"Honoured Sir,

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

"I have called off my imagination a few moments from the pleasures that surround me, to fix it upon objects that are still more pleasing, the dear little fireside home. My fancy draws that harmless group as listening to every line of this with great composure. I view those faces with delight, which never felt the deforming hand of ambition or distress. But whatever your happiness may be at home, I am sure it will be some addition to it, to hear that I am perfectly pleased with my situation, and every way happy here.

"Our regiment is countermanded, and is not to leave the kingdom; the colonel, who professes himself my friend, takes me with him to all companies where he is acquainted, and, after my first visit, I generally find myself received with increased respect upon repeating it. I danced last night with Lady G-, and, could I forget you know whom, I might be, perhaps, successful. But it is my fate still to remember others, while I am myself forgotten by most of my absent friends; and in this number, I fear, Sir, that I must consider you, for I have long expected the pleasure Olivia and Sophia, too, promised to of a letter from home to no purpose. Tell them that they are two arrant write, but seem to have forgotten me. little baggages, and that I am this moment in a most violent passion with them; yet still, I know not how, though I want to bluster a little, my heart is respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them, Sir, that after all, I love them affectionately; and be assured of my ever remaining your dutiful son."

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In all our miseries," cried I, "what thanks have we not to return, that one at least of our family is exempt from what we suffer! Heaven be his guard, and keep my boy thus happy, to be the support of his widowed mother, and the father of these two babes, which is all the patrimony I can now bequeath him! May he keep their innocence from the temptations of want, and be their conductor in the paths of honour!" I had scarcely said these words, when a neise like that of a tumult seemed to proceed from the prison below; it died away soon after, and a clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that led to my apartment. man all bloody, The keeper of the prison entered, holding a wounded, and fettered with the heaviest irons. I looked with compassion upon the wretch as he approached me, but with horror when I found it was my own son! "My George! my George! and do I behold thee thus? wounded! fettered! Is this thy happiness! Is this the manner you return to me? O that this sight Where, Sir, is could break my heart at once, and let me die!" your fortitude?" returned my son, with an intrepid voice; "I must suffer; my life is forfeited, and let them take it."

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I tried to restrain my passion for a few minutes in silence, but I thought I should have died with the effort. "Oh, my boy, my heart weeps to behold thee thus, and I cannot, cannot help it! In the moment when I thought thee blest, and prayed for thy safety, to behold thee thus again, chained, wounded! And yet, the death of the youthful is happy. But I am old, a very old man, and have lived to see this day: to see my children all untimely falling about me, while I continue a wretched survivor, in the midst of ruin! May all the curses that ever sunk a soul fall heavy upon the murderer of my children! May he live like me to see

"Hold, Sir," replied my son, " or I shall blush for thee. How, Sir! forgetful of your age, your holy calling, thus to arrogate the justice of Heaven, and Hling those curses upwards, that must soon descend to crush thy own grey head with destruction! No, Sir, let it be your care now to fit me for that vile death I must shortly suffer, to arm me with hope and resolution, to give me courage to drink of that bitterness which must shortly be my potion."

"My child, you must not die! I am sure no offence of thine can deserve so vile a punishment. My George could never be guilty of any crime to make his ancestors ashamed of him."

"Mine, Sir," returned my son, "is, I fear, an unpardonable one. When I received my mother's letter from home, I immediately came down, determined to punish the betrayer of our honour, and sent him an order to meet me, which he answered not in person, but by despatching four of his domestics to seize me. I wounded one who first assaulted me, and I fear desperately; but The coward is determined to put the rest made me their prisoner. the law in execution against me; the proofs are undeniable: I have sent a challenge; and as I am the first transgressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of pardon. But you have often charmed me with your lessons of fortitude; let me now, Sir, find them in your example."

"And now, my son, you shall find them. I am now raised above this world and all the pleasures it can produce. From this moment I break from my heart all the ties that held it down to earth, and will prepare to fit us both for eternity. Yes, my son, I will point out the way, and my soul shall guide yours in the ascent, for we will take our flight together. I now see and am convinced you can expect no pardon here, and I can only exhort you to seek it at that greatest tribunal where we both shall shortly answer. But!

let us not be niggardly in our exhortations, but let all our fellow
Thus saying, 1
prisoners have a share. Good jailer, let them be permitted to
stand here, while I attempt to approve them."
made an effort to rise from the straw, but wanted strength, and
was able only to recline against the wall. The prisoners assembled
themselves according to my directions, for they loved to hear my
counsel; my son and his mother supported me on either side; I
looked and saw that none were wanting, and then addressed them
with the following exhortation.

CHAPTER XXIX.

The equal Dealings of Providence demonstrated with regard to the Happy and the Miserable here below. That, from the nature of Pleasure and Pain, the Wretched must be repaid the Balance of their Sufferings in the Life hereafter.

My friends, my children, my fellow-sufferers, when I reflect on Though we the distribution of good and evil here below, I find that much has been given man to enjoy, yet still more to suffer. should examine the whole world, we shall not find one man so happy as to have nothing left to wish for; but we daily see thousands who, by suicide, show us they have nothing left to hope. In this life, then, it appears that we cannot be entirely blessed; but yet we may be completely miserable.

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Why man should thus feel pain; why our wretchedness should be requisite in the formation of universal felicity; why, when all other systems are made perfect by the perfection of their subordinate parts, the great system should require for its perfection parts that are not only subordinate to others, but imperfect in themselves-these are questions that never can be explained, and might be useless if known. On this subject Providence has thought fit to elude our curiosity, satisfied with granting us motives to consolation.

"In this situation, man has called in the friendly assistance o philosophy; and Heaven, seeing the incapacity of that to console him, has given him the aid of religion. The consolations of philo sophy are very amusing, but often fallacious. It tells us that life is filled with comforts, if we will but enjoy them; and on the other hand, that though we unavoidably have miseries here, life is short, Thus do these consolations destroy and they will soon be over. each other; for if life is a place of comfort, its shortness must be misery; and if it be long, our griefs are protracted. Thus philoso

phy is weak; but religion comforts in a higher strain. Man is here, it tells us, fitting up his mind, and preparing it for another abode. When the good man leaves the body, and is all a glorious mind, he will find he has been making himself a heaven of happiness here; while the wretch that has been maimed and contaminated by his vices, shrinks from his body with terror, and finds that he has anticipated the vengeance of Heaven. To religion, then, we must hold in every circumstance of life, for our truest comfort; for if already we are happy, it is a pleasure to think that we can make that happiness unending; and if we are miserable, it is very consoling to think that there is a place of rest. Thus, to the fortunate, religion holds out a continuance of bliss: to the wretched, a change from pain.

of eternal bliss; to carol over endless hymns of praise; to have no master to threaten or insult us, but the form of Godness himself for ever in our eyes: when I think of these things, death becomes the messenger of very glad tidings: when I think of these things, his sharpest arrow becomes the staff of my support; when I think of these things, what is there in life worth having? when I think of these things, what is there that should not be spurned away? Kings in their palaces should groan for such advantages; but we, humble as we are, should yearn for them.

"And shall these things be ours? Ours they will certainly be, if we but try for them; and what is a comfort, we are shut out from many temptations that would retard our pursuit. Only let us try for them, and they will certainly be ours; and what is still a comfort, shortly too; for if we look back on a past life, it appears but a very short span, and whatever we may think of the rest of life, it will yet be found of less duration; as we grow older, the days seem to grow shorter, and our intimacy with time ever lessens the perceptions of his stay. Then let us take comfort now, for we shall soon be at our journey's end; we shall soon lay down the friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like his horizon, still flies before him; yet the time will certainly and shortly come, when we shall cease from our toils, when the luxuriant great ones of the world shall no more tread us to the earth; when we shall think with pleasure of our sufferings below; when we shall be surrounded with all our friends, or such as deserved our friendship; when our bliss shall be unutterable, and still, to crown all, unending.”

"But though religion is very kind to all men, it has promised peculiar rewards to the unhappy: the sick, the naked, the houseless, the heavy-laden, and the prisoner, have ever most frequent promises in our sacred law. The Author of our religion every where professes himself the wretch's friend; and, unlike the false ones of this world, bestows all his caresses upon the forlorn. The unthinking have censured this as partiality, as a preference with-heavy burden laid by heaven upon us; and though death, the only out merit to deserve it. But they never reflect, that it is not in the power, even of Heaven itself, to make the offer of unceasing felicity as great a gift to the happy as to the miserable. To the first, eternity is but a single blessing, since, at most, it but increases what they already possess. To the latter, it is a double advantage; for it diminishes their pain here, and rewards them with heavenly bliss hereafter.

CHAPTER XXX.

"But Providence is in another respect kinder to the poor than the rich; for as it thus makes the life after death more desirable, it smoothes the passage there. The wretched have had a long amiliarity with every face of terror. The man of sorrows lays Bimself quietly down, with no possessions to regret, and but few Happier prospects begin to appear. Let us be inflexible, and Fortune ries to stop his departure: he feels only nature's pang in the final separation, and this is no way greater than he has often fainted under before; for, after a certain degree of pain, every new breach hat death opens in the constitution, nature kindly covers with insensibility.

will at last change in our favour.

WHEN I had thus finished, and my audience was retired, the jailer, who was one of the most humane of his profession, hoped I would not be displeased, as what he did was his duty; observing "Thus Providence has given to the wretched two advantages that he must be obliged to remove my son into a stronger cell, but over the happy in this life-greater felicity in dying, and in Hea- | that he should be permitted to re-visit me every morning. I ven all that superiority of pleasure which arises from contrasted thanked him for his clemency, and grasping my boy's hand, bade enjoyment. And this superiority, my friends, is no small advan-him farewell, and be mindful of the great duty that was before tage, and seems to be one of the pleasures of the poor man in the him. parable; for though he was always in Heaven, and felt all the raptures it could give, yet it was mentioned, as an addition to his happiness, that he had once been wretched, and now was com forted; that he had known what it was to be miserable, and now felt what it was to be happy.

"Thus, my friends, you see religion does what philosophy could never do it shows the equal dealings of heaven to the happy and the unhappy, and levels all human enjoyments to nearly the same standard. It gives to both rich and poor the same happiness hereafter, and equal hopes to aspire after it; but if the rich have the advantage of enjoying pleasure here, the poor have the endle: s satisfaction of knowing what it was once to be miserable, when crowned with endless felicity hereafter; and even though this should be called a small advantage, yet, being an eternal one, it must make up, by duration, what the temporal happiness of the great may have exceeded by intenseness.

"These are, therefore, the consolations which the wretched have peculiar to themselves, and in which they are above the rest of mankind; in other respects they are below them. They who would know the miseries of the poor, must see life, and endure it. To declaim on the temporal advantages they enjoy, is only repeating what none either believe or practise. The men who have the necessaries of living, are not poor, and they who want them, must be miserable. Yes, my friends, we must be miserable. No vain efforts of a refined imagination can soothe the wants of nature, can give elastic sweetness to the dank vapour of a dungeon, or ease the throbbings of a broken heart. Let the philosopher, from his couch of softness, tell us that we can resist all these. Alas! the effort by which we resist them is still the greatest pain. Death is slight, and any man may sustain it; but torments are dreadful, and these

no man can endure.

"To us, then, my friends, the promises of happiness in Heaven should be peculiarly dear; for if our reward be in this life alone, we are then, indeed, of all men the most miserable. When I look 1ound these gloomy walls, made to terrify as well as to confine us; this light, that only serves to show the horrors of the place; those shackles, that tyranny has imposed, or crime made necessary: when I survey these emaciated looks, and hear those groans: O, my friends, what a glorious exchange would heaven be for these! To fly through regions unconfined as air; to bask in the sunshine

I again, therefore, laid me down, and one of my little ones sat by my bed-side reading, when Mr. Jenkinson entering, informed me that there was news of my daughter; for that she was seen by a person about two hours before in a strange gentleman's company, and that they stopped at a neighbouring village for refreshment, and seemed as if returning to town. He had scarce delivered this news, when the jailer came with looks of haste and pleasure, to inform me that my daughter was found. Moses came running in a moment after, crying out that his sister Sophy was below, and coming up with our old friend Mr. Burchell.

Just as he delivered this news, my dearest girl entered, and, with looks almost wild with pleasure, an to kiss me in a transport of affection. Her mother's tears, and silence, also showed her pleasure.

"Here, papa," cried the charming girl, "here is the brave man to whom I owe my delivery; to this gentleman's intrepidity I an indebted for my happiness and safety." A kiss from Mr. Burchell, whose pleasure seemed even greater than hers, interrupted what she was going to add.

"Ah, Mr. Burchell!" cried I, "this is but a wretched habitation you find us in; and we are now very different from what you last saw us. You were ever our friend: we have long discovered our errors with regard to you, and repented of our ingratitude. After the vile usage you then received at my hands, I am almost ashamed to behold your face; yet I hope you'll forgive me, as I was deceived by a base ungenerous wretch, who, under the mask of friendship, has undone me."

"It is impossible," replied Mr. Burchell, that I should forgive you, as you never deserved my resentment. I partly saw your delusion then, and as it was out of my power to restrain, I could only pity it."

"It was ever my conjecture," cried I, "that your mind was noble; but now I find it so. But tell me, my dear child, how thou hast been relieved, or who the ruffians were that carried thee away?"

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Indeed, Sir," replied she, as to the villain who carried me off, I am yet ignoraut. For as my mamma and I were walking out, he caine behind us, and, almost before I could call for help, forced me into the post-chaise, and in an instant the horses drove away. I met several on the road, to whom I cried out for assist

39

cried his sister, "why don't you thank my good deliverer? the brave should ever love each other."

ance; but they disregarded my entreaties. In the mean time, the ruffian himself used every art to hinder me from crying out: he flattered and threatened me by turns, and swore that, if I continued but silent, he intended no harm. In the mean time I had broken the at last perceived himself to be known, and assuming all his native He still continued his silence and astonishment; till our guest canvass that he had drawn up, and whom should I perceive at dignity, desired my son to come forward. some distance, but your old friend, Mr. Burchell, walking along seen anything so truly majestic as the air he assumed upon this with his usual swiftness, with the great stick for which we used occasion. The greatest object in the universe, says a certain phiNever before had I so much to ridicule him. As soon as we came within hearing, Ilosopher, is a good man struggling with adversity: yet there is called out to him by name, and entreated his help. I repeated my still a greater, which is the good man that comes to relieve it. exclamations several times, upon which, with a very loud voice, he After he had regarded my son for some time with a superior air, “I bid the postilion stop: but the boy took no notice, but drove on again find," said he, "unthinking boy, that the same crime--" with still greater speed. I now thought he could never overtake But here he was interrupted by one of the jailer's servants, who us, when in less than a minute I saw Mr. Burchell come running came to inform us that a person of distinction, who had driven into up by the side of the horses, and with one blow knocked the pos- town with a chariot and several attendants, sent his respects to tilion to the ground. The horses, when he was fallen, soon the gentleman that was with us, and begged to know when he stopped of themselves, and the ruffian stepping out, with oaths should think proper to be waited upon? and menaces, drew his sword, and ordered him at his peril to retire; cried our guest, "till I shall have leisure to receive him ;" and then but Mr. Burchell running up, shivered his sword to pieces, and turning to my son, "I again find, Sir," proceeded he, " that you are "Bid the fellow wait," then pursued him for near a quarter of a mile; but he made his guilty of the same offence for which you once had my reproof, and escape. I was at this time come out myself, willing to assist my for which the law is now preparing its justest punishments. You deliverer; but he soon returned to me in triumph. The postilion, imagine, perhaps, that a contempt of your own life gives you a who was recovered, was going to make his escape too; but Mr. right to take that of another; but where, Sir, is the difference beBurchell ordered him at his peril to mount again, and drive back tween a duellist, who hazards a life of no value, and the murto town. Finding it impossible to resist, he reluctantly complied, derer who acts with greater security? though the wound he had received seemed to me, at least, to be of the gamester's fraud, when he alleges that he staked a dangerous. He continued to complain of the pain as we drove counter?" Is it any diminution along, so that he at last excited Mr. Burchell's compassion; who, at my request, exchanged him for another at an inn, where we creature: for what he has done was in obedience to a deluded "Alas, Sir!" cried I, "whoever you are, pity the poor misguided called on our return. upon her blessing, to avenge her quarrel. Here, Sir, is the letter mother, who, in the bitterness of her resentment, required him which will serve to convince you of her imprudence, and diminish his guilt."

"Welcome, then," cried I, "my child, and thou her gallant deliverer, a thousand welcomes. Though our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to receive you. And now, Mr. Burchell, as you have delivered my girl, if you think her a recompense, she is yours: if you can stoop to an alliance with a family as poor as mine, take her, obtain her consent, as I know you have her heart, and you have mine. And let me tell you, Sir, that I give you no small treasure: she has been celebrated for beauty, it is true, but that is not my meaning--I give you a treasure in her mind." "But I suppose, Sir," cried Mr. Burchell, "that you are apprised of my circumstances, and of my incapacity to support her as she deserves."

If your present objection," replied I, " be meant as an evasion if my offer, I desist; but I know no man so worthy to receive her as you; and if I could give her thousands, and thousands sought her from me, yet my honest brave Burchell should be my dearest choice."

To all this, his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying refusal; and without the least reply to my offer, he demanded if we could not be furnished with refreshments from the next inn: to which being answered in the affirmative, he ordered them to send in the best dinner that could be provided upon such short notice. He bespoke also a dozen of the best wine, and some cordials for me; adding, with a smile, that he would stretch a little for once; and, though in a prison, asserted he was never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon made his appearance, with preparations for dinner; a table was lent us by the jailer, who seemed remarkably assiduous: the wine was disposed in order, and two very well-dressed dishes were brought in.

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He took the letter, and hastily read it over-"This," says he, induces me to forgive him. And now, Sir," continued he, kindly though not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault as taking my son by the hand, "I see you are surprised at finding me here; but I have often visited prisons upon occasions less interestI have the most sincere esteem. I have long been a disguised specing. I am now come to see justice done a worthy man, for whom tator of thy father's benevolence. I have, at his little dwelling, happiness that courts could not give, from the amusing simplicity enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery, and have received that around his fireside. My nephew has been apprised of my intentions of coming here, and I find he is arrived; it would be wronging him and you, to condemn him without examination: if there boasting, that none have ever taxed the injustice of Sir William be injury, there shall be redress; and this I may say without Thornhill.”

possible that I can ever have your forgiveness? The slight you
"Ah, Sir," cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, "how is it
received from me the last time I had the honour of seeing you at
our house, and the jokes which I audaciously threw out these,
Sir, I fear, can never be forgiven."

tained as a harmless, amusing companion, was no other than the We now found that the personage whom we had so long entercelebrated Sir William Thornhill, to whose virtues and singularities scarce any were strangers. The poor Mr. Burchell was in reality tened with applause, and whom party heard with conviction; who a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom senates liswas the friend of his country, but loyal to his king. My poor wife, recollecting her former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who, a few moments before, thought My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother's melan-was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears. him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to which he choly situation, and we all seemed unwilling to damp her cheerfulness by the relation. But it was in vain that I attempted to appear cheerful; the circumstances of my unfortunate son broke through all efforts to dissemble; so that I was at last obliged to damp our mirth, by relating his misfortunes, and wishing that he might be permitted to share with us in this little interval of satisfaction. After my guests were recovered from the consternation my account had produced, I requested also that Mr. Jenkinson, a fellow prisoner, might be admitted; and the jailer granted my request with an air of unusual submission. The clanking of my son's irons was no sooner heard along the passage, than his sister ran impatiently to meet him; while Mr. Burchell, in the meantime, asked me if my son's name was George; to which, replying in the affirmative, he still continued silent. As soon as my boy entered the room, I could perceive he regarded Mr. Burchell with a look of astonishment and reverence. son, though we are fullen very low, yet Providence has been pleased "Come on," cried I, "my to grant us some small relaxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to us, and there is her deliverer; to that brave man it is that I am indebted for yet having a daughter; give him, my boy, the hand of Friendship-lie deserves our warmest gratitude.' My son scemed all this while regardless of what I said, and still continued fixed at a respectful distance My dear brother,"

your joke, I had my answer.
"My dear good lady," replied he with a smile, "if you had
mine were not as good as yours.
who I am disposed to be angry with at present, but the fellow who
I'll leave it to all the company if
so frightened my little girl here! I had not even time to examine
To say the truth, I know nobody
the rascal's person, so as to describe him in an advertisement.
Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him
again?"

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'I

recollect, he had a large mark over one of his eye-brows."
Indeed, Sir," replied she, "I cannot be positive; yet now I
be so good as to inform me if the fellow wore his own red hair."
ask pardon, Madam," interrupted Jenkinson, who was by, "but
tinued he, turning to Sir William,
Yes, I think so," cried Sophia.
"I can't be sure of their length," cried the baronet; "but I am
"And did your honour," con-
"observe the length of his legs?"
thought few men in the kingdom could have done." "Please your
convinced of their swiftness; for he outran me, which is what I
honour," cried Jenkinson, "I know the man; it is certainly the

was dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief. We were ranny, yet it has been at least equitable." waited upon at dinner by the jailer himself, who was willing to do He cannot contradict a single particular," replied the squire: our guest all the honour in his power. But before we had well dined, "I defy him to do so, and several of my servants are ready to another message was brought from his nephew, desiring permis-attest what I say. Thus, Sir," continued he, finding that I was sion to appear, in order to vindicate his innocence and honour; silent, for in fact I could not contradict him: "thus, Sir, my own with which request the baronet complied, and desired Mr. Thornhill innocence is vindicated; but, though at your entreaty I am ready to be introduced.