The miscellaneous works of Henry Mackenzie

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ing to the confidence with which they are urged. In the more important articles of belief or conviction, let not the flow of ridicule be mistaken for the force of argument. Nothing is so easy as to excite a laugh at that time of life, when seriousness is held to be an incapacity of enjoying it; and no wit so futile, or so dangerous, as that which is drawn from the perverted attitudes of what is in itself momentous. There are in most societies a set of self-important young men, who borrow consequence from singularity, and take precedency in wisdom from the unfeeling use of the ludicrous : this is at best a shallow quality; in objects of eternal moment, it is poisonous to society. I will not now, nor could you then, stand forth armed at all points to repel the attacks which they may make on the great principles of your belief; but let one suggestion suffice, exclusive of all internal evidence, or extrinsic proof of revelation. He who would undermine those foundations upon which the fabric of our future hope is reared, seeks to beat down that column which supports the feebleness of humanity:—let him but think a moment, and his heart will arrest the cruelty of his purpose;—would he pluck its little treasure from the bostim of poverty ? Would he wrest its crutch from the hand of age, and remove from the eye of affliction

the only solace of its woe ? The way we tread is rugged at best; we tread it, however, lighter by the prospect of that better country to which we trust it will

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lead; tell us not that it will end in the gulph of eternal dissolution, or break off in some wild, which fancy may fill up as she pleases, but reason is unable to delineate; quench not that beam which, amidst the night of this evil world, has cheered the despondency of ill-requited worth, and illumined the darkness of suffering virtue.

The two great movements of the soul, which the moulder of our frames has placed in them, for the incitement of virtue and the prevention of vice, are the desire of honour and the fear of shame; but the perversion of these qualities, which the refinement of society is peculiarly unhappy in making, has drawn their influence from the standard of morality, to the banners of its opposite; into the first step on which a young man ventures in those paths which the cautions of wisdom have warned him to avoid, he is commonly pushed by the fear of that ridicule which he has seen levelled at simplicity, and the desire of that applause which the spirit of the profligate has enabled him to acquire.

Pleasure is in truth subservient to virtue. When the first is pursued without those restraints which the last would impose, every infringement we make on them lessens the enjoyment we mean to attain; and nature is thus wise in our construction, that when we would be blessed beyond the pale of reason, we are blessed imperfectly. It is not by the roar of riot, or the shout of the bacchanal, that we are to measure the degree of pleasure which he y Google

feels; the grossness of the sense he gratifies is equally insusceptible of the enjoyment, as it is deaf to the voice of reason, and, obdurated by the repetition of debauch, is incapable of that delight, which the

finer sensations produce, which thrills in the bosom of delicacy and virtue.

Libertines have said, my Harriet, that the smiles of your sex attend them; and that the pride of conquest, where conquest is difficult, overcomes the fear of disgrace and defeat. I hope there is less truth in this remark than is generally imagined: let it be my Harriet's belief that it cannot be true, for the honour of her sex; let it be her care that, for her own honour, it may be false as to her. Look on those men, my child, even in their gayest and most alluring garb, as creatures dangerous to the peace, and destructive of the welfare, of society; look on them as you would on a beautiful serpent, whose mischief we may not forget while we admire the beauties of its skin. I marvel, indeed, how the pride of the fair can allow them to show a partiality to him who regards them as beings merely subservient to his pleasure, in whose opinion they have lost all that dignity which excites reverence, and that excellence which creates esteem.

Be accustomed, my love, to think respectfully of yourself; it is the error of the gay world to place your sex in a station somewhat unworthy of a reasonable creature; and the individuals of ours, who address themselves to you, think it a necessary ingredient in their y Google

discourse, that it should want every solid pro* perty with which sense and understanding would invest it. The character of a female pedant is undoubtedly disgusting; but it is much less common than that of a trifling or an ignorant woman; the intercourse of the sex is, in this respect, advantageous, that each has a desire to please, mingled with a certain deference for the other; let not this purpose be lost on one side, by its being supposed, that, to please yours, we must speak something, in which fashion has sanctified folly, and ease lent her garb to insignificance. In general, it should never be forgotten, that, though life has its venial trifles, yet they cease to be innocent when they encroach upon its important concerns; the mind that is often employed about little things, will be rendered unfit for any

serious exertion; and, though temporary relaxations may recruit its strength, habitual vacancy will destroy it.

CHAP. VI.

IN CONTINUATION OF KNOWLEDGE

KNOWLEDGE OP THE WORLD.—POLITENESS.—HONOUR—

ANOTHER RULE OF ACTION SUGGESTED.

As the mind may be weakened by the pursuit of trivial matters, so its strength may be misled in deeper investigations.

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It U a capital error in the pursuit of knowledge, to suppose that we are never to believe what we cannot account for. There is no reason why we should not attempt to understand every thing ; but to own, in some instances, our limited knowledge, is a piece of modesty in which lies the truest wisdom.

Let it be our care that our effort in its tendency is useful, and our effort need not be repressed ; for he who attempts the impossible, will often achieve the extremely difficult; but the pride of knowledge often labours to gain what, if gained, would be useless, and wastes exertion upon objects that have been left unattained from their futility.

Men possessed of this desire you may perhaps find, my son, in that seat of science whither you are going, but remember, that what claims our wonder does not always merit our regard; and in knowledge and philosophy be careful to distinguish, that the purpose of research should ever be fixed on making simple what is abstruse, not abstruse what is simple; and that difficulty in acquisition will no more sanctify its inexpediency, than the art of tumblers, who have learned to stand on their heads, will prove that to be the proper posture for man.

There is a pedantry in being master of paradoxes contrary to the common opinions of mankind, which is equally disgusting to the

illiterate and the learned. The peasant who enjoys the beauty of the tulip is equally delighted with the philosopher, though he knows not the

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powers of the rays from which its colours are derived; and the boy who strikes a ball with his racket is as certain whither it will be driven by the blow, as if he were perfectly versant in the dispute about matter and motion. Vanity of our knowledge is generally found in the first stages of its acquirement, because we are then looking back to that rank we have left, of such as know nothing at all. Greater advantages cure of this, by pointing our view to those above us; and when we reach the summit, we begin to discover, that human knowledge is so imperfect, as not to warrant any vanity upon it. In particular arts, beware of that affectation of speaking technically, by which ignorance is often disguised, and knowledge disgraced. They who are really skilful in the principles of science, will acquire the veneration only of shallow minds by talking scientifically; for to simplify expression is always the effect of the deepest knowledge and the clearest discernment. On the other hand, there may be many who possess taste, though they have not attained skill; who, if they will be contented with the expression of their own feelings, without labouring to keep up the borrowed phrase of erudition, will have their opinion respected by all whose suffrages are worthy of being gained. The music, the painting, the poetry of the passions, is the property of every one who has a heart to be moved; and though there may be particular modes of excellence which national or temporary fashions create, yet that stand

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THE MAM OF THE WORLD. 39

ard will ever remain which alone is common to all.

The ostentation of learning is indeed always disgusting in the intercourse of society; for even the benefit of instruction received cannot allay the consciousness of inferiority, and remarkable parts more frequently attract admiration than procure esteem. To bring forth knowledge agreeably, as well as usefully, is perhaps very difficult for those who have attained it in the secluded walks of study and speculation, and is an art seldom found but in men who have likewise acquired some knowledge of the world.

I would, however, distinguish between that knowledge of the world that fits us for intercourse with the better part of mankind, and that which we gain by associating with the worst.

But there is a certain learned rust which men as well as metals acquire; it is, simply speaking, a blemish in both; the social feelings grow callous from disuse, and we lose that spring of little affections, which sweeten the cup of life as we drink it.

Even the ceremonial of the world, shallow as it may appear, is not without its use; it may indeed take from the warmth of friendship, but it covere the coldness of indifference ; and if it has repressed the genuine overflowings of kindness, it has smothered the turbulence of passion and animosity.

Politeness taught as an art is ridiculous; as D2

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40 THE VAN OF THE WORLD*

the expression of liberal sentiment and courteous manners, it is truly valuable. There is a politeness of the heart which is confined to no rank, and dependant upon no education; the desire of obliging, which a man possessed of this quality will universally show, seldom fails of pleasing, though his style may differ from that of modern refinement I knew a man in London of the gentlest manners, and of the most winning deportment, whose eye was ever brightened with

the smile of good humour, and whose voice was mellowed with the tones of complacency—and this man was a blacksmith.

ThH. falsehood of politeness is often pleaded for, as unavoidable in the commerce of mankind; yet I would have it as little indulged as'

possible. There is a frankness without rusticity, an openness of manner prompted by goodhumour, but guided by delicacy, which some are happy enough to possess* that engages every worthy man, and gives not offence even to those whose good opinion, though of little estimation, it is the business of prudence not wantonly to lose.

The circles of the gay, my children, would smile to hear me talk of qualities which my retired manner of life has allowed me so little opportunity of observing; but true good-breeding is not confined within those bounds to which their peJantry (it I may use the expression) would restrict it; true good-breeding is the sister of philanthropy, with feelings perhaps not so serious or tender, but equally inspired by a

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THE MAN &V THE WORLD. 41

fineness of soul, and open to the impressions of social affection.

As politeness is the rule of the world's manners, so has it erected Honour the standard of its morality; but its dictates too frequently depart from wisdom with respect to ourselves, from justice and humanity with respect to others. Genuine honour is undoubtedly the offspring of both; but there has arisen a counterfeit, who, as he is more boastful and showy, has more attracted the notice of gaiety and grandeur. Generosity and courage are the virtues he boasts of possessing; but his generosity is a fool, and his courage a murderer.

The punctilios, indeed, on which he depends, for his own peace and the peace of society, are so ridiculous in the eye of reason, that it is not a little surprising, how so many millions of reasonable beings

should have sanctified them with their mutual consent and acquiescence: that they should have agreed to surround the seats of friendship, and the table of festivity, with so many thorns of inquietude and snares of destruction.

You will probably hear, my son, very frequent applause bestowed on men of nice and jealous honour, who suffer not the smallest affront to pass unquestioned or unrevenged; but do not imagine that the character which is most sacredly guarded, is always the most unsullied in reality, nor allow yourself to envy a reputation for that sort of valour which supports it. Think how uneasily that man must pass his D3

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43 THS MAN 07 THE WORLD.

time, who sits like a spider in the midst of hid feeling web, ready to catch the minutest occasion for quarrel and resentment. There k often more real pusillanimity in the mind that starts into opposition where none is necessary, than in him who overlooks the wanderings of some unguarded act or expression, as not of consequence enough to challenge indignation or revenge. I am aware, that the young and high-spirited will say, that men can only judge of actions, and that they will hold as cowardice, the blindness I would recommend to affront or provocation; but there is a steady coolness and possession of one's self, which this principle will commonly bestow, equally remote from the weakness of fear, and the discomposure of anger, which gives to its possessor a station that seldom fails of commanding respect, even from the ferocious votaries of sanguinary Honour.

But some principle k required to draw a line of action, above the mere precepts of moral equity,

' Beyond the fixt and settled rules ;*

and for this purpose is instituted the motive of Honour «•*—there is another at hand, which the substitution of this phantom too often destroys —it is Conscience—whose voice, were it not stifled, (sometimes by this very false and spurious Honour), would lead directly to that libe* ral construction of the rules of morality which is here contended for. Let my children never suffer this monitor to speak unheaded, nor

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THB MAN OF THE WORLO* 4S

drown its whispers, amidst the din of pleasure or the bustle of life.

Consider it as the representative of that Power who spake the soul into being, and in whose disposal existence is! To listen, therefore, to his unwritten law which he promulgates by its voice, has every sanction which his authority can give. It Were enough to say that we are mortal:—but the argument is irresistible, when we remember our immortality*

CHAP. VII.

INTRODUCING A NEW AND CAPITAL CHARACTER.

It was thus the good man instructed his children.

But, behold! the enemy came in the night, and sowed tares!

Such an enemy had the harmless family of which Annesly was the head. It is ever to be regretted, that mischief is seldom so weak but that worth may be stung by it: in the present instance, however, it was supported by talents misapplied, and ingenuity perverted.

Sir Thomas Sindall enjoyed an estate of £.5000 a-year in Annesly s parish. His father left him, when but a child, possessed of an estate to the amount we have just mentioned, and of a very large sum of money besides, which his

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44 THE MAN OF THE WORLD.

economy had saved him from its produce. His mother, though a very good woman, was a very bad parent; she loved her son, as too many mothers do, with that instinctive affection which nature has bestowed on the lowest rank of creatures. She loved him as her son, though he inherited none of her virtues; and because she happened to have no other child, she reared this in such a manner as was most likely to prevent the comfort he might have afforded herself, and the usefulness of which he might have been to society. In short, he did what he liked, at first, because his spirit should not be confined too early; and afterwards he did what he liked, because it was past being confined at all. .

But his temper was not altogether of that fiery kind, which some young men, so circumstanced, and so educated, are possessed of.

There was a degree of prudence which grew up with him from a boy, that tempered the sallies of passion, to make its object more sure in the acquisition. When at school, he was always the conductor of mischief, though he did not often participate in its execution ; and his carriage to his master was such, that he was a favourite without any abilities as a scholar, and acquired a character for regularity, while his associates were daily flogged for transgressions, which he had guided in their progress, aud enjoyed the fruits of in their completion.

There sometimes arose suspicions of the reality; but even those who discovered them mingled a. cer«

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THB MAN 09 THE WORLD. 45

tain degree of praise with their censure, and prophesied that he would be A Man of the World.

As he advanced in life, he fashioned his be* haviour to the different humours of the gentlemen in the neighbourhood; he hunted with the

fox-hunters through the day, and drank with them in the evening With these he diverted himself at the expence of the sober prigs, as he termed them, who looked after the improvement. of their estates when it was fair, and read a book within doors when it rained ; and to-morrow he talked on farming with this latter class, and ridiculed the hunting-phrases, and boisterous mirth, of his yesterday's companions. They were well pleased to laugh at one another, while he laughed in his sleeve at both. This was sometimes discovered, and people wer& going to be angry—but somebody said in ex* cuse, that Sindall was A Man of the World,

While the Oxford terms lasted, (to which place he had gone in the course of modern education), there were frequent reports in the country of the dissipated life he led; it was even said, that he had disappeared from college for six weeks together, during which time he was suspected of having taken a trip to London with another man's wife; this was only mentioned in a whisper; it was loudly denied; people doubted at first, and shortly forgot it* Some little extravagances, they said, he might have been guilty of. It was impossible for a man of two-and-twenty to seclude himself alto*

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gether from company; and you could not look for the temperance of a hermit in a young baronet of £.5000 a year. It is indispensible for such a man to come forth into life a little; with j£.5000 a-year, one must be A Man of the World.

His first tutor, whose learning was as extensive as his manners were pure, left him in disgust ; sober people wondered at this; but he was soon provided with another with whom he had got acquainted at Oxford ; one whom every body declared to be much fitter for the tuition of young Sindall, being, like his pupil, A Man of the World.

But though his extravagance in squandering money, under the tuition of this gentleman was frequently complained of, yet it was found that he was not altogether thoughtless of its acquisition. Upon the sale of an estate in his neighbourhood, it was discovered, that a very

advantageous mortgage, which had stood in the name of another, had been really transacted for the benefit of young Sindall. His prudent friends plumed themselves upon this intelligence; and, according to their use of the phrase, began to hope, that, after sowing his wild oats, Sir Thomas would turn out A Man of the World.

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SHE MAN OF THE WORLD. 4?

CHAP. VIII.

THE FOOTING ON WHICH HE STOOD WITH ANNESLY AND HIS

FAMILY.

J. hough such a man as we have described might be reckoned a valuable acquaintance by many, he was otherwise reckoned by Annesly: he had heard enough (though he had heard but part) of his character, to consider him as a dangerous neighbour; but it was impossible to avoid sometimes seeing him, from whose father he had got the living which he now occupied* There is no tax so heavy on a little man, as an acquaintance with a great one. Annesly had found this in the lifetime of Sir William Sindall. He was one of those whom the general voice pronounces to be a good sort of man, under which denomination I never look for much sense, or much delicacy.

In fact, the baronet possessed but little of either; he lived hospitably for his own sake, as wejl as that of his guests, because he liked a good dinner and a bottle of wine after it; and in one part of hospitality he excelled, which was, the faculty of making every body drunk that had not uncommon fortitude to withstand his attacks. Annesly's cloth protected him from this last inconvenience; but it often drew from Sir William a set of jests, which his memory had enabled him to retain, and had passed through the heirs of his family, like their estate, down from the days of that

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48 THE MAM OF THB WORLD.

monarch of facetious memory, Charles the Second.

Though to a man of Annesly's delicacy all this could not but be highly disagreeable, yet gratitude made him Sir William's guest often enough, to show that he had not forgot that at* tention which his past favours demanded; and Sir William recollected them from another mo* tive; to wit, that they gave a sanction to those liberties he sometimes used with him who had received them. This might have been held sufficient to have cancelled the obligation; but Annesly was not wont to be directed by the easiest rules of virtue; the impression still remained, and it even descended to the son after the death of the father.

Sindall, therefore, was a frequent guest at his house; and, though it might have been imagined, that the dissipated mind of a young man of his fortune would have found but little delight in Annesly's humble shed, yet he seemed to enjoy its simplicity with the highest relish ; he possessed indeed that pliancy of disposition that could wonderfully accommodate himself to the humour of every one around him ; and he so managed matters in his visits to Annesly, that this last began to imagine the reports he had heard concerning him, to be either entirely false, or at least aggravated much beyond truth.

From what motive soever Sindall began these visits, he soon discovered a very strong induce* ment to continue them. Harriet Annesly was now arrived at the size, if not the age, of wo*

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THK MAK OF THK WUBLU, 49

manhood; and possessed an uncommon degree of beauty and elegance of form. In her face, joined to the roost perfect symmetry of features, was a melting expression, suited to that sensibility of soul we have mentioned her to be en* dowed with. In her person, rather above the common size, she exhibited a degree of ease and gracefulness which nature alone had given, and art was not allowed to diminish. Upon such a woman Sindall could not look with

indifference ; and according to his principles of libertinism, he had marked her as a prey, which his situation gave him opportunities of pursuing, and which one day he could not fail to possess*

In the course of his acquaintance, he began to discover, that the softness of her soul was distant from simplicity, and that much art would be necessary to overcome a virtue, which the hand of a parent had carefully fortified. He assumed, therefore, the semblance of those tender feelings, which were most likely to gain the esteem of the daughter, while he talked with that appearance of candour and principle, which he thought necessary to procure him the confidence of the father. He would frequently confess, with a sigh, that his youth had been sometimes unwarily drawn into error; then grasp Annesly's hand, and, looking earnestly in his face, beg him to strengthen by his counsel the good resolutions which, he thanked Heaven, he had been enabled to make. Upon the whole, he continued to gain such a degree of estimation with the family, that the young folks spoke Vot.II. E

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of his seeming good qualities with pleasure, and their father mentioned his supposed foibles with, regret.

CHAP. IX.

YOUNG ANNESLY GOES TO OXFORD—THE FRIENDSHIP OF

SINDALL. ITS CONSEQUENCES.

U pon its being determined that young Annesly should go to Oxford, Sir Thomas showed him remarkable kindness and attention. He conducted him thither in his own carriage; and as his kinsman, to whose charge he was committed, happened accidentally to be for some time unable to assign him an apartment in his house, Sindall quitted his own lodging to accommodate him. To a young man newly launched into life, removed from the only society he had ever known, to another composed of strangers, such assiduity of notice could not

be but highly pleasing; and in his letters to his father, he did not fail to set forth, in the strongest manner, the obligations he had to Sir Thomas. His fa* ther, whom years had taught wisdom, but whose warmth of gratitude they had not diminished, felt the favour as acutely as his son; nor did the foresight of meaner souls arise in his breast to *bate its acknowledgment.

The hppes which he had formed of his Billy v Google

were not disappointed. He very soon distinguished himself in the university for learning and genius; and in the correspondence of his kinsman, were recited daily instances of the notice which his parts attracted. But his praise was cold in comparison with Sindall's; he wrote to Annesly of his young friend s acquirements and abilities, in a strain of enthusiastic encomium; and seemed to speak the language of his own enjoyment, at the applause of others which he repeated. It was on this side that Annesly's soul was accessible; for on this side lay that pride which is the weakness of all. On this side did Sindall overcome it.

From those very qualities also which he applauded in the son, he derived the temptation with which he meant to seduce him: for such was the plan of exquisite mischief he had formed, besides the common desire of depravity to make proselytes from innocence, he considered tbe virtue of the brother as that structure, on the ruin of which he was to accomplish the conquest of the sister's. He introduced him, therefore, into the company of some of the most artful of his own associates, who loudly echoed the praises he lavished on his friend, and showed, or pretended to show, that value for his acquaintance, which was the strongest recommendation of their own. The diffidence which Annesly's youth and inexperience had at first laid upon his mind, they removed by the encouragement which their approbation of hli opinions bestowed; and he found himself inE2

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52 THE MAN OF THE WORLD,

debted to them both for an ease of delivering his sentiments, and the reputation which their suffrages conferred upon him.

For all this, however, they expected a re* turn; and Annesly had not fortitude to deny it—an indulgence for some trivial irregularities which they now and then permitted to appear in their conversation. At first their new acquaintance took no notice of them at all; he found that he could not approve* add it would have hurt him to condemn. By degrees he began to allow them his laugh, though his soul was little at ease under the gaiety which his features assumed; once or twice, when the ma* jority against him appeared to be small, he ventured to argue, though with a caution of giving offence, against some of the sentiments he heard. Upon these occasions, Sindall art* fully joined him in the argument; but they were always overcome. He had to deal with men who were skilled, by a mere act of the memory, in all the sophisms which voluptuaries have framed to justify the unbounded pursuit of pleasure; and those who had not learning to argue, had assurance to laugh. Yet An* neslyle conviction was not changed; but the edge of his abhorrence to vice was blunted 5 and though his virtue kept her post, she found herself galled in maintaining it.

It was not till some time after, that they ventured to solicit his participation of their pleasures; and it was not till after many soli*

citations that his innocence was overcome. But y Google

THE MAN OF THE WO HID. 53

the progress of their victories was rapid after his first defeat; and he shortly attained the station of experienced vice, and began to as*

snme a superiority from the undauntedness with which he practised it.

But it was necessary, the while, to deceive that relation under whose inspection his father had placed him; in truth, it was no very hard

matter to deceive him. He was a man of that abstracted disposition, that is seldom conversant with any thing around it. Simplicity of manners was, in him, the effect of an apathy in his constitution, (increased by constant study), that was proof against all violence of passion or desire; and he thought, if he thought of the matter at all, that all men were like himself, whose indolence could never be overcome by the pleasure of pursuit, or the joys of attainment Besides all this, Mr Lumley, that tutor of Sindall's whom we have formerly mentioned, was a man the best calculated in the worid for lulling his suspicions asleep, if hjs nature had ever allowed them to arise. This man, whose parts were of that pliable kifld that easily acquire a superficial knowledge of every thing, possessed the talent of hypocrisy as deeply as the desire of pleasure; and while in reality he was the most profligate of men, he had that command of passion, which never suffered it to intrude where he could wish it concealed; he preserved, in the opinion of Mr Jephson, the gravity of a studious and contemplative character! which was bo congenial to his own,; £3

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£4 TBS MAN Off TBI WORLD*

and to would often rise from a metaphysical discussion with the old gentleman, leaving him in admiration of the depth of his reading, and the acuteness of his parts, to join the debauch of Sindall and his dissolute companions*

By his assistance, therefore, Annesly's dissipation was effectually screened from the notice of his kinsman; Jephson was even prevailed on, by false suggestions, to write to toe coun* try continued encomiums on his sobriety and application to study; and the father, who waa happy in believing him, inquired no farther*

CHAP. X.

▲ VERY GROSS ATTEMPT IS MADE ON

ANNESLY'S HONOUR.

Sindall having brought the mind of his pro* selyte to that conformity of sentiment to which he had thus laboured to reduce it, ventured to discover to him the passion he had conceived for his sister. The occasion, however, on which he discovered it, was such a one as he imagined gave him some title to be listened to. Annesly had an allowance settled on him by his father, rather in truth above what his circumstances might warrant with propriety; but as the feelings of the good mans heart were, in every virtuous purpose, somewhat beyond the limitations of his fortune, he inclined rather y Google

to pinch himself, than to stop any channel through which advantage might flow to his son; and meant his education and his manners to be in every respect liberal and accomplished^

But this allowance ill sufficed to gratify the extravagance which his late Connection had taught him; he began very soon to know a want which he had never hitherto experi* enced: at first, this not only limited his pleasures, but began to check the desire of them, and in some measure served to awaken that sense of contrition which their rotation had be* fore overcome. But Sindall took care that he should not be thus left to reflection; and as soon as he guessed the cause, prevented its continuance by an immediate supply, offered, and indeed urged, with all the open warmth of dis* interested friendship.

From being accustomed to receive Annesly. at last overcame the shame of asking, and applied repeatedly for sums, under the denomination of loans, for the payment of which he could only draw upon contingency. His necessities were the more frequent, as, amongst other arts of pleasure which he had lately acquired, that of gaming had not been omitted.

Having one night lost a sum considerably above what he was able to pay, to a member of their society with whom he was in no degree of intimacy, he gave him his note payable the next morning, (for this was the regulated limitation of their credit), though lie knew thai to-morrow would find him as poor as to-nighfc

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56 THE MAN OF THE WORLD*

On these particular occasions, when his hours would have been so highly irregular, that they could not escape the censure of Mr Jephson or his family, he used to pretend, that for the sake of disentangling some point of study with Sindall and his tutor, he had passed the night with them at their lodgings, and what small portion of it was allowed for sleep he did ao tually spend there. After this loss, therefore, he accompanied Sindall home, and could not, it may well be supposed, conceal from him the chagrin it occasioned. His friend, as usual, advanced him money for discharging the debt*

Annesly, who never had had occasion to borrow so much from him before, expressed hit sorrow at the necessity which his honour laid him under, of accepting so large a sum. ' Pah f answered Sindall, '

'tis but a trifle, and what a man must now and then lose to be thought genteelly of/ ' Yes, if his fortune can afford it,' said the other gloomily.

* Ay, there's the rub/ returned his friend, ' that fortune should have constituted an inequality where nature made none. How just is the complaint of Jaffier,

* Tell me. why, good Heaven! Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the spirit, Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires, That fill the happiest man ?'

That such should bethe lot of my friend, I can regret—thanks to my better stars, I can more than regret it. What is the value of this dross y Google

TI*B MAN O* *HB WORLD. 57

(holding a handful of gold) but to make the situation of merit level with its deservings? Yet, believe me, there are wants which riches cannot remove, desires which sometimes they cannot satisfy; even at this moment, your seeming happy Sindall, in whose lap fortune has poured her blessings, has his cares, my An* nesly, has his

inquietudes, which need the hand of friendship to comfort and to soothe.'

Annesly, with all the warmth of his nature* insisted on partaking his uneasiness, that if he could not alleviate,. he might at least condole with his distress,

Sindall embraced him. ' I know your friend-* ship,' said he, ' and I will put it to the proof. You have a sister, the lovely, the adorable Harriet; she has robbed me of that peace which the smile of fortune cannot restore, as her frown has been unable to take away! Did you know the burning of this bosom!—But I speak unthinkingly what perhaps my delicacy should not have whispered, even in the ear of friendship. Pardon me—the ardour of a love like mine may be forgiven some extravagance/

Annesly*s eyes sufficiently testified his inward satisfaction at this discovery; but he recollected the dignity which his situation re*

quired, and replied calmly, ' that he pretended no guidance of his sisters inclinations; that his own gratitude for Sir Thomas's favours he had ever loudly declared; and that he knew his lister felt enough on his account, to make the

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introduction of her brother's friend a more than usually favourable one.'

1 But my situation,' returned Sindall, * is extremely particular; you have heard my opinions on the score of love often declared; and, trust me, they are the genuine sentiments of my heart. The trammels of form, which the unfeeling custom of the world has thrown upon the freedom of mutual affection, are insupportable to that fineness of soul, to which restraint and happiness are terms of opposition. Let my mistress be my mistress still, with all the privileges of a wife, without a wife's indifference, or a wife's disquiet.—My fortune, the property of her and her friends, but that liberty alone reserved, which is the strongest bond of the affection she should wish to possess

from me.'— He looked stedfastly in Annesly's face, which, by this time, began to assume every mark of resentment and indignation.

He eyed him askant with an affected smile: * You smile, Sir,' said Annesly, whose breath was stifled by the swelling of his heart—

Sindall laughed aloud: * I am a wretched hypocrite,' said he,

* and could contain myself no longer.' * So you were but in jest, it seems,' replied the other, settling his features into a dry composure*

* My dear Annesly,' returned he, ' had you but seen the countenance this trial of mine gave you; it would have made a picture worthy of the gallery of Florence. I wanted to have a perfect idea of surprise, indignation, struggling friendship, and swelling honour, and y Google

THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 50

I think I succeeded.—But I keep you from your rest—Good night,'—

And he walked out of the room.

Annesly had felt too much to be able to resign himself speedily to rest. He could not but think this joke of his friend rather a serious one; yet he had seen him sometimes carry this species of wit to a very extraordinary length ; but the indelicacy of the present instance was Dot easily to be accounted for—he doubted, believed, was angry and pacified by turns; the remembrance of his favours arose; they arose at first in a form that added to the malignity of the offence; then the series in which they had been bestowed, seemed to plead on the other aide. At last, when worn by the fighting of contrary emotions, he looked forward to the consequences of a rupture with Sindall; the pleasures of that society of which he was the leader, the habitual tie which it had got on Annesly's soul, prevailed; for he had by this time lost that satisfaction which was wont to flow from himself. He shut his mind against the suggestions of any further suspicion, and9 with that winking cowardice, which many mistake for resolution, was resolved to trust him for his friend, whom it would have hurt him to consider as an enemy.

Sindall, on the other hand, discovered that the youth was not so entirely at his disposal as he had imagined him; and that though he was proselyte enough to be wicked; he must be led a little farther to be useful.

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60 TOB MAM OF THE WOBLP.

CHAP. XL

ANNESLY GIVES FARTHER PROOFS OF DEPRAVITY OF

MANNERS.—THE EFFECT IT HAS ON HIS FATHER, AND THE

CONSE* QUENCES WITH REGARD TO HIS CONNECTION WITH

SINDAU-.

1 o continue that train of dissipation in which their pupil had been initiated, was the business of Sindall and his associates. Though they con* trived, as we have before mentioned, to escape the immediate notice of Mr Jephson; yet the eyes of others could not be so easily blinded; the behaviour of Annesly began to be talked of for its irregularity, and the more so, for the change which it had undergone from that sin> plicity of manners which he had brought with him to Oxford. And some one, whether from regard to him, or what other motive, I know pot, informed his kinsman of what every one but his kinsman suspected.

Upon this information, he gave the young man a lecture in the usual terms of admonition; but an effort was always painful to him, even where the office was more agreeable than that of reproof. He had recourse, therefore, to the assistance of his fellow-philosopher Mr Lumley, whom he informed of the accounts he had received of Annesly's imprudence, and in treated to take the proper measures, from his influence • with the young gentleman, to make him sensU

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ble of the impropriety of his past conduct, and to prevent its continuance for the future.

Lumley expressed his surprise at this intelligence with unparalleled command of features: regretted the too prevailing dissipation of youth, affected to doubt the truth of the accusation, but promised, at the same time, to make the proper inquiries into the fact, and take the most prudent method of preventing a consequence so dangerous, as that of drawing from the road of his duty, one whom he believed to be possessed of so many good qualities as Mr Annesly.

Whether Mr Lumley employed his talents towards his reformation, or degehetacy, it is certain that Annesly's conduct betrayed many marks of the latter. At last, in an hour of in* toxication, having engaged in a quarrel with one of his companions, it produced consequences so notorious, that the proctor could not fail to take notice of it; and that officer oi% the uni* versity, having interposed his authority, in a manner which the humour of Annesly, inflam* mabie as it then was, could not brook, he broke forth into some extravagances so personally offensive, that when the matter came to bo canvassed, nothing short of expulsion was talke4 of as a punishment for the offence.

It was then that Mr Jephson first informed his father of those irregularities which his son had been guilty of. His father, indeed, from the discontinuance of that gentleman's corres* pondence much beyond the usual time, had

Vox,. II. F

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62 THE MAN OF THE WORLD*

begun to make some unfavourable conjectures j but he accounted for this neglect from many different causes; and when once his ingenuity had taken that side of the argument, it quickly found means

to convince him, that his kinsman's silence could not be imputed to any fault of his son.

It was at the close of one of their solitary meals that this account of Jephson's happened to reach Annesly and his daughter. Harriet never forgot her Billy's health, and she had now filled her father's glass to the accustomed pledge, when the servant brought them a letter with the Oxford mark on it. Read it, my love, said Annesly with a smile, while, he began to blame his suspicions at the silence of his kinsman. Harriet began reading accordingly, but she had scarce got through the first sentence* when the matter it contained rendered her voice inarticulate. Her father took the letter out of her hand, and, after perusing it, he put it in his pocket, keeping up a look of composure amidst the anguish with which his heart was wrung. '

Alas!' said Harriet, * what has my brother done ?' He pressed her involuntarily to his bosom, and it was then that he could not restrain his tears—* Your brother, my love, has forgotten the purity which here is happiness, and I fear has ill exchanged it for what the worlcj calls pleasure; but this is the first of his wanderings, and we will endeavour to call him back into the path he has left. Reach me the pen, ink, and paper, my love.'—* I will

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- tHE MAM OF THE WORLD. 63

go/ said she, sobbing, ' and pray for him the while.' Annesly sat down to write.—c My dearest boy!'—'twas a movement grown mechanical to his pen—he dashed through the words, and a tear fell on the place;—ye know not, ye who revel in the wantonness of dissipation, and scoff at the solicitude of parental affection! ye know not the agony of such a tear; else—ye are men, and it were beyond the depravity of nature.

It was not till after more than one blotted scrawl, that he was able to write, what the man might claim, and the parent should approve. The letter which he at last determined to send was of the following tenor:

< My Son,

' With anguish I write what I trust will be read with contrition. I am not skilled in the language of rebuke, and it was once my pride to have such a son that I needed not to acquire it. If he has not lost the feelings by which the silent sorrows of a father's heart are understood, I shall have no need of words to recal him from that conduct by which they are caused. In the midst of what he will now term pleasure, he may have forgotten the father and the friend; let this tear with which my paper is blotted, awaken his remembrance; it is not the first I have shed ; but it is"the first which flowed from my affliction mingled with disgrace. Had I been only weeping for my son, I should have found some melancholy comfort to support me; while I blush for him I have no consolation, V2

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* But the future is yet left to him and to me \ let the reparation be immediate, as the wrong was great, that the tongue which speaks of your shame may be stopt with the information of your amendment.'