SHENSTONE-GREEN; OR, THE NEW PARADISE LOST.
SHENSTONE-GREEN; OR, THE NEW PARADISE LOST.
BEING A HISTORY OF HUMAN NATURE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
WRITTEN BY THE PROPRIETOR OF THE GREEN.
THE EDITOR COURTNEY MELMOTH.
Had I a Fortune of Eight or Ten Thousand Pounds a Year I would build myself a Neighbourhood.
SHENSTONE.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR R. BALDWIN, AT No . 47, IN PATER-NOSTER-ROW.
MDCCLXXIX.
CONTENTS TO THE THIRD VOLUME.
CHAP. XLV.
Of Shenstone-Green Play-House, Pantheon, Concert-Room, and Cornely's; with an Account of the Master of the Ceremonies
Page 1
CHAP. XLVI.
Being as gay and gallant a Chapter as any in the Book
Page 9
CHAP. XLVII.
The Glory of Shenstone-Green promiseth to fade away
Page 21
CHAP. XXLVIII.
Some Figures an Shenstone-Green disappear
Page 33
CHAP. XLIX.
An Academy of Dispute is established on Shenstone-Green
Page 46
CHAP. L.
The Whistler exalteth his Voice in this Chapter
Page 49
CHAP. LI.
In which the Whistler's Pipe is particularly in Tune
Page 58
CHAP. LII.
Wherein the Tones of the Whistler go thrilling through the Heart
Page 71
CHAP. LIII.
A more interesting Discovery than could be imagined
Page 79
CHAP. LIV.
Essential Matters
Page 86
CHAP. LV.
In the Paradise of Shenstone-Green the Weeds shoot up apace
Page 94
CHAP. LVI.
Which carries on the Plot to the Reader's Satisfaction
Page 107
CHAP. LVII.
The Philosophy of Fools
Page 113
CHAP. LVIII.
The Folly and Wickedness of Philosophers
Page 135
CHAP. LIX.
Philosophy contributeth to the Destruction of Shenstone-Green
Page 151
CHAP. LX.
Agreeable Events, and much Innocence
Page 152
CHAP. LXI.
A Proposal for the New-Model of Shenstone-Green
Page 174
CHAP. LXII.
The Proposal accepted
Page 183
CHAP. LXIII.
Containing what you might expect
Page 186
CHAP. THE LAST.
Which contains more than was bargained for
Page 189
SHENSTONE-GREEN.
CHAP. XLV. OF SHENSTONE-GREEN PLAY-HOUSE, PANTHEON, CONCERT-ROOM AND CORNELYS; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE MASTER OF THE CEREMONIES.
BUT, while these little wounds of the heart were curing, there were others of a more dangerous and malignant nature, breeding in the constitution of
Shenstone-Green.
No sooner had I given my permission, or, more properly speaking, no sooner had the ladies drawn from me my "slow leave," to establish their projects of amusement, than the greatest vigour was employed to dispatch the execution. By which means, the village was again covered with confusion. The ardour of the female association was, indeed, so intense, that every scheme was begun at the same time, and, upon going into the
Green,
a few months after the first fatal idea was started, I had the misery to behold the sudden growth of evils, very remarkably illustrated. A Pantheon, a Play-House, a Concert-Room, a Cornely's, and a Temple for the reception of masques, were all pretty nearly in the same forwardness; and publick curiosity was already so much attracted, that,
Shenstone-Green,
was become the gape and stare of all the surrounding countries. The children of expectation (who are ever upon the catch to subsist upon the projects of local luxury) came rolling down upon us in torrents; players, fidlers, singers, dancers, and every other instrument of voluptuous expence, spread themselves over the plain, and anticipated their future salary. And, in order to subsist in the mean time, they set the women upon coaxing me out of consent to their erecting several temporary booths, to entertain the pensioners, till the more regular buildings should be finished. Accordingly, having put refusal out of my reach, I shook my head, and gave up the point: so that all the fooleries of a fair were now every night practised on
Shenstone-Green.
Poor Seabrooke, grew so thoroughly disgusted with these doings, that he scarce ever went out of the Mansion-house, unless, it was to lay upon the grass-plats in the garden, or seek the shade of the wood, by a private path: and whenever any body spoke on the subject, he whistled.
I must not conceal from the reader, that Mr. Danby took a very active part in this business; since he dismissed the woman, he was a great favourite with the ladies of the
Green.
The mind of that young man was, in truth, so turned to expence and magnificence; his natural spirits were so excessive; and his imagination so expanded, that every new idea, which was set off by gaiety, commanded his whole attention, and drove him to the last extremities. Several striking instances of this appeared in the course of carrying on the new buildings. As the ladies had now unanimously chosen him to be master of their ceremonies, and director in chief of all their plans; he thought his character at stake, in doing justice to every thing that had been put under his care. To this end, he flew up from Wales to London, and from London to Paris, and so down again to the
Green,
with almost incredible rapidity. And presently after these excursions, we had such waggon and boat-loads full of beautiful
bagatelles,
which, though they cost the most serious fums of money, did real honour to the taste of this handsome agent, who had the art of dissipating so very delicately, that every lady protested it would be an honour to leave herself pennyless, rather than damp the superb choice of decorations, which so characterised their favourite. Can I, dear reader, confess to thee without a fatherly blush, that even the innocent Matilda was quite captivated with the brilliant extravagance of her accomplished Danby. The fact seems to be, that women are more easily dazzled with the qualities of such men, than they are convinced of their imprudence. The elegant spirit of a Mr. Danby, though it brings ruin and desolation along with it, hath I doubt, more charms for the women, than all the punctual precisions of prudence, or the regulations of oeconomy. Matilda saw in this youth an excellent heart joined to a most amiable form —She saw that every action was animated, and every idea grand. He had fought; he had conquered in her cause. The very nature of his
rencontre
flattered her self-love. In a word, her object was lovely, and she loved with all her soul.
I was, perhaps, the only person, except the steward (for Seabrooke became a recluse) who felt particularly the extraordinary conduct of this gentleman. Being neither blind to his virtues nor follies, I beheld with real anxiety the great mixture of good and bad in his character, and wished it were possible to separate them, for unless that could be done I shuddered at the very thought of trusting him with the guardianship of Matilda's happiness. His present habit of profusion, countenanced, and even courted as he was to indulge it, would have led him to impoverish a nation instead of a village; and I therefore determined to take some seasonable opportunity to remonstrate with him before it might be too late.
CHAP. XLVI. BEING AS GAY AND GALLANT A CHAPTER AS ANY IN THE BOOK.
SUCH an opportunity as I desired, however, not immediately happening, I was obliged to pospone my intention in regard to Mr. Danby, who, in the mean time, was running the same career, and gathering fame amongst the ladies, in proportion as he squandered their money. I carry you, reader, from hence, into the midst of things, and desire you will conceive the appearance of
Shenstone-Green
no longer under the form of a little circumscribed village, but under that of a town, enriched by a regular Theatre, a regular Pantheon, a regular Masquerade, and a regular Musick-Room. When all these were fit for exhibition, Mr. Danby, in the triumph of his labours, which were now drawing to a period, gave a very grand ball and supper in the pantheon, by way of celebrating the completion of such a cluster of magnificent projects. On this occasion I received a card, which invited Seabrooke, Matilda, and myself: but Seabrooke had taken a stroll into the country, and told me he should whistle and wander for some days, so that I had no opportunity of even showing him the note, for he had set out the morning before, obstinately refusing all attendance, and taking with him one of the volumes of
Shenstone,
and his hazle walking-stick. Though I promised myself poor entertainment, Matilda persuaded me to accept the invitation.
There is no splendour of language can
over-describe
the richness, nor the delicacy of this banquet, which might very properly have been given by any young monarch on his accession to the throne. You will draw your own inference therefore how far it was consistent with the situation of things at
Shenstone-Green!
The goddess of prodigality—if any such there be— seemed to have laid her finger on every part of the entertainment; and yet Mr. Danby had so contrived the matter as to reconcile avarice himself to the scene, and make it impossible to upbraid. The ball was opened by Mr. Danby and Matilda, who danced a minute with such inexpressible grace, and so much to the joy and amazement of the whole company, that—pray forgive me, reader —I was quite flattered into an obilvion of consequences, and joined in the pleasures of the evening as heartily as the rest. Exclusively indeed of the pride of the parent, exulting at the applauses which an only child had very innocently acquired; there were many other things to keep up the gaity of the season, and nurse that forgetfulness, which is sometimes so necessary to pleasure. In about five minutes after my arrival, a noble band of musick put itself in order to play an occasional
hymn to gratitude,
which was to be sung by the pensioners, and was the production of Mr. Danby. The turn, the conduct, and the sentiment of this little composition, discovered at once the good heart and fine genius of the author, who, while it was performing, came from his chair, and held over my head a radiant canopy, on which were displayed the figures of
Benevolence
and
Charity.
Next advanced all the female pensioners, adorned with chaplets of roses, and strewed the way for the fair Matilda with flowers. Scarce was this ceremony over, before the general joy was yet increased by the appearance of Mr. Edward Elixir, who came into the room by a private folding door, with the machine of his wife, who sat therein like the image of plenty, and was drawn round the room twice in state by the apothecary, who laughed, tagged, and capered incessantly, till he was obliged to draw off the caravan, and go peaceably home to his bed. But the scene which succeeded this was of such a nature, and contrived with a grace so admirable, that had Mr. Danby ruined the universe that very evening, there are few readers who would not pardon it, in consideration of what is going to be told them.
Matilda and this young gentleman being engaged in the same plot, which both had projected, and carried on with the utmost secrecy, I was not prepared for the surprize that I felt, on beholding Hackney Oldblade, dressed in a sea-officer's new uniform, enter the room, between Mr. Henry Hewit on the one hand, and his daughter Fanny, dressed in white, on the other. They were no sooner come in, than Mr. Danby and Matilda walked up, and began a ceremony which they had prepared. Immediately the musicians exerted their utmost skill, in doing all possible justice to a
nuptial ode,
which Mr. Danby had written, the words of which, were divinely sung by Matilda. During the ode Mr. Danby spread a white banner before Henry Hewit, while Matilda dispalayed another in honour of Fanny. Then the wreaths and garlands were entwined round their heads, and a silver label held up to the view, sparkling with the following inscription:
The New-married Couple; or, the Celebration of an Union betwixt Honour and Beauty.
While the company were expressing their surprize at this spectacle, in came the reverend Mr. Cusheon (whose frailty is, I trust, a good natured secret, reader, betwixt me and thee). Mr. Cusheon paid his compliments to the new-married folks, whom, it seems, he had very lately attended to the altar; and they were then presented to me by my daughter.
Whatever ugly whispers might have gone abroad to poor Fanny's disadvantage, prior to this circumstance, they were all effectually done away by this generous manoeuvre, insomuch, that all the ladies followed the fair example of
Matilda,
and the gentlemen took their pattern from
my
behaviour.
Thus was the deep-wound in the heart of our soldier suddenly healed up, and the honour of his family totally redeemed.
It is not necessary to enquire, whether this respect to poor Fanny Oldblade was real or affected on the part of the ladies. We had so absolutely shut the lips of detraction, that the power of her opening them again,
maliciously,
was taken away; and from that night, this lovely young woman, with honest Henry Hewit, lived the happiest, and perhaps, the
most virtuous
pair in the precincts of
Shenstone-Green.
The evening concluded with a morsel of eloquence, pronounced by Mr. Danby, on the nature of the diversions which were then about to commence, and in this discourse (which might have graced the mouth of a member of the
Belles Lettres,
at his being admitted into the French academy) our young president showed himself to be as able a reasoner, and as perfect an orator as he was before known to be a man of elegance and dissipation.
At the end of his speech, he adjusted the times and seasons for opening and shutting the places of diversion, and, in short, fixed every thing on a plan, in which would be offered not only the greatest variety, but in which, also, each amusement would be crowned with the
eclat
of the company.
By such means Mr. Danby made one of the most expensive evening's pleasure too
agreeable
to admit the obtruding idea of what it
cost,
and, by artfully ornamenting the cause, blinded the spectator, till it was impossible for him to look forward to the effect.
CHAP. XLVII. THE GLORY OF SHENSTONE-GREEN PROMISETH TO FADE AWAY.
THE talisman, however, which bound up our senses, was broken to pieces the very next morning, and the charm was no more. Stripped of her sparkling decorations, Folly appeared full in view, and Justice (with scourges in her hand, and terrour in her eye) pursued her close.
The distress began with the appearance of Mr. Samuel Sarcasm, who gave me a fresh packet of papers. Every one was of tremendous length, and the sum total threatened with bankruptcy or imprisonment.
Upon a stricter scrutiny, they appeared to be a bundle of claims, which were made upon certain of the pensioners for work done, and goods furnished, to the gross amount of many thousand guineas.
But what are these to
me,
Samuel said I, laying down the papers?
We will examine first the premises, and then draw our inference, if your Honour pleases, answered Samuel.
Here Samuel put on his spectacles and read aloud.
The second petition of the female pensioners to their patron,
SIR B. BEAUCHAMP.
SHOWETH,
THAT your petitioners do not at all doubt, but the execution of their several projects (under the superintendance of D. Danby,
Esq
) has been honoured with your warmest approbation.
THAT
Shenstone-Green
is now so exceedingly crouded with company (in expectation of the first opening of the diversions) that, it is with the utmost difficulty either beds or accommodations of any kind can be found; your petitioners observe, moreover, faces and forms moving about of all sorts, sizes, cuts, and countries, which they take to be so many proofs of the great popularity the
Green
must already be in.
THAT the uncommon
improvements,
made within a few months last past, are of such a nature, as must soon give the pattern of perfection to Europe, of which
Shenstone-Green
will be at once the glory and the surprize; in consequence of which your petitioners, willing to do poetical justice in the fullest degree, earnestly recommend an immediate alteration of the
name
of their new
Paradise.
THAT instead of
Shenstone-Green
(which seems only to imply a petty piece of ground with a few cottages scattering about, and some goslings grazing thereupon) your petitioners humbly propose it should assume a magnitude of sound agreeable to the pomp it it has received by the labours of your petitioners. To this end they offer two titles for consideration—namely,
Shenstone-City,
or the
City of Shenstone.
THAT your petitioners beg leave to take down the figure of the late William Shenstone,
Esq
from a pedestal (which they conceive disgraces him) in order to replace a statue to his memory, worthy of such an
angel of a man,
and to make the
City
of
Shenstone,
or
Shenstone-City,
all of a piece.
THAT zealous to do every thing which may merit your applause, your petitioners intend ordering
their poet
to be cast in a mould of solid silver, properly embellished, with the emblem of a large fountain of the same metal, running a stream of gold at the bottom of his feet, to show his unbounded generosity. Underneath the fountain we propose the following motto, taken (as Mr. Danby says) from a contemporary poet:
Behold, the genial current of his soul.
THAT your petitioners humbly beg they may be honoured with
your
image also, which, though already engraven upon the tablet of their hearts, they are ambitious of seeing publickly exhibited as a new ornament of their city. They propose to have Sir Benjamin Beauchamp, represented in the attitude of opening his arms wide to the universe, and the following inscriptions on the front of the pedestal:
Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden.
See Beauchamp's plan unfolds the soul of
Shenstone.
THAT filled with the warmest gratitude, which can possibly affect the human heart, your petitioners are not perfectly contented with the simple titles of Sir Benjamin Beauchamp, and William Shenstone,
Esq
but understanding that most of the persons, now canonized, have been
sainted
for things of less note than the present magnificent circumstance, they wish the pedestals to signify the following intelligence: For example,
SAINT SHENSTONE The
Sage,
Who wrote out the finest plan for The finest Town in the World.
SAINT BEAUCHAMP The
Benevolent,
Who built upon the plan of
Saint Shenstone
A whole City, Which, from a small beginning, arose to be the wonder of the world. And the whole By the voluntary Bounty of one Man, viz.
SAINT BEAUCHAMP. "Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere." These Statues of Solid Silver, Erected by those, whom his Liberality Protected, In the year of their supreme Felicity— and of Our Lord God—
THAT, lastly, your petitioners, having now completed their views, do subscribe with all their souls to defray the expenses as much as in them lies, and beg Saint Beauchamp will
advance
(on the pension of all the females) the sum of twenty thousand pounds, to be paid back to Saint B. by installments, allowing to the pensioners in the mean while (by way of annuity)
i. e.
to each person, only the neat yearly sum of—
Here I interrupted Mr. Sarcasm, by very vehemently exclaiming— Mighty God, man, why this is downright frenzy—frenzy from the beginning to the end—Twenty thousand pounds quotha?—
Why your
Saintship
knoweth, answered the steward, that—
A truce with your foolery, Mr. Sarcasm, cried I, again interrupting him, I perceive plainly that too much indulgence hath let loose upon me all the violent passions of human nature. What, Samuel, dost thou suppose, or do these foolish women suppose, I built me a neighbourhood to bring into it all the vices and luxuries of a large city! No, Samuel, let them be told that I raised up the walls of
my
little town to reclaim errour, and protect distress: to fill the forlorn heart with innocent gladness; to conceal the blushes of unpremeditated mistake, and screen from the fury of the world such objects as were lest defended from its rapacity. Fie upon them! They have
lost my Paradise already.
Tell them so from me, Samuel. Tell them they have brought sin and shame into my
Eden,
and deserve to be driven out like the original offenders.
I will report what your Honour desireth me, said Samuel, putting his spectacles with the most provoking
sang-froid
into their case, and then walking off.
CHAP. XLVIII. SOME OF THE FIGURES ON SHENSTONE-GREEN DISAPPEAR.
IT is incredible to conceive the confusion and the uproar which this angry message produced in the village. Every creditor was up in arms, and Mr. Danby, the unfortunate president (who had been the acting member in all the buildings, and their ornaments) was obliged to take refuge in the house of Hackney Oldblade, who, with sword in hand, guarded him from the threats of the clamourous multitude till midnight. Matilda no sooner heard of Danby's situation, than she fell at my feet, and, (with an energy which could come only from the heart) begged that I would sacrifice her thousand pounds a year to a man, whose freedom was much dearer to her than fortune, and which, she said, ought to be purchased with every thing she had in the world. But, before I had time to answer this extravagant effusion of tenderness, a man appeared on horseback at my door, who presented a letter to the first servant he saw, and then rode off again at full speed. The epistle was without date, and evidently written by a trembling hand.
To Sir
Benjamin Beauchamp.
At
Beauchamp Mansion-House,
&c. &c.
SIR,
THAT I may not seem as contemptible as prodigal, I catch up a sorry pen, at an inn on the road, to tell you, that I leave
Shenstone-Green,
more to shun the horrour of appearing again under the just reproaches of
your
eye, than from any event that could take place to my own personal inconvenience. I have offended the
two
only persons whose esteem ought ever to have been most facred—I have offended too
myself.
I am ashamed—convinced, and in despair—
D. DANBY.
Over this letter I hurried my eye and put it into my pocket, to prevent its being discovered by my daughter, who was but too much agitated already. I promised every thing she wished, and had the good fortune to pacify her so far as to dry her tears, and persuade her to withdraw to her chamber.
Scarce had she retired, when the steward came again to the MansionHouse with new burdens of petition and remonstrance. The examination of these I would then have avoided upon almost any conditions; but the steward said, the salvation of
Shenstome-Green
absolutely depended on my giving to
every one
the most serious and immediate attention. Sir, said Samuel, your honour can have no conception of the present state of your village or that of your villagers, unless you will dedicate this whole morning to the full examination of all those parcels now before you.
Alarmed at this intelligence, and still more at the aweful manner by which it was introduced, I sat down tremblingly to the scrutiny.
To particularize the articles contained in this fresh catalogue of follies (which now extended themselves over the
Green
would be equally tedious and distressing. I shall, therefore, for the reader's peace of mind, compress all the facts together, and offer him a general idea of the whole, by means of the following abridgements of each address.
FIRST,
Several pensioners complained, that, they had been ill-used by their neighbours in points either of fame or fortune, property or character; the consequence of which was, either, that I must openly countenance duels, put the law into every man's hands, with pistol and poignard, or else I must establish a Court of Justice, in which causes should be heard and crimes punished.
SECONDLY,
That the spirit of private gaming had arisen to so fatal an excess in
Shenstone-Green,
that, most of the pensioners had caught the contagion, and some had even mortgaged their annuities to a fellow who purchased lives, and enriched himself by impoverishing others; so that all the practises of Change alley had travelled down to
Whenstone-Green.
THIRDLY,
Bailiffs and their attendants were busy in every quarter of
Shenstone-Green,
to serve their special originals and their running writs upon the bodies of insolvent pensioners; so that officers of justice picked a very pretty fortune out of the pockets of the
Shenstonians.
FOURTHLY,
Executions were laid on several houses by some, who imagined furniture might supply the want of ready money.
FIFTHLY,
The actors, fiddlers, &c. finding their hopes thus blasted all at once, walked over the
Green,
in a solitary manner, and at length took themselves away, very heartily cursing Sir Benjamin Beauchamp, and William Shenstone,
Esq
as two silly fellows, whom they thought to be utterly ignorant in the ways of the world, and who had vainly attempted to subvert civil government, by realizing a parcel of incoherent chimeras too ridiculous even for blank verse, or ten syllable rhyme.
Shenstone-Green
was looked on, by the gentry, as the greatest farce that ever was acted and—DAMN'D.
SIXTHLY.
One of the pensioners; to wit— Alexander Spur,
Esq
having sold his annuity and spent all the profits, very naturally rode his own horse
Shenstone,
on the Welch road, where, by very uncommon chance, he met a rich person, of whom he borrowed two hundred and ten pounds rather against the rich person's will, which occasioned his being pursued and overtaken just as he was putting poor
Shenstone
into the stable: so it was very soon expected, that, on this sweet
Paradise
of a
Green,
a gallows would be erected for the use, first of Mr. Alexander Spur, and then for the other pensioners as occasion offered.
SEVENTHLY.
The ladies of pleasure (who formerly had the too great honour to associate with the lovely Fanny Old-blade, now Mrs. Hewit) finding every thing in
their way
gone to wrack and ruin, had returned to London to their several Padding-places in the most notorious parts of that city, where they entertain all their friends with the merry and mournful
History of Shenstone-Green;
a scheme, which did not
take.
EIGHTLY.
Several petitions appeared very regularly drawn out by an attorney, who, it seems, found his presence more necessary at
Shenstone-Green
than in Chancery-lane. Amongst other things appeared the following proposals: For converting the Pantheon into a court of Equity.
—The Concert Room into a Court of Conscience.
—The Masquerade-Hall, into Dr. Commons, and—The Theatre into a Court of King's-Bench.
From the above account it appeared so evidently, my whole project was a mere castle in the air that I was quite dispirited. Then there is not a folly of
any kind,
Samuel, said I, which does not at this time flourish upon
Shenstone-Green.
Pray, Samuel, what is your opinion of all these fine doings?
That it is the History of poor
Human Nature
spoiled by
human art,
when both are left at large to their own inventions, an't please your Honour, said the steward.
But my village, Mr. Sarcasm, is ten times worse than any other spot in Christendom.
Because, an't please your Honour, every other spot in Christendom but your village, is regulated by laws penal; whereas,
Shenstone-Green
is builded and conducted wholly upon a
poetical model.
Your's, sir, is fairy land;
we are
obliged to go to the next town for justice.
Here the sudden entrance of one of the pensioners (who delivered me a petition on his knee with a grave air, and then withdrew) put a stop to the steward's observations.
CHAP. XLIX. AN ACADEMY OF DISPUTE IS ESTABLISHED ON SHENSTONE-GREEN.
THE petition now brought was, in effect, to the follow purpose, viz.
THAT a society of pensioners accustomed to publick disputation, and to speak their sentiments on important subjects, found themselves so incapable of relishing the
frivolity
and froth of those other pensioners (who were attracted only by gewgaw and glitter) that they found the time insufferably long upon
Shenstone-Green.
THAT in order to compensate for this dearth of intellectual entertainment, they proposed (with my permission) to institute an
Academy of Dispute,
where science and the
belles lettres,
and morality, were to be debated, encouraged, and cultivated.
THAT no expence whatever should attend the prosecution of this project, except that of fitting up a few benches or forms for the audience, and a rostrum for the president, who was, of course, to be Sir Benjamin Beauchamp.
This matter seemed to me, in comparison with others, which had been received, so exceedingly innocent and rational, that I wrote a
grant
without hesitation, and ordered the steward himself to deliver it to the learned body of my pensioners, with the best respects of their patron.
CHAP. L. THE WHISTLER EXALTS HIS VOICE IN THIS CHAPTER.
THE steward had scarcely stepped over the threshold, when my old and excellent friend Mr. Seabrooke (besprent with dust, and burnished by the tan of that sun, upon which he so much doated) made his appearance.
I ran to him with that ardour, which denotes an affection founded upon a long experience of admirable qualities—qualities which his innocent oddities served only to render the more endearing.
He shook me heartily by the hand, and then whistled his loudest note to summon Matilda, who, however, was indisposed in her chamber; she was indeed, too ill to stir from her apartment; so, without any more ceremony, Seabrooke took two or three strides up the stairs, and was soon dandling his little favourite in his arms, and asking all the tender questions that could possibly come from a man of his tenderness.
But Matilda came and asked me softly, if Mr. Danby was at liberty?
I said (in the same under-tone of voice) that, he
was:
upon which the poor girl caught such spirits, that she ran to Seabrooke, and chided him for his cruel excursion, at a time too, said she, when I wanted my old playfellow more than ever I did in my life; and such sunny weather too!
Then let us have all our different adventures, since parting, related over a dish of good tea, said Seabrooke.
Whew— quick— Whew—
In the bow-window if you please, papa, which looks towards
Shenstone-Green;
because then, you know, if any person should happen to come, we shall all be ready to receive him, and fetch a cup in a moment.
The idea of Danby's freedom, had so well recovered her, that she tripped down stairs as agil as a hare, and the tea-equipage was prepared without delay.
I took the lead in the present conversation, and circumstantially related (without any other reserve than that of concealing Mr. Danby's name) every transaction that had passed since, Mr. Seabrooke set off on his ramble.
At the close of this lamentable account, Seabrooke gave a long whistle, and said, with an emphasis highly marked that, he was now convinced of what he had before suspected.
Whew
—said he,—'tis now clear: 'tis absolute sunshine.
I desired the assistance of his friendship, showing, very pathetically (by a fear which then flowed from my heart to his hand, that I was as deeply
affected
as
deceived).
Matilda ran softly on the opposite side to kiss my cheek, and Mr. Seabrooke addressed me thus: Sir Benjamin Beauchamp, you are, I find, a man to be
looked at,
but not
followed.
As soon as I heard of your project, I came to see how human nature would behave, under the execution of such a whim. In Glamorganshire (said I to myself, upon reading your plan) resides a man whom I would travel seven times seven over the Alps, in the dead of winter to know: his heart must be the noblest in the world. Accordingly, I travelled on foot to
Shenstone-Green,
where, I found your disposition even greater than I imagined, and I resolved to pass some time with you in
Paradise.
But a very few days elapsed before I was obliged to stretch myself on the grass-plats in the eye of the sun, that I might not see too much of my fellow-creatures. I every hour remarked that
modern man,
without the rod often snaken over his head, and the whip smacked in his ear, was as an horse of spirit without any bridle. The poor animals whom—to carry on the allusion—you had taken from the barren heath (where they were starving upon thistles) to place, of a sudden, in the luxuriant pasture, where the corn and grass came mantling to their chests—were turned too rapidly loose to become steady. They first grew fat, then indolent, next restive, and last
vicious.
I heard them snort disdain; and I saw them lift the hoof against the very benefactor, who put on their shoes, and gave the vigour to kick. Yet I pitied rather than blamed: I considered whether this was pure baseness, or the inevitable consequence of situation, operating on peculiar temperament and character. —
Too happy
creatures said I,
are
these steeds of Sir Benjamin Beauchamp; for which reason they must
soon
be
too miserable.
Had they been timely broken to the bit, and taught an early obedience to the curb: had they been put into proper training, there is no motive to suppose they would not have been most of them serviceable animals —and—
Does nothing then but rigid discipline create virtue, said I, Mr. Seabrooke?
No, replied Seabrooke, discipline hath no influence over Henry Hewit, Hackney. Oldblade, Matilda Beauchamp, nor some other persons of our acquaintance. Good and gentle characters, require no other impulse to virtue than the dictate of the heart, which is their unerring rule of right; but the majority, being neither gentle not good; it is necessary to prevent the force of bad habit or bad nature, by the interposition of wholesome laws. But in
Shenstone-Green,
none of these could be established consistently with the proprietor's
delicacy.
You have
seen,
you have
felt
the consequence, Sir Benjamin.
I sighed bitterly in echo to a sigh from Matilda, and then, Mr. Seabrooke continued.
CHAP. LI. IN WHICH THE WHISLER'S PIPE IS PARTICULARLY IN TUNE.
HURT, and disgusted with seeing how impossible it is to leave human beings to their own discretion, in the present state of society, and really concerned so early to perceive, the absolute madness of establishing a system of pure obligation and benevolence on the one hand, and of gratitude on the other, I wanted yet to try, if there was no way for a man to be liberal without doing at the same time as much harm as good. Two or three days did I contemplate this subject, as I lay in the sun upon your grass-plats, my friend; and, at length, an idea came across, which set me upon my legs to some purpose: for, I have measured near sixty miles, in my sauntering way, Sir Benjamin, since I left the Mansion-house, and now I am returned thoroughly satisfied, that I can
oppose
our friend
Shenstone
in every part of his scheme. Nay I am, at this time, able to set one of his observations against another. Pray compare
that
notion of his from whence you took your hint, and which was, indeed, the foundation of the village, with what follows:
I have been formerly so silly as to hope (says our poet in one of his egotisms) that every servant I had might be made a friend; I am now convinced, that the nature of servitude bears a
contrary
tendency. It is the nature of servitude also, to discard all
generous
motives to obedience; and to point out no other, than those scoundrel ones of interest and fear.
Now, take my word for it, continued, Mr. Seabrooke, that, all pensions upon the
Shenstone
principle, are
too generously
and
too largely
bestowed, not to reduce the person thereby benefitted to a state of slavery and
obligation,
which (unless such person happens to have the heart of a Henry Hewit) must, of necessity, introduce idleness, which will beget voluptuousness, which will terminate in vice.
Had we been convinced of these facts some time ago, Mr. Seabrooke, said I, how many pangs of heart, as well as purses of solid gold might have been spared.
I was not clear in the point myself, answered Seabrooke, till I had more particularly proved it in my late excursion; of which I will now give
you
and Matilda an account. He paused, and then went on.
As I grasped my hazle-stick on the morning of my departure, surely, said I, it is possible for a man to be at once wise and generous. Let us see. To this purpose, I bent my way over the mountains, resolved to stop at every hut or hamlet that should rise up in the road. My scheme was to do what, I fear, the
Shenstonian
plan does not permit—namely, to try the worth of my object
before
I administred relief. Pigmy as I am, I stood upon the galled shoulders of that giant of generosity, Sir Benjamin, and so saw farther. To forward this my stratagem, I tore off a corner of my hat, as you see, to make myself look properly miserable; I cut a couple of slits in my shoes, picked a few holes in the most obvious parts of my coat, taking care that the buttons should, in several places be wanting—because there is nothing more denotes penury, than the disappearance of a button, particularly, if the old threads are suffered to hang about—and shaking the powder out of my wig (which you know has not been acquainted with combs, since I came into your poetical country) sallied into the poorest part of Wales, under pretence of being the poorest fellow in it. Thus accoutered, I entered every cottage, whose mud walls were either bleaching on the hills, or skulking amongst the vallies. I knocked without ceremony at every door, and often let myself in by means of a latch. Without the least ceremony I took a chair, or (if chairs were scarce) a stool, and set myself down with the family. If they were at dinner, I dined also; if they were at work, I joined in the bustle, and would take mop or broom out of the damsel's hand without saying a syllable. You know, Matilda, what a proud odd sort of saucy beggar I am. It will be impossible to tell you half the singular events, which trod upon the heel of this singular conduct.—Some thought I was mad, others merry. Some believed I was a conjurer, others an impostor. What of that, I had my plan before me, and I pursued it without deviation. Whether I was well or ill treated, I stayed always long enough to find out the history of the hut; its misfortunes, its prosperities. Hence, the characters of the present possessors were developed of course. Sometimes I have entered a wretched-looked cottage (where penury seemed to sit staring in a useless chimney-corner without a faggot to call the blood into her fingers) and I have, on enquiry, found, the inhabitants so rich in content, that I dared not venture to leave with them more than half a crown or at most five shillings, for fear I should overwhelm them with sudden independence, and so ruin the family. Had I left a whole guinea in such a hut, the prosperity would have been so great, that four girls who were then singing at their wheels, would not have returned to spinning till idleness and dissipation had made them almost forget how to wind the wool round their lazy fingers. At other times I have gone into a house, where, by the diligence of the cottagers, all sorts of penury seemed to be banished; where the floor was nicely sanded, the pewter shone like mirrours, and the goodly rows of crockery, mended at top and bottom, garnished the chimney-piece; and yet, before I took my leave, I have found the family so
truly
poor, and so absolutely
prudent,
that it might be trusted with the enormous sum of five pounds, although it came pouring upon them in a
sudden
shower of gold. Such a sum
did
I give to such a family, Sir Benjamin, and what reason have I (more than you yet know) think you, to assure myself my bounty was well-placed? Why, you shall hear. I took out the money just after we had been banquetting on some excellent potatoes without butter, and as soon as I had told the five pounds—guineas, in fact, I ought to say—
here
(said I, to a good woman who sat opposite) these are to pay you for some of the best potatoes dressed in the nicest way, and served up in the cleanest manner I ever saw. As I chucked the cash across the table, one of the guineas tumbled on a farthing platter and broke it in two. After curtesying, many times too often, and putting the money into her pocket, she gave the broken plate to her husband and said—here Robin—a farthing is a farthing, and the good gentleman has —God bless him—given us five guineas; that is no reason why we should grow more extravagant than usual, so pray, Robin, mend the platter. This, Robin, who was the family mechanick, did in a very little time; and at night it bore the weight of the potatoes, warmed up a second time, as well as ever. I must not forget to tell you, though, that sometimes I have made my passage into huts, through all the sauciness and brutality that was ever practised, even by the pampered children of
Shenstone-Creen.
I have met fellows that would neither suffer me to sit upon stool or chair; who have opposed my entering into any conversation, and refused to give me a crust when I affected to be in the misery which my appearance justified. But, having authority in my hand, I always in such cases,
i. e,
after I found them reprobate—put my hand quietly into my pocket, and then took from my purse eight or ten guineas under pretence of wanting change: then, having thoroughly opened every mouth with wonder, and silenced every tongue with shame, I was generous enough to give the ungrateful rascals a WHISTLE and set off for fresh adventures.
Matilda here leaped on Mr. Seabrooke's knee, and kissed him with all her heart.
Mr. Elixir (whom I forgot to tell the reader, had come into the room just as the tea-kettle was brought) cried, laughed, skipped, and bounded at Mr. Seabrooke's relation.
For my own part, I held my tongue and spake nothing.
CHAP. LII. WHEREIN THE TONES OF THE WHISTLER GO THRILLING THROUGH THE HEART.
THUS, continued Mr. Seabrooke, have I
proved
my fellow-creatures before I trusted them.
Would to God, Mr. Seabrooke, I had done the same.
Let me see, here is my note-book, answered Seabrooke, taking a sheet of paper folded in the form of a memorandum-book, out of which, he read as follows:
Charges of Mr. Seabrooke during his journey over some of the Welch mountains performed on foot.
Two couples made happy for life with the sum of
£. s. d.
17 14 8
N. B. Three pounds more would have ruined both families.
To four spinners —
£. s. d.
0 4 0
To a deaf hedger —
£. s. d.
0 15 0
N. B. Found the hedger whistling in a ditch at his work: but the sum made him grave, and so he left off whistling. The gift should not have exceeded 1
s.
6
d.
which would have made him whistle louder than before. This, however, was the only extravagance I committed in my whole journey; but, alas! the hedger was at the ale-house for three days and nights. I am always partial to WHISTLERS.
To setting up a young man with four sheep, two hogs, a horse, a cart and a cow.—
£. s. d.
2500
N. B. Very sober and going to be married to a young woman who has a fortune of twenty guineas. The girl's father refused his consent before, but he is now thought a very good match.
To a woman who was prudent enough to mend her farthing platter just
after
she had received five guineas as a present.—
£. s. d.
550
To a traveller who gave me the
largest
half of an oaten cake as I sat by the road side, and brought me some spring water in his hat.—
£. s. d.
100
N. B. All in crown pieces because I wished him to have the
largest
money I had about me.
To an odd little man with whom I walked near three miles, because he said he was richer than me, after I had pulled out my purse and showed him the contents.
£. s. d.
100
N. B. This creature turned out the linings of his pockets and dropped on the ground only two six-pences. He said he was always poor when he had money, and rich when he had none; for I drink like a fish, sir, said he, and you have put me as it were into the
mouth of a mug
for at least a week. Yes, yes, continued he, with a good many jokes and stories (looking at the guinea)
you
will last for a week. But come, sir, as you did not give it me to make a beast, I will e'en make a man of myself. As he said this we were just entering a Welch town, where seeing a second-hand suit of clothes that hit his fancy hanging at a shop, he struck his bargain, and laid out his whole guinea. The first prudent thing I ever did in my life, sir, (said he, tucking the clothes into his bundle) pray God no ill luck may come out, but I have not let you put your money to a bad use, which is the case but with too many worthy gentlemen, and so here I go with my guinea over my shoulder and my two six-pences in my pocket.
To a stout blade who
triumphantly
compared his hands with mine, and swore I had too fair a fist to have done much for my livelyhood, alledging, ledging, that, it was no wonder I was a beggar, and be cursed to me.
£. s. d.
0 10 6
To a little girl, who, as I I sat on a joint stool, darned a hole in my stocking, and cut smooth the torn corner of my hat
without being asked. £. s. d.
006
To another who amused herself with making my coat still more ragged and buttonless.—A box on the ear. To a multitude of saucy folks who insulted me divers ways, and who would have starved me when they thought me penniless, and gorged me when they perceived I had money A WHISTLE EACH.
Whew
—said Mr. Elixir. Oh! Jesus, how I should like to whistle after the manner of Mr. Seabrooke! How monstrously I should like to whistle!
CHAP. LIII. A MORE INTERESTING DISCOVERY THAN COULD BE IMAGINED.
FROM this account Mr. Seabrooke, said I, it appears that, with the small sum of one year's payment of your pension—nay, scarce the half of it, you have done more rational and more real service to society than poor silly Sir Benjamin Beauchamp with all his thousand pounds, and fair snow of
Shenstonian
houses and the annuity settled upon their inhabitants.
Before any answer or remark could be made upon this reflexion, a servant opened the door of our apartment, to introduce, under cover of the night (which was then come on) assisted by a disguise, a man who fell at my feet the moment he could reach me.
Sir, said the disguised person, I cannot rest till I have personally demanded pardon for the—
Gracious Providence, exclaimed Seabrooke, in the most violent emotion —that voice should belong to—
Mr. Danby—cried Matilda.
Danby
—answered Seabrooke with perfect amazement—yes—it may be so—that may perhaps be the name which—
I have taken upon me (said the man) to conceal the faults which disgraced the family of—
Whom! (cried Seabrooke, staggering against the wainscot) the family of whom?—
Of Sir Matthew Davies, replied the gentleman, unmuffling his face, and discovering Mr. Danby.
My
nephew
here, cried Seabrooke, by what accident is he arisen from the dead?
The dead! said I.
Your nephew! Mr. Seabrooke, demanded Matilda? Your nephew, Mr. Seabrooke, did you say?
Call me not Seabrooke any more, madam; I am that unhappy Sir Matthew Davies, who fed and nursed that
fictitious
Danby upon my knee, when his parents were in their graves; but his extravagant benevolence drove him from my arms to some foreign shore, where it was afterwards reported he died. Speak, Danvers Davies, am I not relating facts?
They are too true, answered the young man; I had committed excesses which I deemed impossible for you to forgive, and, that I might never be thought of more, determined to abscond for ever, and feigned myself dead.
Since which time, I suppose, said Sir Matthew, you have been more prudent.
Not a whit, sir, replied young Davies. This gentleman can tell you that I have been the most prodigal, most thoughtless—
Fie! sir, said Matilda half drowned in her tears, it's no such thing.
This gentleman's bounty, sir, found me in the retreat I had sought to hide myself, and he took me under his protection upon the credit of some good feelings, and in pity to many weaknesses. But scarce was I put into
Paradise
before my unfortunate passions—
Lookee, Danvers, answered Sir Matthew, that you are a mixture of weeds and flowers I do not want to be told; nor do I desire to hear the history of half the mad things you have committed, or by what multiplied stratagems you have sheltered yourself from my enquiry, since you parted six years ago from my house, I shall only tell you that I have thought about you as seldom as my heart would let me, and that now you appear unexpectedly before me, the weak part of my nature is too much melted to do any thing worse than shed over you the tears of pity and affection.
The uncle and nephew were weeping in the neck of each other.
The disordered and half-dying Matilda ran into her father's arms for that consolation, which he had not the power to give her.
The apothecary threw himself across two chairs, and sobbed with sorrow and joy.
I felt a mixture of sensations, of which, if the reader would wish to gain the true idea; it is necessary that he has been at some period of his life, in the same instant, inexpressibly wretched and inexpressibly happy.
It was such a transaction as the tender heart would neither seek when unoffered, nor reject when it came.
CHAP. LIV. ESSENTIAL MATTERS.
WHEN it was possible to speak again, I related to Sir Matthew all the fair parts of his nephew's character, since he came to
Shenstone-Green;
and observed that the other side of his picture was only
too bright
to be looked at.
Yes, papa, said Matilda, that is all the fault he has.
And what can be done, poor fool (said Sir Matthew, taking his nephew by the hand) to make it an honest lad and less of a simpleton? But, between ourselves, Sir Benjamin,
your's
was the very worst school this young fellow could have gone to. He never could help wanderings of the imagination
before,
and here you, and your Mr.
Shenstone,
bring him to a place where there in nothing but generous chimeras from one end of the village to the other. Why
you,
Sir Benjamin, and my nephew, would, in conjunction, ruin any set of people in the world?
Whew,
a thousand pounds are gone out of your hands to do nothing at all effectually; while I am absolutely
contriving
to spend about an hundred guineas to make the
best part
of half a dozen villages perfectly rich and happy.
Whew
—money is a mere
jack o' th' lanthern,
in your hands. It is dancing about in a fascinating manner, and is nothing but a sparkling vapour, which may bring those who are lighted by it into a hole, after all. But, no matter, I have a cure for all yet. Tremble, nephew, I have a cure for all yet.
During this whole scene, young Davies, the nephew, behaved with a contrition so sincere and so modest, yet so perfect a sense of his impropriety that I never saw him so truly to advantage; and it plainly appeared by every look and action of Matilda, that, with all his errours, he was more beloved by his mistress than ever.
But the mystery of the
travelling
Mr. Seabrooke, who was so suddenly metamorphosed into Sir Matthew Davies, the real uncle of the imagined Mr. Danby, sat still uneasy on my mind, till Sir Matthew himself cleared up the whole extraordinary affair, by first writing and then disclosing to me the following letter: which was addressed to the very friend who had recommended him to me.
To
P. PECKHAM,
Esq
DEAR PECKHAM,
OUR stratagem has been successful as far as has been necessary, and I have passed upon your friend Benjamin, as Seabrooke the bankrupt and beggar, till this very day. All my curiosity hath been
abundantly
satisfied, and (by means of my plot) in my own way; but within these four hours have fallen out two very extraordinary revolutions, which will not easily get from the memory. First, I have seen that a village built upon poetical principles will never stand the batter of the passions, which you know blows an hard gale from every corner; and, Secondly, I shall ever have reason to bless the name of the dear chimerical SHENSTONE, who hath been the means of restoring to me that young rake of a nephew whom we thought dead. By some quondam interest or other he got in his name, or rather his name NOMINAL, for the pension; and, it seems, he has contributed very liberally towards bringing all manner of those ministers upon the
Green,
which are necessary to create fear and fair-dealing. But the boy has a fine soul, and I believe is so thoroughly ashamed of himself that he may yet come to something. If he does not, I shall whistle him off with a
Whew.
I now wish you would write an account of my affairs in London just as they
really
are; for the mask of Seabrooke is taken off from this moment; and I have some masterstrokes to strike in the character of
Your ever sincere friend, MATTHEW DAVIES.
Shenstone-Folly.
P. S. The reports transmitted from
Shenstone-Green
to the Mansion-house, were, in general, so different from what a theoretic head and heated heart might be led to imagine, that I have not set my foot in the village more than four or five times; and have, indeed, chiefly led the life of a recluse. Had it not been for our patron's daughter—a warm sun, a couple of excellent garden grassplats, and my consolitary
whistle,
I should have dropped my purpose long ago. Never build a
Shenstone-Green,
Peckham. Send me something to put on. I have some of the old suits still.
Having by order of Sir Matthew, read this epistle
aloud,
he desired Matilda and his nephew to amuse themselves in the garden till he spoke in private to
me.
CHAP. LV. IN THE PARADISE OF SHENSTONE-GREEN, THE WEEDS SHOOT UP APACE.
WHEN these young folks were retired—to do which required much aukward and delicate difficulty —Sir Matthew took hold of my hand, and exclaimed aloud—Lookee, Sir Benjamin, I see plainly the design which your daughter has upon my nephew. The point has been palpable ever since I found
out
the young rascal. But 'tis a match I do not approve, and if you please I will tell you why—However, let them play their little tricks upon one another for the present, and in a day or two I will settle their love story, I warrant. The first matter is, the mischief which my young rake-shame had done in the village; let us see how that matter stands.
I was about to reply to all the articles of this peculiar address, when the apothecary cried out, here is worthy Mr. Sarcasm coming into the court-yard. Now for some news; here re-entered Matilda and Sir Matthew's nephew, both blushing rosy red.
I have the honour to wait upon you at this time, upon sundry businesses (said Samuel, as he bowed in his methodical manner to the company). Imprimis, you must know that the builders and fitters-up of the several houses of amusement have consented to take them into their own hands; partly, indeed, because most of the pensioners concerned therein have betaken themselves to flight; and the said builders and co. do intend speedily advertising the same for SALE BY AUCTION.
And I will be a bidder, cried Sir Matthew. Samuel smiled upon the imagined Seabrooke, and went on.
Secondly, there are about thirteen houses vacated, which naturally drop to my honoured master, Sir Benjamin Beauchamp.
Excellent, cried Sir Matthew, that is the most promising news I have heard yet. Those houses for the future shall be more prudently occupied.
Mr. Samuel gave a second look at the supposed Seabrooke, and proceeded.
Thirdly, Mr. Hackney Old blade the lame soldier (lately preferred by your Honour) in conjunction with Mr. Henry Hewit, and Squire Sidney, have dipped their pensions pretty deep to do an action which seemed wise in
their
eyes though it seemed
otherwise
in mine.
To wit, they have paid off certain claims made by the real creditors of the young gentleman, whom, if mine eyes fail me not, sitteth now by the side of that young lady.
My
claims, Mr. Sarcasm, did you say, (answered young Davies rising) my claims?
In troth, sir, rejoined Samuel, they were just debts, and would have gone abroad to your disadvantage, so the above gentlemen have bought up your character with the best part of their annuities.
Whew,
said Sir Matthew, there's for you! Yet do they pretend, that you have still the balance on your side— Now how far that is really the case is—
Hush—hush—cried young Davies.
As to that, sir, continued Samuel, it is fit that every gentleman should have his due, and as you have a sort of character that cannot be hurt by telling the good with the—the—
the not quite so good,
I should humbly conceive—
Hush I say, replied Davies, if you go on, I must absolutely leave the room.
Lord, how strange you are Danby (I should say Davies) said Matilda—pray, Mr. Sarcasm, tell every syllable that you know to his advantage, and I will bear you harmless.
Pshaw, cried Sir Matthew, we all know that my nephew has gold amongst his dross, so drop that subject and get on to another Samuel.
The steward pricked up his ears at the word nephew, and gave Sir Matthew a third glance before he went on.
In the next place, sir, said Samuel addressing himself to me, I have to acquaint your Honour, as in duty bound, of a very long and ill-written petition (that I have received from the
Shenstonian
mechanicks) which in
substance
is—for I would not vex your Honour with seven sheets full of nonsense—
That, as your Honour has suffered
Shenstone-Green
to be turned upside down by the whims of the
independent
pensioners, they think you will not object to a very reasonable proposition which they have to make, viz.
That you will humbly please to put them upon a par with those other
Shenstonians,
who have done nothing for their money; and fix some annual stipend to each trader independent of the drudgery of business—labour, they say, is no inheritance, and they pretend that in a republick, like that of
Shenstone-Green,
all should be upon an equality. Not, that they lay particular stress upon this, your Honour —Not that they will refuse to stick the knife into the throat of the lamb, nor put the dough into the oven, nor hew the wood, nor fetch the water, any more than when their livelyhood wholly depended upon these occupations, but because, seeing things take rather a curious turn, they suppose they have a natural right to join the chorus of that emulation which seems to be the grand passion of the good people of your Honour's
Green.
Upon this principle—which your Honour will allow is still
poor Human Nature
— they pray for the sinecure of a pension or annuity, exclusive of the mere profits of selling their commodities; by which indeed it doth already appear, that they cannot get so comfortable a subsistence as might be expected; since the better sort of pensioners let their accounts with tradesmen run to a GENTEEL SIZE, and, in the hurry of quitting a
Paradise
of which they are
tired,
have, by mistake, forgotten to settle them.
Tradesmen, said Sir Matthew, have as good a title to take advantage of your incaution as any other people for ought I see. What a lesson for you, Danvers! continued he. What an example! See Danvers the noble pile in ruins! See
Shenstone-Green
a mere town of the world. See the utility of laws, and weep to think what a wild colt is a man when he but imagines himself wholly his own master.
Samuel now looked more earnestly than before, and could not help saying jocularly, that the gentleman had, in his opinion, wonderfully improved upon his
Whew.
Sarcasm, Sarcasm, said I, there wanted but this stroke of the tradesmen to finish the whole. Putting all things together then Sir Matthew.—
SIR MATTHEW, cried the steward!
Putting, I say, my dear Sir Matthew, all things together, it is clearly proved, that the only reasonable address which has been made to my bounty hath come from the pensioners who are now instituting the academy of dispute.
WHEW—said Sir Matthew.
Odso, answered Samuel, I have a card to deliver your Honour from the gentlemen concerned in that matter. Here it is.
The scientific society of
Shenstonian
academicians (who have been indefatigably labouring to sweeten the village by some rational and solid pleasures) have now brought their scheme to such perfection that tomorrow evening their Athenian entertainments will be opened on the publick, at half past six o'clock. The business of the first night, which can only be a sort of general introduction, will be for every member to state his principles and sentiments upon the noblest of all subjects— namely, that of RELIGION; because as our motto is
"Be ye of one Mind,"
it is thought proper only to adopt such into the society as are steady in their
faith,
and distinguished by their
good works.
This society being for universal good, every body both in and out of the village will be admitted, at least for that night, and every man will have full liberty to utter his whole heart whatever be its bias or its prepossession.
Sir B. Beauchamp and his family are most humbly invited to partake this attick gratification, which, it is expected, will reclaim the unhappy disturbances lately created, and give a new form to the village.
CHAP. LVI. WHICH CARRIES ON THE PLOT TO THE READER'S SATISFACTION.
MR. Elixir and Samuel were sent away with my compliments to the academicians, letting them know, that I and my party would certainly wait upon them at the time appointed.
When these men had left the room, Sir Matthew Davies turned about to his nephew, and, in the presence of Matilda, spoke thus—Lookee, Danvers, I see your design is to get the affections of that young lady; now I must honestly tell you, that I love her myself; and though I am ten years, or perhaps fifteen, too old for her, yet I have cherished serious thoughts of asking her to be my wife. Now, this is to give you notice that I shall most formidably stand between you and the accomplishment of your wishes —Nay, I shall very solemnly be your rival, till by a course of rational conduct you have got better arguments on your side to supplant me than a fair face and the prime of your youth.
Do not think, young gentleman, that such a girl as Matilda is to be thrown away upon a fellow who has already contributed, not a little, to aid her father in squandering her natural inheritance. I say, don't you think this; for be assured—
Dear, sir, answered the beautiful youth with the tears shining in his eyes—dear uncle, if you could see now into my converted heart—if—
It is too early to make professions, replied Sir Matthew in the same commanding tone. I had rather look at your heart than hear your words. I make you a very generous offer. I will sacrifice my affection to your's when it is clear to the lady's father that you deserve the preference. That may easily
be
Danvers, for you have only to check your vile passion for magnificence, and you will be just what you ought to be for my little play-mate there.
Indeed, Sir Matthew, cried Matilda, running to his knee as usual, I so well know the goodness of his heart— that—
Hush—
Whew
—hush, hussey— said the baronet. He knows the conditions. Let him consider them. So now go and tell him from me, that he is a very handsome fellow, and that though he is my rival, I will neither run him through the body nor blow out his brains.
Here the good heart of Sir Matthew melted as he spoke, and he ran into his nephew's arms, begging him for God's sake to make Matilda amends for having fooled away so much of her fortune. I take all this pains with thee, Danvers, said Sir Matthew, tenderly taking his hand, because thee hast a heart. But I oppress thee, poor fellow, go then, go, and let Matilda— What do
you
say though to this freedom, Sir Benjamin?
I say, Sir Matthew, said I, that we have tortuned them enough and cannot do better than leave them together till they recover themselves.
Aye, replied the baronet, I see plainly that you are all in a plot against poor Seabrooke. I shall be thrown out of my chance, and the young rogue will run away with his uncle's mistress at last.
Sir Matthew gave me his hand, and we went out of the room tenderly admiring and esteeming one another.
CHAP. LVII. THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOOLS.
AGREEABLE to promise we all went at the appointed hour to the Scientifick Society, which was held in the room that had been intended for masquerading. I was mightily pleased at the pomp with which I was serenaded from the door to the chair of state, which was emblematically decorated, and on which I was seated as President. Every thing was neat, clean and had methought an air truely classical. A paper was given me which contained a list of those gentlemen's names who designed to speak that evening; and as the opening of the entertainment was a kind of present made to the publick, it is easy to conceive what a multitude of people were collected. A person appointed to the office of announcing the business now read aloud (in a tone like the clerk of the papers in a court of justice) the following notice.
O YES, this is to give notice, that all philosophers, divines and moralists, who have any questions to propose, or subjects to start, which may tend to the enlargement of human knowledge, are now desired to propose and start them freely, and such as are deemed worthy of discussion shall be enrolled by the deputy in the repository or register of the society for future debate and elucidation: this being the business of the present evening.
A general hum murmured through the assembly after the clerk had whined out this notice, and then a bell rang to inform the audience that such as chose to speak might begin and address the President. In consequence of which I was spoken to in the following manner, while a man on the left hand side was taking his minutes of what past.
I am one of those very poor creatures called a man, Mr. President (said the first person that got upon his legs) I was born without power, knowledge, or instinct; I wanted force and cunning to get the nipple of my mother's bosom into my mouth, and without assistance I must have died for want of suck, though the milk was full in my view. I grew higher and stronger till I was twenty-two years old, and I got into my head new ideas every day. At twenty-two years old, my reason became so strong that I set myself at work to find out the mechanick power or natural stimulus—or what you will—by which I was able to gather so many ideas and so much strength of body? Thirty years have been passed, Mr. President, in this important study, and I am as ignorant upon the subject as if I were yet in my swathing clothes. I beg, therefore, this matter may be registered for the future consideration of this learned society.
Registered.
He sat down and gave place to
PHILOSOPHER THE SECOND.
I shall only trouble you with a single sentence, Mr. President, namely, that I may be informed, when the society have leisure—What I am? From whence I came—What the duce I came
for
—and what is to become of me when I am not permitted to stay here any longer?
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE THIRD.
Pray, Mr. President, let me be informed how it is that I am able to
think?
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE FOURTH.
I am a philosopher upon the principle of the profound yet modest Mr. Locke, and I should be glad to hear any man, Mr. President, in this assembly have the hardy-hood to oppose his system.
I
say, Mr. President, with Mr. Locke, that I have always existed, that there are no such innate ideas—that I am free when I am able to act as I think proper—In short, I am a Lockist from top to bottom.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE FIFTH.
Register me, Mr. President, if you please as a friend to Spinosa, and an enemy to every man who can support the futile arguments of Locke.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE SIXTH.
My notion is, Mr. President, that the sublimest system in the world is that of the Bramins. I believe, implicitly with them, that this wretched existence is only a death of a few years, which when passed, will be exchanged for a glorious state where we shall live for ever with the Deity. Mr. President, I beg you will permit me to be registered as a man who means, tooth and nail, to support the Bramin opinions.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE SEVENTH.
Down with me, Mr. President, as an Hobbist or Hobbesist, just, sir, as you choose to settle the orthography. For I hold, with Mr. Hobbes that, the great law of the world is the law of convention. I hold, that it is perfectly conformable to the law of nature that every man should have a right to take the life of a fellow-creature, because every man has
a right to every thing.
Registered.
Whew,
said Sir Matthew—carrying Matilda and his nephew out of the assembly.
PHILOSOPHER THE EIGHTH.
Mr. President, I am a follower of Aristotle.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE NINTH.
It would make me happy, Mr. President, to know, in the course of the learned debates which are to be agitated within these walls, what are really the philosophical and metaphysical import of the following words, which I have so very often read about, without being a whit the wiser— namely—infinity, incomprehensibility, eternity, plastick forms, monades, reason, instinct, substance, ignorance and wisdom?
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE TENTH.
My principle, sir, is above all things, to take care of my parents; never to break my promise; to be abstemious; to doubt, when I am not certain of the propriety of an action; and to be as charitable as my fortune will permit. Let me, therefore, be put down in the list as an admirer of Zoroaster. What are called his superstitions, Mr. President, I am ready and able to defend. I do not admit that any of his dogmas were erroneous, but I will take upon me to prove that he is superior to every man that went before or shall come after him.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE ELEVENTH.
Epicurus for my money, Mr. President. I will defend his charming doctrine to the last drop of my blood.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE TWELFTH.
Mallebranche is my man, Mr. President, and I will enter the list with any gentleman of this society who will attempt to prove that pleasure is
not
able to make us happy.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE THIRTEENTH.
The person who spoke last, Mr. President, will find a powerful antagonist in
me,
for I profess the principles of Arnauld, and I do, with all the force that is in me, firmly
deny
that pleasure can make us happy.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE FOURTEENTH.
I despise pleasure of all kinds, Mr. President; I have the greatest contempt for pain; grief has no sort of influence either upon my soul or body: I scorn life; I scorn death. Insert me, therefore, as a man who will maintain the system of Epictetus, of Cato, and of every other illustrious STOICK like myself.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE FIFTEENTH.
About eight and twenty years ago, Mr. President, I took up a book which lay snug in a corner of my uncle Purepuzzle's study, and I found it contain a religion, which I have ever since adopted. The great founder hereof, Mr. President, enjoins, that we should be modest and humiliated, that to do no harm is not sufficient, we must do good; he bids us pardon injuries and never forget benefits. To correct to day the faults of yesterday. To stand, as it were, sentinel over our own hearts. To cultivate every tenderness, and curb every passion; without pride or pageantry to bestow, and never to receive but in cases of the last necessity, and then to accept a favour without stooping to meanness. I stand up then, Mr. President, and I will for the future stand up while I have a leg to stand
upon,
a warm advocate of Confucius.
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE SIXTEENTH.
I am one, Mr. President, who neither pin my faith upon the old tattered sleeve of Locke, Spinosa, Hobbes, Zoroaster, Epicurus, Mallebranche, Arnauld, Epictetus, or Confucius.
I do not care what these say the snap of my finger; because, superior to all leaders or leading-strings, Mr. President, I am a young fellow who thinks for myself. But, alas! I have hitherto thought to so little purpose, that I am almost as much in the dark as if I had read the two and twenty thousand million philosophical books which, I understand, have been written to explain what is, perhaps, after all incomprehensible. The subjects, Mr. President, which I want to have treated, are indeed such as foolish folks are in general afraid to enter upon; and therefore we have as yet no society which comes up to my idea of an academy of dispute: I hope
this,
Mr. President, (which is opened upon your
Green
under your suffrage) will be such. It is with these expectations that I have come from the remotest part of Cornwall, to
Shenstone-Green,
where I will regularly attend the debates of this honourable house till my soul is satisfied. Not, however, Mr. President, to take up more of your time than I perceive is, on the present evening, allowed to one person, I shall briefly direct my hints to the ear of Mr. Deputy that he may insert them in his treasury of metaphysical materials.
FIRST,
Let me be instructed how reason differs, either externally or internally, from instinct, and upon what principle it is that every beast of the field hath so strong a sense of obedience, gratitude, aversion and shame? I would wish to know if my dog hath not the faculty of combining and comparing? Does he think always or does he never think? Does he—in fact, what is the precise difference betwixt him and your humble servant?
Here a general laugh ensued, produced partly by the droll manner of the present speaker, and partly by the singularity of his harangue.
SECONDLY,
I desire it may be debated whether human science is not a very absurd thing, and whether the wisdom of the wisest sage is not foolishness? I maintain, Mr. President, that it is neither convenient nor necessary for man to know much; and I suspect that we are every hour running our noses against matters that are wholly out of our line. Pray, therefore, let me be told whether knowledge is necessary, or whether "ignorance is not bliss."
You have proposed questions enough, friend, said I, for at least a twelvemonth's debate, and I therefore advise, that you reserve the rest for more leisure, as it begins to get late.
The philosopher assented, and his questions were
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE SEVENTEENTH.
I should be glad to have it proved, Mr. President, at the very next meeting, whether it would not be more politick, more moral, and more to the honour of
Shenstone-Green
to turn the Academy of Dispute into an Academy for keeping pigs, suckling calves, breeding chickens or for any other use equally innocent, rather than suffer it to stand upon its present foundation?
Here a loud laugh burst from the multitude, and a growl muttered amongst the metaphysicians: but the speaker's question appeared to me so apposite that I ordered it to be
Registered.
PHILOSOPHER THE LAST.
Though I perceive, Mr. President, that the book of the deputy is about to be closed, I hope you will allow
me,
who am one of your regular pensioners, and who have seen all the disorders of
Shenstone-Green,
from the
upon his center (while a kind of sarcastic smile pervaded a set of features naturally keen and rigid) the philosophical pensioner began.
CHAP. LVIII. THE FOLLY AND WICKEDNESS OF PHILOSOPHERS.
TO avoid giving offence, Mr. President, to any of the worthy and learned gentlemen, who have this evening enriched the Academy with stores of religious and metaphysical hints for future ratiocination, I shall not address them with any remarks of my
own,
but simply tell them a story which was told to me by
a celebrated French philosopher;
and which is, doubtless, as well known to the learned
Shenstonians
as to me. It was found amongst the posthumous papers of an ancient Rabbi.
The story runs thus:
When the most powerful, sagacious and wise Deity had, in six days, put the finishing stroke to his work—no less a performance than that of composing the world— when he had properly arranged the heavenly bodies, adjusted the musick of the spheres, and fitted every star to its orbit: when the secret springs which moved and regulated this sublime machine were curiously concealed from the acutest examiner, and when an impenetrable veil was thrown over the arcana of nature; it is said, that the great author of the whole, in the ineffability of his indulgence, amused himself with observing the progress of those ingenious little contrivers who call themselves PHILOSOPHERS.
To this end, says the story, he summoned all those who, on this speck of earth, had distinguished themselves as the founders or inventors of any particular faith: sophists, doctors, and all the proud sons of harangue and disputation were there. Scot, Bonaventure, Gassendi, Thomas of Aquin, Descartes and every other illustrious name which hath either been trusted to the wing of posterity, or dropped into the vale of oblivion.
They approached the star-incircled throne of the universal father, who, considering them as they really were, stooped from his unrivalled dignity, and conversed upon equal terms.
Lookee, my friends, let us see which of you hath the most intimate acquaintance with the governor of nature. Tell me what I am, how I am made, and what is my secret? Tell me by what force or management the comets are sustained; and why in that globe upon which you once crawled, one ounce of good is, by a destiny too fatal, mixed up with fifty ounces of evil? When you have settled these points, you may, if you please, by way of supplement tell me, who and what you yourselves are. Speak freely.
It is a day of absolute liberty. Speak to me with the same confidence you have spoken and written to your fellow-atoms. I am aware that prizes have been proposed by way of encouraging you to these matters. Be it so, I will, for once, adopt the rule of your academies, and give to him who shall offer the best and clearest idea, a great deal of money, and his salvation into the bargain.
He said, the philosophers applauded the proposal, and friend
Thomas
rose first—Thomas who always gets so well through the thick and thin of an argument, and replies to every thing without having a doubt of any thing.
Thou art, said he, the existence and the essence, the pure substance, and the simple attribute: thou wert
in
time,
out
of time,
before
time and after time; the beginning, the middle, and the end; the great principle, and the great effect; thou art present every where without being any where.
The eternal, at these words, said, courage noble Thomas, courage, and covered the natural
awe
of his countenance by a smile.
After some little bustle,
Descartes
got up—Descartes, who was ever in search of the whirlwind that he could not meet with—whose head was, as it were, be-powdered with subtle matter, and who went blundering on without even having read so much as the Evangelist.
Since I am permitted to speak, said
Descartes,
behold an argument, which I take to be uncontrovertible. To
be,
it is enough that you are
possible.
With respect to your universe it is a striking thing enough; but, whenever you think proper, I will make quite another-guess-affair of it.
I am able—yes, I Descartes, am able to form elements, animals, light and whirlwinds, out of a little piece of matter. Who knows the laws of motion so well as Descartes?
The Deity smiled with pity for the second time. Then rose the uncertain and hesitating
Gassendi.
He tremblingly proposed to God his crooked atoms, although out of fashion, and decayed; but not venturing to say any thing of the supreme Essence, he stammered out a few more words about his crooked atoms and sat down.
Next stepped forth, with measured pace, a little, long-nosed Jew; poor, modest, happy, satisfied and retired. His complexion was pale, his understanding subtle—he was more celebrated than read, and he concealed himself under the mantle of his master Descartes.
Pardon me, said he—addressing himself to the throne, and speaking very low—pardon me—but I think, between ourselves, that you have no existence at all. This, do I believe, is proved by my mathematicks.
Some feeble schoolmen, and bad criticks have opposed me; but you are able to judge how far I have been in the right. You only are able to determine the limits of the genius of Spinosa.
The solid earth and azure heavens trembled at these words with horror and affright. Thomas of Aquin stepped back: all the philosophers looked alarmed; but the clement and good Deity, lamented the infidelity of Spinosa, ordered his poor brain to be cured, and gently commanded that he should be excluded from the senate of science.
Spinosa withdrew under the support of a few partizans.
Our philosophers, perceiving with what unbounded indulgence the Deity deigned to compassionate their extravagances, immediately held out in oftentatious pomp an hundred fair chimeras, and noble efforts of the human understanding. They spoke, disputed, opposed, supported, cried and shouted all together. The heavens and the earth were in an uproar.
Chaos was come again. Thus, when to dine with some withered witch of a woman who erects her reputation upon feeding men of letters, fifteen or twenty
beaux esprits,
family authors, rhymsters, compilers, song-makers, and translators are gathered together, the house reechoes with the howlings of the hungry rabble, and the wandering passengers stand gaping in the street.
And now uprose with a conscious air, the redoubted
Mallebranche.
Speak to the
letter,
speak to the
word,
and then I will answer, said he. In opposition to him,
Arnauld
started from his seat, and furiously said, that, the Sovereign Bounty created the human race propensely to damn it.
Leibnitz
announced to the Turk and the Christian, that in his Harmony they would not be able to comprehend his meaning, that God, the world, and us little creeping creatures are nothing without
Monades.
Every philosopher discovered his system, and sported his opinion.
The Deity by no means enraged— he is the best of fathers—permitted his children, without imposing laws too rigid, to amuse themselves like libertines as they were, with the work of his hands. But, as none of them had answered the questions quite to his satisfaction, he put off the prize to another year.
On the very same day, however (continues the tale) he dispatched his Angel Gabriel the ambassador of peace —the firm friend of pure hearts, and the messenger of good actions—with a particular commission down to earth. Immediately the winged agent took a flight into twenty provinces, and paid a visit to saints, popes, princes, cardinals, and inquisitors, most of whom were, in past ages, devout persecutors.
Gentlemen, said he, the benign Father of all Mercies, orders you to divert yourselves without oppressing any other person. Be happy yourselves, but do not make others miserable. He knows very well that there are a set of pretenders in in the world—a kind of literary empyricks, very wise and very profound— who are, like yourselves, egregrious blockheads. But as they have neither the power nor the will to do any harm, the good God my master is too full of compassion to arm his omnipotence against the imbecillity of flesh and blood.
Because poor atoms, who have a glimmering faculty of thinking, think wrong, ought they to be roasted for that? Alas! human philosophy is of such a nature that one should not too rigidly mark what it doeth amiss. Believe me, the book of a metaphysician is no very dangerous matter. As it is born so dieth it in feebleness. The arguments, which ye can make use of against the Most High, are as arrows shot from a loosened bow that is pulled by the arm of an infant. They must needs drop short of their mark. And when that mark is the glorious majesty of earth and heaven, judge how very wretched must be your most aspiring attempts!
To talk and to scribble is the privilege of the thing which hath most vanity, and the least reason to be vain.
Imitate your tender father who doth nothing but smile and forgive.
Here ends my story, Mr. President, and it is now easy to determine whose system is the best.
CHAP. LIX. PHILOSOPHY CONTRIBUTETH TO THE DESTRUCTION OF SHENSTONE-GREEN.
THE whole assembly was up in arms at this story, at the relation of which I perfectly shuddered.
The philosophers deemed it absurd.
The wits applauded it as a fine morsel of
fun.
The auditors, in general, declared it was impious and profane. But the murmurs of the partizans so violently increased, that I rose with indignation from my chair, and darting a look of contempt at the story-teller, went out of the Academy exclaiming, that I neither liked the institution nor the principles on which it was to move; and that they should never meet with my concurrence till they were likely to be conducted more to the honour of my
Village,
my COUNTRY and my GOD.
Notwithstanding these declarations, the disputants went on with all the vigour and violence of bigotted controversy; and the passion for declaiming grew to such a size that it seemed to lord it over every other. It was in vain that I combated this with all the little authority I had left myself; I argued upon the score of its involving us in religious dissentions, the fatal effects of which I pathetically pointed out. In reply to this, they insisted that it was curtailing a generous liberty, and inflicting upon them a scandalous servitude, which implied a desire to tyrannize: and how, said they, can Sir Benjamin Beauchamp pretend to forbid those establishments taking place in a free village, which have always flourished in all large and polished cities. TO THINK, they said, characterized men much less than to give
language
to thought. Speech was, in their opinion, the cardinal distinction of humanity, and if
Shenstone-Green
was not, above all other villages or towns upon earth, the properest for fair and full debate, they did not conceive rightly the idea of the liberty of Sir Benjamin's subjects.
In proportion as I resisted, the philosophers preached up with vehemence the tolerating spirit, and when my consent was by no means to be gained to the contrivance of the Systematick Academy, the members publickly told me, that I had no power to repeal an act I had voluntarily made; and that as I had no right to tax the human understanding, they should proceed in the investigation of truth, though to get at her temple it might be necessary to shake the very roof of the Academy with the solid powers of a metaphysical argument.
Thus, obliged to give up the point, the meetings became so frequent that the folly spread itself about till it fairly begirt my unfortunate village like a surrounding pestilence. In a little time all sorts of religionists, sects, and system-mongers crept into a community sufficiently divided before. Parties were formed and sustained with an animosity which denoted the most inveterate prejudice and hatred of each other: some combated for the Epicurean, some for the Platonick system; and it was no uncommon thing to see a number of my people gathered together to observe fair fighting, with tongue and fist, betwixt a Stoick and a Sceptick; a Materialist and a Roman Catholick, a Bramin and a Spinosian. The infection presently ran to Tradesmen's-Corner, and my mechanicks first hurried their work, and then fairly left it, to get to the Academy. Many of them, who had weak heads and strong lungs, were exalted, by the force of such accomplishments, from hearers to speakers; and by such means, those who were formerly honest men, and industrious traders—who were, perhaps, raised from the hard fall of unavoidable bankruptcy, or set up newly in the shops I had provided— turned out blind enthusiasts, or absurd religionists, each of whom had just knowledge as well as just religion enough to make them enemies, but not enough to make them friends.
In short,
Shenstone-Green
was now in an uproar both from civil and religious misfortunes. It was miserably divided against itself, and you may be sure, reader, the total subversion of my little empire was not far off.
The New Paradise was fairly LOST.
CHAP. LX. AGREEABLE EVENTS, AND MUCH INNOCENCE.
DURING these absurdities amongst the
greater part
of the inhabitants, the better
few
were labouring to compensate for the disorders of less worthy spirits. Affairs stood thus: Sir Matthew Davies was exerting every tender manoeuvre to form his nephew to a regular system of moral and steady conduct.
Henceforth, my dear Danvers, said the baronet, consider, that the established gentleman is too well acquainted with sinery to regard it.
As we now tread poetical ground, which is, perhaps, built on the most romantick passage in the works of William Shenstone, I will give you a maxim more reasonable from that author.
Have an
heart superior,
with
oeconomy suitable
to your fortune.
But I have said enough: my nephew, continued Sir Matthew, will be worthy the love of Matilda Beauchamp.
Mr. Sidney and Miss Elliot were engaged in little bickerings, which did not affect their mutual tenderness.
Mr. Elixir was perfectly happy in trundling his wife over the
Green
in her gilt go-cart.
Henry Hewit, as he was the best, so was he the most blest of men in the arms of his now saithful Fanny.
Hackney Oldblade was blessing his good stars even for the loss of his limbs in the field of battle, since it was to the wounds there occasioned, he was indebted for his present felicity—Had not I been thus gloriously mangled, said the veteran, I should never have travelled upon my stumps to
Shenstone-Green,
nor ever have found my daughter.
The generous expences which the above parties had incurred on account of young Davies, were all adjusted.
In the midst of these circumstances Mr. Sarcasm, the steward, sent me the following letter, which not a little disconcerted me.
To Sir
BENJAMIN BEAUCHAMP.
MY WORTHY MASTER.
IN very sorrow of foul I set me down at my desk to tell your Honour that we must needs part. for the business of
the Green
does so blacken and thicken that it is too much for a man in years, who has, till lately, lived in a land properly secured by wife and salutary laws.
Pray, your Honour, think a little of the life I am leading. There are more petitions pass through these my feeble hands than if I were a Lord Chancellor, and every petitioner, who does not succed, honours me with abusive language. But, waving this point, there are others which render mine office at this place insupportable, and with which it behoveth your Honour to be made acquainted.
Shenstone-Green
is, by being built after a wrong model—your Honour will pardon me—become the most reprobate and disagreeable place I know.
We are over-run with lawyers, peace officers, and usurers, who have scented their prey even in this once still corner of Wales.
We have no religion, no manners, and people are every hour buying an ounce of justice with a ton of gold. Nor do I in troth think your Honour has any further occasion for a steward in this village, for pensioners are every day leaving their shells behind them,
i. e.
vacating your Honour's houses, and those who remain imagine their patron to have so little authority, that it is only for the sake of preserving appearances that they teaze him with petitions.
These truths, sir, added to the great objection I have to babble and noise, urge me to hope you will gently dismiss me from a post which can be no longer held with service to your honour, nor credit to
Your peace-loving Faithful humble servant, SAMUEL SARCASM.
Steward's-Lodge.
On reading this letter to Sir Matthew Davies, he said, he must have some conversation with Sarcasm, and begged he might be sent for.
While these orders were giving, an express arrived at the Mansion-house for Sir Matthew, who received a small chest, and a large packet of Letters. One of these, said he, examining the hand, so particularly concerns me that I must retire to read it.
He withdrew to the next room, beckoning his nephew to follow him.
Matilda and I were alone.
Hang it, papa, said she, this
Shenstone-Green
is but a poor place after all.
A very poor place, indeed, Matilda.
Lord, Lord, how much better had I been feeding my linnets, nursing my sick canary, and driving the kite from my chickens, in Cumberland!
Heigho, Matilda!
And yet, papa, it has its charms too. I am sure I love this flower that I have got in my hand ten thousand times better than all the flowers that ever grew in Cumberland.
How long is it, my dear, since Sir Matthew's nephew went into the garden and cut with your scissars—
Pshaw—now you think, papa, that I like the flower upon that account— Now, I protest—
But this village, my dear, I declare it is grown detestable to me.
Oh! I hate it so, papa, I never desire to set my foot in it again.
I thought, Matilda, you said just now that it had more charms than—
No; not
Shenstone-Green,
sir, I meant this house, and that garden, and the wood, and the little bench in the alcove, where there is scarce room enough for—for—
Sir Matthew's nephew and you I suppose, Matilda—Hey!
Lord, papa, your head runs of nothing but Sir Matthew's nephew.
But since we are alone Matilda, let me frankly confess to you, that I blush to think how deep I have plunged my fortune in a foolish scheme, and injured thereby my dear Matilda. Through my absurdity, my dear, you will not have near so much money as you ought to have had.
Then I shall have less occasion for it you know, papa, for Danvers will be a good oeconomist—
Danvers, did you say, Matilda?—
Yes, papa, and I do assure you, he yesterday declared to me upon his knees—
Upon his knees, Matilda?
Yes, yes, I say, he declared upon both his knees, while he put up his dear white hands, thus, and laid his sweet cheek to my face—
His cheek to your face, Matilda?
—Just for all the world as it might be thus—
Lord, papa, how rough your skin is to his—well, and he swore that since his last visit to the Mansion-house, he valued one shilling more than ever he did a guinea before.—
Do you indeed, said I, Danvers; I do by my soul, replied he, I do by this kiss.
By this kiss, Matilda, did you say?
Kiss, papa, why if you had seen him kiss me that time, it was so different from every other—
Every
other,
Matilda?
That you never could have forgot it—for the tears fell upon the poor things face, and there was so much grief about his eyes, and his dear lips turned so pale, that I thought we should have both died upon the spot.
Then you love him, Matilda, more than ever. To be sure I do, papa, and is not there good reason for it? Is not Danvers quite a tame, gentle creature, and don't he love me with all his soul?
But if after all, Matilda, he should gain your affections and then prove faithless.
Then, papa, will I be so good humoured and so faithful, that I will touch his fine heart and win him back again.
You are resolved then to have him, Matilda, at all events.
I would make myself very miserable to please my father.
Come to your father's arms—your father's heart, Matilda, for you are dearer to me than—
Here, Sir Matthew and his nephew, who were in the next room rushed in.
Not dearer, Benjamin, cried Sir Matthew, to you than she is to me, and you are not much more her relation.
Don't suppose you have a greater share of her than myself.
Lookee, nephew, if you do not promise me to make it Matilda's
duty
to call me uncle, by this day week, I will leave you and this house with a
Whew.
—
Oh! my God, said young Davies, what shall I do! Why do my tears refuse to relieve me in this excess of my happiness!
Suppose, Matilda, said I, you and Mr. Davies were to go and court the stars this fine evening, as you sit on the little bench in the alcove where there is scarce room for two persons.
That, papa, said Matilda, slyly, would incommode the young gentleman, but as it is your desire, we should take advantage of so heavenly a night, it would be rude not to—
Well said, hypocrite (cried Sir Matthew, as Matilda was going out) you will spoil my nephew, I doubt, at last.
CHAP. LXI. A PROPOSAL FOR THE NEW-MODELLING OF SHENSTONE-GREEN.
BY this time entered Mr. Samuel Sarcasm in obedience to the summons.
And so, Mr. Samuel, said Sir Matthew, you would wish to quit the
Green?
Your Honours both know my reasons, replied the steward.
To tell you the truth, my friend, said Sir Matthew, I am as tired of it as yourself, and I think I may answer for Sir Benjamin into the bargain. Say the truth, Sir Benjamin, is not your frolick over? Are you not convinced that Master Shenstone and you have only started a project, whose execution hath "furnished inconveniencies proper only for a lively novel."
I am indeed, said I, groaning forth my profound conviction.
That being the case, answered Sir Matthew, suppose we make the best of a bad necessity, and turn as much as possible our misfortune to advantage.
Surely, said I.
Putting up, therefore, with the loss of the several irrecoverable pensions, and the sums that have been jerked away upon other subjects equally useless, I have a plan to settle every thing else on a decent footing.
Heavens, said I, what plan is that?
FIRST,
Let your traders live here as in any other town, continuing to work and sell to the best advantage they can. If they are rich enough to cock-fight, let them cock-fight; but, at all events, let them pay a trifling yearly rent to you for their houses, which, if they choose to
quit,
so much the better; then you may get better tenants; if they like to stay, so be it. They will know the conditions: if they are insolent compel them into civility by law.
And must
Shenstone-Green
come to this? said I.
It must come to this or worse, replied Sir Matthew.
In troth, your Honour whistles my tune to a T, cried Samuel, smiling.
SECONDLY,
Let you, I, and Samuel, continued Sir Matthew, buy, if it is to be done cheaply, all the publick buildings which stand upon your ground, Sir Benjamin, and let us convert them into the following uses: viz.
The Concert-Room into a Charity-House for poor Welch orphans, to be educated and clothed at our expence till the age of twelve years.
The Pantheon, into a Free-School for boys.
The Theatre into an Alms-House for all old people past labour.
Humph! cried Samuel, a little costively, this note does not suit my organs, your Honour, quite so well as the last.
THIRDLY,
Let such pensioners houses as are vacated be let to any body who chooses to hire them, and
Shenstone-Green
is become too popular not to attract inhabitants. The profits of these may go towards the maintenance of the charities. It would be well to cultivate commerce and invite all people to settle in this village, which may be easily done if the grand articles of life come cheap to them at first setting out.
Samuel shook his head.
FOURTHLY,
Let matters, said Sir Matthew, go on just as they will, do you take care, Sir Benjamin, to be paid for every thing that is claimable; and I charge you to let the laws take their course for the future from one corner of
Shenstone-Green
to the other.
But how, Sir Matthew, said I, are all these things to be done. I have laid out already an immense sum of money, and must continue to pay off those cursed annuities.
Read that letter then, answered Sir Matthew.
To Sir
MATTHEW DAVIES.
MY DEAR SIR MATTHEW,
Your wandering whim has not injured your fortunes, for I considered your interest as mine, and have looked vigilantly after every thing that belonged to Sir Matthew Davies, while he was humourously vagabonding it as Mr. Seabrooke. Your immense adventures which you hazarded abroad are returned safe, with such cargoes and freights as must swell your large fortune into almost an immensity. The success of a certain baronet, who traded to the Indian shores, is this very day blazing in the papers, so that your presence becomes necessary, as, indeed, nothing effectual can be done without you. It is well your travelling name is no longer necessary, for it is so proper for you to come to town, and assume your real self, that had
Shenstone-Green
been really a paradise instead of a mere mortal village, built with mens hands, and polluted by mens vices, you could not consistently have delayed your departure. Your captains will all want you in ten days, which must be the very longest date of your absence from London.
Your old friend, P. PECKHAM.
I congratulated Sir Matthew on his acquisitions.
You see, replied he, that money cannot be wanting, and I am determined us three will get this town again into our own hands, or else we will contrive to make those pay handsomely who stay in it.
CHAP. LXII. THE PROPOSAL ACCEPTED.
I HOLD
that,
reader, to be a villainous drawback upon thy pleasure, which delays, unnecessarily, the concluding events of an interesting book. If
this
is not a book to interest I have disappointed myself: If it is, thou wilt doubtless think it the more so for conducting thee hastily through the stops and demurs with which authors are too apt to block up their catastrophe. For my part, I shall lead thee, by the nearest way, to those things thou wantest most to know.
Understand, therefore, that the plan of Sir Matthew, was, with the amendments of Mr. Samuel, put into execution without delay.
The traders were obliged to submit and
Shenstone-Green
shrunk down to a village,
as villages go.
Not worse nor better; not any longer romantick, but real.
The charities were all instituted, and all that part of Wales, you will naturally believe, was the better for them.
Samuel Sarcasm remained still the steward but upon a very different principle.
He is to let the premises to the best advantage.
Shouldest
thou,
reader, choose to become a tenant, it is only necessary for thee to take a journey into Glamorganshire, and make the best bargain thou art able with my old friend Samuel.
In that thou art an admirer and purchaser of this book, he will, I doubt not, be the more favourable to thee.
But should mere curiosity lead thee to see this celebrated town, thou hast only to find it out, and gratify thine heart.
Shouldest thou be so lucky as to hit upon the spot, fail not to say to thyself. Alas, poor SHENSTONE-GEEEN! Alas, poor HUMAN NATURE!
CHAP. LXIII. CONTAINING WHAT YOU MIGHT EXPECT.
I HAVE settled all the business of the last chapter while Sir Matthew was dressing himself for a ceremony which there can be no one so ignorant as not to guess.
Thou seest, reader, the whole remaining matters before thee; and, it may be, thou expectest a very fine description of silks, sattins, and soft sayings.
How wilt thou be mistaken! for, my good friend, I shall only take thee by the hand into the largest room of the Mansion-house, and present thee to Mr. Davies and my Matilda, with Mr. Sidney and his Eliza, each of whom thou mayest, should it so please thee, wish much joy on their
marriage.
In the middle of the room thou wilt pay thy compliments to Mrs. Elixir, who is sitting in her chair of state; and to her husband the apothecary, who is crying very heartily for happiness. Possibly, thou wilt on the other side, like to make thy bow— and I desire thee to make it with reverence—to the gentle Fanny Hewit and her spouse; Sir Matthew Davies will meet thine eye dressed for once like himself, and Samuel Sarcasm, who is tatling in the corner to Master Hackney Oldblade, will not pass thy attention if thou hast really any serious thoughts of visiting
Shenstone-Green.
CHAP. LXIV. WHICH IS MORE THAN WAS BARGAINED FOR.
THE moral to be adduced from this work, is, clearly, to prove the absolute chimera of forming any society which is to associate any number of people to enjoy one man's benefaction under the eye of the benefactor. It is impossible to introduce restricting regulations amongst men who expect that a favour should be as delicate as it is generous; so that no such societies can exist without being thrown into disorder.
The benefactor may, indeed, make restrictions, but he is, upon the
Shenstonian
principle, in too nice a situation to enforce their practice; thus his lenity will produce evils which he cannot punish; and his severity and indulgence are equally dangerous.
It therefore follows, that good order amongst men can be expected only under the check of governments, where wealth and preferment depend on the industry and care of every single individual; where the interest of one is deeply involved in that of another; where hope, fear, desire, and gratification, and all the chain of tumultuous and gentle passions are excited by due degrees; so that any excess in either is not with impunity to infringe the rights of a neighbour; where few are
overladen with obligation,
but every man struggles for a little, so that obligations are pretty equally given and bestowed; and where, in fine, there is a regular code of laws, which pervades the empire, and provides equably reward and punishment to guard the privileges of one man from the violations of another.
THE END.