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CHAPTER I.

BOOK VIII.

CONTAINING ABOVE TWO DAYS.

A wonderful long chapter concerning the marvellous; being much the longest of all our introductory chapters.

As we are now entering upon a book, in which the course of our history will oblige us to relate some matters of a more strange and surprising kind than any which have hitherto occurred, it may not be amiss, in the prolegomenous, or introductory chapter, to say something of that species of writing which is called the marvellous. To this we shall, as well for the sake of ourselves as of others, endeavour to set some certain bounds; and, indeed, nothing can be more necessary, as critics of different complexions are here apt to run into very different extremes; for while some are, with M. Dacier, ready to allow, that the same thing which is impossible, may yet be probable,† others have so little historic or poetic faith, that they believe nothing to be either possible or probable, the like to which hath not occurred to their own observation.

turned into swine by Circe, who showed, I think, afterwards, too much regard for man's flesh, to be supposed capable of converting it into bacon. I wish, likewise, with all my heart, that Homer could have known the rule prescribed by Horace, to introduce supernatural agents as seldom as possible. We should not then have seen his gods coming on trivial errands, and often behaving themselves so as not only to forfeit all title to respect, but to become the objects of scorn and derision. A conduct which must have shocked the credulity of a pious and sagacious heathen; and which could never have been defended, unless by agreeing with a supposition to which I have been sometimes almost inclined, that this most glorious poet, as he certainly was, had an intent to burlesque the superstitious faith of his own age and country.

But I have rested too long on a doctrin which can be of no use to a christian writer; for as he cannot introduce into his works any of that heavenly host which make a part of his creed, so is it horrid First, then, I think it may very reason- puerility to search the heathen theology ably be required of every writer, that he for any of those deities who have been keeps within the bounds of possibility; and long since dethroned from their immorstill remembers that what it is not possible tality. Lord Shaftesbury observes, that for man to perform, it is scarce possible nothing is more cold than the invocation for man to believe he did perform. This of a muse by a modern: he might have conviction, perhaps, gave birth to many added, that nothing can be more absurd. stories of the ancient Heathen deities, (for A modern may, with much more elegance, most of them are of poetical original.) invoke a barrel, as some have thought The poet being desirous to indulge a wan- Homer did, or a mug of ale, with the auton and extravagant imagination, took thor of Hudibras; which latter may, perrefuge in that power, of the extent of which his readers were no judges, or rather which they imagined to be infinite, and consequently they could not be shocked at The only supernatural agents which can any prodigies related of it. This hath in any manner be allowed to us moderns, been strongly urged in defence of Homer's are ghosts; but of these I would advise an miracles; and it is perhaps a defence; author to be extremely sparing. These not, as Mr. Pope would have it, because are, indeed, like arsenic and other danUlysses told a set of foolish lies to the gerous drugs in physic, to be used with Phæacians, who were a very dull nation; the utmost caution; nor would I advise but because the poet himself wrote to hea- the introduction of them at all in those thens, to whom poetical fables were articles works, or by those authors, to which, or of faith. For my own part, I must con- to whom, a horse-laugh in the reader fess, so compassionate is my temper, I would be any great prejudice or mortificawish Polypheme had confined himself to tion. his milk diet, and preserved his eye; nor could Ulysses be much more concerned than myself, when his companions were

By this word here, and in most other parts of

our work, we mean every reader in the world.

It is happy for M. Dacier that he was not an Irishman.

haps, have inspired much more poetry, as well as prose, than all the liquors of Hippocrene or Helicon.

As for elves and fairies, and other such mummery, I purposely omit the mention of them, as I should be very unwilling to confine within any bounds those surprising imaginations, for whose vast capacity the limits of human nature are too narrow; whose works are to be considered as a new

Thus a Trajan and an Antoninus, a Nero and a Caligula, have all met with the belief of posterity; and no one doubts but that men so very good, and so very bad, were once the masters of mankind.

creation; and who have consequently just seldom, if ever, quits, till he forsakes his right to do what they will with their own. character, and commences a writer of roMan, therefore, is the highest subject, mance. In this, however, those histori(unless on very extraordinary occasions ans, who relate public transactions, have indeed,) which presents itself to the pen of the advantage of us who confine ourselves our historian, or of our poet; and, in re-to scenes of private life. The credit of the lating his actions, great care is to be taken, former is by common notoriety supported that we do not exceed the capacity of the for a long time; and public records, with agent we describe. the concurrent testimony of many authors, Nor is possibility alone sufficient to jus-bear evidence to their truth in future ages. tify us; we must keep likewise within the rules of probability. It is, I think, the opinion of Aristotle; or, if not, it is the opinion of some wise man, whose authority will be as weighty when it is as old, That it is no excuse for a poet who relates what is incredible, that the thing related is matter of fact.' This may, perhaps, be allowed true with regard to poetry, but it may be thought impracticable to extend it to the historian; for he is obliged to record matters as he finds them, though they may be of so extraordinary a nature as will require no small degree of historical faith to swallow them. Such was the successless armament of Xerxes, described by Herodotus, or the successful expedition of Alexander, related by Arrian. Such of later years was the victory of Agincourt, obtained by Harry the Fifth; or that of Narva, won by Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. All which instances, the more we reflect on them, appear still the more astonishing.

But we, who deal in private character, who search into the most retired recesses, and draw forth examples of virtue and vice from holes and corners of the world, are in a more dangerous situation. As we have no public notoriety, no concurrent testimony, no records to support and corroborate what we deliver, it becomes us to keep within the limits not only of possibility, but of probability too; and this more especially in painting what is greatly good and amiable. Knavery and folly, though never so exorbitant, will more easily meet with assent; for ill-nature adds great support and strength to faith.

Thus we may, perhaps with little danger, relate the history of Fisher; who having long owed his bread to the generosity of Mr. Derby, and having one mornSuch facts, however, as they occur in ing received a considerable bounty from the thread of the story, nay, indeed, as his hands, yet, in order to possess himself they constitute the essential part of it, the of what remained in his friend's scrutoire, historian is not only justifiable in recording concealed himself in a public office of the as they really happened, but indeed would temple, through which there was a pasbe unpardonable should he omit or alter sage into Mr. Derby's chambers. Here them. But there are other facts not of he overheard Mr. Derby for many hours such consequence nor so necessary, which, solacing himself at an entertainment which though ever so well attested, may never- he that evening gave his friends, and to theless be sacrificed to oblivion, in com- which Fisher had been invited. During plaisance to the skepticism of a reader. all this time, no tender, no grateful reflecSuch is that memorable story of the ghost tions arose to restrain his purpose; but of George Villers, which might with more when the poor gentleman had let his compropriety have been made a present of to pany out through the office, Fisher came Dr. Drelincourt, to have kept the ghost of suddenly from his lurking-place, and walkMrs. Veale company, at the head of his ing softly behind his friend into his chamDiscourse upon Death, than have been in-ber, discharged a pistol-ball into his head. troduced into so solemn a work as the History of the Rebellion.

This may be believed when the bones of Fisher are as rotten as his heart. Nay, To say the truth, if the historian will perhaps, it will be credited, that the villain confine himself to what really happened, went two days afterwards with some and utterly reject any circumstance, which, young ladies to the play of Hamlet; and though never so well attested, he must be with an unaltered countenance heard one well assured is false, he will sometimes fall of the ladies, who little suspected how near into the marvellous, but never into the in- she was to the person, cry out, Good credible. He will often raise the wonder God! if the man that murdered Mr. Derby and surprise of his reader, but never that was now present.' Manifesting in this a incredulous hatred mentioned by Horace. more seared and callous conscience than It is by falling into fiction, therefore, that even Nero himself; of whom we are told we generally offend against this rule, of by Suetonius, that the consciousness of deserting probability, which the historian [his guilt after the death of his mother, be

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came immediately intolerable, and so con-
tinued; nor could all the congratulations
of the soldiers, of the senate, and the peo-
ple, allay the horrors of his conscience.'
But now, on the other hand, should I
tell my reader, that I had known a man
whose penetrating genius had enabled him
to raise a large fortune in a way where no
beginning was chalked out to him; that
he had done this with the most perfect
preservation of his integrity, and not only
without the least injustice or injury to any
one individual person, but with the highest
advantage to trade, and a vast increase of
the public revenue; that he had expended
one part of the income of this fortune in
discovering a taste superior to most, by
works where the highest dignity was
united with the purest simplicity, and an-
other part in displaying a degree of good-
ness superior to all men, by acts of charity
to objects whose only recommendations
were their merits, or their wants; that he
was most industrious in searching after
merit in distress, most eager to relieve it,
and then as careful, (perhaps too careful,)
to conceal what he had done; that his
house, his furniture, his gardens, his table,
his private hospitality, and his public be-
neficence, all denoted the mind from which
they flowed, and were all intrinsically rich
and noble, without tinsel, or external os-
tentation; that he filled every relation in
life with the most adequate virtue; that he
was most piously religious to his Creator,
most zealously loyal to his sovereign; a
most tender husband to his wife, a kind
relation, a munificent patron, a warm and
firm friend, a knowing and a cheerful com-
panion, indulgent to his servants, hospita-
ble to his neighbours, charitable to the
poor, and benevolent to all mankind.
Should I add to these the epithets of wise,
brave, elegant, and indeed every other
amiable epithet in our language, I might
surely say,

-Quis credet? nemo Hercule! nemo!
Vel duo, vel nemo.

And yet I know a man who is all I have here described. But a single instance, (and I really know not such another,) is not sufficient to justify us, while we are writing to thousands who never heard of the person, nor of any thing like him. Such rare aves should be remitted to the epitaph writer, or to some poet, who may condescend to hitch him in a distich, or to slide him into a rhyme with an air of carelessness and neglect, without giving any offence to the reader.

In the last place, the actions should be such as may not only be within the compass of human agency, and which human agents may probably be supposed to do;

189

but they should be likely for the very actors and characters themselves to have performed; for what may be only wonderful improbable, or indeed impossible, when and surprising in one man, may become related of another.

critics call conversation of character; and This last requisite is what the dramatic it requires a very extraordinary degree of judgment, and a most exact knowledge of human nature.

cellent writer, that zeal can no more hurry It is admirably remarked by a most exa man to act in direct opposition to himself, than a rapid stream can carry a boat against its own current. say, that for a man to act in direct contraI will venture to diction to the dictates of his nature, is, if not impossible, as improbable and as miraculous as any thing which can well be conceived. story of M. Antoninus be ascribed to NeShould the best parts of the ro, or should the worst incidents of Nero's life be imputed to Antoninus, what would be more shocking to belief than either instance? whereas both these, being related of their proper agent, constitute the truly marvellous.

fallen almost universally into the error here Our modern authors of comedy have hinted at: their heroes generally are notorious rogues, and their heroines abandoned jades, during the first four acts; but in the fifth, the former become very worthy gentlemen, and the latter women of virtue and discretion; nor is the writer often so kind as to give himself the least trouble to reconcile or account for this monstrous change and incongruity. There is, indeed, no other reason to be assigned for it, than because the play is drawing to a conclusion; as if it was no less natural in a rogue to repent in the last act of a play, than in the last of his life; which we perceive to be generally the case at Tyburn, a place which might indeed close the scene of some comedies with much propriety, as the heroes in these are most commonly only bring men to the gallows, but enable eminent for those very talents which not them to make an heroic figure when they are there.

every writer may be permitted to deal as Within these few restrictions, I think, much in the wonderful as he pleases; nay, if he thus keeps within the rules of credibility, the more he can surprise the reader, the more he will engage his attention, and the more he will charm him. As a genius of the highest rank observes in his fifth all poetry is to mix truth with fiction, in chapter of the Bathos, The great art of order to join the credible with the surprising.'

For though every good author will con

fine himself within the bounds of proba-diers than officers: for nothing is ever bility, it is by no means necessary that his characters, or his incidents, should be trite, common, or vulgar; such as happen in every street, or in every house, or which may be met with in the home articles of a newspaper. Nor must he be inhibited from showing many persons and things, which may possibly have never fallen within the knowledge of great part of his readers. If the writer strictly observes the rules above mentioned, he hath discharged his part; and is then entitled to some faith from his reader, who is indeed guilty of critical infidelity if he disbelieves him. For want of a portion of such faith, I remember the character of a young lady of quality, which was condemned on the stage for being unnatural, by the unanimous voice of a very large assembly of clerks and apprentices; though it had the previous suffrages of many ladies of the first rank; one of whom, very eminent for her understanding, declared it was the picture of half the young people of her acquaintance.

CHAPTER II.

In which the landlady pays a visit to Mr. Jones. WHEN Jones had taken leave of his friend the lieutenant, he endeavoured to close his eyes, but all in vain; his spirits were too lively and wakeful to be lulled to sleep. So having amused, or rather tormented himself, with the thoughts of his Sophia till it was open daylight, he called for some tea; upon which occasion my landlady herself vouchsafed to pay him a visit.

This was indeed the first time she had seen him, or at least had taken any notice of him; but as the lieutenant had assured her that he was certainly some young gentleman of fashion, she now determined to show him all the respect in her power; for, to speak truly, this was one of those houses where gentlemen, to use the language of advertisements, meet with civil treatment for their money.

She had no sooner begun to make his tea, than she likewise began to discourse; 'La! sir,' said she, 'I think it is great pity that such a pretty young gentleman should undervalue himself so, as to go about with these soldier fellows. They call themselves gentlemen, I warrant you; but, as my first husband used to say, they should remember it is we that pay them. And to be sure it is very hard upon us to be obliged to pay 'um, and to keep 'um too, as we publicans are. I had twenty of 'um last night, besides officers, nay, for matter o' that, I had rather have the sol

good enough for those sparks; and, I am sure, if you was to see the bills; la! sir, it is nothing. I have had less trouble, Í warrant you, with a good squire's family, where we take forty or fifty shillings of a night, besides horses. And yet I warrants me, there is narrow a one of all those officer fellows, but looks upon himself to be as good as narrow a squire of 500l. a year. To be sure it doth me good to hear their men run about after 'um, crying your honour, and your honour. Marry come up with such honour, and an ordinary at a shilling a head. Then there's such swearing among 'um, to be sure it frightens me out o' my wits: I thinks nothing can ever prosper with such wicked people. And here one of 'um has used you in so barbarous a manner. I thought indeed how well the rest would secure him: they all hang together; for if you had been in danger of death, which I am glad to see you are not, it would have been all as one to such wicked people. They would have let the murderer go. Laud have mercy upon 'um! I would not have such a sin to answer for, for the whole world. But though you are likely, with the blessing of God, to recover, there is laa for him yet; and if you will employ lawyer Small, I darest be sworn he'll make the fellow fly the country for him; though perhaps he'll have fled the country before; for it is here to-day and gone to-morrow with such chaps. I hope, however, you will learn more wit for the future, and return back to your friends: I warrant they are all miserable for your loss; and if they was but to know what had happened-La, my seeming! I would not for the world they should. Come, come, we know very well what ali the matter is; but if one won't another will; so pretty a gentleman need never want a lady. I am sure, if I was as you, I would see the finest she that ever wore a head hanged, before I would go for a soldier for her.-Nay, don't blush so!' (for indeed he did to a violent degree.) Why, you thought, sir, I knew nothing of the matter, I warrant you, about Madam Sophia.'

How,' says Jones, starting up, do you know my Sophia? Do I ay, marry,' cries the landlady: 'many's the time hath she lain in this house. With her aunt, I suppose,' says Jones. Why, there it is, now,' cries the landlady. Åy, ay, ay, know the old lady very well. And a sweet young creature is Madam Sophia, that's the truth on't.'- A sweet creature!' cries Jones; 'O Heavens !

6

Angels are painted fair to look like her.
There's in her all that we believe of Heav'n,
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlasting love.

I

for turning soldier, especially with such a fortune as this in my pocket.' At which words he shook a purse, which had but very little in it, and which still appeared to the landlady to have less.

My good landlady was, (according to vulgar phrase,) struck all of a heap by this relation. She answered coldly, That to be sure people were the best judges what was most proper for their circumstances. But hark,' says she, 'I think I hear somebody call. Coming! coming! the devil's in all our volk; nobody hath any ears. I must go down stairs; if you want any more breakfast, the maid will come up. Coming!' At which words, without taking any leave, she flung out of the room; for the lower sort of people are very tenacious of respect; and though they are contented to give this gratis to persons of quality, yet they never confer it on those of their own order without taking care to be well paid for their pains.

CHAPTER III.

BEFORE we proceed any further, that

And could I ever have imagined that you had known my Sophia?'-'I wish,' says the landlady, you knew half so much of her. What would you have given to have sat by her bed-side? What a delicious neck she hath! Her lovely limbs have stretched themselves in that very bed you now lie in.'- Here!' cries Jones: 'hath Sophia ever lain here?'-' Ay, ay, here; there, in that very bed,' says the landlady: where I wish you had her this moment; and she may wish so too, for any thing I know to the contrary; for she hath mentioned your name to me." -Ha!' cries he; did she ever mention her poor Jones? You flatter me now: I can never believe so much.'-Why, then,' answered she, as I hope to be saved, and the devil may fetch me if I speak a syllable more than the truth, I have heard her mention Mr. Jones; but in a civil and modest way, I confess; yet I could perceive she thought a great deal more than she said.'-'O, my dear woman!' cries Jones, her thoughts of me I shall never be worthy of. Oh, she is all gentleness, kindness, goodness! Why was such a rascal as I born, even to give her soft bosom a moment's uneasiness? In which the surgeon makes his second appearance. Why am I cursed? I, who would undergo all the plagues and miseries which any the reader may not be mistaken in imademon ever invented for mankind to pro- gining the landlady knew more than she cure her any good; nay, torture itself did, nor suprised that she knew so much, could not be misery to me, did I but know it may be necessary to inform him, that that she was happy.'-Why, look you the lieutenant had acquainted her that the there, now,' says the landlady; I told her name of Sophia had been the occasion of you was a constant lover. But pray, the quarrel; and, as for the rest of her madam, tell me when or where you knew knowledge, the sagacious reader will obany thing of me; for I never was here serve how she came by it in the preceding before, nor do I remember ever to have scene. Great curiosity was indeed mixed seen you.'-' Nor is it possible you should,' with her virtues; and she never willingly answered she; for you was a little thing suffered any one to depart from her house, when I had you in my lap at the squire's?" without inquiring as much as possible into -How, the squire's?" says Jones: what, their names, families, and fortunes. do you know the great and good Mr. Allworthy, then?'-'Yes, marry do I,' says she who in the country doth not?'The fame of his goodness, indeed,' answered Jones, must have extended farther than this; but Heaven only can know him, can know that benevolence which is copied from itself, and sent upon earth as its own pattern. Mankind are as ignorant of such divine goodness, as they are un-ation the surgeon found him, when he came worthy of it; but none so unworthy of it as myself. 1, who was raised by him to such a height, taken in, as you must well know, a poor base-born child, adopted by him, and treated as his own son, to dare by my follies to disoblige him, to draw his vengeance upon me. Yes, I deserve it all; for I will never be so ungrateful as ever to think he hath done an act of injustice by me. No, I deserve to be turned out of doors, as I am. And now, madam,' says he, 'I believe you will not blame me

She was no sooner gone than Jones, instead of animadverting on her behaviour, reflected that he was in the same bed which he was informed had held his dear Sophia. This occasioned a thousand fond and tender thoughts, which we would dwell longer upon, did we not consider that such kind of lovers will make a very inconsiderable part of our readers. In this situ

to dress his wound. The doctor perceiving, upon examination, that his pulse was disordered, and hearing that he had not slept, declared that he was in great danger; for he apprehended a fever was coming on, which he would have prevented by bleeding, but Jones would not submit, declaring he would lose no more blood; and doctor,' says he, if you will be so kind only to dress my head, I have no doubt of being well in a day or two.'

'I wish,' answered the surgeon, 'I could