Fresh mortifications, or a demonstration that seeming calamities may be real blessings.
THE journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr. Thorn|hill having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by letter of their behaviour. But it was thought indis|pensably necessary that their appearance should equal the greatness of their expec|tations, which could not be done without some expence. We debated therefore in full council what were the easiest methods of raising money, or, more properly speaking, what we could most conve|niently sell. The deliberation was soon finished, it was found that our remaining
horse was utterly useless for the plow, with|out his companion, and equally unfit for the road, as wanting an eye, it was there|fore determined that we should dispose of him for the purposes above-mentioned, at the neighbouring fair, and, to prevent im|position, that I should go with him myself. Though this was one of the first mercan|tile transactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputa|tion. The opinion a man forms of his own prudence is measured by that of the company he keeps, and as mine was most|ly in the family way, I had conceived no unfavourable sentiments of my worldly wis|dom. My wife, however, next morning, at parting, after I had got some paces from the door, called me back, to advise me, in a whisper, to have all my eyes about me.
I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair, put my horse through all his paces; but for some time had no bidders. At last a
chapman approached, and, after he had for a good while examined the horse round, finding him blind of one eye, would have nothing to say to him: a second came up; but observing he had a spavin, de|clared he would not take him for the driv|ing home: a third perceived he had a windgall, and would bid no money: a fourth knew by his eye that he had the botts: a fifth, more impertinent than all the rest, wondered what a plague I could do to the fair with a blind, spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be cut up for a dog kennel. By this time I began to have a most hearty contempt for the poor animal myself, and was almost ashamed at the approach of every new customer; for though I did not entirely believe all the fellows told me; yet I reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong presump|tion they were right, and St. Gregory, up|on good works, professes himself to be of the same opinion.
I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, an old acquain|tance, who had also business to the fair, came up, and shaking me by the hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house and taking a glass of whatever we could get. I readily closed with the offer, and entering an ale-house, we were shewn into a little back room, where there was only a venera|ble old man, who sat wholly intent over a large book, which he was reading. I ne|ver in my life saw a figure that pre|possed me more favourably. His locks of silver grey venerably shaded his temples, and his green old age seemed to be the result of health and benevolence. However, his pre|sence did not interrupt our conversation; my friend and I discoursed on the various turns of fortune we had met: the Whistonean con|troversy, my last pamphlet, the archdea|con's reply, and the hard measure that was dealt me. But our attention was in a short time taken off by the appearance of a youth, who, entering the room, respectfully said some|thing
softly to the old stranger.
"Make no apoligies, my child,"
said the old man,
"to do good is a duty we owe to all our fellow creatures: take this, I wish it were more; but five pounds will relieve your distress, and you are welcome."
The modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his gratitude was scarce equal to mine. I could have hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevolence pleased me so. He conti|nued to read, and we resumed our conver|sation, until my companion, after some time, recollecting that he had business to transact in the fair, promised to be soon back; adding, that he always desired to have as much of Dr. Primrose's company as possible. The old gentleman, hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me with attention, and when my friend was gone, most respectfully demanded if I was any way related to the great Primrose, that couragious monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture than at that mo|ment,
"the applause of so good a man, as I am sure you are, adds to that happiness in my breast which your benevolence has already excited. You behold before you, Sir, that Doctor Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been pleased to call great. You here see that unfortunate Divine, who has so long, and it would ill become me to say, successfully, fought against the deuterogamy of the age."
cried the stranger, struck with awe,
"I fear I have been too familiar; but you'll for|give my curiosity, Sir: I beg pardon."
cried I, grasping his hand,
"you are so far from displeasing me by your familiarity, that I must beg you'll accept my friendship, as you already have all my esteem."
"Then with gratitude I accept the offer,"
cried he, squeezing me by the hand,
"thou glorious pillar of unshaken orthodoxy;"
and do I behold—I here interrupted what he was going to say; for tho', as an author, I could digest
no small share of flattery, yet now my mo|desty would permit no more. However, no lovers in romance ever cemented a more instantaneous friendship. We talked upon several subjects: at first I thought he seemed rather devout than learned, and began to think he despised all human doctrines as dross. Yet this no way lessened him in my esteem; for I had for some time be|gun privately to harbour such an opinion myself. I therefore took occasion to observe, that the world in general began to be blamebly indifferent as to doctrinal matters, and followed human speculations too much—
replied he, as if he had reserved all his learning to that moment,
"Ay, Sir, the world is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has puzzled philosophers of all ages. What a medly of opinions have they not broached upon the creation of the world? Sanconiathon, Manetho, Be|rosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, have all at|tempted it in vain. The latter has these
words, Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan,
which imply that all things have neither beginning nor end. Manetho also, who lived about the time of Ne|buchadon-Asser, Asser being a Syriac word usually applied as a sirname to the kings of that country, as Teglat Phael-Asser, Nabon-Asser, he, I say, formed a conjecture equally absurd; for as we usually say ek to biblion kubernetes,
which implies that books will never teach the world; so he attempted to investigate—But, Sir, I ask pardon, I am straying from the question."
—That he actually was; nor could I for my life see how the creation of the world had any thing to do with the business I was talking of; but it was sufficient to shew me that he was a man of letters, and I now reverenced him the more. I was resolved therefore to bring him to the touch-stone; but he was too mild and too gentle to contend for vic|tory. Whenever I made any observation that looked like a challenge to controversy, he would smile, shake his head, and say
nothing; by which I understood he could say much, if he thought proper. The sub|ject therefore insensibly changed from the business of antiquity to that which brought us both to the fair; mine I told him was to sell an horse, and very luckily, indeed, his was to buy one for one of his tenants. My horse was soon produced, and in fine we struck a bargain. Nothing now remained but to pay me, and he accordingly pulled out a thirty pound note, and bid me change it. Not being in a capacity of complying with his demand, he ordered the landlady to call up his footman, who made his appearance in a very genteel livery.
"go and get gold for this; you'll do it at neighbour Jackson's, or any where."
While the fellow was gone, he entertained me with a pathetic harangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I undertook to improve, by deplor|ing also the great scarcity of gold; and by the time Abraham returned, we had both agreed that money was never so hard
to be come at as now. Abraham returned to inform us, that he had been over the whole fair and could not get change, tho' he had offered half a crown for doing it. This was a very great disappointment to us all; but the old gentleman having paused a little, asked me if I knew one Solomon Flamborough in my part of the country: upon replying that he was my next door neighbour,
"If that be the case then,"
"I believe we shall deal. You shall have a draught upon him, payable at sight; and let me tell you he is as warm a man as any within five miles round him. Honest Solomon and I have been acquainted for many years together. I remember I always beat him at three jumps; but he could hop upon one leg farther than I."
A draught upon my neighbour was to me the same as money; for I was sufficiently convinced of his abi|lity: the draught was signed and put into my hands, and Mr. Jenkinson, the old gentleman, his man Abraham, and my
horse, old Blackberry, trotted off very well pleased with each other.
Being now left to reflection, I began to recollect that I had done wrong in taking a draught from a stranger, and so prudently resolved upon having back my horse, and following the purchaser. But this was now too late: I therefore made directly homewards, resolving to get the draught changed into money at my friend's as fast as possible. I found my honest neighbour smoking his pipe at his own door, and informing him that I had a small bill upon him, he read it twice over.
"You can read the name, I suppose,"
"the name is written plain enough, and I know the gentleman too, the greatest rascal under the canopy of heaven. This is the very same rogue who sold us the spectacles. Was he not, a venerable looking man, with grey hair, and no flaps to his pocket-holes? And did he not talk a long string of learning about Greek and
cosmogony, and the world?"
To this I replied with a groan.
"he has but that one piece of learning in the world, and he always talks it away whenever he finds a scholar in compa|ny: but I know the rogue, and will catch him yet."
Though I was already sufficiently mor|tified, my greatest struggle was to come, in facing my wife and daughters. No tru|ant was ever more afraid of returning to school, there to behold the master's sweet visage, than I was of going home. I was determined, however, to anticipate their fury, by first falling into a passion myself.
But, alas! upon entering, I found the family no way disposed for battle. My wife and girls were all in tears, Mr. Thornhill having been there that day to inform them, that their journey to town was entirely over. The two ladies having heard reports of us from some malicious person about us, were that day set out for London. He could
neither discover the tendency, nor the au|thor of these. but whatever they might be, or whoever might have broached them, he continued to assure our family of his friendship and protection. I found, there|fore, that they bore my disappointment with great resignation, as it was eclipsed in the greatness of their own. But what per|plexed us most was to think who could be so base as to asperse the character of a fa|mily so harmless as ours, too humble to ex|cite envy, and too inoffensive to create dis|gust.