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The Adventures of David Simple: Containing An Account of his Travels Through the Cities of London and Westminster, In the Search of A Real Friend. By a Lady. In Two Volumes
The following Moral Romance (or whatever Title the Reader shall please to give it) is the Work of a Woman, and her first Essay; which, to the good-natured and candid Reader will, it is hoped, be a sufficient Apology for the many Inaccuracies he will find in the Style, and other Faults of the Composition.
PERHAPS the best Excuse that can be made for a Woman's venturing to write at all, is that which really produced this Book; Distress in her Circumstances: which she could not so well remove by any other Means in her Power.
IF it should meet with Success, it will be the only Good Fortune she ever has known; but as she is very sensible, That must chiefly depend upon the Entertainment the World will find in the Book itself, and not upon what she can say in the Preface, either to move their Compassion, or bespeak their Good-will, she will detain them from it no longer.
The Birth, Parentage, and Education of Mr. David Simple.
Mr. David Simple was the eldest Son of Mr. Daniel Simple, who kept a Mercer's Shop on Ludgate-hill. His Mother was a downright Country Woman, who originally got her Living by Plain-Work; but being handsome, was liked by Mr. Simple. When, or where they met, or what happened to them during their Courtship, is foreign to my present Purpose, nor do I really know. But they were married, and lived many Years together, a very honest and industrious Life; to which it was owing, that they were able to provide very well for their Children. They had only two Sons, David and Daniel, who, as soon as they were capable of learning were sent to a publick School, and kept there in such a manner as put them upon a footing to be respected and used as well, as if they had been born in a much higher Station: and their Behaviour really demanded it; for there never appeared any thing mean in their Actions, and Nature had given them Parts enough to converse with the most ingenious of their School-fellows. The strict Friendship they kept up was remarked by the whole School; whoever affronted the one, made an Enemy of the other; and while there was any Money in either of their Pockets, the other was sure never to want it: the Notion of whose Property it was, being the last thing that ever entered into their Heads. The eldest, who was of a sober prudent Disposition, had always enough to supply his Brother, who was much more profuse in his manner of spending; and I have often heard him say, (for this History is all taken from his own Mouth) that one of the greatest Pleasures he ever had in his Life, was in the Reflections he used to make at that time, that he was able to supply and assist his dear Brother; and whenever he saw him but look as if he wanted any thing, he would immediately bring out all the Money he had, and desire him to take whatever he had occasion for. On the other hand, Daniel was in some respects useful to him, for altho' he had not half the real Understanding, or Parts, yet he was what the World calls a much sharper Boy; that is, he had more Cunning, and consequently being more suspicious, would often keep his Brother from being imposed on; who, as he was too young to have had much Experience, and never had any ill Designs on others, never thought of their having any upon him. He paid a perfect Deference to his Brother's Wisdom, from finding, that whenever he marked out a Boy as one that would behave ill, it always proved so in the end. He was sometimes indeed quite amazed how Daniel came by so much Knowledge; but then his great Love and Partiality to him easily made him impute it to his uncommon Sagacity; and he often pleased himself with the Thoughts of having such a Brother.
Thus these two Brothers lived together at School in the most perfect Unity and Friendship, till the eldest was Seventeen; at which time, their Father being taken violently ill of a Fever, occasioned their being sent for from School. He recovered of that Distemper, but it weakened him so much, that he fell into a Consumption, in which he lingered a Twelvemonth, and then died. The Loss of so good a Father was sensibly felt by the tender-hearted David; he was in the utmost Affliction, till by Philosophical Considerations, assisted by a natural Calmness he had in his own Temper, he was enabled to overcome his Grief, and began again to enjoy his former Serenity of Mind. His Brother, who was much more gay, soon recovered his Spirits; and the two Brothers seemed to be getting into their former State of Happiness, when it was interrupted by the Discovery of something in Daniel's Mind, which to his fond Brother had never appeared there before; and which, whoever thinks proper to read the next Chapter, may know.
In which is seen the terrible Consequences that attend Envy and Selfishness.
It will perhaps surprize the Reader as much as it did his Brother, to find that Daniel, notwithstanding the Appearance of Friendship he had all along kept up to David, was in reality one of those Wretches, whose only Happiness centers in themselves; and that his Conversation with his Companions had never any other View, but in some shape or other to promote his own Interest. To this it was owing, he endeavoured to keep his Brother from being imposed on, lest his Generosity should lead him to let others share his Money as well as himself: From this alone arose his Character of Wisdom; for he could easily find out an ill-disposed Mind in another, by comparing it with what passed in his own Bosom. While he found it for his Benefit to pretend to the same delicate Way of Thinking, and sincere Love which David had for him, he did not want Art enough to affect it; but as soon as he thought it would be better for him to break with him, he threw off the Mask, and took no pains to conceal the Baseness of his Heart.
From the time they came from School, during the old Gentleman's Illness, Daniel's only Study was, how he should throw his Brother out of his Share of his Father's Patrimony, and engross it wholly to himself. The anxious Thoughts he appeared continually in, on this account, was imputed by his good-natured Friend, to a tender Concern for a Parent's Suffering, and that still encreased his Love for him. His Mother had a Maid, whom Mr. Daniel had a great fancy for; but she being a virtuous Woman, (and besides, having a Sweet-heart in her Fellow-servant, whom she liked much better) resisted all his Sollicitations, and would have nothing to say to him. But yet he found she could not refuse any little Presents he made her; which convinced him she was very mercenary, and made him think of a Scheme to make her serve his Designs of another kind, since she would not be subservient to his Pleasures. He knew his Father had given a sealed Paper to his Brother, which he told him was his Will, with strict Orders not to open it till after his Death; and, as he was not ignorant where David had put it, he formed a Scheme to steal away the real Will, and to put a forged one in its place. But then he was greatly puzzled what he should do for Witnesses, for he was very fearful of any Forms being left out; because, as his Father's Estate was personal, they were Joint-Heirs, and any Flaw would have overthrown all his Designs. He therefore thought, if he could bribe this Girl and her Sweet-heart to be Witnesses, he should easily accomplish all he desired. This young Woman was one of those sort of People who had been bred up to get her Living by hard Work; she had been taught never to keep company with any Man, but him she intended to marry; nor to get drunk, or steal: for if she gave way to those things, (besides that they were great Sins) she would certainly come to be hanged; which, as she had an utter Aversion to, she went on in an honest way, and never intended to depart from it.
Our Spark, when first he thought of making use of her, was very much afraid, lest she should refuse, and betray him. But when he reflected, how impossible it would be for him to refuse any thing he thought valuable, tho' he was to be guilty of ever so much Treachery to obtain it, he resolved boldly to venture on the Trial. When he first spoke to her about it, he offered her fifty Pounds; but she was so frighten'd at the Thoughts of being accessary to the forging of a Will, that she declared, "she would not do it for the whole World; for that she had more Value for her precious Soul, than for any thing he could give her: That as to him, he was a Schollard, and might think of some way of saving himself; but as she could neither write nor read, she must surely be d—'d." This way of talking so thoroughly convinced Daniel of her Folly, that he made no doubt of soon gaining her to his Purpose. He therefore made use of all the most persuasive Arguments he could think of: And amongst the rest, he told her, that by this means she might marry the Man she liked, and live with him in a very comfortable manner. He immediately perceived this staggered all her Resolutions; and as soon as he saw she could be moved, did not fear succeeding. He pulled out of his Pocket a Purse with a hundred Guineas, and told them out before her, (for the Sight of Money is much more prevalent than the Idea of it) and assured her, that he would be better than he had promised her; for if she would comply with his Request, the whole Sum she had seen should be her's, and that she and her Lover by this means would be enabled to live in a manner much above all the Maids she used to converse with. The Thoughts of being set above her Acquaintance quite overcame her; and, as she had never been Mistress of above forty Shillings at a time, a hundred Guineas appeared such an immense Sum, that she easily conceived she could live very well, without being obliged to work any more. This Prospect so charmed her, that she promised to do whatever he would have her: She did not doubt but she could make her Sweet-heart comply, for he had never refused her any thing since their Acquaintance began. This made Daniel quite happy, for every thing else was plain before him. He had no Scruple on the Fellow's account; for once get the Consent of a Woman, and that of a Man (who is vulgarly called, in love with her) consequently follows. For though a Man's Disposition is not naturally bad, yet it is not quite certain he will have Resolution enough to resist a Woman's continual Importunities.
DANIEL took the first Opportunity (which quickly offered, every thing being common between him and his Brother) of stealing the Will. As it was in his Father's Hand, he could easily forge it, for he wrote very like him; when he had done this, he had it witnessed in Form, placed it in the room of the other, and then went away quite satisfied in the Success of his Scheme.
The real Affliction of David, on the old Gentleman's Death, prevented his immediate thinking of the Will. And Daniel was forced to counterfeit what he did not feel, not daring to be eager for the opening it, lest when the Contents were known, the Truth should be suspected. But as soon as the first Grief was a little abated, and the Family began to be calmed, David desired his Mother and Brother to walk up stairs; then went to his Bureau, and took out the Will, and read it before them. The Contents were as follows: Daniel was left sole Heir and Executor; that out of 11000l. which was the Sum left, he should pay his Mother 60l. per Annum, and that David should have 500l. for his Fortune. They all stood speechless for some time, staring at each other. At last David broke silence, and embracing Daniel, said, I hope my dear Brother will not impute my Amazement to any Concern I have, that he has so much the largest Share of my Father's Fortune. No, I do assure you, the only Cause of my Uneasiness is fearing I have done any thing to disoblige my Father, who always behaved with so much Good-nature to me, and made us both so equal in his Care and Love, that I think he must have had some Reason for this last Action, of leaving me so small a matter, especially as I am the eldest.
Here Daniel interrupted him, and fell a blustring and swearing, somebody must have told his Father some Lyes of his Brother, and he was resolved to find out the vile Incendiary. But David begged him to be pacified, and assured him he thought it quite equal; for he knew him too well, to suspect any Alteration in his Behaviour, and did not doubt but every thing would be in common amongst them as usual: nay, so tenderly and affectionately did he love Daniel, that he reflected with pleasure how extremely happy his Life must be in continually sharing with his best Friend the Fortune his Father had left him. Thus would he have thought, and he had no Notion but his Brother's Mind was like his own. Daniel answered him with Asseverations, of his always commanding every thing equally with himself. The good old Woman blessed herself for having two such Sons, and they all went down stairs in very good Humour.
DANIEL had two Reasons for allotting his Mother something; one was, that nothing but being left a Jointure, could have barr'd her coming in for Thirds; the other was, that if no notice had been taken of her in the Will, it might have been a strong Motive for Suspicion: Not that he had any great Reason for Caution, as nothing less than seeing him do it could have made David (such a Confidence he had in him) even suspect he could be guilty of such an Action.
The Man and Maid were soon married; and as they had lived some time in the Family, David gave them something to set up with, which was thought very lucky by the Brother, that it might create no Suspicions how they came by Money. Thus every thing succeeded to his Mind, and he had compassed all his Designs without any Fear of a Discovery.
The two Brothers agreed on leaving off their Father's Business, as they had enough to keep them; and as their Acquaintance lay chiefly in that Neighbourhood, they took a little House there. The old Gentlewoman, whose ill Health would not suffer her to live in London, retired into the Country, and lived with her Sister.
DAVID was very happy in the Proofs he thought he had of his Brother's Love; and as it was his Nature to be easily contented, he was very little Trouble or Expence in the Family. Daniel hugg'd himself in his Ingenuity, and in the Thoughts how impossible it would have been for him to have been so imposed on. His Pride (of which he had no small Share) was greatly gratified in thinking his Brother was a Dependant on him; but then he was resolved it should not be long before he felt that Dependance, for otherwise the greatest part of his Pleasure had been lost. One thing quite stung him to the quick, viz. That David's amiable Behaviour, joined to a very good Understanding, with a great Knowledge, which he had attained by Books, made all their Acquaintance give him the preference: and as Envy was very predominant in Daniel's Mind, this made him take an utter Aversion to his Brother, which all his Goodness could not get the better of: for as his Actions were such as he could not but approve, they were still greater Food for his Hatred; and the Reflection that others approved them also, was what he could not bear. The first thing in which David discovered an Alteration in his Brother, was in the Behaviour of the Servants; for as they are always very inquisitive, they soon found out by some Means or other, that Daniel was in possession of all the Money, and was not obliged to let his Brother share it with him. They watched their Master's Motions, and as soon as they found out, slackening in their Respect to David would not be displeasing to the other; it may easily be believed, they were not long in doubt whether they should follow their own Interest: so that at last, when David called them, they were always going to do something for their Master; "truly, while he wanted them, they could not wait on any body else." Daniel took notice of their Behaviour, and was inwardly pleased at it. David knew not what to make of it, he would not mention it to his Brother, till it grew to such a height he could bear it no longer: and when he spoke of it to Daniel, it was only by way of consulting with him how to turn them away. But how great was his Surprize, when Daniel, instead of talking in his usual Style, said, that for his part he saw no Fault in any of his Servants; that they did their Duty very well, and that he should not part with his own Conveniences for any body's Whims; if he accused either of them of any Fault, he would call them up, and try if they could not justify themselves. David was at first struck dumb with Amazement; he thought he was not awake, that it was impossible it could be his Brother's Voice that uttered those Words: but at last he recollected himself enough to say, What is it come to this? Am I to come to a Trial with your Servants, (as you are pleased to call them?) I thought we had lived on a different footing. Oh! recall those Words, and don't provoke me to say what perhaps I shall afterwards repent. Daniel knew, that although his Brother was far from being passionate for Trifles, yet that his whole Frame would be so shaken by any ill Usage from him, he would not be able to command himself: And resolved therefore to take this Opportunity of aggravating his Passion, till it was raised to such a height, as to the unthinking World would make him appear in the wrong, he therefore very calmly answered, You may do as you please, Brother; but what you utter, appears to me to be quite Madness, I don't perceive but you are used in my House as well as I am myself, and cannot think what you complain of. If you are not contented, you best know how to find a Remedy; many a Brother in your Case, I believe, would think themselves very happy, to meet with the Usage you have, without wanting to make mischief in Families. This had the desired Effect, and threw David into that inconsistent Behaviour, which must always be produced in a Mind torn at once by Tenderness and Rage. That sincere Love and Friendship he had always felt for his Brother, made his Resentment the higher, and he alternately broke into Reproaches, and melted into Softness; till at last, he swore he would go out of the House, and never more set his foot into any Place, which was in the possession of so unnatural a Wretch.
DANIEL had now all he wanted; from the Moment the other's Passion grew loud, he had set open the Door, that the Servants might hear how he used him, and be Witnesses he was not in fault. He behaved with the utmost Calmness, which was very easy for him to do, as he felt nothing. He said, his Brother should be always welcome to live in his House, provided he could be quiet, and contented with what was reasonable; and not be so mad as to think, if he insisted on the Management of his own Family, it was going from that romantic Love he so often talked of. Indeed, so far was true, that if David would have been satisfied to have lived in his Brother's House, in a State of Dependency, walked about in a rusty Coat, and an old Tye-Wig, like a decayed Gentleman, thinking it a Favour to have Bread, while every body that came to the House, should be extolling the Goodness of his Brother for keeping him: I say, could he have been contented with this sort of Behaviour, he might have stayed as long as he pleased. But Daniel was resolved he should not be on an equal footing with him, who had taken so much pains to get a superiour Fortune: he therefore behaved in this manner, either to get rid of him, or make him submit to his Terms, which it was impossible ever to accomplish: For David's Pride would not have prevented his taking that Usage from a Stranger, but his Love could by no means suffer him to bear it from his Brother. Therefore, as soon as the Variety of Passions he struggled with, would give him leave, he told him, That since he was so very different from what he had always thought him, and capable of what he esteemed the greatest Villainy, he would sooner starve than have any thing more to say to him. On which he left him, and went up to his own Chamber with a fixed Resolution to leave the House that very Day, and never return to it any more.
It would be impossible to describe what he felt when he was alone; all the Scenes of Pleasure he had ever enjoyed in his Brother's Company rushed at once into his Memory; and when he reflected on what had just happened, he could not account for such a Difference in one Man's Conduct. He was sometimes ready to blame himself, and thought he must have been guilty of something in his Passion, (for he hardly remembered what he had said) to provoke his Brother to such a Behaviour; he was then going to seek him, to be reconciled to him. But when he considered the Beginning of the Quarrel, and what Daniel had said to him concerning the Servants, he concluded he must be tired of his Company, and from some Motive or other had altered his Affection. Then several little Slights came into his head, which he had overlooked at the time of their happening; and from all these Reflections, he concluded he could have no farther Hopes from his Brother. However, he resolved to stay in his Room till the Evening, to see if there yet remained Tenderness enough in Daniel to induce him to endeavour to remove his present Torment. What he felt during that Interval, is not to be expressed or understood, but by the few who are capable of real Tenderness; every Moment seemed an Age. Sometimes in the Confusion of his Thoughts, the Joy of being again well with his Brother, appeared so strong to his Imagination, he could hardly refrain going to him; but when he found it grew late, and no Notice was taken of him, not so much as being called to Dinner, he was then certain any Condescension on his side would only expose him to be again insulted; he therefore resolved to stay there no longer.
When he went down stairs, he asked where his Brother was, and was told, he went out to Dinner with Mr. — and had not been at home since. He was so struck with the Thought that Daniel could have so little Concern for him, as to go into Company and leave him in such Misery, he had hardly Strength enough left to go any farther; however, he got out of the House as fast as he was able, without considering where he was going, or what he should do, (for his Mind was so taken up, and tortured with his Brother's Brutality, that all other Thoughts quite forsook him.) He wandered up and down till he was quite weary and faint, not knowing where to direct his Steps. When he first set out, he had but half a Crown in his Pocket, a Shilling of which he gave away in his Walk to a Beggar, who told him a Story of having been turned out of doors by an unnatural Brother; so that now he had but one Shilling and Sixpence left, with which he went into a publick House, and got something to recruit his worn-out Spirits. In his Situation, any thing that would barely support Nature, was equal to the greatest Dainties; for his Mind was in so much anxiety, it was impossible for him to spend one Thought on any thing but the Cause of his Grief. So true is that Observation of Shakespear's, "When the Mind is free, the Body is delicate;" that those People know very little of real Misery (however the Sorrow for their own Sufferings may make them imagine no one ever endured the like) who can be very sollicitous of what becomes of them. But this was far from being our Hero's Case, for when he found himself so weak he could go no farther, he was obliged to go into a publick House; for being far from home, and an utter Stranger, no private House would have admitted him. As soon as he got into a Room, he threw himself into a Chair, and could scarce speak. The Landlord asked him, what he would please to drink; but he not knowing what he said, made answer, he did not chuse any thing. Upon which he was answered in a surly manner, "if he did not care for drinking, he could have no great Business there," and would be very welcome to walk out again. This Treatment just rouzed him enough, to make him recollect where he was, and that he must call for something; therefore he ordered a Pint of Beer to be brought, which he immediately drank off, for he was very dry, tho' his Griefs were so fixed in his Mind, he could not feel even Hunger or Thirst. But Nature must be refreshed by proper Nourishment, and he found himself now not so faint, and seemed inclined to sleep; he therefore inquired for a Bed, he did not care how coarse it was; and only wanted some Place to lie down upon. Which his kind Landlord (on his producing Money enough to pay for it) immediately procured for him; and being perfectly overcome with Fatigue and Trouble, he insensibly sunk to Rest.
In the Morning when he waked, all that passed the Day before came fresh into his Mind; he knew not which way to turn himself, but lay in the greatest Perplexity for some time: At last, it came into his head he had an Uncle, who when he was a Boy used to be very kind to him; he therefore had some hopes he would receive and take care of him. He got up, and walked as well as he was able to his Uncle's House. The good old Man was quite frighten'd at the sight of him; for the one Day's extreme Misery he had suffered, had altered him, as much as if he had been ill a Twelvemonth. His Uncle begged to know what was the matter with him; but he would give him no other Answer, but that his Brother and he had had a few Words, for he would not complain; and he desired he would be so kind to let him stay with him a little while, till Matters could be brought about again. His Uncle told him, he should be very welcome. And there for some time I will leave him to his own private Sufferings, lest it should be thought I am so ignorant of the World, as not to know the proper Time of forsaking People.
In which is seen the Possibility of a married Couple's leading an uneasy Life.
The two Servants, who were the Cause of all poor David's Misfortunes, and the Engines of Daniels's Treachery, tho' their mutual Fondness, and the great Desire they had to come together, prevailed on them to consent to an Action, which they themselves thought they must be d—'d for, had not long lived in the State of Matrimony, before John found out, that Peggy had not all those Perfections he once imagined her possessed of; and her Merit decreased every day more and more in his Eyes. However, while the Money lasted, (which was not very long, for they were not at all scrupulous of using it, thinking such great Riches were in no danger of being brought to an end) between Upbraidings, Quarrels, Reconciliations, kissing and falling out, they made a shift to jumble on together, without coming to an open Rupture. But the Money was no sooner gone, than they grew out of all Patience. When John began to feel Poverty coming upon him, and found all he had got by his Villainy was a Wife, whom he now was heartily weary of, his Conscience flew in his face, and would not let him rest. All the Comfort he had left was in abusing Peggy: He said she had betrayed him, and he should have been always honest, had it not been for her wheedling. She, on the other hand, justified herself, by alledging, nothing but her Love for him could have drawn her into it: And if he thought it so great a Crime, as he was a Man, and knew better than her, he should not have consented, or suffered her to do it. For tho' I dare say this Girl had never read Milton, yet she could act the Part of throwing the blame on her Husband, as well as if she had learned it by heart. In short, from Morning till Night, they did nothing but quarrel; and there passed many curious Dialogues between them, which I shall not here repeat: for, as I hope to be read by the polite World, I would avoid every thing, of which they can have no Idea. I shall therefore only say in general, that between the Stings of their Consciences, the Distresses from Poverty, John's Coldness and Neglect; nay, his liking other Women better than his Wife, which no virtuous Woman can possibly bear; and Peggy's Uneasiness and Jealousy; this Couple led a Life above their Quality in all respects. But this could not last long, for when they found it was impossible for them to subsist any longer without working, they resolved to go into separate Services: for they were now as eager to part, as they had formerly been to come together.
They were forming this Resolution, when they heard Mr. David was gone from his Brother's House on a violent Quarrel. This Separation had made a general Discourse, and People said, it was no wonder, for it was impossible any body could live in the House with him; for he was of such a Temper, he fell out with his Brother, for no other reason than because he would not turn away all his Servants to please his Maggots. For altho' Mr. Daniel had all the Money, yet he was so good to keep him; and sure, when People are kept upon Charity, they need not be so proud, but be glad to be contented, without setting a Gentleman against his Servants. The old Gentleman his Father knew what he was, or he would have left him more.
When John heard all this, he was struck with Amazement, and the Wickedness he had been guilty of appeared in so horrible a light, that he was almost mad. At first he thought he would find Mr. David out, and confess the whole Truth: He had lived in the House with him a great while, and knew him to be so mild and gentle, that he flattered himself he might possibly forgive him; but then the fear of Shame had such an Effect on him, that he thought he could never go through the telling of the Story. The Struggle in his Mind was so great, he could not fix on what to determine; but the same Person who had drawn him into this piece of Villainy, occasioned at last the Discovery: For his Wife intreated him, with all the Arguments she could think of, not to be hanged voluntarily, when there was no necessity for it; for altho' the Action they had done was not right, yet, thank God, they had not been guilty of Murder. Indeed if that had been the case, there would have been a reason for confessing it; because it could not have been concealed, for Murder will out; the very Birds of the Air will tell of that: but as they were in no danger of being found out, it would be madness to run their Necks into a Halter.
JOHN, who was ruined by his Compliance with this Woman while he liked her, since he was weary of, and hated her, took hold of every Opportunity to contradict her. Therefore her Eagerness to keep their Crime a Secret, join'd to his own Remorse, determined him to let Mr. David know it. However, he dissembled with her for the present, lest she should take any steps to obstruct his Designs.
He immediately began to enquire where Mr. David was gone; and when he was informed he was at his Uncle's, he went thither, and asked for him: but the Servant told him he was indeed there, but so ill he could not be spoke with; if he had any Business of consequence to impart to him, he would call his Master, and telling him would be the same thing. But John said, what he had to say could be communicated to nobody but himself. He was so very importunate to see him, that at last, by the Uncle's Consent, he was admitted into his Chamber. When the Fellow came near him, and observed his wan and meagre Countenance, which the great Agitation of his Mind (together with a Fever, which he had been in ever since he came to his Uncle's) had caused, he was so shock'd for some time, that he could not speak. At last, he fell on his knees, and imploring his Pardon, told him the whole Story of his forging the Will, not omitting any one Circumstance. The great Weakness of poor David's Body, with this fresh Astonishment and strong Conviction of his Brother's Villainy, quite overcame him, and he fainted away; but as soon as his Spirits were a little revived, he sent for his Uncle, and told him what John had just related. He asked him what he should do, and in what manner he could proceed; for that he would on no account bring publick Infamy on his Brother. His Uncle told him, he could do nothing in his present Condition; but desired him to compose himself, and have a regard to his Health, and that he would take care of the whole Affair, adding a promise to manage every thing in the quietest manner possible.
Then the good-natured Man took John into another Room, examined him closely; and assured him, if he would act as he would have him, he would make Interest that he should be forgiven; but that he must prevail with his Wife to join her Evidence with his. John said, "if he pleased to go with him, he thought the best method to deal with her, was to frighten her to it." On which the old Gentleman sent for an Attorney, and carried one of his own Servants for a Constable, in order to make her comply with as little noise as such an Affair could admit of. They then set out for John's House, when David's Uncle told the Woman, "if she would confess the truth, she should be forgiven; but if she resolved to persist, he had brought a Constable to take her up, and she would surely be hanged on her Husband's Evidence." The Wench was so terrified, she fell a crying, and told all she knew of the matter. The Attorney then took both their Depositions in Form; after which, John and his Wife went home with Mr. David's Uncle, and were to stay there till the Affair was finished.
The poor young Man, with this fresh Disturbance of his Mind, was grown worse, and thought to be in danger of losing his Life; but by the great Care of the old Gentleman he soon recovered. The Uncle's next Design was to go to Daniel, and endeavour by all means to bring him to reasonable Terms, and to prevail on him to submit himself to his Brother's Discretion. Daniel, at first, blustered and swore, it was a Calumny, and that he would prosecute the Fellow and Wench for Perjury: And then left the Room, with a Haughtiness which generally attends that High-mindedness, which is capable of being detected in Guilt. He tried all methods possible to get John and his Wife out of his Uncle's House, in order to bribe them a second time; but that Scheme could not succeed. He then went about to Attorneys, to procure him false Evidence; but when the time of Trial approached, his Uncle went once more to him, and talked seriously to him, on the Consequences of being convicted in a Court of Justice of Forgery, especially of that heinous sort: Assuring him he had the strongest Evidence, join'd to the greatest Probability of the Falseness of his Father's Will. After he had discoursed with him some time, and he began to find the Impossibility of defending himself, he fell from one Extreme to another, (for a Mind capable of Treachery, is most times very pusillanimous) and his Pride now thought fit to condescend to the most abject Submissions; he begged he might see his Brother, and ask his pardon; said, he would live with him as a Servant for the future, if he would but forgive him. His Uncle told him, he could by no means admit of his seeing David as yet, for he was still too weak to be disturbed; but if he would resign all that was left of his Father's Fortune, and leave himself at his Brother's mercy, he would answer for him that he would not prosecute him. Daniel was very unwilling to part with his Money, but finding there was no Remedy, he at last consented.
His Uncle would not leave him till he had got every thing out of his hands, lest he should embezzle any of it; there was not above eight thousand Pounds out of the eleven left by his Father, for he had rioted away the rest with Women and Sots.
When every thing was secured, the old Gentleman told David what he had done, who highly approved every Step he had taken, and was full of Gratitude for his Goodness to him. And now in appearance all David's Troubles were over, and indeed he had nothing to make him uneasy, but the reflecting on his Brother's Actions; these were continually before his Eyes, and tormented him in such a manner, it was some time before he could recover his Strength. However, he resolved to settle on Daniel an Annuity for Life to keep him from Want, and if he should ever by his Extravagance fall into Distress, to relieve him, tho' he should not know who it came from; but he thought it better not to see him again, for he dared not venture that Trial.
DAVID desired his Uncle would let him live with him, that he might take care of him in his old Age; and make as much Return as possible for his generous, good-natured Treatment of him, in his Distress. This Request was easily granted; his Company being the greatest Pleasure the old Man could enjoy.
DAVID now resolved to live an easy Life, without entering into any Engagements of Friendship or Love with any one; but to spend his time in reading and calm Amusements, not flattering himself with any great Pleasures, and consequently, not being liable to any great Disappointments. This manner of Life was soon interrupted again by his Uncle's being taken violently ill of a Fever, which carried him off in ten Day's time. This was a fresh Disturbance to the Ease he had proposed; for David had so much Tenderness, he could not possibly part with so good a Friend, without being moved: tho' he abated his Concern as fast as possible, with the Consideration that he was arrived to an Age, wherein to breathe was all could be expected, and that Diseases and Pains must have filled up the rest of his Life. At last, he began to reflect, even with pleasure, that the Man whom he had so much reason to esteem and value, had escaped the most miserable part of a human Life: For hitherto, the old Man had enjoyed good Health; and he was one of those sort of Men who had good Principles, designed well, and did all the good in his power: but at the same time, was void of those Delicacies, and strong Sensations of the Mind, which make both the Happiness and Misery of whoever is possessed of them. He left no Children; for tho' he was married young, his Wife died within half a Year of the Small Pox. She brought him a very good Fortune; and by his Frugality and Care, he died worth seven thousand Pounds, which he gave to his Nephew David, some few Legacies to old Servants excepted.
When David saw himself in the possession of a very easy comfortable Fortune, instead of being over-joyed, as is usual on such occasions, he was at first the more unhappy; the Consideration of the Pleasure he should have had to share this Fortune with his Brother, continually brought to his Remembrance his cruel Usage, which made him feel all his old Troubles over again. He had no Ambition, nor any Delight in Grandeur. The only Use he had for Money, was to serve his Friends; but when he reflected how difficult it was to meet with any one who deserved that Name, and how hard it would be for him ever to believe any one sincere, having been so much deceived, he thought nothing in Life could be any great Good to him again. He spent whole Days in thinking on this Subject, wishing he could meet with a Friend that he could live with, who could throw off all separate Interests; for where Selfishness reigns in any of the Community, there can be no Happiness. After he had revolved these things several times in his Mind, he took the oddest, most unaccountable Resolution that ever was heard of, viz. To travel through the whole World, rather than not meet with a real Friend.
From the time he lived with his Brother, he had led so recluse a Life, that he in a manner had shut himself up from the World; but yet when he reflected that what is called the Customs and Manners of Nations, relate chiefly to Ceremonies, and had nothing to do with the Hearts of Men; he concluded, he could sooner enter into the Characters of Men in the great Metropolis where he lived, than if he went into foreign Countries; where, not understanding the Languages so readily, it would be more difficult to find out the Sentiments of others, which was all he wanted to know. He resolved therefore to take a Journey through London; not as some Travellers do, to see the Buildings, the Streets, to know the Distances from one Place to another, with many more Sights of equal Use and Improvement; but his design was to seek out one capable of being a real Friend, and to assist all those, who had been thrown into Misfortunes by the ill Usage of others.
He had good Sense enough to know, that Mankind in their Natures are much the same every where; and that if he could go through one great Town, and not meet with a generous Mind, it would be in vain to seek farther. In this Project, he intended not to spend a Farthing more than was necessary; designing to keep all his Money to share with his Friend, if he should be so fortunate to find any Man worthy to be called by that Name.
The first setting out of Mr. David Simple on his Journey; with some very remarkable and uncommon Accidents.
The first Thought that naturally occurs to a Man, who is going in search of any thing, is, which is the most likely Method of finding it. Our Hero, therefore, began to think seriously amongst all the Classes and Degrees of Men, where he might most probably meet with a real Friend. But when he considered Mankind from the highest to the lowest, he was convinced, to Experience alone he must owe his Knowledge; for that no Circumstance of Time, Place, or Station, made a Man either good or bad, but the Disposition of his own Mind; and that Good-nature and Generosity were always the same, tho' the Power to exert those Qualities are more or less, according to the Variation of outward Circumstances. He resolved therefore, to go into all publick Assemblies, and to be intimate in as many private Families as possible, to observe their Manner of living with each other; by which means, he thought he should judge of their Principles and Inclinations.
As there required but small preparation for his Journey, a Staff, and a little Money in his Pocket, being all that was necessary, he set out without any farther Consideration. The first place he went into, was the Royal-Exchange; he had been there before, to see the Building and hear the Jargon at the time of high Change. But now his Curiosity was quite of a different kind; he could not have gone any where to have seen a more melancholy Prospect, or more likelihood of being disappointed of his Design, than where Men of all Ages and all Nations were assembled, with no other View than to barter for Interest. The Countenances of most of the People, showed they were filled with Anxiety: Some indeed appeared pleased; but yet it was with a mixture of Fear. While he was musing, and making Observations to himself, he was accosted by a well-looking Man, who asked him, if he would buy into a particular Stock. He said no, he did not intend to deal. Nay, says the other, I advise you as a Friend, for now is your time, if you have any Money to lay out; as you seem a Stranger, I am willing to inform you in what manner to proceed, lest you should be imposed on by any of the Brokers. He gave him a great many thanks for his kindness; but could not be prevailed on to buy any Stock, as he understood so little of the matter. About half an Hour afterwards, there was a piece of News published, which sunk this Stock a great deal below Par. He then told the Gentleman, it was very lucky he had not bought. Ay, and so it is, replied the Gentleman; but when I spoke, I thought it would be otherwise. I am sure, I have lost a great deal by this cursed News . Immediately David was pulled by the Sleeve by a Man, who had stood by, and overheard what they had been saying; who whispered him in the Ear, to take care what he did, otherwise the Man, who he had been talking with, would draw him into some Snare. Upon which he told his new Friend, what had passed with the other, and how he had advised him to buy Stock. Did he, said this Gentleman? I will assure you, I saw that very Man sell off as much of that Stock as he could, just before you spoke to him; but he having a great deal, wanted to draw you in, to buy, in order to avoid losing; for he was acquainted with the News, before it was made publick.
DAVID was amazed at such Treachery, and began to suspect every thing about him, of some ill Design. But he could not imagine, what Interest this Man could have in warning him, of trusting the other, till by conversing with a third Person, he found out, that he was his most inveterate Enemy, from Envy; because they had both set out in the World together, with the same Views of sacrificing every thing to the raising of a Fortune; and that either by cunning or accident, the other was got rich before him. This was the Motive, said he, of his forewarning you of the other's Designs: For that Gentleman who spoke to you first, is one of the sharpest Men I know; he is one of the Long-heads, and much too wise to let any one impose on him: And to let you into a Secret, he is what we call a good Man.
DAVID seemed surprized at that Epithet; and asked, how it was possible, a Fellow whom he had just catched in such a piece of Villainy, could be called a good Man? At which Words, the other, with a Sneer at his Folly, told him he meant that he was worth a Plumb. Perhaps he might not understand that neither; (for he began to take him for a Fool) but he meant by a Plumb 100,000l.
DAVID was now quite in a Rage; and resolved to stay no longer in a Place, where Riches were esteemed Goodness, and Deceit, Low-Cunning; and giving up all things to the love of Gain, thought Wisdom.
As he was going out of the Change, he met a Jeweller, who knew him by sight, having seen him at his Uncle's, where he used often to visit. He asked him several Questions; and after a short Conversation, desired he would favour him with his Company at Dinner, for his House was just by.
DAVID readily accepted his Offer, being willing to be acquainted with as great a variety of People as he possibly could. The Jeweller's Name was Johnson; he had two Daughters, who dined with them. They were both young, and pretty: Especially the youngest, who had something so soft and engaging in her Countenance, that David was quite charmed with her. Mr. Johnson, who had been an extravagant Rake in his Youth, though he was now become a Miser, and a rigid Censurer of others Pleasures, immediately perceived the young Man was greatly taken with his Daughter; which he resolved to improve, knowing that his Uncle had made him his Heir, and that it was worth while to endeavour to encrease his liking for her. He well remembered, that in his days of Gallantry, he had often from a transient View of Women liked them; but for want of Opportunities of frequently conversing with them, his Passion had grown cool again. He therefore thought, the wisest way would be, to engage David to stay some time with him, as the surest Method to fix his Affection. It was no hard matter to persuade the young Man, to what his Inclination so strongly prompted him to comply with. Though this Inclination was so newly born, he hardly knew himself from what Motive his desire of staying there arose. But this Ignorance did not continue long; for a short time's conversing with his Mistress, convinced him, how much he liked her: He thought to watch her very narrowly, to see, if her Mind was equal to her Person, which was indeed very agreeable. But from the moment he took a Fancy to her, he imagined her Beauty exceeded that of all other Women in the World. For which Reason he was strongly possessed, she was in all respects what he wished her to be.
The Girl was commanded by her Father, if Mr. David made any Addresses to her, to receive them in such a manner, as to fix him hers. He said, he had conversed with Women enough in his time, to know they did not want Arts to manage the Men, they had formed any Designs on; and therefore desired she would comply with him, in a Case which would be so greatly to her advantage. She did not want many Arguments, to persuade her to endeavour to promote her own Interest, which she had as much at heart, as he could have. Her only Answer was, she should obey him: on which he left her, highly pleased at her Dutifulness; which he imputed to his own Wisdom, in educating her in a strict manner.
DAVID passed his time very happily; for the Master of the Family omitted nothing in his power to oblige him, and he was always received by his Mistress with cheerful Smiles, and Good Humour. He lived on in this agreeable manner for three Months, without ever wishing to go in search of new Adventures, thinking he had now found the greatest Happiness to be attained in this World, in a Woman he could both love and esteem. Her Behaviour was in all respects engaging; her Duty to her Father, Complaisance and Affection to her Sister, and Humanity to the Servants, made him conclude, his travelling was at an end; for that in her he had met with every thing he wanted. He was not long before he asked her Father's Consent, which was easily obtained; and now he had not a Wish beyond what he imagined satisfied.
Hitherto he had observed nothing in her, but what increased his good Opinion. He was one day a little startled, by her telling him, he should not seem too anxious, whether he had her, or no; for she was certain her Father designed, if he found he loved her enough to take her on any Terms, to save some of her Fortune to add to her Sister's: but when she told him, she had too much Generosity and Love for him, to let him be imposed on by his Affection to her; this Discourse encreased his good Opinion of her; and the Thought that she loved him, gave him the greatest Pleasure. He then told her, he did not care whether her Father would or could give her any thing; her Affection was all he coveted in this World. He spent his time in Raptures, in the reflection, what a charming Life he should lead with such a Woman. But this lasted not long, before all his fancied Scenes of Joy fell to the ground, by an Accident so very uncommon, I must pause a while before I can relate it.
In which is contained, a most curious Dialogue between a young Woman, and her Confidant.
Just as Mr. David and his Mistress were on the point of being married, there came one day a rich Jew to Mr. Johnson's House, in order to deal with him for some Jewels. As he had been a long time an Acquaintance of his, he invited him to Dinner. It happened the Jew was as much taken with the eldest Daughter, as Mr. David was with the youngest; which occasioned his making frequent Visits. The Father soon perceived the Reason of it, and was greatly rejoiced at it; on which account he delayed the other's Match for a little while, hoping to see them both well disposed of at the same time. But the Jew did not presently declare himself, on the consideration that she was a Christian. He considered, whether it might not be possible, to obtain her on any other Terms than Matrimony. He knew her Father was very covetous; which gave him hopes, that for a Sum of Money, he himself would sell her. He resolved therefore to try that Method first; but if that did not succeed, as he found he liked her so much, that he was uneasy without the possession of her, he could but marry her afterwards. He was charmed with her Person, and thought Women's Souls were of no great consequence, nor did it signify much what they profess. He took the first Opportunity of making his proposal to the Father, and offered him such a Sum of Money as his Heart leaped at the mention of; but he endeavoured to conceal the Effect it had on him as much as possible, and only said, he would consider of it till the next Morning, and then he should have an Answer.
As soon as Mr. Johnson was alone, he sat down to think seriously on what he should determine. He was sure by the Sum the Jew had offered for his Daughter, that if he did not comply with his Scheme, he would marry her, rather than go without her. But then he was dubious which he should get most by. He was a good while deliberating, which way his Interest would be best promoted. At last he concluded, if he could get rid of his Daughter, without giving her any Fortune, and make an Alliance with so rich a Man, it would in the end prove more conducive to his Interest than taking the Money.
When the Jew therefore came at the appointed time to know his Determination, he began by telling him, "He was very sorry after so long an Acquaintance, in all which time he had dealt fairly with him," (as indeed he had never attempted to impose on the Jew, knowing it to be impossible) "that he should form a Scheme to dishonour his Family, and have so ill an Opinion of him, to think he would be an Instrument in it; but as it might be owing to the great Passion he had for his Daughter, he was very unwilling to fall out with him: If his Love was great enough to marry her, he would give her to him with all his heart. Perhaps he might object to her being a Christian; but he had always used her implicitly to obey him; and therefore he need not fear her conforming to whatever he pleased." This Stumbling-block once got over, every thing else was soon agreed between them; for the Jew consented to take her on her Father's own Terms: And there remained nothing now to do, but to acquaint Miss Johnson with it.
She was at first startled at the thoughts of changing her Religion; but as she had no more Understanding, than was just necessary to set off her own Charms, by knowing which Dress, and which Posture became her best; and had never been taught any thing more than to go to Church of a Sunday, when she was not wanted to stay at home to overlook the Dinner, without knowing any other Reason for it than Custom: The rich Presents the Jew made her, and his Promises of keeping her great, soon overcame all her Scruples, and she consented to have him.
He now took the privilege of a Son-in-Law, being so soon to be married, and had always one Dish dressed his own way. He one day brought Mr. Nokes, an Acquaintance of his, to Dinner with him; and though he was immensely rich, he was not afraid he would steal away his Mistress, he being too old and ugly to admit of a Suspicion of any Woman's liking him. But unluckily this old Fellow cast his Eye upon David's Mistress, and took so great a fancy to her, that he was resolved to have her: He was not afraid of being refused, for he had Money enough to have bought a Woman of a much higher Rank; nor did he give himself any trouble about gaining a Woman's Affections, not thinking them worth having; but took it for granted, every virtuous Woman, when she was married, must love her Husband well enough to make a good Wife, and comply with his Humour. He went therefore directly to the Father, and offered to make any Settlement he should think proper, if he would give him his Daughter; who was overjoyed at the Proposal, and made no scruple of promising her to him, without ever reflecting on the base trick he was playing David.
As soon as Mr. Nokes was gone, Johnson sent for his Daughter, and told her what had passed: He said, as she had hitherto been a very obedient Girl, he hoped she would still continue so. Indeed he had ordered her to encourage Mr. Simple's Addresses, because at that time he appeared to be a very advantageous Match for her; but now a better offered, she would certainly be in the right to take the Man she could get most by; otherwise she must walk on foot, while her Sister rode in her Coach. He allowed her a Week's time to consider of it; well knowing, Women are most apt to pursue their Interests, when they have had time enough to paint to their own Imaginations, how much Riches will conduce to the satisfaction of their Vanity. She made him no Answer, but went immediately to her Chamber, where she had left a young Woman, her chief Confidant, and from whom she concealed nothing. As soon as she entered the Room, she threw herself on the Bed, and fell into a violent passion of Crying. Her Companion was amazed, and thought some dreadful Accident had happened to her. She begged to know what was the matter. Miss Johnson then told her, what her Father had been saying, with all the Agonies of a Person in the highest Distress. Upon which ensued the following Dialogue; which I shall set down word for word; every body's own Words giving the most lively Representations of their Meaning.
Miss Betty. "Well! and I see nothing in all this, to make you so miserable. You are very sure your Lover will take you without a Farthing, and will think himself happy to have such a Proof of your Affection: And for my part, if it was my Case, I should think it no manner of Sin to disobey a Father, who imposed such unreasonable Commands on me."
Miss Nanny. "Oh! my Dear, you quite mistake my Case; I am not troubling my head, either about the Sin, or my Father; but the height of my Distress lies in not knowing my own Mind: if I could once find that out, I should be easy enough. I am so divided, by the Desire of Riches on the one hand; and by my Honour, and the Man I like on the other, that there is such a struggle in my Mind, I am almost distracted."
Miss Betty. "O fie, Child, I thought you had been more constant in your Nature; and that when you had given your Affection to a Man, it had not been in the power of Money to have altered you. I am sure if it was my Case, I should make no question of preferring a young Man I liked, to an old decrepid ugly Monster, though he was ever so rich. I cannot help laughing at the Idea of his Figure whenever it comes in my Head: In him Nature seems perfectly reversed; the Calves of his Legs are placed before, and his Feet turn inward as it were, in spight of Nature: One side of his Back is high enough to carry the load of Riches he possesses; and the other is shrunk in such a manner, that one would imagine his two Sides were made only to form that ridiculous Contrast, which is always the Foundation of Laughter. Undoubtedly you will be much envied the Possession of so lovely a Creature."
Miss Nanny. "At what a rate you run on: 'Tis easy to talk; but if you was in my place, you can't tell what you would feel. Oh that this good Offer had but come before I knew the other; or at my first Acquaintance with him; for then I only received him, because my Father bid me, and I thought to gain by such a Match: But now I have conversed long enough with him, to find it is in his power to give me pleasure; I must either forsake him, or abandon all Thoughts of being a great Woman. 'Tis true, my Lover can indeed keep me very well, I shall not want for any thing he can procure me; for I am sure he loves me sincerely, and will do all in his power to oblige me; and I like him very well, and shall have no Reason to envy any other Woman the possession of any Man whatever: But then, he can't afford to buy me fine Jewels, to keep me an Equipage; and I must see my Sister ride in her Coach and Six, while I take up with a Hack, or at best with a Coach and Pair. Oh! I can never bear that Thought, that is certain; my Heart is ready to burst. Sure never Woman's Misfortune equalled mine." Here she fell into such a violent Passion of Crying, it was some time before she could speak; but when she was a little recovered, she went on in the following Words: "Pray, my dear Friend, advise me; don't be silent while I am thus perplexed, but tell me which will give me the greatest Pleasure, the Satisfaction of my Love, or my Vanity."
Miss Betty. "Was ever Woman so unreasonable? How is it possible for me to tell which will give you most Pleasure? You certainly must know that best yourself. I have already told you, if it was my Case, I should not hesitate a Moment, but take the young Fellow, and let the old Wretch be nursed by whoever his Money could buy; he may meet with Women enough who have no Engagements, and there is no fear any such would refuse him."
Miss Nanny. "You say true; I wish that had been my Situation, but if I should neglect this Opportunity of making my Fortune, every Woman I see supported in Grandeur, will make me mad, to think I had it once in my Power to have been as great as her. Well, I find it is impossible I should ever come to any Determination; I shall never find out what I have most mind to do, so I must even leave it to Chance. I will go tell Mr. David what has happened, and if he presses me very much to run away with him, I shall never be able to resist him; but perhaps he may be afraid to make me unhappy, and then I may marry the other without any Obstruction: but then no doubt he will marry somebody else, and I can't bear that neither. I find it is in vain for me to think; I am in a Labyrinth, and the farther I go, the more I am puzzled: if I could but contrive some way to have my Lover, and yet not give up the Money, I should be happy; but as that is impossible, I must be miserable, for I shall always regret the Loss of either. I will do the best I can, I will have the Riches, that is positive; if I can possibly command myself enough to resist my Lover's Importunities, in case he should persist in my going away with him."
Thus ended this Dialogue; in which is proved the Possibility of Love and Vanity, contending strongly in a Woman's Mind: and I hope to be excused by those Gentlemen, who are quite sure they have found one Woman, who is a perfect Angel, and that all the rest are perfect Devils, for drawing the Character of a Woman who was neither: for Miss Nanny Johnson, was very good-humour'd, had a great deal of Softness, and had no Alloy to these good Qualities, but a great Share of Vanity, with some small Spices of Envy, which must always accompany it. And I make no manner of doubt, but if she had not met with this Temptation, she would have made a very affectionate Wife, to the Man who loved her: he would have thought himself extremely happy, with a perfect Assurance that nothing could have tempted her to abandon him. And when she had had the Experience, what it was to be constantly beloved by a Man of Mr. Simple's Goodness of Heart, she would have exulted in her own Happiness, and been the first to have blamed any other Woman, for giving up the Pleasure of having the Man she loved, for any Advantage of Fortune; and would have thought it utterly impossible for her ever to have been tempted to such an Action; which would then have appeared in the most dishonourable Light: For to talk of a Temptation at a distance, and to feel it present, are two such very different things, that every body can resist the one, and very few People the other. But it is now Time to think of poor David, who has been all this time in a great deal of Misery; the Reason of which the next Chapter will disclose.
Which treats of Variety of Things, just as they fell out to the Hero of our History.
David was going up to his Mistress's Chamber, to desire her Company to walk; when he came near the Door, he fancied he heard the Voice of a Woman who was crying, which made him run in haste to know what was the matter: but as he was entering the Room, being no longer in doubt whose Voice it was, he stopped short, to consider whether he should break in so abruptly or no. In this Interim, he heard the Beginning of the foregoing Dialogue; this raised such a Curiosity in him, that he was resolved to hear the End of it. But what was his Amazement, when he found the Woman he so tenderly loved, and who he thought returned that Love, was in the highest Perplexity to determine, whether she should take him with a Competency, or the Monster they had described with great Riches. He could hardly persuade himself but that he was in a Dream. He was going to burst open the Door, and tell her he had been witness to the Delicacy of her Sentiments; but his Tenderness for her, even in the midst of his Passion, restrained him, and he could not bring himself to do any thing to put her into Confusion.
He went back to his own Room, where Love, Rage, Despair and Contempt alternately took possession of his Mind: He walked about, and raved like a Madman; repeated all the Satires he could remember on Women, all suitable to his present Thoughts, (which is no great wonder, as most probably they were writ by Men, in Circumstances not very different from his.) In short, the first Sallies of his Passion, his Behaviour and Thoughts were so much like what is common on such Occasions, that to dwell long upon them, would be only a Repetition of what has been said a thousand times. The only Difference between him, and the generality of Men in the same Case, was, that instead of resolving to be her Enemy, he could not help wishing her well: For as Tenderness was always predominant in his Mind, no Anger, nor even a just Cause of Hatred, could ever make him inveterate, or revengeful: It cost him very little to be a Christian in that Point; for it would have been more difficult for him to have kept up a Resentment, than it was to forgive the highest Injury, provided that Injury was only to himself, and his Friends were no Sufferers by it. As soon therefore as his Rage was somewhat abated, and his Passion a little subsided, he concluded to leave his Mistress to the Enjoyment of her beloved Grandeur, with the Wretch already described, without saying or doing any thing that might expose, or any way hurt her.
When he had taken this Resolution, he went down stairs into a little Parlour, where he accidentally met Miss Nanny alone. She, with her Eyes swelled out of her Head with crying, with Fear and Trembling, told him her Father's Proposals. Her manner of Speaking, and her Looks, would have been to him the strongest Proofs of her Love, and given him the greatest Joy, if he had not before known the Secrets of her Heart from her own Mouth. The only Revenge he took, or ever thought of taking, was endeavouring to pique that Vanity, which was so greatly his Enemy. He therefore put on a cold Indifference, and said, he was very glad to hear she was likely to make so great a Fortune; for his part, he was very easy about it: he thought indeed to have been happy with her as a Wife; but, since her Father had otherwise disposed of her, he should advise her to be dutiful, and obey him.
He was very bad at acting any Part that was not quite sincere; but the present Confusion of her Mind was so great, she could not distinguish very clearly; and not knowing he was acquainted with what had passed between her and her Confidant, his Behaviour threw her into a great Consternation, and had so much the desired Effect of piquing her Vanity, that I verily believe, had his Design been to have gained her, and could he have taken the pains to have turned about, and made a sudden Transition in her Mind, from the Uneasiness his Coldness gave her Pride, to a Triumph in a certain Conquest of him, joined to the Love which she really had for him, notwithstanding it was not her predominant Passion, he might have carried her wherever he pleased. But as that was not his Design, he durst not stay long with her; for he was several times tempted by her Behaviour to think he was not in his Senses, when he fancied he over-heard her say any thing that could be construed to her Disadvantage. And certainly, if the longest experienced Friend had told him what he heard himself, he would have suspected him of Falshood; and if, on being taxed with it, she had denied it, he would have believed her against the whole World. But as he was witness himself to what she had said, and was convinced that she could think of such a Fellow as his Rival, for the sake of Money, he had just Resolution enough to leave her, tho' he had a great Struggle in his Mind before he could compass it; and he has often said since, that if he had staid five Minutes longer his Love would have vanquished his Reason, and he should have turned the fond Lover again. Before he went, he took leave of her Father and Sister, with great Civility, for he was resolved to avoid any bustle. He sent for a Coach, put his Clothes into it, and drove from the Door.
Mr. Johnson asked no Questions, for he was heartily glad to get rid of him, and thought it was owing to his Daughter's discharging him; he therefore again exulted in his own Wisdom, in making her always obey him. He then went to look for her, in order to applaud her Obedience; but how great was his Surprize, when he found her, instead of being rejoiced at having done her Duty, and being rid of a troublesome Lover, walking about the Room like a mad Woman, crying and tearing her Hair; calling out she was undone for ever; she had no Refuge now; her Misery must last as long as her Life.
Her Father had been in the Room some time before she perceived him, and then she took no notice of him; but continued walking about in the same manner. As soon as he could recollect himself, he began to talk to her, and asked her what could be the Cause of all this Tragedy; said her Lover was just gone from the Door in a Coach, and he was come to praise her dutiful Behaviour. When she heard David was quite gone, it increased her Agony, and she could hardly forbear reproaching her Father, for being the Cause of her losing such a Man. For now, that she thought him irretrievable, she fancied, in him, she had lost every thing that was valuable: And tho' that very Day all her Grief had been how to get rid of him; yet, now he was gone, she would have sacrificed (for the present) even her darling Vanity, if she could have brought him back again. And when Mr. Johnson would have comforted her, by telling her of the rich Husband she was to have, she flew into the greatest Rage imaginable, and swore, if she could not see Mr. Simple again, she would lock herself up, and never see any living Creature more; for, without him, she was undone and ruined.
Her Father, who had no Idea of a Woman's being ruin'd any way but one, began to be startled at her repeating that Word so often, and to fear that the Girl had been drawn in by her Passion to sacrifice her Honour; he was terrified, lest he should prove the Dupe instead of Mr. Simple. He stood considering some time, and at last was going to burst into a Rage with his Daughter, resolving, if she was not virtuous, he would turn her out of doors: But, before he said any thing in Anger to her, a sudden Thought came into his mind, which turned him into a milder Temper. He considered, that as the thing was not publick, and Mr. Nokes was ignorant of it; it might be all hushed up. He wisely thought, that as she was not in that desperate Condition, in which some Women, who have been guilty of Indiscretions of that kind, are, he might justify himself in forgiving her. If indeed her Reputation had been lost, and she had conversed long enough with a Man to have worn out her Youth and Beauty, and had been left in Poverty, and all kinds of Distress, without any hopes of Relief, her Folly would then have been so glaring, he could by no means have own'd her for his Child. But, as he did not at all doubt, when the first Sallies of her Grief were over, she would consent to follow her Interest, and marry the old Man; and then he should still have the Pleasure of seeing her a fine Lady, with her own Equipage attending her: He condescended to speak to her in as kind a manner as if he had been sure Lucretia herself (whose Chastity nothing but the fear of losing her Reputation could possibly have conquered) had not excelled her in Virtue. He desired her to be comforted; for if she had been led astray by the Arts of a Man she liked, if she would be a good Girl, and follow his Advice in concealing it from, and marrying the Man who liked her, he would not only forgive it, but never upbraid, or mention it to her more.
She was quite amazed at this Speech; and the Consideration, that even her own Father could suspect her Virtue, which was dearer to her than her Life, did but aggravate her Sorrows. At first she could not help frowning, and reproaching her Father for such a Suspicion, with some Hints of her great wonder how it was possible there could be such Creatures in the World; but, in a little time, her Thoughts were all taken up again with Mr. Simple's leaving her. She told her Father, nothing but his returning could make her happy, and she could not think how she had lost him; for she never told him she would prefer the other to him: tho' indeed she was very wavering in her own Mind, yet she had not expressed it to him, and his Indifference was what she could not bear. If he had but sigh'd, and been miserable for the loss of her, she could have married her old Man without any great Reluctance: But the Thought that he had left her first was insupportable. At this rate did she run on for some time.
Mr. Johnson, who in his Youth had been very well acquainted with Women's ways, and knew the Ebbs and Flows of their Passions, was very well satisfied, that as there was a great mixture of Vanity in the Sorrow she expressed for the Loss of her Lover, the greater Vanity would in the end conquer the less, and he should bring her to act for her own, and his Interest: He therefore left her, to go and follow his own Affairs, and made no doubt of every thing succeeding according to his Wish. She spent some time in the deepest Melancholy, and felt all the Misery which attends a Woman who has many things to wish, but knows not positively which she wishes most. Sometimes her Imagination would represent Mr. Simple with all the Softness of a Lover, and then the Love she had had for him would melt her into Tenderness; then in a Moment his Indifference and Neglect came into her head, her Pride was piqued, and she was all Rage and Indignation; then succeeded in her Thoughts the old Man and his Money: So that Love, Rage and Vanity were in the greatest Contention which should possess the largest share of her Inclinations. It cannot be determined how long this Agitation of Mind would have lasted, had not her Sister's Marriage with the rich Jew put an end to it; which being celebrated with great Pomp and Splendor, made Miss Nanny resolve she would not be outdone in Grandeur: She therefore consented to give her Hand to Mr. Nokes, and as he was ready to take her, it was soon concluded; and she now no longer made any difficulty of preferring Gaiety and Show to every thing in the World. She thought herself ill used by Mr. Simple, (not knowing the true Cause of his leaving her in that abrupt manner;) so that her Pride helped her to overcome any Remains of Passion, and she fancied herself in the Possession of every thing that could give Happiness, in splendid Equipages and glittering Pomp. But she soon found herself greatly mistaken; her fine House, by constantly living in it, became as insipid as if it had been a Cottage: A short time took away all the giddy Pleasure which attends the first Satisfaction of Vanity.
Her Husband, who was old, soon became full of Diseases and Infirmities, which turned his Temper (naturally not very good) into Moroseness and Ill-nature: And as he had married a Woman whom he thought very much obliged to him, on account of his Superiority of Fortune, he was convinced it was but reasonable she should comply with his peevish Humours; so that she had not lived long with him, before the only Comfort she had, was in the hopes of out-living him.
She certainly would soon have broke her Heart, had she known that all this Misery, and the loss of the greatest Happiness, in being tenderly used by a Man of Sense, who loved her, was her own Fault; but as she thought it his Inconstancy, to his Generosity, in not telling her the Truth, she owed the avoiding that painful Reflection. The uneasy State of her Mind made her peevish, and cross to all around her; and she never had the Pleasure of enjoying that Fortune, which she had been so desirous of obtaining: Her Husband, notwithstanding his old Age, died of a spotted Fever; she caught the Infection of him, and survived him but three Days. But I think it now full time to look after my Hero.
Containing a remarkable Contention between three Sisters.
Poor David's Heart was ready to burst. He ordered his Coach to drive into Fleetstreet, that he might be out of the Neighbourhood, and hearing of the Cause of his Torment; he took a Lodging in that Street; and the Moment he was at liberty to reflect on what had passed, found it was much harder to conquer a Passion than to raise it; for notwithstanding the great Contempt he had for his Mistress's Conduct, and his Aversion to the very Thought of a mercenary Woman, yet would his Fancy set before him, all those Scenes of Pleasure, he once imagined he should enjoy with the Object of his Love. With those Thoughts returned all his Fondness: Then came his Reason spitefully to awake him from the pleasing Dream, and shew him, he ought to forget it was ever in the power of a Person who so highly deserved to be despised, to contribute to his Pleasure. But all the Pains he could take to overcome his Inclination for her, could not make him perfectly easy: sometimes he would weep, to think that Vanity should prevent such a Creature from being perfect; then would he reflect on the Opinion he once had of her, and from thence conclude, if she could have such Faults, no Woman was ever truly good; and that Nature had certainly thrown in some Vices to Women's Minds, lest Men should have more Happiness than they are able to bear. On this Consideration, he thought it would be in vain to search the World round, for he was sure he could meet with nothing better than what he had already seen; and he fancied he might certainly justify himself in going back to her, who had no Faults, but what Nature, for some wise Purpose, had given to all Creatures of the same kind: He began to flatter himself, that Time and Conversation with him, would get the better of those small Frailties, (for such he soon began to think them) which, perhaps, might be only owing to Youth, and the want of a good Education. With these Reflections, he was ready to go back, throw himself at her Feet, and ask ten thousand Pardons for believing his own Senses; confess himself highly to blame, and unworthy her Favour, for having left her. However, he had just Sense enough left, to send a Spy first, to enquire into her Conduct concerning the old Man, who came just as she was married. This News assisted him to get the better of his Love; and he never enquired for her more, tho' he was often thoughtful on her Account.
Now was David in the same Condition as when he discovered his Brother's Treachery. The World was to begin again with him; for he could find no Pleasure in it, unless he could meet with a Companion who deserved his Esteem: he had been used ill, by both the Man and the Woman he had loved. This gave him but a melancholy Prospect, and sometimes he was in perfect Despair; but then his own Mind was a Proof to him, that Generosity, Good-nature, and a Capacity for real Friendship, were to be found in the World. Besides, he saw the Shadow of those Virtues in so many Minds, that he did not in the least doubt, but the Substance must exist in some place or other. He resolved, therefore, to go on in his Search; for he was sure, if ever he could find a valuable Friend, in either Man or Woman, he should be doubly paid for all the Pains and Difficulties he could possibly go through.
He took a new Lodging every Week, and always the first thing he did, was to enquire of his Landlady, the Reputation of all the Neighbourhood; but he never could hear one good Character, from any of them, only every one separately gave very broad Hints of their own Goodness, and what pity it was, they should be obliged to live amongst such a Set of People. As he was not quite so credulous to take their Words, he generally, in two or three Days, had some reason to believe they were not totally exempt from Partiality to themselves. He went from house to house, for some time, without meeting with any Adventure worth relating. He found all the Women tearing one another to pieces from Envy, and the Men sacrificing each other for every trifling Interest. Every Shop he went into, he heard Men swear they could not afford their Goods under such a Price, one Minute, and take a great deal less the next; which even his Charity could not impute to the desire of serving the Buyer. In short, the Generality of Scenes he saw, he could never mention without a Sigh, or think of without a Tear.
In one of the Houses where he lodged, the Master of the Family died while he was there. He had three Daughters, every one of whom, attended him with the utmost Duty and Care during his Illness, and at the approach of his last Moments, shewed such Agonies of Grief and tender Sorrow, as gave our Hero great Pleasure. He reflected how much happier the World would be, if all Parents would sustain the helpless Infancy of their Children, with that Tenderness and Care, which would be thought natural by every good Mind, unexperienced in the World, for all Creatures to have towards every thing immediately placed under their Protection; and as they grew older, form their Minds, and instruct them, with that Gentleness and Affection, which would plainly prove every thing they said or did, was for their Good, and not command them with an arbitrary Power. He thought that Children thus educated, with grateful Minds would return that Care and Love to their Parents, when old Age and Infirmities rendered them Objects of Compassion, and made it necessary for them to be attended with more Assiduity, than is generally met with in those People who only serve them for their Money.
The three Daughters above-mention'd never ceased crying and lamenting, till their Father was buried, in all which time Mr. Simple did all he could to comfort them; but, as soon as the Funeral was over, they dried up their Tears, and seem'd quite recover'd. The next Morning, as David was musing by himself, he was startled by a sudden Noise he knew not what to make of. At first he fancied it was the chattering of Magpyes; then he recollected, that some young female Neighbours of his, fearing lest there should be too much Silence in their House, kept two or three Parrots to entertain themselves with. At last he thought he heard something like the Sound of human Voices, but so confused and intermixed, three or four together, that nothing could be distinguished. He got up, and went towards the Room the Noise seem'd to come from: But how great was his Amazement, when he threw open the Door, and saw the three dutiful Daughters, (whom he had so much applauded in his own Mind) looking one pale as Death, the other red as Scarlet, according as their different Constitutions or Complexions were worked on by violent Passions; each of them holding a Corner of a most beautiful Carpet in her Hand. The moment they saw David, they ran to him, got hold of him, and began to tell their story all at a time. They were agitated by their Rage to such a degree, that not one of them could speak plain enough to be understood; so that he stood as if he had been surrounded by the three Furies, for a considerable time, before he could have any Comprehension what they would be at. At last, with great Intreaties that one of them would speak at a time, he so far prevailed, that the eldest told him the Story, tho' it was not without several Interruptions and many Disputes.
Their Father had left all he had to be divided equally amongst them; and, when they came to open his Things, they found this Carpet, which was a Present to him from a Merchant, and was one of the finest that ever was seen. The Moment they set eyes on it, they every one resolved to have it for themselves, on which arose a most violent Quarrel; and, as none of them would give it up, the most resolute of them took a pair of Scissars, and cut it into three Parts. They were all vex'd to have it spoil'd, yet each was better pleas'd, than if either of their Sisters had had it whole. But still the Difference was not decided, for in one of the Pieces was a more remarkable fine Flower than the rest, and that they had every one fixed on as their own. When David had heard all this, he could not express his Astonishment, but stood staring at them, like one who has seen, or fancies he has seen, a Ghost. He desired them to let go their Hold, for he could not possibly be a Judge in a Dispute of so nice a nature. On which they all cry'd out, they would have the Flower divided: for they had rather see it cut in a thousand pieces, than any body should have it but themselves.
As soon as David could free himself from them, he ran down stairs, got as far out of their hearing as he could, and left the House that very Night.
The Behaviour of these Sisters to each other, and that lately shown to their Father, may appear perhaps very inconsistent, and difficult to be reconciled. But it must be considered, that as the old Man had always preserved all the Power in his own hands, they had been used implicitly to obey his Commands, and wait on him; and as to their Grief at his Death, there is to most People a Terror and Melancholy in Death itself, which strikes them with Horror at the sight of it: And it being usual for Families to cry and mourn for their Relations, till they are buried, there is such a Prevalency in Custom, that it is not uncommon to see a whole House in Tears, for the Death of those very People they have hated and abused while living, tho' their Grief ceases with their Funerals. But these three Sisters had an inveterate Hatred to each other; for the eldest being much older than the others, had, during their Childhood, usurped so unreasonable an Authority over them, as they could never forgive; and as they were handsomer when they grew up than she was, they were more liked by the rest of the World, and consequently more disliked and hated by her. The other two, as they were nearer of an Age, in all appearance agreed better; but they had met with one of those fine Gentlemen, who make Love to every Woman they chance to be in company with. Each of these two Sisters fancied he was in love with her; they therefore grew jealous Rivals, and never after could endure one another; yet, notwithstanding all this, I make no doubt, but on the Death of either, the others could have perform'd the Ceremony of crying, with as good a Grace as if they had loved one another ever so well. Nay, and what is yet more surprizing, this Grief might not have been altogether Affectation: for when any Person is in so low a State of Body, Mind, or Fortune, as makes it impossible for them to be the Objects of Envy, if there is the least grain of Compassion or Good-nature in the human Mind, it has full Power to exert itself, and the Thought of being going for ever to lose any body we are used to converse with, like a Charm, suddenly banishes from our Thoughts all the Bad, which former Piques and Quarrels ever suggested to us that they had in them, and immediately brings to our Remembrance all the good Qualities they possessed.
Poor Mr. Simple began now utterly to despair that he should ever meet with any Persons who would give him leave to have a good Opinion of them a Week together; for he found such a Mixture of bad in all those he had yet met with, that as soon as he began to think well of any one, they were sure to do something to shock him, and overthrow his Esteem: He was in doubt in his own Mind, whether he should not go to some remote Corner of the Earth, lead the Life of a Hermit, and never see a human Face again; but, as he was naturally of a social Temper, he could not bear the Thoughts of such a Life. He therefore concluded he would proceed in his Scheme, till he had gone through all degrees of People; and, if he continu'd still unsuccessful, he could but retire at last.
Wherein is to be seen the Infallibility of Men's Judgments concerning the Virtues of Vices of their own Wives.
As David was one day walking along the Strand, full of these Reflections, he met a Man with so contented a Countenance, he could not forbear having a Curiosity to know who he was: he therefore watched him home; and, on Enquiry, found he was a Carpenter, who work'd very hard, brought home all the Money he could get to his Wife, and that they led a very quiet peaceable Life together. He was resolv'd to take the first Opportunity of sending for him, on pretence of imploying him in his Trade, in order to know, from his own mouth, what it was caused those great Signs of Happiness, which so visibly appear'd in his Countenance. The Man told him, "He was indeed the happiest of all Mortals; for he certainly had the best Wife in the World; to which was owing that Chearfulness he was pleas'd to take notice of." This still raised his Curiosity the more, and made him resolve to go to the Man's House to observe his Manner of living. He told him he had a mind to see this good Woman, whose Character pleased him so well, and that he would go home to dinner with him. The Carpenter, who thought he never had Witnesses enough of his Wife's Goodness, said, "He should be very proud of his Company." And home they went together.
Mr. Simple expected to have found every thing prepared in a neat, tho' plain way, by this extraordinary Woman, for the Reception and Comfort of her Husband, after his Morning's Work: But how greatly was he surprized, when he heard by a Prentice Boy, (who was left at home to wait on her, instead of assisting his Master in his Business) that she was in Bed, and desired her Husband would go and buy the Dinner, which the Boy dress'd for them, but very ill; and, when it was ready, the Lady condescended to sit down at Table with them, with the Boy waiting behind her Chair; and what was still the more amazing, was, that this Woman was ugly, to such a degree, that it was a wonder any Man could think of her at all. The whole Dinner pass'd in the Man's Praises of her Good-Humour and Virtue, and in Exultings in the Happiness of possessing such a Creature.
This Scene perplex'd David more than any thing he had yet seen, and he endeavour'd all he could to account for it. He therefore desir'd to board with them a Week, in order to find out, if possible, what could be the Cause of a Man's Fondness for such a Woman. In all the time he was there, he observed she indulged herself in drinking Tea, Wine, and in such Expences as a Man in his way could not possibly supply, notwithstanding all his Industry; but he thought nothing too much for her. After all the Reflections that could be made on this Subject, there could be no other Reason assign'd for this poor Man's being such a willing Slave, but her great Pride, and high Spirit, which imposed on him, and made him afraid to disoblige her; together with a sufficient manner of talking, which made him imagine her much more capable than she really was, in all respects.
I think it very likely, if she had known her own Deserts, and been humble in her Behaviour, he would have paid her no other Compliment, but confessing she was in the right, in the mean Thoughts she had of herself. He then would have been Master in his own House, and made a Drudge of her; an Instance of which, David saw while he was there, by a Man who came one day to visit his Neighbour, and was what is called by those sort of People, a jolly Companion: The first thing he did, was to abuse his Wife. He said, "he had left her at home out of humour, and would always deal with her after that manner, when he found her inclined to be ill tempered." The Carpenter cast a look on his Wife, which expressed his Satisfaction, in having so much the Advantage of his Acquaintance. The other went on, in saying, "for his part, he could never have any thing he liked at home, therefore he would stay but little there."
DAVID hearing all this, had a great Desire to see if this Woman was as much better than her Husband thought her, as the other was worse; and told the Man, if he would let him come and board with him a Week, he would give him his own Price. The other answered, "He should be very welcome, but his Wife did things in such an aukward Way, he was afraid he would not stay there a Day." But he, who was very indifferent as to what he eat and drank, was not frighten'd at this, and went home with the Man. He found the Woman hard at work, with two small Children, the eldest not four Years old, playing round her; they were dressed in coarse things, much mended, but yet whole and clean; every thing in the House was neat, and plainly proved the Mistress of that Family, having no Servant, could not be idle. As soon as they came in, she rose from her work, made an humble Court'sy to the Stranger, and received her Husband with a mixture of Love and Fear. He, in a surly Tone, said, "Well Moll, I hope you are in a better Humour than when I left you, here is a Gentleman wants to board with us for a Week, you had best not be in your Airs; none of your crying and whining, for I won't stay an hour in the House, if you don't behave yourself as you ought." The poor Woman, who could hardly refrain from Tears, said, "indeed, she was in very good Humour, and would do all she could in her homely way, to give the Gentleman Content." She had been very pretty, but her Eyes now had a Deadness in them, and her Countenance was grown pale, which seemed to be occasioned by the Sorrow and hard Labour she had endured, which produced the Effects of old Age, even in Youth itself.
The Husband never spoke for any thing but it was done, as if by Inchantment; for she flew to obey him, the moment he but intimated his Inclinations: she watched his very Looks, to observe what he would have, and if ever he expressed himself mildly, it seemed to be all her Pleasure. Every thing was ordered in the House, in the most frugal and best manner possible; yet it was seldom she could get a good Word from the Man she endeavoured to please. Her modest Behaviour, Love to her Husband, and Tenderness for her Children, in short, every thing she did or said, raised a great Compassion in David, and a strong Desire to know her Story, which he took the first Opportunity of desiring her to relate. She for a great while excused herself, saying, she could not tell her Story without reflecting on the Man she was unwilling to blame. But on David's assuring her, every thing should be a Secret, and that he would exert the utmost of his Power to serve her, she was at last prevailed on to give the following Account of her Life.
"As you seem, Sir, so desirous of knowing my Misfortunes, I cannot refuse complying with your Request; tho' the Remembrance of most of the past Scenes of my Life bring nothing but melancholy Thoughts to my Mind, which I endeavour, as much as possible, to avoid. Indeed, I have so few Comforts, that it's well my being continually obliged to employ myself, for the feeding and covering these my Little-ones, prevents my having time to think so much, as otherwise I should.
"My Father was a great Distiller in the City, and I was bred up with the utmost Tenderness and Care, till I was ten Years old, when he died and left me to the Care of an elder Brother, to depend on his pleasure for my Support. He was a sort of Man, it is impossible to draw any Character of, for I never knew him do one Action in my Life, that was not too much in the common Road to be remarked. He kept me in his House without either abusing, or shewing the least Affection towards me; by this sort of Behaviour, he neither gained my Love, nor my Hatred, but I lived a dull Life with very few things to amuse me: for as all the Companions I used to play with in my Father's Time, had plenty of Money, and I now was kept without any, they soon shunned me, and I was as willing to avoid them, having too much Pride to be beholden to them for paying my share of the Expence. I had now nothing to do but to fly to Books for Refuge: All the Pleasure I had, was in reading Romances, so that by the time I was Fifteen, my Head was full of nothing but Love. While I was in this Disposition, one Sunday, as I came out of Church, an old Woman followed me, and whispered in my Ear, if I had a mind to save a pretty young Fellow's Life, I should give a kind Answer to a Note he had sent by her; which she put into my Hand, and presently mixed amongst the Croud. I made haste home with the utmost Impatience, to read my Letter; it contained the strongest Expressions of Love, and was writ so much in the strain of some of my favourite Books, that I was over-joyed at the Thoughts of such an Adventure. However, I would not answer it, thinking some Years Service due to me, before such a Favour should be granted; for I began now to look on myself as the Heroine of a Romance. The young Man was Clerk to an Attorney in the Neighbourhood, and was none of those luke-warm Lovers, who require their Mistresses to meet them half way, but he followed me with the utmost Assiduity. This exactly suited my Taste, and I soon found a great Inclination for him, yet was resolved to make a long Courtship of it; but a very few Meetings with him, got the better of all my Resolutions, and he made me engage myself to him.
"If my Brother had treated me with Good-nature, I certainly should have acquainted him with this Affair; but he took so little Notice of me, and whenever I spoke to him, shewed such a Contempt for talking with Girls, that he being twice my Age, I contracted such an Awe of him, I really was afraid to tell him of it. I take shame to myself, for giving so easily into an Affair of this nature; but I was young, and had no body to advise or instruct me, for my Mother died when I was an Infant: which, I hope, may be some excuse for me, but I won't tire you with my foolish Remarks.
"My Brother happened one day to bring home a young Man to dinner with him, who took such a fancy to me, he would have married me. My Person then, as I was told, was very agreeable, tho' now, Sir, I am so altered, nobody would know me to be the same Woman. This young Man was in very good Circumstances, which you may be sure, made my Brother readily agree to it. He therefore told me of it, but was greatly surprized, to find me utterly averse to the Match; he teazed me so much about it, that at last I told him the Truth, that I was already engaged, both in Honour and Inclination, to another. On hearing this, he fell into the most violent Rage imaginable, at my daring to engage myself to any one, without his Consent. He told me, the Man I had pleased to take a fancy to, was a pitiful Fellow. That his Master often said, he would never come to any Good, for he thought of nothing but his Pleasures, and never minded his Business. In short, he said, if I would not give him up, he would abandon me, and never see me more. This Roughness and Brutality made me still fonder of my Lover, who was all Complaisance and Eagerness to please me. I took the first Opportunity of informing him of what had happened. He was not at all concerned, as he saw me so resolute, only he pressed me to marry him immediately, which my foolish Fondness soon made me consent to. My Brother was as good as his word, for he would never see me more. And, indeed, it was not long, before I found what he had told me was too true, that my Husband would not follow his Business; for as soon as he was out of his Time, he swore he would have no more to do with it. His Father was a very good Man, but, unfortunately for me, died soon after we were married; for he would have been kind to me, if he had lived. He had more Children, and was not very rich, so that he could not leave us a great deal: However, he left me 30l. per Annum, in an Annuity; and to his Son 500l. which he soon spent, and made me sell my Annuity: I have never refus'd him any thing since we have been marry'd. You see, Sir, by the manner we live, Money is not very plenty with us, tho' I do my Houshold Affairs myself, take care of my poor Children, and am glad to do Plain-Work besides, when I can get it; that, by all means possible, I may help to support the Man, whom yet I love with the greatest Fondness, notwithstanding you see he doth not treat me with an equal Tenderness.
"He has a Brother, who allows him a small matter, so that we make shift to rub on with Bread, and I could be content with my Lot, if he behaved to me as when we were first married; and what has occasioned this Alteration I cannot imagine, for I don't find he converses with any other Women, and I have always been a very humble Wife: I have humour'd him in every thing he has desir'd: I have never upbraided him with the Misery I have suffer'd for his sake, nor refus'd him any of the little Money I get. I remember once, when I had but just enough to buy a Dinner for the Day, and had been hard at work, he had a mind to go out, where he thought he should be merry: I let him have this little, and conceal'd from him that I had no more; thinking it impossible for him to take it, if he had known the Truth. I eat nothing but Bread that Day. When he came home at night, I receiv'd him with great good Humour; but had a Faintness upon me, which prevented my being chearful, which he immediately imputed to the Badness of my Temper. He swore there was no living with Women, for they had such vile Humours no Mortal could bear them. Thus even my Tenderness for him is turn'd against me, and I can do nothing that he does not dislike; yet my Fondness still continues for him, and there are no pains I would not take, if he would return it; but he imputes it to a Warmth in my Inclination, which Accident might as well have given to another Man."
DAVID, who sat silent all this while, and attended to her Discourse, was amazed at her Story; he assured her he would do all in his power to serve her, and would leave her some Money, which she might produce at times as she thought proper; and try if finding her always able and willing to supply her Husband with what he wanted, would not make him kinder to her. He said he had great Compassion for her, gave her five Guineas, being all he had about him, and promised to send her more, which he punctually perform'd.
When David came to reflect, he was perfectly amazed, how it was possible for one Man to be continually rejoicing in his own Happiness, and declaring he had the best of Wives, altho' she spent all his Substance, and threw the burden of every thing upon him; while another was continually complaining of his Wife, when her whole Time and Labour was spent to promote his Interest, and support him and his Children. And, however common it may be in the World, the Goodness of David's Heart could not conceive how it was possible for good Usage to make a Man despise his Wife, instead of returning Gratitude and Good-humour for her Fondness.
Containing some Proofs, that all Men are not exactly what they wish to pass for in the World.
The next Lodging our Hero took, was near Covent-Garden; where he met with a Gentleman, who accidentally lodg'd in the same House, whose Conversation Mr. Simple was mightily charmed with: He had something in his Manner, which seemed to declare that inward Serenity of Mind, which arises from a Consciousness of doing well, and every Trifle appeared to give him pleasure, because he had no Tumults within to disturb his Happiness. His Sentiments were all so refined, and his Thoughts so delicate, that David imagined such a Companion, if he was not again deceived in his Opinion, would be the greatest Blessing this World could afford.
This Gentleman, whose Name was Orgueil, being of French Extraction, was equally pleased with Mr. Simple, and they spent their whole time together: He had a great deal of good Acquaintance, that is, he conversed with all the People of Sense he could meet with, without any Consideration what their Fortunes were; for he did not rate Men at all by the Riches they possessed, but by their own Behaviour. In this Man therefore did David think he had met with the Completion of all his Wishes; for, on the closest Observation, he could not find he was guilty of any one Vice, nor that he neglected any Opportunity in his power of doing good; the only Fault he could ever discern in him, was, a too severe Condemnation of others Actions: for he would never make any allowance for the Frailties of Human Nature, but expected every one to act up to the strictest Rules of Reason and Goodness. But this was overlooked by a Friend, and imputed to his knowing, by himself, the Possibility of avoiding those Frailties, if due Care was taken. Wherever he went, he carried David with him, and introduced him into a perfect new Scene of Life: for hitherto his Conversation had been chiefly amongst a lower Degree of Men. The Company in which Mr. Orgueil delighted, were People who were bred to genteel Professions, and who were neither to be reckoned in very high, nor in low Life. They went one Night to a Tavern, with four other Gentlemen, who had every one a great deal of that kind of Wit, which consists in the Assemblage of those Ideas, which, tho' not commonly join'd, have such a Resemblance to each other, that there is nothing preposterous, or monstrous in the joining them; whereas I have known some People, for the sake of saying a witty thing, as it were by force, haul together such inconsistent Ideas, as nothing but Vanity, and a strong Resolution of being witty in spite of Nature, could have made them think of. But this Conversation was quite of a different kind; all the Wit was free and easy; every thing that was said seem'd to be spoke with a desire of entertaining the Company, without any Reflection on the Applause that was to arise from it to themselves. In short, nothing but Envy and Anger, at not having been Author of every thing that was said, could have prevented any body's being pleased with every Expression that was made use of. And, as David's Mind was entirely free from those low, mean Qualities, his Entertainment was pure and unmixed.
The next Morning passed in Observations on the Conversation of the foregoing Night, and David thanked his Friend for the Pleasure his Acquaintance had given him. "Ay, says the other, I do not in the least doubt but one of your Taste must be highly satisfied with every one of those Gentlemen you were with last Night; but your Goodness will make you sigh at what I am going to relate. Each of those Men you were so delighted with, have such glaring Faults, as make them unfit to be thought of, in any other light, than just to be diverted with: They are not to be trusted, nor depended on in any point in Life; and altho' they have such Parts and Sense, that I cannot help liking their Company, I am forced, when I reflect, to think of them just as I do of a Buffoon, who diverts me, without engaging either my Love or Esteem. Perhaps you may blame me, when I have told you their real Characters, for having any thing to say to them; but, as I consider I have not the power of Creation, I must take Men as they are; and a Man must be miserable, who cannot bring himself to take all the Pleasures he can innocently attain, without examining too nicely into the Delicacy of them. That Man who sat next you, and whom I was not at all surprized to see you hearken to with so much Attention, notwithstanding all those beautiful Thoughts of his on Covetousness, and the Eloquence in which he display'd its Contemptibleness, is so great a Miser, that he would let the greatest Friend he had suffer the height of Misery, rather than part with any thing to relieve him: And was it possible to raise, by any means, Compassion enough in him, to get but a trifle from him; the Person, who once had a Farthing of his Money, would be ever afterwards hateful to him. For Men of his Turn of Mind take as great an Aversion to those People, whom they think themselves, or, to speak more properly, their Chests a penny the poorer for, as Children do to the Surgeons who have drawn away any of their Blood.
"That other Gentleman, who seem'd to pitch on Extravagance as the properest Subject to harangue against, is himself the most extravagant of all Mortals; he values not how he gets Money, so that he can but spend it; and, notwithstanding his Lavishness, he is full as much a Miser, to every body but himself, as the other. Indeed he is reputed by the mistaken World to be generous; and, as he perfectly understands the Art of flattering himself, he believes he is so: but nothing can be farther from it. For, tho' he would not scruple to throw away the last twenty Guineas he had in the world, to satisfy any Fancy of his own, he would at the same time grudge a Shilling to do any thing that is right, or to serve another. These two Men, who appear so widely different, you may suppose have a strong Contempt for each other; but if they could think of themselves with that Impartiality, and judge of their own Actions with that good Sense, with which they judge of every thing else, they would find that they are much more alike than they at present imagine. The Motive of both their Actions is Selfishness, which makes every thing center wholly in themselves. It was Accident brought them together last Night; for a covetous Man as naturally shuns the Company of a Prodigal, unless he has a great Estate, and he can make a Prey of him, as an envious ugly Woman does that of a handsome one, unless she can contrive to do her some mischief by conversing with her.
"That Gentleman who sat next me, and inveighed against Treachery and Ingratitude, with such a Strength of Imagination, and delightful Variety of Expressions, that a Pythagorean would have thought the Soul of Cicero had been transmigrated into him; I know a Story of, that will at once raise your Wonder and Detestation.
"His Father was one of those sort of Men, who, tho' he never designed any Ill, yet from an indolent, careless Disposition, and trusting his Affairs entirely to others, ran out of a very good Estate, and left his Son at the Age of Fifteen, upon the wide World to shift for himself. An old Gentleman in the Neighbourhood took a great fancy to this Boy, from the Genius he saw in him: He received him into his House, and kept him, as if he had been his own Son, and made use of all his Interest to procure him a Commission in the Army, which he accomplished; it being in time of Peace, he easily obtained leave for him to come often, and spend much of his Time with him. The good old Man had a Daughter, who was just Fifteen when our Spark was Twenty; she was handsome to a miracle, the Object of her Father's most tender Love and Affection, and the Admiration of every body who knew her. She repaid her Father's Tenderness with the utmost Duty and Care to please him, and her whole Happiness was placed in his Kindness and good Opinion of her. She was naturally warm in her Passions, and inclined to love every body, who endeavoured to oblige her. This young Gentleman soon fell in love with her: That is, he found it was in her power to give him Pleasure, and he gave himself no trouble what Price she paid for gratifying him. In short, he made use of all the Arts he is master of, (and you see how agreeable he can make himself) to get her Affections; which as soon as he found he had obtained, he made no scruple of making use of that very Love to him, (which ought to have made him wish to protect and guard her from every Misfortune) to betray her into the greatest Scene of Misery imaginable; and all the Return he made to the Man, who had been a Father to him from Choice, and Good-nature, was, to destroy all the Comfort he proposed in his old Age, of seeing his beloved, only Child happy.
"He was soon weary of her, and then left her in a Condition the most unable to bear Afflictions, to suffer more than can be expressed. The being forsaken by the Man she loved, and the Horror of being discovered by her Father, made her almost distracted; it was not that she was afraid of her Father, but she loved him so well, that her greatest Terror was the Thoughts of making him uneasy. It was impossible to conceal her Folly long, and yet she could by no means bring herself to disclose it. The alteration of her Behaviour, which from the most lively Chearfulness, grew into a settled Melancholy, with her pale and dejected Countenance, made the poor old Man fear she was going into a Consumption. He was always enquiring what was the matter with her; he perceived whenever he spoke to her, on that Subject, the Tears stood in her Eyes, and she was hardly able to give him an Answer. At last, by continual Importunities, he got from her the whole Truth. What Words can describe his Distress when he heard it! His Thoughts were so confused, and his Amazement so great, it was some time before he could utter his Words. She stood pale and trembling before him, without Power to speak, till at last she fainted away. He then catched her in his Arms, cried out for Help, and the Moment she began to recover, welcomed her to returning Life, not in Passion and Reproaches, but in all the most endearing Expressions the most tender Love could suggest. He assured her, he never would upbraid her; that all his Resentment should fall on the proper Object, i. e. the Villain who had imposed on her soft artless Temper, to both their Ruins. He wondered what could induce the Wretch to so much Baseness, since if he had asked her in Marriage, as she was fond of him, there was nothing he would not have done to have made them happy.
"This Excess of Goodness was more fatal to the poor young Creature, than if he had behaved as most Fathers do in the like Case; who, when they find their Vanity disappointed, and despair of seeing their Daughters married to advantage, fall into a violent Rage, and turn them out of doors: for this uncommon Behaviour of his, quite overcame her, she fell from one fainting Fit to another, and lived but three Days. During all which time, she would never let her Father stir from her, and all she said, was to beg him to be comforted, to forget and drive out of his Memory, if possible, that ever she had been the Cause of so much Grief to him; for the Thoughts of that was worse than ten thousand Deaths to her; all the rest she could have borne with Patience, but the Consideration of what she had brought on him (the best of Fathers) was more than Nature could support.
"The poor Man stifled his Groans while she could hear them, for fear of hurting her; but the Moment she was gone, he tore his Hair, beat his Breast, and fell into such Agonies, as is impossible to describe. So I shall follow the Example of the Painter, who drew a Veil before Agamemnon's Face, when his Daughter was sacrificed, despairing from the utmost Stretch of his Art, to paint any Countenance that could express all that Nature must feel on such a dreadful Occasion: I shall leave to your own Imagination to represent what he suffered; and only tell you, it was so much, that his Life and Misery soon ended together."
Here Mr. Orgueil stopped, seeing poor David could hear no more, not being able to stifle his Sighs and Tears, at the Idea of such a Scene; for he did not think it beneath a Man to cry from Tenderness, tho' he would have thought it much too effeminate to be moved to Tears by any Accident that concerned himself only.
As soon as he could recover enough to speak, he cried out, "Good God! is this a World for me to look for Happiness in, when those very Men, who seem to be such Favourites of Nature, that she has taken particular Care to give them every thing that is agreeable, can be guilty of such Crimes as make them a Disgrace to the Species they are born of! What could incite a Man to such monstrous Ingratitude! there was no Circumstance to alleviate his Villainy; for if his Passion was violent, he might have married her." Yes, (answered, Mr. Orgueil ) but that was not his Scheme, he was ambitious, and thought marrying so young would have spoiled his Fortune, he could not expect with this poor Creature above fifteen hundred Pounds at first: He did not know how long the Father might live, and he did not doubt, but when he had been some time in the World, he might meet with Women equally agreeable, and much more to his Advantage" "Well, (replied David ) and is this Man respected in the World? Will Men converse with him? Should he not be drove from Society, and a mark set upon him, that he might be shunned and despised? He certainly is one of the agreeablest Creatures I ever saw; but I had rather spend my time with the greatest Fool in Nature, provided he was an honest Man, than with such a Wretch." "Oh, Sir, (says the other) by that time you have conversed in the World as long as I have, you will find, while a Man can support himself like a Gentleman, and has Parts enough to contribute to the Entertainment of Mankind, his Company will be courted, where Poverty and Merit will not be admitted. Every one knows who can entertain them best, but few People are Judges of Merit. He has succeeded in his Designs; for he has married a Woman immensely rich." At this, David was more astonished than ever; and asked, if his Wife knew the Story he had just told him. "Yes, (says he) I knew a Gentleman, who is her Friend, that told her of it before she was married: And all the Answer she made was, Truly, if Women would be such Fools to put themselves in Men's power, it was their own Fault, and good enough for them; she was sure he would not use a virtuous Woman ill, and she did not doubt but her Conduct would make him behave well. In short, she was fond of him, and would have him. He keeps an Equipage, and is liked by all his Acquaintance. This Story is not known to every body, and amongst those who have heard it, they are so inclined to love him, that while they are with him, they can believe nothing against him: No wonder he could impose on a young unexperienced Creature, when I have known him impose on Men of the best Sense."
DAVID could not bear the Thoughts, that any body's Wit and Parts should have power enough to make the World forget they were Villains; and lamented to his Friend, that whoever was capable of giving pleasure, should not also have Goodness. "Why, really Sir, (says Mr. Orgueil) in my Observations on the World, I have remarked, that good Heads and good Hearts generally go together; but they are not inseparable Companions, of which I have already given you three Instances, and have one more, in the other Gentleman, who was with us last Night, tho' it is impossible to equal the last Story.
"Perhaps, Sir, you would think it very unnatural that a Person, with his Understanding, should have all his good Qualities swallowed up and overrun with the most egregious Vanity; you see he is very handsome, and to his Beauty is owing all his Faults. And I often think he manages the Gifts in which Nature has been so liberal to him, with just the same Wisdom as a Farmer would do, who should bestow all his Time and Labour on a little Flower-Garden, placing his whole Delight in the various Colours, and fragrant Smells he there enjoyed, and leave all the rich Fields, which with a small Care would produce real Benefits, uncultivated and neglected. So this Gentleman's Mind, if he thought it worth his Notice, is capable of rendering him a useful Member of Society; but his whole Pleasure is in adorning his Person, and making Conquests. You could observe nothing of this, because there were no Women amongst us; but if there had, you would have seen him fall into such ridiculous Tosses of his Person, and foolish Coquetries, as would be barely excusable in a handsome Girl of Fifteen. He was thrown very young upon the Town, where he met with such a Reception wherever he went, and was so much admired for his Beauty, even by Ladies in the highest Stations, that his Head was quite turned with it. You will think, perhaps, these are such trifling Frailties, after what I have already told you of the others, they hardly deserve to be mentioned; but if you will consider a mo