether you can love him, as it will be your duty to do, if you become his wife?”

The virtuous maid hung down her head at these words, and faintly replied, “that the education she had received would always instruct her to fulfil her duty.”

Her father on this told her, there were two [113] ways of fulfilling a duty; — the one merely because it was so, — and the other because it afforded a pleasure to one’s self.: — “And, resumed he, I should be sorry to see you sacrifice your peace of the former. The melancholy I have observed in you, ever since this gentleman had my permission to visit you as a lover, makes me think that the proposal is far from being agreeable; but, as I may possibly be mistaken, I would be convinced by your laying open your whole heart to me on this occasion.”

Emboldened by so much goodness, she at last ventured to declare, that if she never happened to see a man more agreeable, she would chuse always to live single: “However, Sir, continued she, as the match affords some conveniency to you, and you approve of it, I resolved from the first moment, to offer nothing in opposition to your will, but to endeavour to merit, in some measure, the indulgence you have treated me with, by an implicit obedience.”

“No, no, my dear child, replied this excellent father, you well deserve to be left to the freedom of your choice, by your readiness to resign it. – You shall no more be troubled with the solicitations of a person, whom I never expected you could regard in the manner his vanity has made him hope. This day shall put an end to all your disquiets on that score.” ◀Dialog

Euphrosine was about to thank him, as the consideration he had of her peace deserved from her, when the sudden entrance of her two brothers and three sisters obliged her to delay it. They had heard of the proposal her loved had made of relinquishing her portion; and finding she was now [114] sent for by their father, and shut up with him, doubted not but it was in order to enforce her, by his command, to make a choice it was easy for them to perceive was utterly against her inclinations. Urged by the necessity they thought there was of their interposition, they came together in a body, and all at once falling at their father’s feet, conjured him not to suffer any considerations of interest to them to prevail on him to render a sister, so justly dear to them, unhappy, by a match which they were well convinced, though never from herself, could not be agreeable to her. Some hung about his feet, some kissed his hands, and all lifted up their eyes, streaming with tears, as dreading the answer he should give to this request.

The tender father listened to so uncommon a testimony of fraternal affection, with a transport mixed with astonishment; but, unwilling to indulge the pleasure he took in seeing them thus, at the expence of the pain and suspence inflicted on them; - “Rise! — Rise, my dear, my worthy children!” cried he, embracing them one after another, “your suit is granted before you thought of asking it: neither Euphrosine, nor any one of you, shall ever be compelled by my authority as a father to give your hands where your hearts do not first lead the way.”◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

Nothing could equal the joy they felt at hearing him speak in this manner, except the satisfaction their mutual tenderness to each other afforded them. Euphrosine, on her part, knew not how to express her gratitude and love either to the one or the other. In fine there was nothing to be seen among this endearing family, but embraces, kisses, and all the demonstrations of the most fond, un-[115]feigned affection, flowing from minds perfectly at ease, and satisfied with each other.

Oh! What could the greatest acquisitions of fortune bestow, in any degree of competition, with those pre and unmixed raptures, which arise from the disinterested love and friendship between persons of the same blood! –It is sure a pleasure which no words can paint! –No heart unfeeling it conceive! – A pleasure inspired by nature, confirmed by reason, heavenly in itself, and laudable before God and man.

But besides the satisfaction we feel within ourselves, and the esteem we acquire in the world by living with our kindred in concord, there is a policy in it, even as to the gratification of our most sordid views, which I wonder any body can be so blind as not to see: I mean that of fulfilling the old proverb, — Zitat/Motto► “Laying up against a rainy day.” ◀Zitat/Motto There are few families so unfortunate as to have none among them prosper; and when all are governed by one common interest, will not the success of one be the advantage of the other? –Life is an uncertain ocean; numberless, nameless dangers lurk beneath the fairest surface; — no one, at his first embarkation, can promise to himself he shall go thro’ his voyage, unruffled with the storms which from above, below, and every were impend. – Who then would not be glad to secure some friendly bark at hand, whose kind assistance, in case of a wreck, might save him, and the remnants of his scattered fortune!

Ebene 3► Fabel► How well known, yet how little attended so, is that excellent story of him, who having many children, and finding the hour of his dissolution approaching sent for them all to come to his beside; [116] then ordered a bundle of sticks well tied up to be brought, and giving it into the hands of the eldest, commanded him to break it; which having in vain essayed to do, the second brother took it, then the third, and so on, till they had all tried their several strengths with equal success. “The thing is impracticable, said one of them, unless we cut the bandage; --singly we may easily break them.”! True, replied the father; and so, my sons, will it be impossible to hurt nay of you, while you continue in the bandage of love and unity, but if that should be once dissolved, your strength is lost, and you are in danger of becoming a prey to every artifice of designing man.” ◀Fabel ◀Ebene 3

Love and friendship, they say, will admit no shares in the heart; --where either are sincere and without reserve it must be between two persons; when a third comes in for any part, that interest, which ought to be entire, is divided, weakened, and perhaps by different views thrown into confusion: the maxim questionless is just as to the general, but has nothing to do with the union which ought to subsist among those of the same family, who, like so many young branches of the same tree, if closely knit together, are best defended from the inclemency of the weather for being numerous.

It is odd, methinks, that even pride of blood should not influence those descended from an illustrious house, to support, in some measure answerable to the dignity of their birth, those of their own kindred, who may have happened to fall into misfortunes. Are they not sensible that all the contempt they are treated with by mean-sould’ creatures, points obliquely at themselves? And can [117] they know the miserable shifts to which they are frequently reduced for bread, without reflecting, that the grandeur of the whole family suffers in these unhappy branches?

Strange infatuation! To what can be ascribed so total a neglect of that which we owe to heaven, ourselves, and those belonging to us? –Where is the fatal spell that stops up all the avenues of the soul, and suffers neither the dictates of religion, the pleas of soft compassion, nor the more powerful impulses of nature to our own flesh and blood, to gain the least admittance? — Where but in luxury, and a false pride of being able to outvie each other in those expensive vices former ages would have blushed to be found guilty of?

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Did not the once different and virtuous Lucillia refuse so poor a gift as half a guinea to a very near relation, who once had been her equal in fortune, but now, in the extremest exigence, took the liberty of petitioning her, yet went the same evening to an assembly, where she lost a thousand pistols at play! ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

Wonderful are the changes which difference of times create! A few years since, a gamester was the most despicable character in life; — now, whose society more coveted than people of that profession! — All who had any reputation to lose, or desired to be thought well of by their neighbours, took care, whenever they indulged themselves in that diversion, to do it with as much privacy as possible: — but now, not to love play is to be unpolite: — cards were then made use of only as the amusement of a tedious winter’s evening; — now all seasons are alike; they are the employment of the year; and, at some of our great Chocolate-houses, many thousand acres are often swallowed [118] up before a dinner. Persons who were observed to have superior skill in play, were then distinguished by the odious name of Sharpers, and, as such avoided by all men of sense! Now they are compliment with the tile of great connoisseurs, applauded for their understanding in all the niceties of the game; and that is looked upon as the most useful kind of learning, which teaches how to circumvent an adversary at the important business of Whist.

This vice of gaming, originally descended from the worst of passions, is certainly the most pernicious of any to society. How great a misfortune is it therefor that it should become the mode, and by being encouraged by persons of figure and condition, render the lower class of people (who are always fond of imitating their superiors) ambitious, as it were, of being undone in such good company! To this unhappy propensity it is greatly owing that so many shops, lately well stocked and flourishing, are now shut up, even in the heart of the city, and their owner either bankrupts or miserable refugees in foreign parts: — nor is it to be wondered at, when the honest profit that might be made of trade is neglected, for the precarious hopes of getting more by play; the citizen will have but little share with the courtier; and, to add to his mortification, will find that the misfortunes, which attend this going out of his own sphere, serve only as a matter of ridicule to those very persons who reap the advantage of his folly.

We may date this extravagant itch of gaming, which, like the plague, has spread its contagion through all degrees of people, form the fatal year 1720. The alluring prospect of making a great [119] fortune at once, and without any labour or trouble, so infatuated the minds of all the ambitious, the avaricious, and the indolent, that for a time there seemed an entire stagnation of all business, but what was transacted by the brokers in “Change-Alley. Then it was that sharping began to flourish in the nation, and has ever since continued under various shapes. The great bubble of the South Sea dissipate, a thousand lesser ones, though equally destructive to honest industry, sprung up: new modes of ruin were every day invented: lotteries on lotteries were continually drawing, in which few, beside those who set them up, had any thing but blanks. These the wisdom of the legislature thought fit to put a stop to; but had not power to extirpate the unhappy influence which a long inattention to business had gained. The people had been too much accustomed to idleness to return with any spirit to their former vocations: they wanted the golden fruit to drop into their laps, and fresh opportunities of renewing those chimerical expectations, by which already three parts in four of the middling class had been undone. Chance was the idol of her souls; and when any of their more sober friends remonstrated to them the madness of quitting a certain settled way of getting a moderate living, for the fleeting, visionary scheme of a luxurious one, they all returned this common can’t answer, — “That they were willing to put themselves in fortune’s way; and, that they might possibly as lucky as some others, who, being very poor before, had now set up great equipages, and made a fine figure in the world.

This is what that converted gaming from an [120] amusement into a business, it being the only matter now remaining, out of which their so-much-beloved castles in the air could be formed; --one night’s good run at cards, or a lucky cast of the dice, would repair all that had been lost in other ventures and everyone thought it worth his while to stake his last remains.

There are always a set of artful people, who watch to take advantage of any public frenzy. — These soon discovered the general bent, and, to humour it with novelty, contrived various kinds of gaming which never had before been dreamed of; by which everyone, if it so happened, might arrive at the end of his desires. Numbers, by this stratagem, were taken in, who, otherwise, perhaps, by a conscious want of skill in the old games, would have been restrained, since it requires neither thought nor ingenuity to be successful at these new-invented tables.

I could name a certain spot of ground, within the liberties of Westminster, which contains no less than fourteen public gaming-houses in the compass of two hundred yards, all which are every night crouded with a promiscuous company of the great vulgar and the small, as Congreve elegantly and justly calls all such assemblies.

To hurl the tennis-ball, or play a match at cricket, are certainly robust and manly exercises; they were originally invented to try and preserve strength and activity, and to keep those of our youth, who were not born to meaner labours, from idleness and effeminacy. The playing at the later also, county against county, was designed to inspire a noble emulation to excel each other in those seas, which might render them more able to serve [121] their kind and country, when the defence of either required them to take up arms. No mercenary views had any share in the institution of these games, --honour was the only excitement; applause the only end proposed by each bold attempter. These, alas! Of latter days, are but empty names; a thousand pounds has more real charms than any are to be found in glory; giant, sordid gain, is all that engrosses the heart, and adds transport to success. Without that, numbers, who throng to give proofs of their activity, would rather chuse to pass the time away in lolling over a lady’s toilet while she is dressing, or in his own easy chair at home, listening to the music of his footman’s French horn.

Will any one say, that this is true nature? — No, it is the vices which deform nature, and only by being too general and customary, may be called a second nature. — Would ever nature direct us to search into the bosom of the earth for gold? or when found, to idolize the ore our hands had dug? To pride ourselves, more or less, according to the quantity of the shining pelf we are masters of, and to place all honour, virtue and renown in being rich?

However, since the world is so much altered from what it was in the true state of nature, and there is now no subsisting without some portion of this gold, we must not affect to despite it too much: but as we ought not to listen to the calls of avarice, in acquiring it by indiscreet of scandalous means; so when possessed of it, we ought not to lavish it away in trifles we have no occasion for, and perhaps had better be without. We should reflect, that our posterity will have need of it as well as ourselves, and look on every extravagancy we are [122] guilty of as a robbery of them; that we are no more than tenants for life in whatever descends to us from our parents; and that we should leave it as intire and unembezzled as we received it form them. Nor is the injustice less, when we needlessly, and to gratify an inordinate appetite, dissipate those goods of fortune, we may have acquired by our own industry. Children, being parts of ourselves, are born to share in our possessions; and nothing is more absurd, in my opinion, than the saying of some people, “That their children may labour for themselves as they have done”. How are such parents certain they will be able so to do so? A thousand accidents may happen to render the utmost efforts they can make of no effect; and when that is the case, how hardly must a son think of a father, who, by a profuse and riotous manner of living, has reduced to starving, those who derive their being from him?

Not that I would wish any one to deny himself the necessaries, nor even the pleasures of life, for the sake of his posterity; but, in all these tings, there is a golden mean to be observed, which is indeed no other than to follow nature, enjoy ourselves while we live, and prudently reserve something for those to enjoy who are to live after us.

It is certain that no age, no nation, ever were equal to us in luxury of all kinds. The most private, low-bred man wold be a Heliogabalus in this table: and too many women there are, who, like Cleopatra, would not scruple to swallow a whole province at a draught.

Then as to dress, they seem to study now not what is most becoming, but what will cost the most: — no difference made between the young [123] nobleman and the city-apprentice, except latter is sometimes the greater beau: — gold-headed canes, watches, rings, snuff-boxes, and laced waistcoats, run away with the fortune that should set him up in business, and frequently tempt him to defraud his master; who perhaps also, take up with his own private pleasures, examines too little into his shop affairs, and when the till is drained, borrows a while to support his darling pride, then sinks at once into ruin and contempt.

Our sex is known to be so fond of appearing fine and gay, that it is no wonder the tradesmens wives should even exceed their husbands in the article of dress; but it is indeed prodigious, that so many of them should, merely for the sake of being thought able to afford any thing, destroy the reasonable end of finery, and render themselves aukward, nay preposterous, insteed of genteel and agreeable. — When a gold and silver stuff, enough to weigh a woman down, shall be loaded yet more with heavy trimmings, which opinion can we have either of the fancy or judgment of her that wears it!—And is not her neighbour, whom to outshine, perhaps, she has strained her husband’s purse-strings for his costly garmet, infinitely more to be liked in a plain Ducape of Almazen!

I am sorry to observe, that this false delicacy in eating, drinking, apparel, furniture, and diversions, so prevalent among us, has not only undone half the nation, but rendered us extremely ridiculous to foreigners, who are witnesses of it. Thus avarice introduces luxury, luxury leads us to contempt, and beggary comes on apace.

I fear what I have said on these topics will be but ill relished by a great many of my readers; [124] but if I have the good fortune to find it has had an effect on any one of them, so far as to cause them to see the error they have been guilty of, I shall be the less chagrined at the resentment of the wilfully blind. Times like these require corrosives, no balsams, to amend; — the sore has already eaten into the very bowels of public happiness, and they must tear away the infected pat, of become nuisance of themselves, and all about them.

Ebene 3► Traum► I remember to have formerly heard a story of one Adulphus, the truth of which was strongly asserted. This man, who it seems had an estate of 300 l. per annum, lived happy and contented on it, till one afternoon, as he was sleeping in his garden, he dreamed a person of a very venerable aspect came to him, and said, “Adulphus! Your integrity, hospitality, and those other virtues you are possessed of, intitle you to a reward from above. This day twelvemonth, and at this hour precisely, you shall receive from my hands the sum of 30, 000 l.”

This dream made a strong impression on him: — He set it down in his pocket-book the moment he awoke; and believing as firmly it would come to pass, as if an angel from heaven had really descended to him with this promise, he began to consider in what manner he should live, and how the treasure should be employed. A thousand grand ideas presently came into his head: --he looked on his house, he found it old, decayed, infinitely too small for a man of the fortune he was to receive; to lose no more time, therefore, he sent for workmen, and contracted with them to built it anew, after an elegant plan he drew himself. [125] A garden, which before was planted with all things useful in a kitchen, was now converted into a large court-yard in a semicircle, and encompassed with a wall ornamented with gilded flower-pots; a fine portico, raised with five steps led to a hall one hundred and fifty feet square, lined with cedar, and supported by twelve marble pillars, curiously carved and cornished after the Doric and Ionic manner:-- the ceiling was lofty, and painted with the story of Orpheus and the Bacchanalian dames, who, in their wild fury, tore both the musician and lyre to pieces. On each side, a little avenue led to a range of handsome parlours; and some few paces farther two noble stair-cases, which, by an easy ascent, brought you, the one to the right, and the other to the left wing of the house, both which contained an equal number of lodging rooms. Over the great portico and hall was a gallery with window on both sides, so that there was a thorough prospect form the great court-yard to the gardens behind the house, which had seven descents, all laid out in different parterres, and embellished with statues and fountains. The last of them terminated in a wilderness, in which was a fish-pond, and near it several curious grottoes, where in the noon-tide heats of August, you might feel all the coolness and sweets of a May morning.

A great number of hands being employed, the building was soon finished; and against it was so, “Adulphus had bespoke furniture suitable to it. He indeed shewed his good taste in every thing he did; — every body allowed nothing could be more complete, but at the same time, as his income was known to all about the country, it a-[126]afforded matter of discourse, by what means he has become so suddenly rich, as to be able to erect an edifice of such expence. They took upon them to calculate how much it cost; and found, that through there were many things in the old building which might contribute, yet the whole of what he must infallibly lay out could not be less than 10,000 l. Some thought he had found hidden treasures, some, that he was privately married to a rich wife; others, less inclined to judge favourable, said he dealt with the devil. Various were the conjectures of what he was about; but all were far distant from the truth. Alas! They knew not that he had been up to London, and deeply mortgaged his paternal estate to purchase marble, cedar, and other things, which were not to be procured without; and as to the artificers, he had set the day of payment according to his dream; and as his character was fair, and he had always been accounted an honest, frugal man, not one of them but were perfectly satisfied.

He trusted not his most intimate friends, however, with the secret, by what means so great an accession of fortune was to befall him; but was always so gay and easy, that none doubted but he was well assured of it himself.

At length the wished-for day arrived, against which time he had ordered a great collation to be prepared; all his kindred, and several of the neighbouring gentry were invited, before whom he intended to discharge all his tradesmens bills.

The hour appointed by the vision was, as near as I can remember the story, about five; and he no sooner heard the clock strike, than he begged [127] the company’s pardon for a moment; and went into his closet, not in the least doubting but he should return loaded with wealth. He sat for some time in the most pleasing expectation, till the hour elapsing, his heart began to be invaded with some slight palpitations. But what became of him, when not got only fix, but seven o’clock passed over, and no guardian angel, nor any message from him, arrived!

Persons of his sanguine complexion, however, do not easily give way to despair. To excuse the disappointment, he flattered himself that this delay had been entirely his own fault and that as the promise had been made to him while he was sleeping, so he ought to have waited the performance of it in the same situation; besides, he did not know but the noise and hurry he had in his house might not be pleasing to those intellectual beings, who delight in solitude and privacy.

These were the imaginations which enabled him to return to his friends with a composed countenance, and firmly believing, that in the night he should receive what is inadvertency in the day had deprived him of, he told his creditors, that an accident had postponed the satisfaction he proposed in discharging the obligations he had to them, till he next morning; but that, if they pleased to come at that time, they might depend on being paid. On this all retired well satisfied, and “Adulphus passed the remainder of the evening among his guests, with the same jollity and good humour he had been in the whole day.

This indeed, was the last night of his tranquillity. He went to bed and fell asleep, but no delightful ideas presented themselves to him: he awoke, and by the light of a candle which he kept [128] burning in the chimney, looked around the room in hopes of seeing the dear money-bags lying ready for him on the table, but found every thing just as he left it; -- he then put out the candle, still flattering himself that darkness would be more favourable. A little rustling, which some accident soon after occasioned, made him certain that his wishes were now completed: -- out of bed he jumps in transport, and feels in every corner, but found nothing of what he fought; then lay down again, in vain endeavouring to compose himself to rest. At length the morning broke, and be once more, with wishful eyes and asking heart; renewed his search, --alas! To the same purpose as before: all he could see were pictures, glasses, and other rich furniture, which being unpaid for, served only as so many mementoes of his misfortune.—He now began to tremble for the consequences of his too credulous dependence on a vision; yet still unwilling to believe what gave him so much horror, a new matter of hope started into his head: -The promise was made to him that day twelvemonth, which it was certain was gone without any effect of what he had been made to expect, but then he reflected, that it was not the same day of the week, and that possibly this might bring him better news.

He therefore ventured to tell his creditors, that though a second delay had happened, they should be all paid on the morrow. His character, and the assurance with which he spoke, prevented them from being uneasy as yet; but when they came the third time, and found that, instead of having their demands answered, “Adulphus would not be seen by them, but had shut himself up in his chamber, and [129] ordered his servants to say he was indisposed, they began to murmur; and some of them, who had been informed of his having mortgaged his estate, thought it was best for them to take some other method of getting their money, than barely asking for it, before all was gone.

Several processes were presently made out against him, and officers continually watching about his house to take him; but he kept himself so close, that all their endeavours were in vain for a long time. His friends, being informed of all this, could not conceive what had induced him to act in the manner he had done, and came often to this house on purpose to interrogate him concerning his affairs, and offered their assistance in making them up, in case there was a possibility; but none of them could ever get access to him; --his grief, his shame, and his despair, at finding the imposition he had put upon himself, the injustice it had made him guilty of to others, and the inevitable ruin that stared him in the face, would not suffer him to see even those for whom he had the most goodwill; and nothing is more strange than that, in the agonies of his soul, he did not lay violent bands on his own live. In spite of all his caution he was at last arrested, and thrown into prison, and this occasioning thorough inquiry into his circumstances, it was soon discovered, that he had made everything away, but the movie which had induced a man, who had all his life, till his unhappy infatuation, behaved with the greatest prudence and moderation, was still a secret; and this so incensed all who had any dealings with him, as making them think he had only a design to defraud them from [130] the beginning, that they would listen to no terms of accommodation.

The truth is, he was become too sensible of his folly to be able to declare it, till from a full belief that he had been mad, he grew so in reality, and in his ravings disclosed what same, while had had any remains of reflection, made him so earnestly conceal.

His golden dream, and the sad effect it had on him, were now the talk of the whole town; and those who had been most exasperated against him, now pitied him. His friends consulted together, and the fine house and furniture were sold, as was also his estate, after clearing the mortgage, to pay the creditors as far as the money would go; and on this he was discharged from prison, but naked, pennyless, and in no condition of doing any thing for his subsistence.

In this miserable condition, it was thought the greatest charity that could be shewn to him, was to put him into Bedlam, where, as I am informed, he regained his sense enough to relate the whole particulars of what before he had by starts imperfectly discovered; but the wildness of his late disorder being succeeded by a deep melancholy, he never once desired to quit the place and company he was in, and after languishing some months, died a sad example of indulging prospects which are merely speculative. ◀Traum ◀Ebene 3

I am afraid one need not give one’s self much trouble to find many Adulphuses in this kingdom; and that if all who have acted like him, on as little foundation, were to be accounted lunatics, new hospitals must be erected, for that in Moorfields would not contain a thousandth part. [131] It is indeed a dreadful thing when people cannot resolve to content themselves with the sphere in which they are placed by heaven and nature. It is this restlessness of the mind that occasions half the mischiefs which befall mankind: -and yet we are all, more or less, apt to have some share of it: every one wishes for something he has not, and that hinders him from enjoying properly what he is possessed of. We fancy we now better than him that made us, what would befit us, and accuse Providence of partiality in the lot assigned us; and how fond soever we may be of the writings of the late celebrated Mr. Pope but rarely we remember this maxim of his, and acknowledge with him, that

Zitat/Motto► “—Whatever is, is right” ◀Zitat/Motto

But this, as I said before, is wholly owing to the dominion we suffer ill passions to get over us, and not to nature, which is easily satisfied, and never craves a superfluity of anything. — I have often observed, that the attainment of what we have pursued with the most eagerness, has proved our greatest curse; and I dare answer, that there are scarce any of my readers but have, some time or other, in the course of their lives, experienced this truth.

Thousands there are in this great metropolis, who have, with the utmost ardency, wished the death of a parent, an elder brother, a husband, or a wife; and yet, a small time after, have found the loss of them the severest misfortune that could have befallen them.

In the designs men have upon our sex, I appeal to themselves, if the seducing a wife or daughter of a friend, has not brought on them worse con-[132]sequences, than the refusal of the gratification of their passion could possibly have done.

Even in less unwarrantable aims, we often find that the grant of what we ask is a greater cruelty than the denial. Suppose the partial favour of a prince should confer any of the great offices of state on a person, who had not abilities to discharge his trust with any tolerable degree of honour, would it not have been better for such a one to have continued in a private life, rather than, by this exaltation, have his ignorance exposed, and become the jest of a sneering world, who rejoice in an opportunity of ridiculing the foibles of the great?

In fine, there is no one thing, let it wear ever so fair a face of happiness, but the possession of it may render us miserable, either by its not being essentially so in itself, or by our own want of capacity to use it as we ought.

O but, some people will cry, these are stupid maxims: nature, in accustoming itself to such a state of indolence and inactivity, would fall into a lethargy, and we should be little better than walking statues. Passions were given us to invigorate the mind, and rouse us to noble and great actions; and he that is born without them, or mortifies them too much, is incapable of doing any thing to serve his God, his country, or himself.

This is undoubtedly true; and whoever understands what I have said in a contrary sense, does [133] an injury to my meaning. I am for having every one endeavour to excel in whatever station or profession he has been bred; but I am for having none attempt to go out of it, or to regard promotion more than the means by which he aims to acquire it. He ought to have ambition enough to do all that might make him worthy of being raised, but not so much as too make him capable of overleaping all the barriers of virtue to attain his end. I would not have a lieutenant in the army shoot his captain in the back, for the sake of getting into his post; but I would have him behave so as to deserve a better.

But there is one very unfortunate propensity in most of us; for I know not whether it may be called a passion, and that is the vanity of imagining we deserve much more than in reality we do. This vanity, when not gratified, makes us murmur and repine at those who have it in their power to grant what we desire, and yet with-hold it from us; it excites in us an envy and hatred against those who are in possession of what we think is due to us alone; it inspires us with a thousand base artifices to undermine and ruin all who have a fairer prospect than ourselves. When a person of this stamp happens to succeed in his aim, you may know him by a haughty strut, and contemptuous toss of the head to his inferiors, an air of importance to his equals, and a servile fawn on all who can any way contribute to exalting him yet higher; for here are no bounds to the ambition of a self-sufficient man.

Zitat/Motto► “What crowds of these do we see ev’ry day,

At park, at opera, at court, at play!” ◀Zitat/Motto [134]

A person who, on the contrary, really rises by his merit, is affable and mild to all beneath him, sociable among those of his own rank, and pays that regard to those above him, which their stations or intrinsic worth demand, but no farther; such a one is rejoiced at his good fortune, but no altered in his humour: he forgets not what he was, nor his former companions, and thinks himself not at all the better man for being a greater.

Zitat/Motto► “What pity ‘tis that such no more abound,

Whose modest merit recompence has found” ◀Zitat/Motto

That consideration, however, not a thousand rebuffs which a virtuous man often meets with in the discharge of his duty, or the attainment of what he has really purchased by his good behaviour, will not deter him from going on in the same laudable course; because it is pleasing to himself, and renders him infinitely more at ease in his own breast, than he can ever feel, who by indirect means, arrives at the highest summit of his ambitious views.

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Fremdportrait► Xeuxis, by a long series of hypocrisy, treachery and deceit, pretended menaces on the one side, equally false friendships on the other, and every artifice of wicked policy, has at last forced himself, as it were, into a seat, which neither his birth, his parts, nor the most sanguine wishes of his best friends, could ever promise; yet how wretchedly does his new grandeur fit upon him! Do not his sullen looks, and contracted brow, denote a secret remorse, that preys upon his soul, when, instead of the respect he flattered himself with, he meets only with insults, and that the dignity so unworthily conferred upon him, has served [135] but to render him the object of all good men’s contempt, and the detestation of the vulgar! ◀Fremdportrait ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Fremdportrait► From this lump of glutted avarice and swollen ambition, let us turn our eyes on brave Timoleon, whose untainted virtue would hounour the highest dignities, yet is possessed of none but those derived from his illustrious ancestors; uncourting, unindebted to favour, a native greatness shines through his whole deportment; conscious worth, and innate peace of mind, smile in his eyes, at once commanding homage and affection; his name is never mentioned but with blessings; and the love and admiration of all degrees of people give him that solid grandeur which empty titles, and all the pomp of arrogance, would but in vain assume. ◀Fremdportrait ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

Who then would say it is not better to deserve than to receive? Who would not chuse to be a Timoleon rather than a Xeuxis, did they well weigh the difference of characters before too far entered into the guilty labyrinth to be able to retreat?

There are, indeed, a sort of people in the world, who are too proud to be obliged; who think it their glory to refuse favours, even though they stand in the greatest need of them, and with a cynical furliness, affront, instead of thanking those who make offers of their friendship. This is a disposition which has nothing in it commendable; but as it arises only from too much greatness of mind, or what one may call honour overstrained, such a person can never be dangerous to society; and how little good soever he may be capable of doing to himself, he will be sure to do no hurt to others.

Ebene 3► Metatextualität► In an age so selfish and gain-loving as this of ours, there are but few examples of the kind I [136] have mentioned; I shall therefore present my readers with one which happened very lately, and is, I think, pretty extraordinary. ◀Metatextualität ◀Ebene 3

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Leolin, a gentleman descended from one of the best families in Wales, and born to a considerable estate, had, from his very early years, been attached by the most tender passion to a young lady called Elmira, an heiress of 16ooo l a year. –His vows had all the success he could desire; and if he thought that all the charms of the whole sex were united in his Elmira, she could find nothing worthy of their affection but her Leolin. Their fathers, who had been long intimate friends, approved their mutual flame; and when Leolin arrived at his twentieth year, and Elmira to that of sixteen, they resolved to join the hand of two persons, whose hearts had been united even before they knew either the nature, or the aim of the passion they were inspired with.

Accordingly the marriage-articles were drawn, and great preparations were making to solemnize the nuptials, when within two or three days of that which was intended to complete it, the father of Elmira had the misfortune to fall off his horse and break his leg, which turning into a mortification, was obliged to be cut off. Either want of skill in the surgeons, or his own obstinacy in not suffering the amputation to be above the knee, proved fatal to him, and he died in twenty-four hours after the operation.

This occasioned a melancholy delay of our lovers happiness. The virtuous and discreet Elmira could not think of devoting herself to the joys and gaiety of a bridal state immediately after the loss of a parent to whom she had been ex-[137]tremely dear, and whose indulgence she had always repaid with the most sincere filial duty and affection. Leolin himself, who shared in all her sorrows, durst not presume to press it; and his father was too great an observer of decency, as well as too much concerned for the death of his good old friend, to urge the completion of an affair, which though he very much desired, yet he thought might be more agreeable to all the parties concerned, when time had a little worn off the present poignancy of grief. ´

The first mourning being over, and the white garments accompanied with somewhat of a more cheerful aspect, the passionate Leolin began, by degrees to remind his charming mistress of her engagement; and she was half-consenting to put an end to all his languishments, when a second, and, in its consequences, more fatal disappointment than the former, came between them and the felicity they expected.

The father of Leolin was taken suddenly ill: his indisposition terminated in a violent fever, which in a very few days took him from the world; but even this event, afflicting as it was to the son, proved a slight misfortune to that which immediately ensued. — The funeral obsequies were no sooner over, than the house of the young gentleman was forcibly entered by officers, who came to seize on all he had, by virtue of a deed of gift made, as they said, by his father some years before, to his brother’s son. Leolin, impetuous by nature, opposed their passage all he could; but the number they brought with them by far exceeded those of his servants, and they took possession: on which he went to the house of a [138] neighbouring gentleman, who had been an intimate acquaintance of his father, complained to him of his wrongs, and intreated his advice.

Not only his person, but the chief gentlemen of the country, persuaded him to have recourse to the law; it seeming highly improbable, that any father should give away the inheritance of an only son, and such a son as Leolin, who had never done any thing to disoblige him, and of whom he had always seemed extremely fond.

The kinsman, however, had his pretences, which, for the better understanding this mysterious affair, I must not pass over in silence. The mother of Leolin, when he was not above four or five years old, eloped from her husband, and took refuge in France with a gentleman who had formerly courted her, and whom she continued to love, to the eternal ruin of all that ought to be dear to womankind. So manifest a proof of her unchastity, it is certain, made him disregard the young Leolin, for a time, as dubious if he were really of his blood; and witnesses were produced, who swore they had heard him say, “The bastard should never inherit an acre of his land;” and when they answered, “That it would not be in his power to cut him off”, he rejoined, “No matter, there were other courses to be taken”.

This they deposed that they understood as meant by the deed of gift now produced; and that tho’ since then he had treated Leolin as his son, and seemed to use him well, it was only to avoid any farther noise being made in the world of his dishonour while he lived, deferring to shew his resentment to the mother on the son, till after his decease. [139] In fine, after a long process the trial came on, and the kinsman had so well concerted his measures, that, in spite of all the probabilities that were against him, he got the better of Leolin; the judge only, in consideration of his having been bred a gentleman, and in the expectation of so large an estate, ordering he should be allowed 200l. per annum, out of so many thousands.

Few there were, however, who did not believe him greatly wronged; nor could the jury themselves reconcile, to their own reason, the verdict they were obliged to give on the evidence, who swore so positively, and corroborated their depositions with so many circumstances, that, in law, there was no possibility for the court to act otherwise than it did on this occasion.

Leolin, who, for his many good qualities, had always been highly esteemed and beloved in the country where he was born, had many friendly offers made him, and continual invitations from once house to another; but he would accept of none, avoided all conversation with those he was once intimate with, and shut himself up in a little farmhouse, ordering the people belonging to it to suffer no person whatever to come to him.

But his behaviour with regard to Elmira was the most astonishing, and what indeed excited me to give this melancholy detail of his adventures. – During the continuance of the law-suit, and while he had hope of overcoming his adversary, he was scarce ever from her; and, in spite of the vexation this cruel invasion of his birth-right had involved him in, found always a satisfaction in her unaltered and endearing conversation, which more than compensated for all the frowns of fortune. [140] But the moment he was cast, that he was certain his ruin was completed, he shunned even more than all the world beside; and though her love, and the engagements between them, made her not to look upon it as a breach of modesty to write to him, to conjure him in the most pressing terms to come to her, and assured him the change in her affection; and that she was ready to make him a present of that with herself, yet could she not prevail on him to see her.

In fine, from the most affable and obliging of mankind, he was now become the most stern, morose, and ill-tempered; according to the poet,

Zitat/Motto► “Great fouls grow always haughty in distress.” ◀Zitat/Motto

In vain a mistress so lately beloved, admired, almost adored, now condescendend to solicit him to accept all in her power to give: all the proofs she gave him of her tenderness, her constancy, her disinterested passion, served but to add new matter for his discontent; and, to get rid of her importunities, he at last sent one letter in answer to the many obliging ones he had received from her. – A friend of mine happening to be with her when it arrived, assured me it contained these lines:

Ebene 4► Dialog► “Madam,

I Believe there is no occasion for any asseverations, that no man has ever loved with greater sincerity than I have done, or more passionately desired to be united to you for ever, while there remained the least hope of being so without rendering both of us the subject of ridicule. –In fine, I have still too much regard [141] for you, to have it said, you bought a husband, and for myself, to think of submitting to the slavish dependence of a wife’s fortune – Were the balance on my side, I should not act in this manner; but, as things are now circumstance between us, I beg you will give neither yourself or me any further trouble on this score; -- the most prudent step you can take for the peace of both, is to think of me no more, since I never can be, in the manner I once flattered myself with being,

Yours, &c. Leolin.

“P.S. I quit the place I am in this very moment, nor shall make any person in the world the confidante of my retirement; so that no letters can possibly come to my hands; but have ordered the honest man who has been my host for some time, to pay you 300l. which you may remember I borrowed of you while my unhappy law-affair was in agitation, and the interest due upon the loan. – Adieu for ever; be assured, I wish you much better than you do yourself.” ◀Dialog ◀Ebene 4

Poor Elmira read the letter with tears in her eyes, and cried out, “O what a noble mind is here perverted!” Quite changed from what he was, by an ill-judging and injurious world!” But when she came to the postscript, and the man counted the money to her on the table, she grew beyond all patience. – “How meanly must he think of me! Said she. – How little does he know of Elmira!” And then again, “What! Am I turned usurer then!” This little indignation, however, soon subsided, and gave way to the softer dictates of love and friendship: she asked the farmer a thousand questions concerning his [142] behaviour; conjured him to deal sincerely with her, and to inform her, whether he had really left his house or not, and, if he had, what road he took. To this he replied with a great deal of truth that he had never seen a man so changed as to his humour, but that he did not think his brain was any way disordered: that some time past he sent for a money-scrivener, and sold the annuity ordered him for life for 1000l. part of which he had disposed of in paying all the little debts he had contracted since his misfortune, and had taken the remainder with him: that he went on horseback, but could not say what road, because he was forbid accompanying him even to the lane’s end that led to his house.

In the present emotions of her various passions, she would certainly have followed him herself, could she have known what route to take, and either brought him back or gone with him; but as this was impossible, she dispatched men and horses every where she could think of, to each of whom she gave little billets, beseeching him by all he ever did or could love, to return to her, and not make them both miserable by a foolish punctilio, which the sense of the injuries he had sustained alone had put into his head.

The servants knowing their mistress’s attachment, and besides having a very great respect for Leolin, who had been always extremely assable and liberal to them, spared no pains to execute their commission.

But all their endeavours were fruitless; Leolin, doubtless, suspecting what would be the consequence of his letter, and obstinate in his resolution, to suffer any thing rather than be under the least [143] obligation, even to the woman he loved, passed through such bye-ways as eluded all their search.

He came up to London, where having furnished himself with all things necessary for a campaign, he went a volunteer into the army. The little regard he had for life, joined to his natural impetuosity, hurried into the thickest dangers, and he fell among many other gallant men at the battle of Dettingen.

An old officer, who had been an acquaintance of his father’s, saw and knew him on his first coming into the camp; and, having heard the story of his misfortunes, offered him all the services in his power; but Leolin rejected every thing that might afford him any advantage, and continued determined to the last not to be obliged to any one. It was this gentleman, who, on the account of his great age and many wounds, returning to England after the campaign was over, brought the account of him, who else perhaps might till this moment have been vainly sought by the disconsolate Elmira.

So anxious, so unhappy had she been from the time of his departure, that to hear he was no more could scarce add to it. – The news, however, encouraged several gentlemen to make their addresses to her, which, while he was living, in any circumstances, they knew would have been in vain; but they found his death of no service to their suit: his memory was still a rival, which all their efforts were too weak to surmount; to that she assures them she is wedded, and to that will to her last breath continue constant.

What now can we say of this Leolin, but that he was an honest, brave, and worthy man! Can [144] we help admiring him, at the same time that we condemn him! And had not that unhappy obstinacy, to which he fell a martyr, wounded at the same time the breast of the generous, the sweet Elmira, should we not have greatly compassionated a foible, which if we examine to the bottom, we shall find had its rise form a virtue in excess.

The love of freedom and independency, it seems, was his darling propensity; and though he had nothing in reality to fear from the excellence of Elmira’s nature, yet to know himself obliged, and that there was even a possibility for her some time or other to think he was so, had somewhat in it which the greatness of his spirit could not submit to bear. I am apt to believe, that had she been reduced in the manner he was, and he been possessed of as many millions a she was born to thousands, he would, with the utmost pleasure, have thrown them at her feet, and found his greatest felicity in her acceptance. ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

Such a man must certainly have made a very great figure in the senate, had he ever arrived at being a member of it; and for the good of my country, I sincerely wish there were five hundred of the same way of thinking. What in private life was his greatest misfortune, would in a public one have rendered him of the highest service to the present age, and endeared his name to late posterity. No caresses, no pensions, no ribbands, no preferment’s, would have had any influence over a person of his principles: resolute to support the native freedom of an Englishman, he would have uttered his mind without reserve; and the more he had been offered by a court parasite for his silence, the more warmly had he spoke in the [145] cause of liberty. Perhaps, indeed, he might have been to bold, and, for his particular mortification, have occasioned the Habeas Corups act to be suspended; but what of that! It might have hurt some individuals, but must have been of general service, and have opened the eyes of those, who, more through indolence and luxury, than corruption, were made blind.

So far I blame him, in refusing a fine woman whom he loved, and who had an estate which would have put it in his power to be of use to his country, which, heaven knows, and he could not have been ignorant of, stands in need of such supports; but as he was very young, and the consideration of these things had not time to make the impression it ought, I cannot but pity him, and lament the loss which the public have in a friend so qualified to serve the common interest.

All the young and gay of both sexes, who are advocates for the tender passion, I know, cannot find in their hearts to forgive him: as to the considerations I have mentioned, they will have indeed but very little weight with them. The griefs of Elmira will be accounted of infinite more consequence, and he will be looked upon as a man of a savage and barbarous soul, who, to gratify his pride, could forsake a lady that so truly loved, and had made him such condescensions. I grant that there was something cruel in the effects of his behaviour to her, yet I cannot help vindicating the cause; and I think I cannot do it more effectually, than by setting a character of a quite opposite nature in the same point to flight with him. White is best illustrated by being near to black,, and the rough diamond, which at present appears [146] of so little value, will rise in a more just estimation when placed near a common pebble.

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Fremdportrait► Cleophil is what the world calls a fine gentleman; he is tall, well made, has a gay and lively air, a good fancy in dress, dances to perfection, tells a thousand agreeable stories, and is very entertaining in conversation.

Belliza, the only daughter of a late very eminent tradesman in the city, was the object of his flame; for though he was the most gallant man imaginable among all the ladies he came in company with, yet to this alone he made his addresses. It is certain, indeed, that nobody could condemn the choice he made of her; for besides the large fortune it was expected would be given her by her father, she had 2000l. left by her grandmother, which was entirely at her own disposal. Her wealth, however, was the least motive to that envy with which many young gentleman saw the favourable reception Cleophil was treated with by her. The most detracting of her own sex cannot but allow her to have beauty, wit, virtue, good-nature, and all the accomplishments that can attract both love and respect; and as for those of the other, there are few that see, without feeling for her somewhat more than bare admiration. ◀Fremdportrait Never was a more passionate lover, to all appearance, than Cleophil; he seemed jealous even of the hours allowed for repose, because they deprived him of her presence; and would sometimes encroach on them, by bringing musicians under her window, to serenade her with songs, either of his own composing, or which he pretended were so. She was extremely young, ignorant of the artifices and inconstancy of mankind, and as the [147] person of his admirer was agreeable to her, readily believed all he said, and returned his possessions with the most ender and sincere ones on her part: nothing seemed wanting to complete their mutual felicity but her father’s consent, whom she was too dutiful to disobey, and could not yet obtain.

The old gentleman had an idea of Cleophil very different from what his daughter had entertained: he looked on him as a man who had too much regard for interest to be so much in love as he pretended: he had a penetrating judgment, and easily discovered a great fund of self-sufficiency; and that arrogance and hypocrisy were hid beneath the specious shew of honour, generosity, and tenderness. But as he found the young Belliza gave him the preference to all who had made offers of the nature he did, he would not suddenly thwart her inclinations, but only seemed to delay what indeed he was very unwilling should come to pass. He imagined, that by repeated prolongations of giving any definitive answer, either the patience of the lover would be tired, or his daughter find something in him which might give her cause to alter her present favourable opinion: he wisely considered, that all youth is headstrong, and that whatever bent it takes, opposition only serves to render it more obstinate and blind to conviction; and though the temper of Belliza, in other things, might render her an exception to this general rule, yet he knew not how far she might be transported by her passion to at in a different manner from what any other motive could have excited her to do. He therefore thought, by neither seeming to contradict or approve her desires, to give her an [148] opportunity of discovering herself, what would not perhaps have gained the least credit with her from any other person.

The indifferent opinion he had of Cleophil, and his knowledge of human nature, which can seldom carry on a course of deceit for any long time, without elapsing into something that betrays itself, made him not doubt but this would happen as indeed it did, but by a way little foreseen, or even apprehended by him.

He had at that time two ships of his own at sea, very richly laden, the return of which he was daily expecting, when the melancholy news arrived that the one was wrecked, and the other taken by the Spaniards: --several others also, in which he had considerable shares, met with the same fate, so that his credits, as well as his spirits, was very much sunk: --bills came thick upon him, and he soon became unable to discharge them; a shock, which in the whole course of his dealing he had never known before! Belliza, in this exigence, intreated him to accept of her 2000l. but he refused it, telling her he knew not but his other ventures abroad might be as unsuccessful as the last had been, and if so, the sum she was mistress of would be incapable of doing him any real service, and it would add to his misfortune to think, that for a short respite for himself, he had involved her in ruin with him. This did not satisfy the dutiful and tenderly affectionate Belliza; she continued to press him with the utmost ardeny not to reject her fruit, till he at last assured her, that the demands on him were so large and numerous, that less than 4000l would not preserve his credit till the time in which [149] he might reasonably hope to hear from Hamburgh, Turkey, and some other places where he trafficked. She then proposed to break the matter to Cleophil, who she knew had a considerable sum in the bank, and doubted not but he would be glad of such an opportunity to show the love and respect he had for their family.

The father cooly answered, that she might do as she thought proper, and that if the young gentleman obliged him in this point, he should take all the care he could not to let him be a loser.

It was not that he imagined his daughter would have any success in this negotiation that he permitted her to attempt it, but because he was willing she should put a friendship, she had so much confidence in, to the test.

Having obtained his permission, she sent immediately for her lover, and in a few words related to him the present occasion there was for her father to be supplied with so much ready cash, and then added, that as she was in possession of no more than half the sum required, she did not doubt but she would lay down the other part.

As she had no anxiety in making this request, because assured in her own mind of its being granted, she never thought of examining his countenance while she was speaking; which, if she had, it would have been easy for her to perceive the change that was in it. All the rapture with which he flew to receive her commands was now no more, and in its place was substituted an air of distance, mixed with surprise. When she had done speaking, he told her, “he was extremely sorry for he father’s misfortunes, but doubted not, as he was a man very much beloved among [150] the person he dealt with, they would have patience wit him till he could hear form abroad, and would advise him rather to make a trial of their good-nature, than put himself to any straits for the money to pay them immediately.

“How, Cleophil! cried she, quite thunderstruck to hear him speak in this manner, do you call it traits to make use, for a short time, of what his own daughter, and a person who has pretended he wishes nothing more than to be his son, have it in their power to furnish him with! –Sure he has a right to demand all we can do to serve him”

“No doubt he has, madam, answered he, still more reserved, and I should rejoice in any opportunity to oblige him; but I am under an unfortunate engagement never to lend money on any account whatever: my father, at his death, exacted an oath from me, which there is no possibility of my dispending with, nor do I believe you will desire it of me.” “No, Cleophil, resumed she, almost bursting with inward rage and grief, you never shall be perjured at my request: --to much already you are so in the false vows you have made of disinterested and inviolable love.”

He made some faint errors to convince her of the sincerity of his passion; but she easily saw they were but words of course, and such as no man could well avoid speaking to a woman he had ever pretended to love, and therefore replied to them accordingly.

As he found now there was no possibility of her being mistress of that fortune, which as it proved was the chief motive of his address, he was not [151] at all concerned that his excuses had no greater effect upon her; and though when she told him she was ashamed to remember that she ever had any confidence in him, or regard for him, he replied, “that when she ceased to think well of him, he should be the most miserable of mankind;” yet his eyes, and the accent of his voice so little corresponded with his words, that what he said seemed rather meant in irony than in reality.

In fine, they entirely broke off: --she obliged him to take back all the presents he had made her, and the letters she had received from him, and desired he would return those she had sent to him as soon as possible. At parting, to preserve the fine gentleman, as he thought, he affected an infinity of grief, which, as she easily saw through, she but the more despised him for, and for his sake almost the whole sex.

Now will I appeal to those who have been the least willing to excuse the behaviour of my Welch hero, if the character of Leolin is not amiable when compared with that of Cleophil. Belliza, indeed, was less unhappy than Elmira, because the meanness of soul which she discovered in her lover, gave an immediate cure to their inclination she had for his person: whereas the true greatness of Leolin’s way of thinking preserved a lasting tenderness in his mistress, which made her partake in all his sufferings, and even continue devoted to his memory when himself was no more. But to return: --

When the father of Belliza thought his affairs most desperate, and there seemed not the least probability of his being able to retrieve himself, heaven, by an unexpected way, sent him relief: A brother of his, who had lived a long time in the [152] East Indies, and by his honest industry and frugality acquired a large fortune, died without issue, and left him the sole heir of all his wealth. The news arrived just as a statute of bankruptcy was about to be taken out against him; which, according to the custom of the world, made a great change. He might now command what sums he pleased;--nobody was in haste to have their bills discharged; --all, like Timon’s friends in the play, endeavoured to gloss over the terrors of their former treatment of him, and nothing was omitted to regain that good-will from him they had but too justly deserved to lose for ever.

Cleophil, above all, cursed his ill stars: -- what would he not now have done to reinstate himself in Belliza’s favour! Belliza, now a greater fortune than ever, was more than ever adored by him. He wrote; -- he prevailed on several who visited her to speak in his behalf; -- he pretended to fall sick on her account; --ordered it to be given out, that he had many times since their quarrel attempted to destroy himself –tried every stratagem, -employed every artifice, --but all alike in vain: --the contempt she had for him increased by the means he took to lessen it, and by much exceeded all the inclination she ever had for him while she believed he merited it: -- she blessed the misfortunes which had shewn him to her in his proper colours, and made a firm resolution never more to suffer herself to give credit to the professions of any one man, till her father should have made a sufficient scrutiny into his character and temper, to be able to judge of his sincerity.

She found the happy effects of the prudent reserve with which she now behaved to all mankind. [153] She was in a short time addressed by a young gentleman much superior in birth, fortune, and good sense to Cleophil, and had as great a share of real affection for her as that unworthy lover had pretended. Her father approved highly of him for a son, and she could not refuse her heart to so accomplished a person, after being told by him, whose judgment she was determined to rely upon, that she could not err in doing so.

They have been married somewhat more than a year, in which time he has made her mother of a fine son, who is the only rival either of them has in the tenderness of the other. The old gentleman has received all the effects he expected from abroad: --They all live together in the most perfect harmony; and the short anxiety of mind they had endured on the score of his losses, serves only to give their present happiness a higher relish. ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

The story of this family, and many other such like instances which daily happen in the world, methinks, should make whatever misfortunes we may labour under for the present fit more easy on us, in the hope, that while the play of life continues, we have yet a chance for better scenes.

Ebene 3► Exemplum► Fremdportrait► I have somewhere read of an antient philosopher, who, whenever any very ill accident befell him, made invitations to his friends, entertained them in the most cheerful manner, and appeared extremely happy in his mind: --but, on the contrary, on the arrival of any thing for which other people expect congratulations, he shut himself up in his chamber, fasted, wept, and in his whole department had all the tokens of a person under some inconsolable affliction. On being asked the reason of a behaviour so contradictory to that of [154] all mankind besides, he replied, “Those who wonder to see me merry in adversity, and sad in a more prosperous condition, do not consider what Fortune is, or do not rightly understand the nature of that sickle deity. Is she not ever fleeting, --ever changing, and generally from one extreme to the other? – How then, when any good befalls me, can I avoid being under the most terrible apprehensions that an adequate evil will immediately ensue? – And when any mischief has happened to me, have not I reason to rejoice in the expectation that the same proportion of happiness is at hand?”

The humour of this philosopher was very extraordinary indeed, and one may justly say, he strained the point beyond what it will well bear; yet, upon the whole, there is somewhat of reason in it, according to Mr Dryden:

Zitat/Motto► “Good unexpected, evil unforeseen,

Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene.” ◀Zitat/Motto ◀Fremdportrait ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

But not to have recourse to caprice of fiction to enable us to support calamities which heaven sometimes inflicts on us, we ought to consider, that by well bearing them, we have the better claim to hope an alternative in our favour. A desponding temper is, of all others the least pleasing both to God and man; it shews a diffidence in the one, and to the other a want of that complaisance which is due from us to society.

Can any thing, if we consider rightly, be more rude than to disturb the chearfulness of whatever conversation we come into, with a melancholy detail of our private misfortunes! –They are our own, and ours alone, and a man ought no more [155] to wish to infect others with his grief, than with his diseases.

Those who imagine they find ease in complaining, are of a very mean and selfish disposition. A great spirit is almost as much ashamed of pity as of contempt; and a generous one will never endure to excite that sorrow from which pity naturally flows.

Indeed, where proximity of blood, or the more binding ties of friendship, afford a reasonable expectation of relief in any exigence of fortune, it would be a foolish pride to with-hold the knowledge of it, and what they may justly suspect was owing to a want of that confidence which is the only cement of a true affection, and also betrays somewhat of a despondency, which it is much better to try every thing, depend on every thing, and even cheat ourselves into a belief of impossibilities, rather than give way to.

Foreigners will have it, that here is somewhat in our climate which renders this unhappy propensity more natural to us than to any other nation; and I believe the frequent changes in the weather, and a certain heaviness in the air at some seasons of the year, may indeed contribute greatly to it; but I fear there may also be other causes assigned, which it lies solely in ourselves to more, and which, if we do not speedily do, the reflections made upon us abroad will carry a severer sting than we are yet aware of.

Our climate, I suppose, is the same it ever was; our hemisphere is no more clouded with vapours; our winds no more variable than some ages past; yet I challenge any of the foreign ones to [156] produce half the number of sad examples of despondency than these latter ones have done.

Let us not therefore lay the whole blame of those unhappy actions we daily hear of, on elementary causes, or depreciate a climate which has, and I hope again may be productive of the brightest geniuses, and bravest spirits that ever any country had to boast of. It is not the ill aspect of the stars, nor the unkindly influence of the moon, has wrought his effect on us, but our falling off from the virtues of our ancestors:--the change is in ourselves,-- and while all seem eager to undo, or be undone, it is not be wondered at, that the horrors of conscious guilt on the one hand, and the contempt and miseries of poverty on the other, should hurry many of us to deeds of desperation.

The fatal source of all the calamities we labour under, is an indulgence of those destructive passions, which in their beginning might be easily rooted out; but once suffered to get head not all our resolution will have power to subdue. Avarice, ambition, luxury, and price are the very tyrants of the mind: they act without council, are above all restraint, and having once deposed Reason from her throne, render her even subservient to their basest aims.

How then can those who have the care of youth answer to themselves the neglect of so material a point, as not inculcating early into them an abhorrence of these destructive vices! This is a duty which principally belongs to parents; but when other, no less indispensible, avocations deny them leisure for discharging it; --sickness, or old age, renders them unable, or indolence unwilling, to [157] do it; the least they can do, is to chuse persons properly qualified for this mighty trust.

Few people of condition, indeed, but take care that those they set over their children shall be such as are capable of instructing them in all the modish accomplishments of live; but however necessary that may be towards procuring a character of good breeding, it ought not to come into competition with that of good reputation. Governors and governesses, therefore, should not so much be chosen for their skill in language, -- fencing, --dancing, playing on music, or having a perfect knowledge of the beau-monde, as for their sobriety, morality, and good conduct. Their example ought to be such as should enforce their precepts, and by shewing the beauty of a regular life in themselves, make their pupils fall in love with it, and endeavour an imitation.

It were almost as well, if not entirely so, to leave a young gentleman to his own management, as to put him under the care of one, who, to endear himself to him, shall flatter his vices, because it is giving him a sanction, as it were, for all the irregularities he may take it in his head to commit. – Too many instances of this may be sound among those who are at an infinite expence in travelling for improvement, yet bring home little besides the worst part of the nations where they have been.

Would people of fashion but give themselves time to reflect how great an ascendant the very name of Governors has over their children, they would certainly be more cautious on whom they conferred it. Metatextualität► Methinks the story of the young rick Mercator, yet recent in every one’s memory should be a warning not only to the friends, but [158] even to every gentleman himself who is going to travel, to be well acquainted with the character and principles of him who is to attend him in the above-mentioned quality. ◀Metatextualität

Ebene 3► Exemplum► He was the only son of a wealthy foreign merchant, who losing both his parents while he was yet an infant, was left to the guardianship of two persons, of whose integrity his father had many proofs. Nor had the young Mercator any reason to complain of their abusing the trust reposed in them.

They used him with the same tenderness they could have done had been their only son; — they put him to the best schools; — they saw that the masters did their duty by him; — and when he had finished all that a home education could bestow, they thought fit to send him, for his greater improvement, to make the tour of Europe.

The only care they now had upon their hands, was to find a person whose abilities for a governor were well attested. It is certain they spared no pains for that purpose, and were at last recommended to one who had all the appearance of a sober gentleman, had travelled before in the capacity, and was well acquainted both with the languages and customs of those places which they intended their young charge should see.

It gave them a very great satisfaction to imagine they had found one who so well answered their desires; but Mercator much more, to be under the direction of a person, who, he was well convinced, would not be severe on his pleasures. This young gentleman was of an amorous constitution, and contracted an intimacy with a woman, who, tho’ far from being handsome in her person, [159] and of a character the most infamous that could be, he was nevertheless fond of to a very great degree. He had happened to be in company with the person who was afterwards made choice of for his governor, at the lodgings of this prostitute, and some others of the same profession; and when he saw him with his guardians, though he had now assumed a very different air, well remembered he was the same with whom he had passed more than one night in rioting and debauchery.

Paris was the first place at which they stayed any time; and our young traveller was so taken up with the gaieties he found there, that he was in no haste to quit it, which his governor perceiving, thought fit to humour him in; and accordingly they took a fine hotel, lived in the most voluptuous manner, and Marina, for so I shall call the partner of the looser pleasures of the unhappy Mercator, shared with them in all the wild frolics they were continually inventing for the passing away those hours, which the careful guardians at home flattered themselves were employed in a far different way.

After having wasted near a year in this manner, Mercator was suddenly taken sick; whether the disease he laboured under was brought on him by his excesses, or by any other more secret cause, I will not take upon me to determine, nor do I hear of one that can be more positive; but [160] this is certain, that his disorder lay greatly in his head, and he was often very delirious.

It is to be supposed, that in one of these fits it was that the governor wrought on him to send for a priest and a notary-public at the same time; the one married him to Marian, and the other drew up a testament, in which he bequeathed that woman, by the name and title of his wife, the sum of 60,000 l. and 40, 000 l. which was the whole remainder of his fortune, to his dear friend and governor, as a recompence for the great care he had taken both of his soul and body.

These were the words of his will, which being signed, sealed, and in all points duty executed, in the presence of several witnesses, the testator, as having no more to do with life, or those he was among having no more for him to do, expired, as I have been told, in the most intolerable agonies.

Marin, in those altered circumstances, soon after returned to England with him who shared in poor Mercator’s fortune, and whom she married the moment the decency she now affected in her new grandeur would permit. ◀Exemplum ◀Ebene 3

The guardians and other friends of the deceased gentleman, made all imaginable enquiry into this business, but could receive only dark hints, and such conjectures as were not sufficient to commence a process upon: but with what vexation they see this wicked pair roll in their coach and fix, and triumph in their guilt, any one may imagine. It will not be expected I should comment on this action, because I have already said the truth of the particulars is yet hid in darkness: what time may produce, I know not; but a present day every [161] one is a liberty to judge as they think most agreeable to the nature of the thing. All I propose by relating it, is to remind those who have any young gentlemen to send abroad, that they cannot be too scrutinous into the principles of the persons entrusted with the direction of them. ◀Ebene 3 ◀Ebene 1