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Authors: Oliver Goldsmith

Tags: #England, #Social Science, #Penology, #Prisoners, #Fiction, #Literary, #Religion, #Children of clergy, #Clergy, #Abduction, #Classics, #Domestic fiction, #Poor families

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It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so often
recommended, that my eldest son, just upon leaving college, fixed
his affections upon the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman, who
was a dignitary in the church, and in circumstances to give her a
large fortune: but fortune was her smallest accomplishment. Miss
Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all, except my two daughters, to be
completely pretty. Her youth, health, and innocence, were still
heightened by a complexion so transparent, and such an happy
sensibility of look, as even age could not gaze on with
indifference. As Mr Wilmot knew that I could make a very handsome
settlement on my son, he was not averse to the match; so both
families lived together in all that harmony which generally
precedes an expected alliance. Being convinced by experience that
the days of courtship are the most happy of our lives, I was
willing enough to lengthen the period; and the various amusements
which the young couple every day shared in each other's company,
seemed to encrease their passion. We were generally awaked in the
morning by music, and on fine days rode a hunting. The hours
between breakfast and dinner the ladies devoted to dress and study:
they usually read a page, and then gazed at themselves in the
glass, which even philosophers might own often presented the page
of greatest beauty. At dinner my wife took the lead; for as she
always insisted upon carving every thing herself, it being her
mother's way, she gave us upon these occasions the history of every
dish. When we had dined, to prevent the ladies leaving us, I
generally ordered the table to be removed; and sometimes, with the
music master's assistance, the girls would give us a very agreeable
concert. Walking out, drinking tea, country dances, and forfeits,
shortened the rest of the day, without the assistance of cards, as
I hated all manner of gaming, except backgammon, at which my old
friend and I sometimes took a two-penny hit. Nor can I here pass
over an ominous circumstance that happened the last time we played
together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce
ace five times running. Some months were elapsed in this manner,
till at last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the
nuptials of the young couple, who seemed earnestly to desire it.
During the preparations for the wedding, I need not describe the
busy importance of my wife, nor the sly looks of my daughters: in
fact, my attention was fixed on another object, the completing a
tract which I intended shortly to publish in defence of my
favourite principle. As I looked upon this as a master-piece both
for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my heart avoid
shewing it to my old friend Mr Wilmot, as I made no doubt of
receiving his approbation; but not till too late I discovered that
he was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with
good reason; for he was at that time actually courting a fourth
wife. This, as may be expected, produced a dispute attended with
some acrimony, which threatened to interrupt our intended alliance:
but on the day before that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to
discuss the subject at large. It was managed with proper spirit on
both sides: he asserted that I was heterodox, I retorted the
charge: he replied, and I rejoined. In the mean time, while the
controversy was hottest, I was called out by one of my relations,
who, with a face of concern, advised me to give up the dispute, at
least till my son's wedding was over. 'How,' cried I, 'relinquish
the cause of truth, and let him be an husband, already driven to
the very verge of absurdity. You might as well advise me to give up
my fortune as my argument.' 'Your fortune,' returned my friend, 'I
am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in
town, in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid
a statute of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling
in the pound. I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the
account till after the wedding: but now it may serve to moderate
your warmth in the argument; for, I suppose, your own prudence will
enforce the necessity of dissembling at least till your son has the
young lady's fortune secure.'—'Well,' returned I, 'if what you tell
me be true, and if I am to be a beggar, it shall never make me a
rascal, or induce me to disavow my principles. I'll go this moment
and inform the company of my circumstances; and as for the
argument, I even here retract my former concessions in the old
gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to be an husband in
any sense of the expression.'

It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both
families when I divulged the news of our misfortune; but what
others felt was slight to what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr
Wilmot, who seemed before sufficiently inclined to break off the
match, was by this blow soon determined: one virtue he had in
perfection, which was prudence, too often the only one that is left
us at seventy-two.

CHAPTER 3

A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are
generally found at last to be of our own procuring

The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our
misfortunes might be malicious or premature: but a letter from my
agent in town soon came with a confirmation of every particular.
The loss of fortune to myself alone would have been trifling; the
only uneasiness I felt was for my family, who were to be humble
without an education to render them callous to contempt.

Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their
affliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of
sorrow. During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some
future means of supporting them; and at last a small Cure of
fifteen pounds a year was offered me in a distant neighbourhood,
where I could still enjoy my principles without molestation. With
this proposal I joyfully closed, having determined to encrease my
salary by managing a little farm.

Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together
the wrecks of my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of
fourteen thousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My
chief attention therefore was now to bring down the pride of my
family to their circumstances; for I well knew that aspiring
beggary is wretchedness itself. 'You cannot be ignorant, my
children,' cried I, 'that no prudence of ours could have prevented
our late misfortune; but prudence may do much in disappointing its
effects. We are now poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform
to our humble situation. Let us then, without repining, give up
those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and seek in
humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy. The
poor live pleasantly without our help, why then should not we learn
to live without theirs. No, my children, let us from this moment
give up all pretensions to gentility; we have still enough left for
happiness if we are wise, and let us draw upon content for the
deficiencies of fortune.' As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I
determined to send him to town, where his abilities might
contribute to our support and his own. The separation of friends
and families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful circumstances
attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on which we were to
disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave of his
mother and the rest, who mingled their tears with their kisses,
came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and
which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to
bestow. 'You are going, my boy,' cried I, 'to London on foot, in
the manner Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you.
Take from me the same horse that was given him by the good bishop
Jewel, this staff, and take this book too, it will be your comfort
on the way: these two lines in it are worth a million, I have been
young, and now am old; yet never saw I the righteous man forsaken,
or his seed begging their bread. Let this be your consolation as
you travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be thy fortune let me see thee
once a year; still keep a good heart, and farewell.' As he was
possest of integrity and honour, I was under no apprehensions from
throwing him naked into the amphitheatre of life; for I knew he
would act a good part whether vanquished or victorious. His
departure only prepared the way for our own, which arrived a few
days afterwards. The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had
enjoyed so many hours of tranquility, was not without a tear, which
scarce fortitude itself could suppress. Besides, a journey of
seventy miles to a family that had hitherto never been above ten
from home, filled us with apprehension, and the cries of the poor,
who followed us for some miles, contributed to encrease it. The
first day's journey brought us in safety within thirty miles of our
future retreat, and we put up for the night at an obscure inn in a
village by the way. When we were shewn a room, I desired the
landlord, in my usual way, to let us have his company, with which
he complied, as what he drank would encrease the bill next morning.
He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood to which I was removing,
particularly 'Squire Thornhill, who was to be my landlord, and who
lived within a few miles of the place. This gentleman he described
as one who desired to know little more of the world than its
pleasures, being particularly remarkable for his attachment to the
fair sex. He observed that no virtue was able to resist his arts
and assiduity, and that scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles
round but what had found him successful and faithless. Though this
account gave me some pain, it had a very different effect upon my
daughters, whose features seemed to brighten with the expectation
of an approaching triumph, nor was my wife less pleased and
confident of their allurements and virtue. While our thoughts were
thus employed, the hostess entered the room to inform her husband,
that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in the house,
wanted money, and could not satisfy them for his reckoning. 'Want
money!' replied the host, 'that must be impossible; for it was no
later than yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle to spare
an old broken soldier that was to be whipped through the town for
dog-stealing.' The hostess, however, still persisting in her first
assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he
would be satisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord
would introduce me to a stranger of so much charity as he
described. With this he complied, shewing in a gentleman who seemed
to be about thirty, drest in cloaths that once were laced. His
person was well formed, and his face marked with the lines of
thinking. He had something short and dry in his address, and seemed
not to understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon the landlord's
leaving the room, I could not avoid expressing my concern to the
stranger at seeing a gentleman in such circumstances, and offered
him my purse to satisfy the present demand. 'I take it with all my
heart, Sir,' replied he, 'and am glad that a late oversight in
giving what money I had about me, has shewn me that there are still
some men like you. I must, however, previously entreat being
informed of the name and residence of my benefactor, in order to
repay him as soon as possible.' In this I satisfied him fully, not
only mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the place to
which I was going to remove. 'This,' cried he, 'happens still more
luckily than I hoped for, as I am going the same way myself, having
been detained here two days by the floods, which, I hope, by
to-morrow will be found passable.' I testified the pleasure I
should have in his company, and my wife and daughters joining in
entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay supper. The stranger's
conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive, induced
me to wish for a continuance of it; but it was now high time to
retire and take refreshment against the fatigues of the following
day.

The next morning we all set forward together: my family on
horseback, while Mr Burchell, our new companion, walked along the
foot-path by the road-side, observing, with a smile, that as we
were ill mounted, he would be too generous to attempt leaving us
behind. As the floods were not yet subsided, we were obliged to
hire a guide, who trotted on before, Mr Burchell and I bringing up
the rear. We lightened the fatigues of the road with philosophical
disputes, which he seemed to understand perfectly. But what
surprised me most was, that though he was a money-borrower, he
defended his opinions with as much obstinacy as if he had been my
patron. He now and then also informed me to whom the different
seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the road.
'That,' cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which stood
at some distance, 'belongs to Mr Thornhill, a young gentleman who
enjoys a large fortune, though entirely dependent on the will of
his uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman, who content with a
little himself, permits his nephew to enjoy the rest, and chiefly
resides in town.' 'What!' cried I, 'is my young landlord then the
nephew of a man whose virtues, generosity, and singularities are so
universally known? I have heard Sir William Thornhill represented
as one of the most generous, yet whimsical, men in the kingdom; a
man of consumate benevolence'—'Something, perhaps, too much so,'
replied Mr Burchell, 'at least he carried benevolence to an excess
when young; for his passions were then strong, and as they all were
upon the side of virtue, they led it up to a romantic extreme. He
early began to aim at the qualifications of the soldier and
scholar; was soon distinguished in the army and had some reputation
among men of learning. Adulation ever follows the ambitious; for
such alone receive most pleasure from flattery. He was surrounded
with crowds, who shewed him only one side of their character; so
that he began to lose a regard for private interest in universal
sympathy. He loved all mankind; for fortune prevented him from
knowing that there were rascals. Physicians tell us of a disorder
in which the whole body is so exquisitely sensible, that the
slightest touch gives pain: what some have thus suffered in their
persons, this gentleman felt in his mind. The slightest distress,
whether real or fictitious, touched him to the quick, and his soul
laboured under a sickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus
disposed to relieve, it will be easily conjectured, he found
numbers disposed to solicit: his profusions began to impair his
fortune, but not his good-nature; that, indeed, was seen to
encrease as the other seemed to decay: he grew improvident as he
grew poor; and though he talked like a man of sense, his actions
were those of a fool. Still, however, being surrounded with
importunity, and no longer able to satisfy every request that was
made him, instead of money he gave promises. They were all he had
to bestow, and he had not resolution enough to give any man pain by
a denial. By this he drew round him crowds of dependants, whom he
was sure to disappoint; yet wished to relieve. These hung upon him
for a time, and left him with merited reproaches and contempt. But
in proportion as he became contemptable to others, he became
despicable to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adulation,
and that support taken away, he could find no pleasure in the
applause of his heart, which he had never learnt to reverence. The
world now began to wear a different aspect; the flattery of his
friends began to dwindle into simple approbation. Approbation soon
took the more friendly form of advice, and advice when rejected
produced their reproaches. He now, therefore found that such
friends as benefits had gathered round him, were little estimable:
he now found that a man's own heart must be ever given to gain that
of another. I now found, that—that—I forget what I was going to
observe: in short, sir, he resolved to respect himself, and laid
down a plan of restoring his falling fortune. For this purpose, in
his own whimsical manner he travelled through Europe on foot, and
now, though he has scarce attained the age of thirty, his
circumstances are more affluent than ever. At present, his bounties
are more rational and moderate than before; but still he preserves
the character of an humourist, and finds most pleasure in eccentric
virtues.'

BOOK: The Vicar of Wakefield
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