The Vicar of Wakefield (8 page)

'Once upon a time,' cried the child, 'a Giant and a Dwarf were
friends, and kept together. They made a bargain that they would
never forsake each other, but go seek adventures. The first battle
they fought was with two Saracens, and the Dwarf, who was very
courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry blow. It did
the Saracen but very little injury, who lifting up his sword,
fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in a woeful
plight; but the Giant coming to his assistance, in a short time
left the two Saracens dead on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the
dead man's head out of spite. They then travelled on to another
adventure. This was against three bloody-minded Satyrs, who were
carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was not quite so
fierce now as before; but for all that, struck the first blow,
which was returned by another, that knocked out his eye: but the
Giant was soon up with them, and had they not fled, would certainly
have killed them every one. They were all very joyful for this
victory, and the damsel who was relieved fell in love with the
Giant, and married him. They now travelled far, and farther than I
can tell, till they met with a company of robbers. The Giant, for
the first time, was foremost now; but the Dwarf was not far behind.
The battle was stout and long. Wherever the Giant came all fell
before him; but the Dwarf had like to have been killed more than
once. At last the victory declared for the two adventurers; but the
Dwarf lost his leg. The Dwarf was now without an arm, a leg, and an
eye, while the Giant was without a single wound. Upon which he
cried out to his little companion, My little heroe, this is
glorious sport; let us get one victory more, and then we shall have
honour for ever. No, cries the Dwarf who was by this time grown
wiser, no, I declare off; I'll fight no more; for I find in every
battle that you get all the honour and rewards, but all the blows
fall upon me.'

I was going to moralize this fable, when our attention was
called off to a warm dispute between my wife and Mr Burchell, upon
my daughters intended expedition to town. My wife very strenuously
insisted upon the advantages that would result from it. Mr
Burchell, on the contrary, dissuaded her with great ardor, and I
stood neuter. His present dissuasions seemed but the second part of
those which were received with so ill a grace in the morning. The
dispute grew high while poor Deborah, instead of reasoning
stronger, talked louder, and at last was obliged to take shelter
from a defeat in clamour. The conclusion of her harangue, however,
was highly displeasing to us all: she knew, she said, of some who
had their own secret reasons for what they advised; but, for her
part, she wished such to stay away from her house for the
future.—'Madam,' cried Burchell, with looks of great composure,
which tended to enflame her the more, 'as for secret reasons, you
are right: I have secret reasons, which I forbear to mention,
because you are not able to answer those of which I make no secret:
but I find my visits here are become troublesome; I'll take my
leave therefore now, and perhaps come once more to take a final
farewell when I am quitting the country.' Thus saying, he took up
his hat, nor could the attempts of Sophia, whose looks seemed to
upbraid his precipitancy, prevent his going.

When gone, we all regarded each other for some minutes with
confusion. My wife, who knew herself to be the cause, strove to
hide her concern with a forced smile, and an air of assurance,
which I was willing to reprove: 'How, woman,' cried I to her, 'is
it thus we treat strangers? Is it thus we return their kindness? Be
assured, my dear, that these were the harshest words, and to me the
most unpleasing that ever escaped your lips!'—'Why would he provoke
me then,' replied she; 'but I know the motives of his advice
perfectly well. He would prevent my girls from going to town, that
he may have the pleasure of my youngest daughter's company here at
home. But whatever happens, she shall chuse better company than
such low-lived fellows as he.'—'Low-lived, my dear, do you call
him,' cried I, 'it is very possible we may mistake this man's
character: for he seems upon some occasions the most finished
gentleman I ever knew.—Tell me, Sophia, my girl, has he ever given
you any secret instances of his attachment?'—'His conversation with
me, sir,' replied my daughter, 'has ever been sensible, modest, and
pleasing. As to aught else, no, never. Once, indeed, I remember to
have heard him say he never knew a woman who could find merit in a
man that seemed poor.' 'Such, my dear,' cried I, 'is the common
cant of all the unfortunate or idle. But I hope you have been
taught to judge properly of such men, and that it would be even
madness to expect happiness from one who has been so very bad an
oeconomist of his own. Your mother and I have now better prospects
for you. The next winter, which you will probably spend in town,
will give you opportunities of making a more prudent choice.' What
Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion, I can't pretend to
determine; but I was not displeased at the bottom that we were rid
of a guest from whom I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality
went to my conscience a little: but I quickly silenced that monitor
by two or three specious reasons, which served to satisfy and
reconcile me to myself. The pain which conscience gives the man who
has already done wrong, is soon got over. Conscience is a coward,
and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom
has justice enough to accuse.

Fresh mortifications, or a demonstration that seeming calamities
may be real blessings

The journey of my daughters to town was now resolved upon, Mr
Thornhill having kindly promised to inspect their conduct himself,
and inform us by letter of their behaviour. But it was thought
indispensably necessary that their appearance should equal the
greatness of their expectations, which could not be done without
expence. We debated therefore in full council what were the easiest
methods of raising money, or, more properly speaking, what we could
most conveniently sell. The deliberation was soon finished, it was
found that our remaining horse was utterly useless for the plow,
without his companion, and equally unfit for the road, as wanting
an eye, it was therefore determined that we should dispose of him
for the purposes above-mentioned, at the neighbouring fair, and, to
prevent imposition, that I should go with him myself. Though this
was one of the first mercantile transactions of my life, yet I had
no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. The opinion a man
forms of his own prudence is measured by that of the company he
keeps, and as mine was mostly in the family way, I had conceived no
unfavourable sentiments of my worldly wisdom. 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, he would
have nothing to say to him: a second came up; but observing he had
a spavin, declared he would not take him for the driving 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, wondered what a
plague I could do at 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 customer; for
though I did not entirely believe all the fellows told me; yet I
reflected that the number of witnesses was a strong presumption
they were right, and St Gregory, upon good works, professes himself
to be of the same opinion.

I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, an
old acquaintance, 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 venerable old man, who sat wholly
intent over a large book, which he was reading. I never in my life
saw a figure that prepossessed 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
presence did not interrupt our conversation; my friend and I
discoursed on the various turns of fortune we had met: the
Whistonean controversy, my last pamphlet, the archdeacon'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 something softly to the old stranger.
'Make no apologies, 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 continued to
read, and we resumed our conversation, 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, for some time, and when my friend was gone, most
respectfully demanded if I was any way related to the great
Primrose, that courageous monogamist, who had been the bulwark of
the church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture than at that
moment. 'Sir,' cried I, '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.' 'Sir,' cried the stranger, struck with
awe, 'I fear I have been too familiar; but you'll forgive my
curiosity, Sir: I beg pardon.' 'Sir,' 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 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 modesty 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 begun privately to harbour such an opinion
myself. I therefore took occasion to observe, that the world in
general began to be blameably indifferent as to doctrinal matters,
and followed human speculations too much—'Ay, Sir,' 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, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, have all
attempted 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
Nebuchadon-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 victory. 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 subject 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
his footman to be called up, who made his appearance in a very
genteel livery. 'Here, Abraham,' cried he, '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
deploring also the great scarcity of gold; so that 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,' returned he, '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 threejumps; 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 ability: 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.