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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 i9TI 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 THE 
 
 LIBERAL CRITIC; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PER CF. 
 
 CONVEYING 
 
 A CORRECT ESTIMATE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 MANNERS AND PRINCIPLES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Present Times, 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS ASHE, Esa.' 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF TEE BOOK; TRAVELS IN AMERICA, *c. ^c, 
 
 Scilicet ut possem curro diguos cire rectum, 
 Atque in Sylvas academi querere verum. 
 
 Iloract. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRL\TED FOR B. AND R. CROSBY AND CO. 
 
 Stationers^ Court, Paternoster Mow. 
 
 1813.
 
 8?^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE 
 
 LIBERAL CRITIC; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OP 
 
 HENRY PERCY, 
 
 <v 
 
 CHAP. I. * 
 
 Biographical notices — Major Percy visits France- 
 is ordered to America — makes military and poli- 
 tical animadversions on the war — returns home- 
 retires from the service with disgust — marries 
 Stella A'Court, and resolves to retire to South 
 Wales for the purpose of enjoying domestic hap- 
 piness. 
 
 JLT is a standinfT maxim uith a great 
 ^number of people, that the evil actions 
 of superiors should never be exposed : for 
 once, however, I shall beg leave to trans- 
 gress this rule, in order that I may fa'ith- 
 ^ fully relate adventures and circumstances, 
 
 VOL, I. s
 
 2 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 in which, should I offer to draw a veil over 
 the conduct of the government and the 
 high clergy towards the poor and unbe- 
 neficed curates, I must, nearly in every 
 circumstance, depart from the truth. 
 
 Before I treat of the progress of tho 
 hero of these volumes, I think it proper 
 to state, that Major Percy, the father of 
 this hero, losing his parents very young, 
 found himself when he came to acje mas- 
 ter of a small independent fortune. A 
 desire of travelling, natural to one of his 
 years, soon made him quit his native shore, 
 and the kingdom of France was the first 
 his curiosity led him to, whose sceptre was 
 swayed by a Saint Louis, and not by a 
 Napoleon Buonaparte. He appeared at 
 court with a simplicity better becoming 
 his fortune than his family, and yet was 
 extremely well received by the king and 
 queen ; nor was it long before he found 
 himself in the good graces of the ladies in 
 general ; and, indeed, how could he miss 
 uf being a favourite amongst them? He
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. S 
 
 was accomplished, generous, and gallant, 
 and equally indebted to nature for the 
 beauties of his person and the endowments 
 of his mind. Several Parisiennes formed 
 designs upon his heart. But glory and 
 love are two fatal powers, whose dominion 
 every one must sooner or later feel. ]Mr. 
 Percy had not long the pleasure of enjoy- 
 ing the sunshine of the French court, be- 
 fore America menaced his native country, 
 and called upon every Englishman to do 
 his duty. Abandoning the ways of love, 
 he left France, returned home ; purchased 
 a commission in a regiment serving in Ame- 
 rica; crossed the Atlantic, and trod, for 
 several years, none but the paths of glory 
 and of fame. 
 
 It is here necessary to observe, that 
 the character of this officer, who was held 
 in high esteem by the illustrious Corn- 
 wallis, and who was rewarded by his gra- 
 cious Sovereign with a majority for his 
 services, was extremely different from that 
 of many with whom he fought, and from 
 
 b3
 
 4 THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 that of most of those who pursue a mili- 
 tary life. For he acted vsith a benevo- 
 lei)t heart and gentle measures, and not 
 M'ilh that false ambition or enthusiastic 
 avarice \a hich too often urges our soldiers 
 forward to every act of cruelty and horror. 
 In his character, tlierefore, is hardly any 
 one of the components of a truly great 
 man wanting : for, to the ideas of the most 
 ])enetrating philosopher, he joined a firm- 
 ness, and patience, and magnanimity, that 
 subdued every obstacle, and made his very 
 name a host against his enemies. That 
 surprising art, possessed by so few, of 
 making every accident an instrument in 
 his designs; his critical adjustment of his 
 behaviour to his circumstances, tempo- 
 rising, or actino; vigorously as the occa- 
 sion required, and never letting the occa- 
 tion pass by him ; the happy talent of 
 concealing and governing his own pas- 
 sions, and managing those of others; all 
 those conspired to give us the highest idea 
 of his military capacity : and as for his
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PETxCy. 5 
 
 virtues, his disinterested conduct, his un- 
 moveable fidelity to the crown he served, 
 the just policy of his dealing with the 
 Americans, his caution against giving them 
 unnecessary or contumacious oti'ence, and 
 his merciful behaviour to those he con- 
 quered, raised him to the elevated rank of 
 those fe'rt' men whom we ought to consider 
 as examples to mankind, and ornaments 
 to human nature. 
 
 I hope it w ill be forgiven me, if I add 
 a remark upon the conduct of the then mi- 
 nistry, with regard to this great man. He 
 proposed a plan to government that would 
 have saved America. This refusal was 
 equally unjust and impolitic, and the con- 
 sequences were in all respects as unfortu- 
 nate as the rejection was great and im- 
 prudent. It is certain that some men are 
 so possessed with their own designs, that, 
 when once engaged, nothing can discou- 
 rage them in the pursuit. But great and 
 frequent discouragements are examples to 
 others, which will at last certainly have an
 
 6 THE LTBEUAL CRITIC ; OH, 
 
 effect, and will bring men from forming such 
 designs at all. It is under such an obstinate 
 ministry that the spirit of enterprise and 
 invention dies away; it is under a govern- 
 ment, deaf to the voice of the people, that 
 things begin to stagnate and to corrupt; 
 for it is a rule as invariable in politics 
 as in nature, that a want of proper mo- 
 tion does not produce repose and stabi- 
 lity, but a motion of another kind ; a mo- 
 tion unseen and intestine, which does not 
 preserve but destroy. The best form and 
 settlement of a state and of a religion, 
 &nd every regulation within them, obeys 
 the same universal law ; and the only way 
 to prevent a government from going to de- 
 cay, and to preserve an established church 
 from the ferocity of fanaticism, is by con- 
 tinually aiming to better them in some re- 
 spect or other, and to afford an attentive 
 ear to every project for this purpose. 
 
 I am sensible that it nmst frequently 
 happen, that many of these projects will 
 be chimerical in themselves, and offered
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 7 
 
 by a people of an appearance and manner 
 not very prejudicing in their favour. But 
 then I am satisfied too, that these men 
 must, in the nature of tilings, have sonie- 
 thing odd and sino;ular in their character, 
 like myself, who expose themselves as I 
 have done, and desert the common and 
 certain roads of gain, in pursuit of advan- 
 tages not certain to the public, and ex- 
 tremely doubtful to themselves. 
 
 It is equally true, that if such people 
 are encouraged, a number of visionary 
 schemes will be offered. But it is the 
 character of pride and laziness to reject 
 all offers, because some are idle, as ,it is 
 the character of weakness and credulity to 
 listen to all without distinction. For surely, 
 if judgment is to have any share in the 
 conduct of an administration, it is the 
 province of that judgment to sift, to exa- 
 mine, to distinguish the useful from the 
 foolish, the feasible from the impracticable, 
 and even in the midst of the visions of a 
 fruitful and disordered brain, to pick out
 
 8 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 matter which a wise man will know how to 
 qualify and turn to use, though the inven- 
 tor did not. Cromwell, partly from his 
 circumstances, but more from his genius 
 and disposition, received daily a number 
 of proposals of this kind, which always 
 approached him in a fanatical dress, and 
 were mixed frequently with matters the 
 most remote from probability and good 
 sense, yet we know that he made a pro- 
 fitable use of many things of this nature, 
 and of persons of this kind. 
 
 Elizabeth spent m.uch of her time in 
 hearing every ;,-cheme for the establish- 
 ment of religion, the extending of com- 
 merce, the improvement of manufactures, 
 and the advancement of arts; she spared 
 no pains or cxpence to put them in execu- 
 tion, and bountifully rewarded and en- 
 couraged the authors of them. By these 
 means England advanced during her reign, 
 and under her administration, more than 
 it had done in many reigns before ; and by 
 these means, in the midst of wars; amidst
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 9 
 
 many moral defaults in the moral character, 
 and many errors in the government of her 
 servants, a seed of industry and enterprise 
 was sown, which, on the first respite of the 
 public calamities, and even whilst they 
 oppressed the country, rose to produce 
 that fiourishinop internal and external com- 
 merceand power, that distinguish England, 
 and forms its strength to this day, though 
 less active reigns, and ministers of a dif- 
 ferent character, have succeeded. It is, 
 unfortunately, the character of the present 
 times to proceed very slowly, if at all, 
 in any suggested improvement; and to re- 
 ceive schemes for that purpose with cold- 
 ness and disdain. The effects upon the 
 power of the monarchy were at last an- 
 swerable. With regard to America, the 
 conquest was lost because ministers were 
 too arrogant or too obstinate to attend to 
 the measures proposed by IVIajor Percy, 
 and on his return to England he was treat- 
 ed with so much indifference, that he re- 
 tired from the service and relinquished 
 
 B 3
 
 10 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 the gleanings of the military field to those 
 of a more determined ambition, and a 
 less delicate sensibility. 
 
 The Major had resided but a short 
 time at his own country seat in the north, 
 before he saw the beauteous Stella A'Court; 
 he saw and loved her. Nor was it any 
 wonder that a person made as Stella was, 
 should be adored by all that saw her. 
 Her face was truly oval ; her eyes were 
 large, black, and sparkling, full of life 
 and fire ; her hair too was black, and fell 
 in large ringlets on her snowy neck ; in her 
 cheeks were the roses and the lillies blend- 
 ed; her bosom was full, and might for 
 colour vie with the driven snow ; her per- 
 son was beautifully formed, and her car- 
 riage was at once majestic and genteel. 
 Such was the beauteous Stella A'C'ourt, 
 and such she appeared to Major Percy. 
 On her part, she looked upon him as an 
 agreeable lover, as well as a man who was 
 able to raise her to that independence 
 she so justly deserved, for her friends,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 11 
 
 though persons of distinction in Wiltshire, 
 had lived in a very expensive manner, 
 and found themselves utterly unable to 
 give her any other fortune than an en- 
 lightened education and an illustrious 
 name. Often would she think of the ad- 
 vances made her by the Major, and one 
 while fancy they were only the eflect of an 
 habitual gallantry ; and at another time, 
 that his designs perhaps were not honour- 
 able. On the other hand, Major Percy 
 felt as many disquietudes; he feared that 
 Stella midit not love him enoudi ; that 
 not love, but interest might be the motive 
 of her choice ; that it was not his person 
 but his estate that she liked. He resolved 
 to come to an ecclaircissement \\ ith Stella, 
 and frankly exposed to her the sentiments 
 of his heart. She answered him in so very 
 in2;enuous a manner, that he was both sa- 
 tisficd and inflamed, and he pressed her 
 that moment to complete his happ'ness; 
 by letting the priest join their hands. 
 She consented ; her friends approved the
 
 ■sy*; 
 
 12 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 match the nuptials were celebrated M'ith 
 a great deal of magnificence, and the neigh- 
 bouring nobility honored them with their 
 presence. The lovers were now completely 
 happy ; but, alas ! how short is the date 
 of human happiness? Distantly connect- 
 ed with the two great houses of Howard 
 and A'Court, they were compelled to 
 make an appearance far beyond their 
 means, and at the conclusion of a few 
 years, they found themselves in the em- 
 barrassed condition of persons of note hav- 
 ing diminished incomes and increasing fa- 
 milies and wants. 
 
 To the IVIajor, to a man of generous 
 sentiments and liberal education, posses- 
 sing a hardy constitution, and that kind 
 of popular bravery which recommends a 
 character more for desperate warfare than 
 for economical life, this increase of family 
 was not likely to be provided for by a 
 more cautious prudence or a more saving 
 industry. But as there was no man, who 
 to an adventurous disposition, knew so
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERGY. 13 
 
 well to join a cool and steady conduct, to 
 gain love whilst he preserved respect, not 
 to shift his schemes according to occasions, 
 but persisting uniformly in a well-judged 
 design, to make every inferior action and 
 event subservient to it, he determined to 
 extricate himself out of difficulties into 
 which he was brought by imprudence, 
 and that by one bold action ; not by mean 
 subterfuges and timid procrastinations, but 
 by an action yet bolder than any which 
 distinguished his former life — that of sub- 
 duing passions, destroying habits, conquer- 
 ing prejudices, and abandoning great and 
 splendid connections, by breaking up at 
 once his ruinous and extravagant estab- 
 lishments, and retiring into a remote part 
 of Wales for the purpose of repairing his 
 shattered fortunes, and of bringing up his 
 children in such a manner as would reflect 
 honor on their name and upon his an- 
 cestry. While floating on the ocean of 
 the fashionable vv'orld, under the conduct 
 of hi» passions, rather than the direction
 
 14 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 of reason, instead of using his reason to 
 guide and regulate his passions, his pas- 
 sions debauched and corrupted his rea- 
 son and employed it in the most dangerous 
 slavery. But in the solitude he chose, the 
 more he knew of himself, the more was 
 he convinced, that in our public state, not- 
 withstanding the boasted privilege of our 
 reason, we are poor, weak, impotent crea- 
 tures. Feeling the violence of our pas- 
 sions, and the weakness of our resolu- 
 lutions, the shortness and narrowness of 
 our understanding, the perverseness of our 
 wills, and the corruption of our hearts, he 
 acknowledged that in the gay world we 
 are transported with joy, and dejected with 
 sorrow for mere trifles, and that finding 
 this impotence and emptiness in ourselves, 
 we wander abroad, and go out of our- 
 selves to seek for little comforts and 
 amusements to divert the constant sense 
 of our weakness and infirmity, and catch 
 at every phantom, pursue every shadow of 
 happiness, every gay bubble that tremu-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 15 
 
 lates before our eyes, and which, if we 
 happen to overtake it, dissolves in our 
 hands, and leaves us full of anxiety and 
 disappointment. The circle of dissipation 
 was not the proper sphere for such a man 
 as Major Percy : for though the mind 
 has its innate power of apprehending and 
 judging, yet it does not exert it by a 
 physical or mechanical necessity. Cer- 
 tain dispositions, arising from certain si- 
 tuations, are required to prepare and 
 enable it to judge aright of the several 
 objects and enjoyments proposed to it. 
 As the bodily eye, though made for the 
 perception of visible objects, yet cannot 
 exert that power if it be disordered by 
 any obstruction of the optic nerves, any 
 suffusion upon the retina; if the object be 
 placed at an undue distance, or viewed 
 through a wrong medium, the eye per- 
 ceives nothing as it really is ; its percep- 
 tion is confused and irregular, and the 
 most beautiful assemblage of figures would
 
 16 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 be nothing but distortion and deformit}'. 
 Just so it "vvas with the mind of the Ma- 
 jor ; till he left the gay world and retired 
 into solitude, he apprehended he judged 
 of nothing aright.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCT. 17 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Henry's birth — preliminary education achieved, — 
 he is destined for the University of Cambridge — 
 motives of that preference, Cambridge being the 
 favorite of the great Chatham — ^eulogium on that 
 illustrious Statesman — Henry's parents determine 
 to make him a parson — singular dissertation ou 
 the absurdity of such a determination without 
 consulting the capacity of the youth. 
 
 I HAVE frequently observed how dis- 
 agreeable it is to the taste of the present 
 times, to dwell long upon the same sub- 
 ject, however entertaining it ma}^ be in 
 itself. This is the most unhappy temper 
 in the public that can possibly attend any 
 one in the search of truth ; a search that 
 requires much patience and great atten- 
 tion. But since I must fall in with the 
 humours and weakness of mankind, I will 
 endeavour to comprize what I have fur- 
 ther to offer upon the subject of Major 
 Percy within as contracted a sphere as 
 can possibly be required.
 
 18 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Without farther preface then, I shall 
 State, that the ?*Iajor rethed to Haverford- 
 west, in South Wales, and employed him- 
 self for a number of years in educating 
 his children in a course of useful literature, 
 and in impressing on their minds those 
 principles of morality and that sense of 
 duty, without which it is a shameful de- 
 gradation to exist. The children consist- 
 ed of two boys and three girls. The eldest 
 was called Henry, and as he is the prin- 
 cipal subject of these memoirs, I have no 
 occasion to trouble myself with any re- 
 marks on the rest of the family. 
 
 By an exact compliance with the dis- 
 cipline of his father ; by laying in a great 
 stock of knowledge ; by an intimacy with 
 ancient standards of polite and elegant 
 writers; by inquiring into the grounds, 
 and considering early the excellency of the 
 Christian religion, by attending its wor- 
 ship according to the pure and primitive 
 manner of the church of England, and by 
 passing thi'ough a regular course of aca-
 
 MEMOIRS OF IIENRT PERCY. 19 
 
 demic and moral instruction, Henry Percy 
 became qualified to enter college, and the 
 only question was, ^hat preference was to 
 be driven to those useful and ancient seats 
 
 c 
 
 of learning. ,- 
 
 A circumstance unconnected with the 
 absolute merits of either university, dis- 
 posed IMajor Percy to give the preference 
 to Cambridge. He himself was contem- 
 porary with that great statesman, that firm 
 patriot, that eloquent orator, that sincere 
 Christian, the late Lord Chatham, and his 
 son having been brought up at Cambridge^ 
 the Major wished that young Henry should 
 have the pride and pleasure of treading in 
 his scholastic steps. Indeed such was his 
 veneration for the character of the great 
 Chatham, that he incessantly held him up 
 as an object of reverence and imitation to 
 his son; and in order to impress a full 
 conviction of his greatness on the mind 
 of his darling disciple, he inscribed the 
 following panegyric, as a small tribute to 
 his sacred memory.
 
 20 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 " The character of the Earl of Chatham 
 is a subject of inexliaustible panegyric. 
 In whatever light we view it, the recol- 
 lection of his innumerable virtues spring 
 spontaneous to the imagination, and, at- 
 tempting to delineate his qualities, fancy 
 ■weakens the understandinn;. The uni- 
 versal sorrow that pervaded the nations 
 of the British empire, when his immortal 
 spirit ascended the regioirs of bliss, re- 
 vives at the mention of his name, and 
 the fire necessary to elevate the man who 
 would describe his character, is damped 
 by the influence of melancholy and re- 
 gret. 
 
 '" But let us cheer our ideas for a mo- 
 ment. — The great, the mighty Chatham is 
 not dead! The example of his wisdom 
 still lives, and ever will live to inform pos- 
 terity. His abilities must always exist the 
 brightest ornament of the historic page, 
 and the sculptor and the painter in every 
 nation will enmlate each other in giving 
 his person with all its graces, beauty, and
 
 MEMOIRS or HENRY PERCV. 21 
 
 dignity, to the admiring eye of the latest 
 time. 
 
 " The people, in ages to come, shall 
 hear him, as we now hear Demosthenes 
 and Tully, and make his name the subject 
 of their orations. Their orations will be 
 composed of his language, his sentiments, 
 and fire. His speeches will be the arms 
 of their patriotism ; his life the pattern for 
 their imitation. 
 
 " It is not the beginning of life, but 
 the end which establishes a character. 
 Lord Chatham died, as he lived, a^»an, 
 not born for himself alone, but for the 
 service of his country and the good of 
 posterity. He fell into the arms of death 
 like the setting sun, and his last words, 
 like the evening dew of heaven, revived 
 and refreshed his country in the instant of 
 his departure. 
 
 " As a politician, the Earl of Chatham 
 stands unrivalled in the annals of the 
 world. The conquest, the commerce, the 
 wealth acquired by England under the au-
 
 22 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 spices of his administration, exceed any 
 
 thing that history can boast. Wolfe, 
 
 Hawke, Granby executed his plans ; they 
 were the officers of his appointment;— 
 they Mere soldiers, whose actions tread 
 upon the Greek and Roman stage. 
 
 " With a noble and disinterested soul, 
 unawed by power, and unbridled by wealth, 
 he steadfastly exerted those divine gifts 
 which heaven showered upon him, for the 
 illumination of mankind, for the advance- 
 ment of morality, for the propagation of 
 civil liberty, and for the support of what- 
 ever else is valuable in society. 
 
 " The love of mankind, and a reverence 
 for religion, were the principles from which 
 he traced the origin of government, and 
 upon these principles he was not afraid to 
 advance a doctrine, that man had a right 
 to exert all probable means of resistance 
 against every system oi tyranny that 
 should tend to enslave the free-born soul, 
 by opposing the righteous will of God : — 
 the will of God, which has ordained hap-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENKY PERCY. gS 
 
 piness and freedom for all mankind. He 
 was one of those few who was free with- 
 out being useless to his country. Con- 
 servator himself to the public, without 
 being its slave, and condemning the in- 
 difference of the philosopher, who seeks 
 independence in apathy and indolence. 
 He exerted his abilities to establish public 
 employments upon such a virtuous foun- 
 dation, that the possessors should not 
 lose their liberty by the possession. He 
 knew, that as virtue is the basis of inde- 
 pendence, so it is virtue that raises inde- 
 pendence to the highest perfection. His 
 genius, like a pervading fire, searched into 
 the very hearts of men. The secrets of 
 the foreign cabinets M'ere open, and as 
 well known to him as the secrets of his 
 own prince; and, while the enemies of 
 the empire were meditating injuries, he 
 was frustrating their determinations, by 
 the execution of schemes which astonished 
 the world. He preserved the honour and 
 interests of his country by preventing
 
 £4 THi LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 insults, not by resenthig them ; hence, 
 power always attended him in mutters of 
 ne«^ociation, and success waited on his 
 embassies. During his administration, the 
 British standard was planted on the bat- 
 tlements of our enemies in every part of 
 the globe ; our navies rode triumphant in 
 the harbours of our foes, and our mer- 
 chants pursued their commerce unmolested 
 in the midst of war. 
 
 " Sole author of his own exaltation, 
 his merit and glory were inseparable ; by 
 the strength of his knowledge, he forced 
 princes, and their counsellors, to pay 
 homage to the native superiority of his ge- 
 nius. — His value was intrinsic. — It con- 
 sisted not in what his forefathers had done, 
 but in what he had done himself. His 
 character was not purchased : it was 
 stamped by the voice of the public ; and 
 the suffrages of the public are ever free. 
 The people give glory, but they never 
 sell it. 
 
 " The service of his country was his
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 25 
 
 sole ambition. The people knew it, and 
 their approbation, and their applause 
 formed that dignified reputation, which 
 the most exalted posts could not give. — 
 He neither owed his dignity to wealth, nor 
 his glory to titles. — All his days were 
 marked by the services which he did to 
 society. — All his occupations were the ex- 
 ercises of rectitude and probity, of justice 
 and of mercy. 
 
 " His country lost not a moment of his 
 life. He was an honour te her when she 
 disgraced herself. She profited by his lei- 
 sure ; she enjoyed the fruits of his repose, 
 as well as she reaped the harvest of his 
 industry. 
 
 "As an orator and an advocate, he pos- 
 sessed all the essentials — sublimity of 
 thought and nobleness of expression. — 
 The external graces of his person and 
 action, with ail those other qualities, the 
 concurrence of which form that perfect 
 eloquence which is the gift of heaven, and 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 which heaven seldom bestows. It is not 
 every age that produces a perfect orator; 
 nature reposed long after she had formed 
 a Cicero and a Demosthenes; probably 
 she will last as long at rest before she 
 forms another Chatham. 
 
 " A Chatham, who joined, who blended 
 acquired virtues with natural talents. — A 
 Chatham, Mho revived the noble simpli- 
 city of Athens, entwining it with the happy 
 luxuriancy of the eloquence of ancient 
 Rome. Let us, too, consider him as the 
 confidential friend of his kins;. As such, 
 he would have given no bounds to the 
 power of his Sovereign ; but evil, and the 
 whole of his power he would have sub- 
 mitted to justice. He would have made 
 his master dictator to the world, but ser- 
 vant to the English law. He always main- 
 tained as an axiom in politics, that the 
 subjects of the British empire were settled, 
 and had, by a happy prerogative, received 
 from heaven the valuable gift of a full in^ 
 dependence. This treasure, this inesti-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 27 
 
 mable treasure, he ever advised the people 
 to preserve in purity. It was his maxim, 
 that a nation jealous of its glory, should 
 never permit an invasion upon her liberty 
 with impunity. 
 
 " He moved for years in the most ele- 
 vated authority, on a path surrounded by 
 precipices ; yet his progress, though rapid 
 as the lightning, was safe ; it moved with 
 all the regularity, the precision, the wis- 
 dom of a system : it was guided by truth, 
 attended by experience. It M'as not the 
 eccentric progression of a meteor, but the 
 regular unerring motion of a planet. Thus 
 raised, his name is rendered famous by" 
 the remarkable fall of those whom sordid 
 interest and unguided lust of despotism 
 have precipitated from the pinnacles of 
 power." 
 
 Thus ended the panegyric of Major 
 Percy on the illustrious Chatham : nor 
 should I have entered into it, had I not 
 <:onceived it nscessary to shew, that in 
 
 c2
 
 ^6 TilE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the education of his son, the Major 
 counted that manner and those books best 
 which mix profit with dehght, as in his 
 opinion no system of instruction ^vas more 
 profitable nor delightful than the study of 
 the lives of those great men who have laid 
 out themselves for the public good, and 
 whose examples are superior to the highest 
 mysteries of learning. 
 
 Educated, then, after the manner I have 
 noticed, the young Percy was intended to 
 be sent to the University of Cambridge, 
 with a tutor to direct his studies, and with 
 an income more liberal than was actually 
 justified by his father's means, and the 
 rest of his children who yet looked up to 
 him for instruction and support. This im- 
 prudence was the effect of that pride and 
 ambition which the IMajor vainly imagined 
 and stifled in his breast. But in one nobly 
 ,^born and nobly allied, ambition will lurk, 
 and seize occasions to shevz itself when 
 the possessor thinks it annihilated or con- 
 sumed. Wasting life in solitude himself,.
 
 MEMOIRS OF IIENllY PERCY. 29 
 
 he wished his son to shine in the world. 
 The army had disappointed his own hopes; 
 a beggarly Amherst, instead of a princely 
 York, was at the head of military affairs: 
 neither promotion or glory, under such a 
 commander, could attend a military ca- 
 reer. What possession then uas the most 
 eligible? The Major proposed the Lav . 
 Airs. Percy preferred the church. This 
 led to a debate, in which the one advo- 
 cated the advantages to be acquired by 
 the Taw, and the other the preferments 
 which are to be obtained in the cp.urch. 
 *rhe conclusion was, that Henry v. as "to 
 be made a parson." What! without con- 
 sulting his disposition, his mental powers, 
 his physical capacity? Yes, reader, without 
 consulting any one of these essential re- 
 quisites ; and to this general determination 
 *' we shall make our son a parson" is to be 
 attributed the first cause of the rise of fa- 
 naticism and the decline of the protestant 
 church. For it ii in consequence of this 
 dantjcrons und hasty determination, that
 
 •10 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 it often becomes the concurring opinion of 
 a numerous congregation, that " their par- 
 son" was intended bv nature 'and the na- 
 lure of things, for any other situation in 
 lite than that which he so improperly and 
 pertinaceously fdls. One " parson"' is 
 beheld running up the steps of the pulpit, 
 in a manner denoting a jack-tar climbing 
 the main-chains of a man of war. Another, 
 ■when in the pulpit, imitates the manner of 
 the British "T^oscius, and exhibits more 
 disposition to inflanje the passions than to 
 correct the heart. A third, endeavours to 
 cxnre.'-s the honest feelings of his nature, 
 but thoy do not atone to the audience for 
 the obvious defects of a declamation which 
 should have condemned " the parson" to 
 the pursuits of solitude, or the labours of 
 a merchant or mechanic. A fourth, de- 
 nounces the peaceable precepts of the 
 gospel, as he would the sanguinary dicta 
 ofthe law, and the people shrink appalled ' 
 from a man who should have been a mi- 
 nister of police, and not of a church which
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 31 
 
 inculcates universal peace, and general cha- 
 rity amongst all men. A fifth, with ele- 
 gance of person, melody of voice, and 
 sweetness of disposition, endeavours to 
 exert his feeble efforts to perpetuate the 
 memory of them on the minds of his fe- 
 male hearers ; a clerical coquette, display- 
 ing in the pulpit, not the virtues, not the 
 divine attributes of his Saviour, bat ths 
 happiest combination of his own mental 
 and personal graces. A sixth, by a levity 
 of disposition, an openness of character, 
 an inoffensive irregularity, and an elo- 
 nuence common to the court, manifestly 
 expressed that the rigid stoicism of the 
 church was not preferred by him to the 
 gay and inviting qualities of social life. 
 A seventh, though in other respects me- 
 riting universal esteem, treats his congre- 
 gation like a regiment of soldiers, pre- 
 cedes them out of church with a military 
 step, and marches a corps to the grave 
 with all the insensibility and gesticulation 
 of an ordinary pioneer. And an eighth, —
 
 :J2 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; 0I{, 
 
 but I must conclude this tedious task, 
 happy in the confession that there are 
 many gentlemen accidentally made " par- 
 sons of," and who are eminently qualified 
 for that situation which is so flaiirantlv dis- 
 graced in many instances by intruders and 
 impostors, by knaves, and by fools. While 
 the qualified persons, to -whom I allude^ 
 persevere in the line they have so long 
 pursued, their actions will defy calumny ; 
 silence obloquy; obviate slander; and 
 prove that it is the man and not the pro- 
 icssion which forms the essential merit of 
 characters. Therefore, Avhen parents ex- 
 claim " we will make a parson of our son,* 
 they should understand that they may do 
 him an essential injury, and at the same 
 time plant a vital stab in llie bosom of the 
 church. — Let them hrst consult his dispo- 
 sition and his mental and physical capa- 
 cities.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 33 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Kegret at Henry's departure from home — accident 
 throws him iu the way of Clara Wilhams — a 
 sylvan scene ensues — love expected to be the con- 
 sequence — suspicions of Mrs. Percy, who preci- 
 pitates the departure of her son. 
 
 ^V'HEN I announced the departure of 
 Henry Percy for Cambridge, I should 
 have mentioned the regret \^ ith which that 
 event was attended. Sorrow dropped the 
 sympathetic tear, and melancholy hove 
 the heart-felt sigh. The poignant feelings 
 of parental love were roused : Henry had 
 never before been absent : imacrination 
 may paint the picture of domestic grief, 
 but expression is inadequate to the de- 
 scription. Like the artist of old, I shall 
 draw a veil i pon a subject to which I can- 
 not give colouring. I must, however, re- 
 late a circumstance which occurred to 
 
 c5
 
 34 THE LIBERAL CRITIC ,* OH, 
 
 Henry on his return to the Earl of Pem- 
 broke's, where he had been to take leave 
 of that distmguished and amiable family. 
 
 Oppressed with sorrow at his departure 
 from his dear and numerous friends, and 
 bewildered by reflection on the nature of 
 the new sphere of life he was about to 
 enter, he lost his way, and after wander- 
 ing some time to no purpose, and not 
 knovv'ing where to rest, fortune conducted 
 him to the sweetest retirement he had ever 
 beheld in ^l^alels. This was Ivy Farm, 
 belongjing to the Pembroke estate. It is 
 seated in a beautiful vale, surrounded by 
 rocks, forests, and water. He found at 
 the upper end of it the neatest thatched 
 cottage in the principality, and a garden 
 of the most artful confusion he had ever 
 seen. The little mansion was covered on 
 every side with ivy, and the finest flowery 
 greens. The streams all round were mur- 
 muring and failing a thousand ways. All 
 the kinds' of singing birds were here col- 
 lected, and in high harmony on the spray.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 35 
 
 The ruias of an abbey enhance the beauties 
 of this place : they appear at the distance 
 of four hundred yards from the house: 
 and as some large trees had grown up 
 among the remains, and as a river winds 
 between the broken walls, the view is so- 
 lemn — the picture fine. 
 
 "When Henry came up to the house, the 
 first figure he saw was a young lady, who, 
 peixeiving he was fatigued, and hearing 
 he had strayed from his way, politely in- 
 vited him to walk in, and she would direct , 
 him after he was refreshed. The lady was 
 inexpressibly beautiful, but her dress was 
 quite plain, and clean, like a country dam- 
 sel. Her person appeared faultless, and 
 of the middle size; between the disagree- 
 able extremes : her face a sweet oval, and 
 her complexion tlie brunette of the most 
 delicate kind : her mouth like a rose-bud 
 that is just beginning to bloom, and a fu- 
 gitive dimple, by fits, would lighten and 
 disappear. The finest passions were always 
 passing in her face ; and in her long, even, 
 chesnut eyes, there was a fluid fire.
 
 ?6 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 The parlour she conducted Henry into, 
 was quite beautiful in the rural way, and 
 she welcomed him to the cottage, as her 
 father would have done, she said, had he 
 visited it before his removal to a better 
 world. For he knew Major Percy, con- 
 tinued she, acknowledging her acquaint- 
 ance with Henry's name, and was under 
 great obligations to him for assistance at 
 a time when he was greatly involved. She 
 then left the youth for a while, and he had 
 time to look over the room he was in. The 
 floor was covered with rushes, wrought 
 nearly into the form of a mat, and the 
 walls were decorated all round with the 
 finest flowers and shells. Robins and 
 nightingales, the finch and the linnet, werQ 
 in the neatest reed cages of her own mak- 
 ing; and at the upper end of the chamber, 
 in a charming little open grott, was the 
 finest parrot that Henry had ever seen. 
 This beautiful bird, in a nick like a ruin, 
 looked vastly fine. As to the flowers 
 which adorned this room, he thought they 
 were all natural at his first coming in, but
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENKY PERCY. 37 
 
 on inspection it appeared, that several 
 baskets of the finest kind were inimitably 
 painted on the walls. These things attbrded 
 Henry a pleasing entertainment for about 
 ten minutes, and then Clara Williams, for 
 so the young lady was called, returned, 
 attended by a younger sister, of about 
 nine years of age. One of the maids 
 brought in a salver with such fruit, cake, 
 and domestic wine, Clara said, as her 
 little cottage afforded. Henry found every 
 thing; excellent. The wine was admirable. 
 Discretion and dignity appeared in Clara's 
 behaviour ; she talked with judgment; and 
 under the decencies of ignorance was seen 
 a valuable knowledge. The little colla- 
 tion was hardly over, before Henry ex- 
 pressed a delicate desire of knowing the 
 history of so amiable a recluse. She com- 
 menced, with much emotion, by saying, 
 about a year belbre, she became the so- 
 litary thing he saw her, in the midst of 
 untravelled mountains, and had not in 
 the whole world one friend; excepting the
 
 38 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 poor rustics of her house, and neighbour- 
 hood ; Avho were uncomfortable com- 
 panions, but could not love and respect 
 her more, if she had been their sovereign : 
 that she was however very far from being 
 melancholy, or thinking herself the least 
 unhappy. The little farm her father left 
 her, and her sister, and all he had to leave 
 them, afforded thgm sufficient food and 
 raiment, and the management of the farm 
 she principally confided to a trusty servant.. 
 She attended herself much to its improve- 
 ment; and the few leisure hours in her 
 disposal she gave to music and painting, 
 which her father took great pains to teach 
 her: or sometimes she turned over an 
 ancient or modern book ; for her fond 
 preceptor had enabled her to read the 
 Iliad of Homer, the Georgics of Virgil, 
 and a play of Terence in the original 
 lansua«es, with as much ease as she did 
 a Spectator: and all things being well 
 considered, she had, possibly, more real 
 happiness than the greatest ladies in
 
 MEMOIUS OF HE^RY PEUCY. 39 
 
 high life in any metropolis. She would 
 not make any exchange if it was offered. 
 Where her lot was thrown, she was satis- 
 fied. Charming Clara! Henry could not 
 enough admire her. 
 
 I have hitherto had little' occasion to 
 speak of the person of Henry : it may 
 not now be improper. He was in the 
 eighteenth year of his age. He was tall 
 and graceful. His features good: his 
 eyes extremely fine. In short, to use a 
 common expression, he was a wonderfully 
 handsome man. In his morals he was 
 brave and honest. In iiis understanding 
 great and penetrating. He had read 
 much, as I before observed, and had as 
 just notions of natural and moral philo- 
 sophy, as any professor he could have 
 conversed with. He was as remarkable, 
 too, for a fine genius, as for his great 
 share of learning; had a prodigious 
 memory, and an eloquence that is not 
 
 common. 
 
 Clara could not avoid regarding him 
 as the most perfect ornament she had ever
 
 40 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 seen of civil society. She saw his mind 
 as enriched with useful knowledge as his 
 person was with charms. His heart as 
 fortified with virtue, and noble sentiments, 
 as his native beauty was heightened by 
 modesty, ease, and every winning grace. 
 Though young, as if tlie world had passed 
 in review before him, she perceived, from 
 his conversation, he was perfect master 
 of whatever is worthy observation in other 
 countries, and no stranger to any thing 
 proper to be known at home. To a taste 
 for the sciences, in descanting on her 
 })aintings and drawings, she found in liim 
 such a happiness in the use of them, as 
 was sufficient lo excite her to the further 
 use of them. All he did had in it a 
 dignity which seemed to speak a finished 
 education ; though accompanied with such 
 a facility as if it flo»ved alone from un- 
 constrained nature.' And all he said to 
 Clara was uttered with such an easy 
 eloquence as, violating no rules, seemed 
 above all art whatever. 
 
 The day was advancing: Henry rose
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 41 
 
 with reluctance to depart. Clara took 
 her straw bonnet, and, accompanied by 
 her little sister, proposed to put him in a 
 lew minutes into the right path. While 
 passing on, he expressed his admiration 
 of the delightful rural scene. Sweetly 
 careless, and natural, the landscape ap- 
 pears, which ever way he turns his eyes, 
 and has a cast of wildness in it, that strikes 
 the mind with a fine variety of beautiful 
 images, and which are peculiar to the 
 mountains of Wales. The vallies and 
 the falling waters are beyond whatever 
 the painter and the poet have invented, 
 and on every hill, surrounding Ivy Farm, 
 the sole hand of nature had planted groves 
 of p(;rpetual verdure. They in a short 
 time arrived at the spot where Clara was 
 to direct Henry in the road to Haver- 
 fordwest. They stood for an instant in a 
 kind of beautiful confusion; it was doubt- 
 ful who should say " farewell" the first. 
 This sentence was deferred, but at the 
 same time the confusion dissipated, by
 
 42 THE LIBERAL CliiTIC; Oli, 
 
 Henry's remarking, that Miss Williams 
 held a book in her hand which he per- 
 ceived she had been reading when he 
 first approached her house. It was a 
 volume of Shakespeare ; and he solicited 
 to know on \^hat beautiful passage her 
 attention was engajrcd when he first had 
 occasion to interrupt her. Gently ^^ith- 
 draM'ing the book from her hand, he dis- 
 covered the page turned down at the 
 extremely poetical and fine lines which 
 Titania speaks in the third Act of the 
 " Midsummer Nights Dream/' and he in- 
 voluntarily read — 
 
 " Be kind and courteous to this gentleiiian, 
 
 " Stray in his walks and gambol, in his eyes, &c. 
 
 This reading, from some strange con- 
 currence of situation and circumstances, 
 caused the blood to mantle in Claras 
 checks. Henry bid her tarewell with an 
 unusual perplexity and a lightening pe- 
 culiar to his eyes. V/ithout any thing 
 extraordinary being in the incidence, or,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 4 
 
 ts> 
 
 rather coincidence, they both expressed 
 y, species of apprehensive emotion, v.hich, 
 after a short pause, made them separate 
 \\ ith a genteel gravity more- cold than ill- 
 behaved. 
 
 Elegant as the fancy of Henry has been 
 shewn to be, the sweet rural beauties of 
 the country he had to pass through, and 
 tlie wild scenery that surrounded him on 
 every side, were lost upon him, and he 
 returned to Haverfordwest more occupied 
 with the little adventure of the day, than 
 with all the united vicissitudes of his for- 
 mer life. He arrived at the hour of tea : 
 felicity could not rise higher than it did 
 at the tea-table on his appearance : his 
 absence had been so much Ioniser than 
 on any former occasion, that it excited 
 some considerable uneasiness, and as be 
 was to depart for Canibridge the follow- 
 ing day, his friends naturally wished to 
 engross tliG entire of the remainder of his 
 society; and vct, when he accounted for 
 his delay; when he talked of Clara; of
 
 44 THE LIIJEIIAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 her bewitching manners, fine shape, ex- 
 treme beauty of countenance, large eyes, 
 flowing hair, lovely bosom, charming 
 mouth, and humble condition, he could 
 perceive that both his lather and mother 
 put on a vast solemnity of face, and a 
 manner that announced sftrae degree of 
 disappointment or displeasure. °What 
 passed after this was little more than a 
 family farce, acted Avith a truth of charac- 
 ter, however, not easy for the best stage 
 in England to imitate. Orders were 
 issued for the early departure of Henry 
 the follo^ving morning, and he departed 
 ^vith the happiness of seeing tears fall 
 from those eyes which were clouded with 
 dissatisfaction but tire evening before. 
 
 Although it is no part of my intention, 
 or my duty, to account for every move- 
 ment of the springs and powers which 
 act upon the hearts of those persons 
 ^vhose characteis I have to delineate in 
 these JMemoirs, yet I must here stop to 
 account for this sudden and unexpected
 
 MEMOIllS OF IIENUY PEflCY. 43 
 
 alteration in the conduct and manners of 
 Henry's amiable friends. I have shewn 
 in my last chapter, that they determined 
 to make him a parson, without consult- 
 ing his disposition, or his mental and 
 physical capacity. It remains for me here 
 to shew, that thev had a latent motive for 
 this dangerous determination; a motive 
 which took its origin in the mind of Mrs, 
 Percy. — Allied to the most ancient and 
 honourable family in Wiltshire herself, 
 and married into a branch of a house 
 proverbial for greatness and dignity, she 
 chose the church for her son, not so much 
 as a theatre for preferment, but as a stage, 
 on which Jie misht exhibit the endow- 
 ments of his mind and the graces of his 
 person, and thereby attract the attention, 
 and engage the affections of some woman 
 of a rank and fortune sufficient to raise 
 him to that elevation, which her love and 
 ambition imagined could never be too 
 stupendiously exalted for so dear a son. 
 Having infused the same baneful prin-
 
 46 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 ciples of vanity into the mind of her 
 husband, it ceases to be an object of 
 surprise, that they both were shocked 
 and alarmed at his accidental rencontre 
 "with the lovely Clara. They feared every 
 thing from a heart constituted like Henrv's, 
 and they hastened his departure, that a 
 mode of new life, and a succession of 
 novel events might obliterate the im- 
 pression of beauty, which they judged 
 was made upon his ardent and juvenile 
 mind. 
 
 It is but common justice to this inte- 
 resting family to observe, that an avow- 
 ed latent motive for "making a parson" 
 is^ not peculiar to it. To the misfortune 
 and degradation of the church, almost 
 every family is under the guidance of a 
 similar conduct. In the provision of the 
 generality of children, the estimate ©f men- 
 tal and corporal capacity predominates in 
 the calculation : — A boy, bold and impe- 
 rious, is destined for the army. A youth, 
 agile and honest, unpolished and intrepid,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 47 
 
 is marked for the navy. A lad, san- 
 guinary and cruel, addicted to anatomise 
 birds and dissect insects, is named for a 
 surgeon and apothecary. — Oae, of a sordid 
 turn and speculative spirit, is destined for 
 the stock-exchange. — Another, -tvlio has a 
 delicate hand, a mind discerning, and an 
 eye keen and clear, is designed for a phy- 
 sician. — And he, who expresses much cun- 
 ning and chicanery, a cold- blood, and a 
 character sordid and severe, is pronounced 
 fit to become a lawyer or an attorney- 
 general. But, " to make the parson" — the 
 friends are lost in doubt, or, what is infi- 
 nitely v/orse, they determine without con- 
 sideration; or from the shameful consi- 
 deration, " that the son is too stupid a 
 blockhead ; too infirm in mind or in body, 
 to be fit for any thing else." Is a parent 
 encumbered with a crippled child ; an in- 
 sane creature; a foolish being; a timid 
 wretch; a stuttering dunce? Well! what 
 of all that? Does the father afflict him- 
 self? No; not in the least I He con-
 
 48 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 soles himself, and he is consoled by 
 others, with the proverbial saying — " he 
 will make a parson," or, "he will do well 
 enough for the church." — This may stagger 
 the belief of the reader, and I judge that 
 he may, with some show of propriety, ex- 
 claim : What nonsense, to intend those for 
 the church who should neither be expected 
 to be ordained or preferred ! — I admit it 
 may be " nonsense," but I persist, at the 
 same time, that it is a fact. Any youth 
 can be " bolstered up" in such a manner 
 as to take College degrees, be examined 
 for ordination, and pass through all the 
 preferments of the church. I assume 
 to ask those who may question this fact, 
 why are our churches empty? why do 
 the members of the established religion 
 consist in the minority of the popula- 
 tion of the state ? Candour must reply — 
 it is owing to the introduction of im- 
 proper persons into the ministry; it arises 
 from a latent view lurking in the parents 
 mind; it is to be attributed to the dan-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PEliCF. 49 
 
 gerous facility of " making a parson," and 
 to the fatal influence which resides in 
 wealtli, patronage, and power, of pro- 
 moting a parson so made, and to the pre- 
 judice of the curate who entered the 
 church from motives equally honourable 
 to his heart and to his head. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Henr}' arrives at Cambiidjje — expresses no astonish- 
 ment — character of a dashing- student of fashion 
 — sketch of the llluminati — their conduct to Mr. 
 Yorke reprobated generally — Strictures on the 
 religion and learninj::, on the manners and prirt- 
 ciples of the University — its vices exhibited and 
 deplored — its virtues recommended and admired, 
 
 A YOUTH of undoubted probity, and 
 versed in the knowledge of men and 
 books, to the degree that Henry Avas, by 
 an experienced and accomplished father, 
 did not sink under the eclat of his first 
 debut in the University, or become the 
 dupe of those whose province ' it is to 
 quiz, strip, and ridicule a new-comer. 
 Not to be .cowed " by apprehension, 
 scared by ridicule, soothed by flattery, 
 or ruffled by resentment, the knowing 
 cantabs" soon abandoned their customary 
 attempts, and left our hero to the dictates 
 of his own reflections and unmolested 
 career*
 
 MEMOIRS OF HEXliT PERCY. 51 
 
 Honouring the University of Cam- 
 bridge as I do, it was with deep regret 
 1 perceived, that it did not impress the 
 mind of Henry with that awe and venc- 
 ratiou which is so favourable to the pur- 
 suit of literature and the acquisition of 
 great and distinguished attainments. It 
 suffered considerably in his opinion from 
 being, at that particular time, the asy- 
 lum of many young men who were sent 
 there only " out of fashion," or placed 
 there by the imprudent indulgence of 
 parents, and who, being out of the reach 
 of all discipline, are placed entirely under 
 the direction of their distorted judgments 
 and strong passions, soon fall into idleness 
 and vice, and by the help of their birth 
 and fortune frequently corrupt others, and 
 bring disgrace upon the rules of the Uni- 
 versity, which they frustrate by every sub- 
 terfuge, and odium upon their tutors, who 
 have no other power over them but that 
 of sending them back to their vain and 
 misguided friends. 
 
 n 0> 
 
 i.' ^ 
 
 >sr--^
 
 .52 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 The character of one of these " young 
 men of rank" shall be given : it will con- 
 vey a correct idea of all the remainder. — 
 He Avas sent to College with a mercenary 
 tutor of his own selection. This fellow, 
 Vvithout genius or experience, never pre- 
 sumed to direct the studies of his pupU, 
 but often accompanied him to London, 
 Newmarket, and other places of dissipa- 
 tion : as this tutor had neither virtue nor 
 sense to govern himself, it is not strange 
 that he should want art to govern his dis- 
 ciple, or to preserve him from the vices 
 and follies juvenile warmth is so apt to 
 hurry them into. It was not to be ex- 
 pected that a young fellow was to be 
 under any restraint to a man whom he 
 saw giving an unbounded loose to his 
 passions. In fact, he ran into every 
 excess of debauchery and extravagance; 
 and the mercenary wretch of a governor, 
 whose salary was too narrow to answer 
 the extent of his libertinous appetites, 
 had no other wav to render himself useful
 
 MEiMoiRS OF hp:nry pekcv. 53 
 
 to his pupil, than to become an accomplice 
 v,\th, and a pander to him ; that he might 
 have a share at free-cost in liis criminal 
 pleasures. Drinking,, gaining, and de- 
 bauchery were all their pui*sutts ; players^ 
 pugilists, sots, sharpers, and harlots were 
 all their company when absent from Cam- 
 bridge. Returned, the youth exitlted m 
 the exposition of a journal of most igno- 
 minious intrigues, lewd songs, Bond-street 
 oaths, lists of courtezans, and notices of 
 all the inns where the best wine and eat- 
 ing is to be had both in London and on 
 its tributary roads. 
 
 Such .were the glorious fruits of this 
 joung fellow's University education ! It 
 dis2;usted Henry. And he was astonished 
 to find the whole time of another class 
 of students divided betwixt their business 
 and their pleasure, or rather at finding 
 pleasure tlio great business of their lives. 
 How else came it to pass that their whole 
 conversation turned upon " the pleasures 
 ef the town," and that their hearts were
 
 ^4t THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 SO corrupted, and their beads so distracted, 
 with a constant succession of new plea- 
 sures, that he found them almost under 
 an actual incapacity of thinking at all, or 
 el?e of thinkini: after a manner disgrace- 
 ful to the estimate of their understanding 
 and the character of their minds. — Nor 
 was Kenry a little disappointed and sur- 
 prized to find, that the University was 
 infested by a class of the lUuminati, or 
 Ileformists, whose opinions on religion 
 and politics were entirely adverse to those 
 which he had so early and so fortunately 
 imbibed. iVlodest and unassuming him- 
 self, he was astonished to find these lUu- 
 rn'mati examine the truth', and reform the 
 errors of mankind, with as little regular- 
 ity, no l)ettcr design, than Jack Cade, 
 Wat Tyler, or Oliver Cromv»ell, at the 
 head of an army of vagabonds and en- 
 thusiasts, attempted to reform the abuses 
 of a government which they attempted to 
 destroy. Their wild indigested specula- 
 tions may be called illumination or " free-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENUY PERCY., 5S 
 
 dom of thought" with the same proj^ritty 
 as ■Billint^'sgate rhetoric may be called 
 " freedom of speech," or the insolence of 
 IMohocks and street-robbers may be called 
 " fi"eedom of action ;" that is, a liberty of 
 thinking, speaking, and acting \\ithout the 
 checks of honour, conscience, modesty and 
 truth. Hence it comes to pass, that all 
 tlieir pretences to iiUo/Luiafion are mere 
 imposture, and ridicule;- their boasted free- 
 dom of thought is errant blasphemy; some 
 of the leaders of the party never thought 
 in their lives, have ;io positive notions of 
 any thing, but their heads stuffed with the 
 speeches of Sir Francis Buriiett, and other 
 libertine orators who labour in the same 
 cause. 
 
 Tins was strongly illustrated in the 
 election which took place several years 
 after the period I speak of, and I think 
 proper to introduce it here, as a sufficient 
 evidence that tlic astonishment of Henry 
 on the discovery of the lilununati v,as 
 uot excited bv a groundless fear. — Mr.
 
 .56' THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Yorke vacated his seat by accepting the 
 conduct of the Admiralty, and he irritated 
 the Canil>ridge reformers by advocating 
 the son of his Sovereign when traduced 
 and calumniated by a set of political 
 quacks who were under the domination 
 of some notorious prostitutes and public 
 thieves. But the Illuminati of Cambridae 
 "would attend to no arguments in favour 
 of ?vlr. Yorke ; so far from reasoning 
 calmly and dispassionately with him, that 
 they attacked him with noise and clamour: 
 they rose the passions of the mob, by 
 popular cant and declamation, and tried 
 to destroy, by force and fraud, what they 
 knew could never be hurt by a sober 
 ■ r.nd rational enquiry. The idle indigested 
 notion of liberty, which has been, since 
 the Frencli revolution, the i^hlhbultth of 
 the Cambridge Illuminati^ seems to have 
 laid them under a judicial thickness of 
 skull, and insensibility of heart ; for by 
 that empty specious sound, they have 
 been deluded into the most shameful
 
 MEMOIRS Of HENRY PERCr. 57 
 
 'absurdities, both in politics and reirgior?. 
 And because the- clergy, the respectable 
 heads of colleges, remonstrate_wijJ.vj^thein, 
 and bear their testimony against ttie cry- 
 ing dullness and iniquity of these juvenile 
 reforn:iers, the cry is therefore raised, 
 against the established church, and deism 
 and fanaticism are profanely advocated. 
 Rakes, libertines, Jews, infidels, knaves, 
 and fools are all united in this generous 
 design to oppose priestcraft; suppress the 
 herd of bigots, and settle the empire of 
 the Illum'niaii upon the ruins of common 
 sense. With this view the clergy of the 
 church of England are marked to be 
 hunted down as a eet of insolent inte- 
 rested mortals, enemies to public liberty ; 
 men that turn ttiC world as they please : 
 as a set of beiuiis who eniov stioends and 
 honours on purpose to mislead and abuse 
 the public, and douiineer ovei' the under- 
 standing of tiie people: as a parcel of 
 hypocrites, who practice in secret whtrt 
 tliey condemn in public, and who do not 
 
 D 5
 
 58 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 believe themselves what they propose to 
 others as Articles of Faith. — I -wish I 
 could reply to this, that the charge is 
 absolutely and totally false. But let us, 
 for argument's sake, suppose it to be in 
 some distant manner true. Mliat then ? 
 Is there, therefore, no foundation of truth 
 in religion ? Are there no men of virtue, 
 learning, and integrity, that profess to 
 believe and to defend its doctrines? I 
 ask the reader, would this he thought 
 good T casoning in other cases r I own 
 there are kiiaves and fools in all profes- 
 sions. And why, considerins; all things, 
 why, I repeat it, should \\e wonder more,, 
 to see a deist or a libertine in an ecclesi- 
 astical habit, than to. see a- coward in a 
 regimental dress ;: oppressors and pick- 
 pockets adorned with titles of honour, or 
 that men chosen to be guardians of the 
 constitution, should, for pensions and 
 places, ruin and betray the state ? — Yet, 
 of all these, we have many instances in 
 history, both before and since the much-
 
 J\rEMOTRS OF HENRY PERCY. 59 
 
 boasted Reformation. — And as Cambridge 
 was ever esteemed tbe seminary of religion, 
 learning, sound reason, and good princi- 
 ples, it is therefore attacked, by this per- 
 nicious class of its own students, with the 
 most blind and outrageous zeal : and every 
 scribbling fool whose want of virtue and 
 good conduct has exposed him to the 
 censure of liis learned and venerable 
 superiors ; who has been either punished 
 or threatened to be expelled as an un- 
 worthy member of a regular society, is 
 encouraged to vent all his spleen, to ex- 
 haust his whole stock of dullness against 
 those whom he calls the author of his dis- 
 grace. Others, who envy them their de- 
 lightful retirements, magnilicent structures, 
 and ample revenues, which the piety of 
 great and good men lias bestowed, seek 
 occasions to revile them as a setofdrones, . 
 who eat up the labours of the industrious, 
 and consume, in luxury and idleness, what 
 might be applied to much better purposes. 
 — All this is dcclanratjon and clamour; they
 
 60 THE LIBEUAL CHITIC; OR, 
 
 know what they say, to be false; but they 
 know, that so long as these learned and 
 venerable bodies stand and prosper, their 
 illumination schemes will make but slow 
 progress: the genius of Cambridge will, 
 in spigfet of opposition^ triumph at last 
 over the spirit of dulness and error that 
 opposes it. May it then rejoice in its 
 revenues, and make a riijht use of the 
 blessed advantages for retirement and 
 study, which they there enjoy; and may 
 its noble structures stand unshaken and 
 inviolabloj free from the worse than Gothic 
 invasions of modern reformers, libertines, 
 and knaves. — It is at the same time but 
 honest to confess, that the course of study 
 pursued at Cambridge, and the too gene- 
 ral licentiousness that prevails, are but 
 little adapted to the " formation of a 
 parson," and the reason is, that mathe- 
 matics and the dead lang-uaq-es form the 
 whole of the system that is pursued. 
 Ethics, and moral and experimental phi- 
 losophy; physics, and metaphysics; rhe-
 
 MEMOIRS i^V HENRY PERCY. 6l 
 
 toric, oratory, logic, and eloquence; re- 
 ligion and politics ; history, geography, 
 and astronomy, are by no means of the 
 university course; and, if a scholar can 
 contrive to leave his college with his ori- 
 ginal stock of school-learning, and that at 
 the expence of his morals and taste, it is 
 generally as much as he can possibly 
 boast. — And if he acquire the utmost per- 
 fection in the dead languages, I am at a 
 loss to think what that perfection has to 
 do with the " making of a parson." Is the 
 Greek and Roman fable the road to vir- 
 tuous knowledge, or the way to religious 
 truth ? Does the study of Ovid purify the 
 imagination, or the reading of Tibullus 
 correct the wanderings of the heart? — But 
 it is with the education ©f " parsons," as 
 it is with the determination or bias which 
 condemns tiiem to that particular life. 
 They are . chosen without any regard to 
 their mental or corporal capacities, and 
 they are instructed in the study of books, 
 which, were they not sanctioned by their
 
 »Sl$2 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 antiquity, would be hiformed against hj 
 the Society for the Suppression of Vice. 
 As to Henry, to whom it is time to re- 
 turn, he had the peculiar good fortune 
 not to learn any thing, at Cambridge. Oc- 
 cupied in the preservation of what he had 
 learnfed at home, and amusing himself in 
 translating the Idils of Theocritus, and 
 other pastoral poets of whom he was pag^ 
 sionately fond, he passed his time equally 
 remote from degeneracy and improvement; 
 and as he knew he was intended for tha 
 church, he studied Cicero and Demos- 
 thenes, Tully, Seneca and Terence, the 
 only authors calculated to advance his 
 knowledge. 
 
 It will be seen from the nature of ths 
 imiversity system, and from the nature of 
 the studies it directs, that it is^ not in the 
 nature of thinirs that, such a system can 
 ~" make a parson." The half^amished 
 schools f Y or k s h i re, the ve ry . d regs an d 
 kennels of literature, produce more orators 
 in one year than Cambridge does in toiir.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 63 
 
 Hence, " gospel-preachers" of York are 
 followed and applauded, whilst the ortho- 
 dox-priest is deserted and condemned. 
 This is not calunniy — it is instruction. It 
 is my third axiom — consult the disposition^ 
 be convinced of the mental and physical 
 capacity, adapt the course of study H^ the 
 sacred profession, and theu, a parson 
 may not only be made, but a pious and 
 illustrious man may be formed for the be- 
 nefit of society at large.
 
 6i THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 
 
 CHAP. y. 
 
 The prevalent opinion of honoui' contrasted. wit!i 
 the author's definition of the same word — a view 
 of ilPiat honour does and does not consist — Henry 
 avoids the " men of honour" of his college, and 
 associates only with persons of integrity and sense 
 — cantab gallantries low, licentious, and de- 
 praved. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING those unfa- 
 vourable impressions which the reader 
 may entertain of the Illuminati of the 
 Cambridge University, it is but just of me 
 to say, that honour is the idol to which 
 that class of young men pay the most un- 
 mingled adoration. Be they ever so loose 
 from the ties of religion, the checks of 
 conscience, or the restraints of virtue; 
 however dissolute they may be in their 
 morals, deaf to the demands of justice, 
 and dead to the tender sentiments of hu- 
 manity, yet ail the 11/ ion ma it profess them.-
 
 MEMOIRS'OF HENUY PERCY. 6o 
 
 selves " men of honour." In short, there 
 is nothing so common as to see amongst 
 them friendships betrayed, virtue op- 
 pressed, and innocence debauched, and 
 all this by young men who would cut my 
 throat, or break my leg, if I should dare 
 to dispute their pretensions to the h^our 
 thev so much boast. To Henry, who v/as 
 instructed in very different principles, this 
 appeared extremely strange. Nor could he 
 resist asking, is honour then nothing but a 
 ^bare name, an empty sound ? Is there no 
 determinate idea annexed to it? Is the word 
 so equivocal, that it can be employed in 
 different senses ? Surely not! In its pri- 
 mitive meaning it sicrnifies nothing: but 
 vir^tue or true merit ; in this sense it is 
 used by Horace and Juvenal in innume- 
 rable places, and which Tully expresses 
 by the word honestum. Upon virtue and 
 merit alone depends the true and proper 
 distinction of characters. And as the 
 wisdom of all a^es and all nations have 
 thought it just and proper to reward and
 
 66 THE LIBERAL CRITIC;, OR, 
 
 tlistinguisli persons of superior merit hj 
 certain honourable titles, and external 
 badges, to attract and command the reve- 
 rence of inferiors, and encourage others- 
 to excel;, it appears, the word honour, .in 
 a second sense, frequently signifies the ho- 
 nouMble rewards or titles given to men 
 of superior virtue;, and, in a third sense, 
 it often stands for the bare sound of high 
 titles, and the glitter of splendid badges 
 and ornaments, exclusive of anv intrinsic 
 value or merit in the man that wears them.. 
 In a last and wider sense, it signifies the 
 private opinion which every man has, and 
 desires others to have, of his own superior 
 merit, and upon which he pronounces 
 himself, and desires to be thought, a man. 
 of honour. As the first sense is the only- 
 proper one, it is very evident that Henry 
 was perfectly right in contending, that a 
 man of superior virtue is, without any of 
 these external distinctions, really and truly 
 " a man of honour;" and that titles and 
 badges of honour without intrinsic virtue
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRT PERCY. 67 
 
 'and merit are marks of infamy and re-^ 
 proach to him that wears them. 
 
 Talsus honor j uvat et mendax infamia terret, 
 Quern, nisi mendosum et mendacem. 
 
 Vv^ei-e I to define honour, I would call 
 it that principle of virtue Avhich is seen to 
 direct the conduct and form the character 
 of our young hero. His honour consists 
 not only in the practice of every virtue, 
 but in a certain delicacy of behaviour that 
 gives it its distinctive form and beauty. 
 Fear of punishment, loss of reputation, &c. 
 may influence others to be punctual and 
 just in all their dealings, whilst the honour 
 of Henry enters into every scene and 
 action of his life, with a steady and im- 
 mutable regard not only to justice but to 
 decency and propriety of conduct with re- 
 gard to all the different relations in which 
 he stands. He is not only just, but gene- 
 rous and bountiful to the extent of his 
 ^ means; he only satisfies the law, but 
 every demand of humanity, compassion,
 
 ^8 THE LIBEIiAL CKITIC; OR, 
 
 ♦ gratitude, and charity, and disdains to do, 
 or seem to do, any thing that looks little' 
 sordid, or ungentiemanly, as much as vir-' 
 tue Itself abhors the most reuiote avenues 
 to obscenity or lewdness. He is, in the 
 language of Horace, 
 
 Virtutis veree custus, rigidusq- lateiles, 
 
 and as such, he considers himself under 
 the strictest obligations of morality both 
 to God and mam Whenever he reflects 
 upon his Maker, he regards him with the 
 most exalted gratitude, as the author and 
 preserver of his being, and the bountiful 
 giver of all the blessings he enjoys. Every 
 thing that contributes to his happiness-i 
 every article of his enjoyments, he con- 
 siders as the gifts of God, which call for 
 the most grateful returns of love, honour, 
 and obedience. But to overlook such 
 transcendant favours, and disregard the 
 giver; not only so, but to employ those 
 very gifts to dishonour and insult him, to- 
 qtiestion his Being, to burlesque his 'at-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 69 
 
 tributes, to ridicule every thing that comes * 
 recommended with the stamp of divine au- 
 tliority, in Henry's opinion, has something 
 in it not only dishonourable but monstrous 
 and diabolical. 
 
 As Henry was endowed with consider- 
 able fortitude and resolution, he frequently 
 opposed the opinions of the Cambridge 
 Illdminati^ or " men of honour," and, in 
 particular, he could not help taking notice 
 of an argument constantly in the mouths 
 of these gentlemen, drawn from a pre- 
 sumption that the torments shall not be 
 strictly eternal, but shall one time or other 
 have an end, and by which hope they sup- 
 port and encourage each other in a profli- 
 gate and impenitent course of life. Henry 
 did not become so serious as to enter 
 into the truth or reasons of such a per- 
 suasion. Even allowing, said he, but not 
 granting it to be true, what a base, un- 
 generous turn of mini), what shocking 
 ingratitude does he discover, who from 
 thence takes occasion to insult and abuse
 
 70 THE LIBERAL CIIITIC; OR, 
 
 such stupendous mercy ? A generous/' 
 grateful mind would melt "with humility 
 and joy at such an amazing instance of 
 omnipotent love; and though he may in 
 time past have slighted the terrors of the 
 Lord, yet such surprising goodness could 
 not fail but lead to repentance. Such an 
 act of grace, could it be vouchsafed to the 
 apostate angels, after so many ages spent 
 in chains of darkness, and dreadful ex- 
 pectations of judgment, would doubtless be 
 received with joy unspeakable, and fill 
 those gloomy regions of despair with songs 
 of triumph and thanksgiving. 
 
 There is another vice common to '' the 
 men of honour" of the Iltiwiinati, and 
 which was equally reprobated by Henry 
 Percy. They persuaded themselves that 
 love and gallantry were so perfectly inno- 
 centj that they talk with the greatest gaiety 
 of heart of an affair they have upon their 
 hands, when they are endeavouring to de- 
 bauch an innocent young creature, the 
 daughter perhaps or the wife of a tutor ;
 
 MEMOIllS OF HENRY PERCY. 71 
 
 ©r to seduce a credulous unwary acquaint- 
 ance into shame, disease, poverty, and dis- 
 tress; and perhaps to entail a succession 
 of miseries and distresses upon a virtuous, 
 reputable, flourishing family. Well ! say 
 "the men of honour," there is somethino; 
 less dangerous, if not less vicious, in adul- 
 tery. This was far from being the opinion 
 of Henry. He thought it the most noto- 
 rious and criminal act of lewdness; so 
 complicated an iniquity, and so infamous 
 as to have been condemned as such, even 
 by the most savage nations. Those who 
 agreed with Henry on the point, often re- 
 torted upon him, by observing, "it is true, 
 adultery cannot be defended, and the more 
 so, because there are single women enough 
 to be met with, without breaking enclo- 
 sures ; and sure there can be no harm in 
 a little amusement of that sort^ where no 
 •flian's property is invaded, and where the 
 women are as well inclined as we." In 
 reply to this, Henry used to ask this ques- 
 rtion I''' Suppose you were, a father and
 
 72 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; 04t, 
 
 had daughters, would you be pleased to 
 have them seduced and debauched. I 
 hope there is no man so abandoned as to 
 say, yes. If he has any reason to assign 
 for saying, no; he may assure himself, 
 that the same reason will conclude for 
 every other father in the world as well as 
 for himself If he can assign no reason, 
 he may conclude it is the dictate of pure 
 nature, and unprejudiced reason, and that 
 natural affection which every good parent 
 has for his children, which prompts and 
 obliges him to wisli them well, to desire 
 and promote their interest, their honour, 
 tl>eir reputation, and their happiness, and 
 to €onden>n and abhor those as unjust and 
 dishonourable, who endeavour to seduce 
 them into sin, shame, disease^ and poverty 
 in this world, and eternal ruin in that to 
 come." To this argument, the opponents 
 of Henry would observe, "Aye, but it 
 may chance that they have no parents, 
 they may be perfectly free from any re- 
 straints of authority or duty, and by con-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 73 
 
 sequence, may dispose of their favours as 
 they think fit, without afflicting or injuring 
 any body." 
 
 " If there be any young woman," re- 
 torted Henry, with as much emotion as if 
 the story of Clara M'illiams rushed imme- 
 diately upon his mind, " if there be any 
 young woman so destitute of friends and 
 relations, so left to the wide world, as to 
 have no friend to as^ibt, advise, or com- 
 fort her; surely her condition would re- 
 commend her to the pity and generosity of 
 every man of lionour and virtue, instead 
 of exposing her to guilt, and siiame, and 
 misery. So tender a regard," continued 
 the amiable Percy, " is due to the fair 
 sex, that any outrage, affront, or injury 
 offered to that lovely part of our species, 
 has been ever regarded by men of sense 
 and honour as ungenerous and unmanly. 
 And widows and orphans, in particular, 
 are, by all the laws of cliivalry, the imme- 
 diate care and m ards of every brave and 
 gallant man, and an injury offered to 
 VOL. I. E *
 
 74 THE LIBERAL CRITIC J OR, 
 
 them is one of the most detestable acts of 
 treachery and injustice; and if robbing 
 them of their virtue, debauching their in- 
 nocence, and exposing them to prostitu- 
 tion, diseases, beggary, and damnation be 
 no injury or dishonour, I would be glad 
 to know what is injury, and what disho- 
 
 nour." 
 
 But all this was answered either with a 
 loud laugh, or with some stale common- 
 place rhetoric on " the mighty power of 
 love, Jupiter and Europa, Anthony and 
 Cleopatra, &c." If love, virtuous and ho- 
 nourable love, be really the case, there is 
 a safe and honourable way of expressing 
 it, if it be prudent, or of checking and di- 
 verting it, if it be unwise. But I entirely 
 agree w ith Henry, if love be only the pre- 
 tence to cover a base design upon female 
 virtue, too infamous to be owned; if all 
 the detestable arts of iniquity, treachery, 
 and perjury, are made use of to convince 
 the credulous and innocent creature that 
 the lover's intentions are honourable, and
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 75 
 
 a thousand lying excuses invented, and 
 supported by new ones, why he cannot 
 make her happy as he intends, only till 
 he has an opportunity of accomplibhing 
 his brutal designs, let " the men of ho- 
 nour" of Cambridge judge what name and 
 what treatment such a person deserves ! 
 A lie, upon any account, is so unworthy a 
 man of honour, that it is justly deemed 
 the highest affront to charge it upon any 
 one ; but to persist in a scene of f^ilsehood 
 and treachery for whole months together, 
 in order to ruin a poor girl, who, by these 
 perjuries is reduced to believe the seducer 
 -a man of virtue and honour, has such a 
 complication of iniquity, barbarity, and 
 ingratitude, as no words can sufficiently 
 express, as no man can sufficiently abhor. 
 If the same method of reasoning were ap- 
 plied to other instances of immorality, 
 such as murder, under all its different 
 names, forms, and apologies; robbery 
 whether on the high-way, or in the trea- 
 sury, behind the counter, 'Change-alley, 
 
 E2
 
 76 THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 or the gaming-table, Westniinster-iiall, or 
 Smithlield, &c. they would all appear to 
 be equally contrary to the dictates of un- 
 prejudiced reason, and the true notions 
 and rules of honour ; and that therefore 
 those gentlemen \a ho profess to act agree- 
 ably to both, are obliged to practice all 
 the duties of morality both to God and 
 man. 
 
 I have dwelt to a tedious length on this 
 subject; but the reader will excuse me 
 ■when I assure him, that nearly all the 
 amusement and much of the business of 
 the lUian'nuiti of the university, consist 
 in \\ hat I have described as " love and 
 gallantry." It is not to be understood 
 that there are wanting in so illustrious an 
 CGtablishment, men of true honour and 
 real merit to conduct the profligate into 
 the paths of morality, and tell them they 
 must walk in them. Such distinguished 
 characters are not wanting, nor is their 
 example a contradiction to their words. 
 Tjnt, alasl how iaw are there that attend
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERQV. 77 
 
 to their commands, follow their direction, 
 or benefit by their example ! 
 
 Video meliora, proboquc 
 
 Deteriora stquor« 
 
 Is the just -complaint of every serious 
 thinking. man in Cambridge. Floating on 
 the toun under the conduct of their pas- 
 sions, many of " the men of honour"' can 
 let no modest woman they can come at 
 escape with their chastity untried, nor suf- 
 fer any prostitute to repent whom they 
 can make an accomolice in their s2;uilt. 
 The very inanimate objects in and around 
 Cambridge bear testimony to the spirit 
 of "love and gallantry'" which pervades 
 the class of students this chapter repro- 
 bates and describes. To jndge of this, let 
 any person consult the wooden registers, 
 the benches in the public walks, the walls 
 of the churches and colleges, and the win- 
 dow-panes in cofft^-houses anch taverns, 
 and he will be sure to see multitudes of 
 names in acrostics, or written in full
 
 78 THE LIBERAL critic; OU, v 
 
 length, accompanied with the most era- 
 phatical endearing expressions, epigrams, 
 elegies, and love-songs. Or let him fre- 
 quent the public walks, and he will find 
 every honest woman stared out of coun- 
 tenance, and every prostitute followed by 
 an idle tribe of gaping loungers; impro- 
 perly cast loose from their mother's lead- 
 incr-strings. 
 
 I shall be told, that, " this is calumny, 
 not instruction." I deny it. I expose 
 foibles and vices for the purpose of cor- 
 recting them ; and I dare to tell " the 
 men of honour" of the University, that 
 Marij created by God to rule this vast 
 universe, was, by his Maker, endowed with 
 a soul equal to the task. His body is 
 strong, his mind vigorous, and his heart 
 resolute; his understanding is fitted for 
 the most sublime speculations, and his 
 person for the most hardy and important 
 exercises. He can dive into the inmost 
 secrets of nature without losing himself, 
 and has art enough to copy her noblest
 
 iflEMOlRS OF HENRY PERCY. 79 
 
 works, and to improve the great originaj. 
 He wants neither fancy to invent, nor ge- 
 nius to contrive. With quickness to ap- 
 prehend and memory to retain, he has 
 judgment to discern; and can by distin- 
 guishing and comparing different idea?, 
 form tiie greatest designs. Happy in a 
 genius for the most glorious enterprises, 
 he has both courage and conduct sufficient 
 to execute them. For he is not only qua- 
 lified by his intellectual capacity to be 
 greatly wise, but naturally prompted to 
 be truly good. In short, virtue and wis- 
 dom are the epitome of his character, 
 where dissipation, gambling, luxury, and 
 seduction interfere not to corrupt it. If 
 there are at Cambridge some degenerated 
 creatures, who answer not this character, 
 they are such only as by conversing with 
 improper women, put on their foibles, and 
 catching their contagion, dciiiade them- 
 selves of manhood, commence intellectual 
 eunuchs, and deserve no more to be* 
 ranked amongst men.
 
 so THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 From the prevalence of the reigning 
 dissipation I have the mortification to 
 describe, I was anxious for the fete of 
 Henry, and I am doubtful, whether a 
 city, where corruption is suffered to pre- 
 vail, and where a licensed set of prosti- 
 tutes, disguised as milliners, mantua-ma- 
 kers, and servants, prodigiously abound, 
 I am doubtful whether a city so circum- 
 stanced is a proper place for "making a 
 parson" in, and whether it is not much 
 more likely to produce a libertine than a 
 saint. Next to the army, our churchmen 
 are accused of licentiousness. I have 
 given three distinct causes for the decay 
 of the established church, and the little 
 reverence paid the clergy. I shall con- 
 sider this a fourth cause, and on which I 
 shall dilute in some future chapter of this 
 work. 
 
 I
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 81 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Vacation approaches — Henry ovcrjoj-ed at the idea, 
 makes his father suspect him to be too fond of 
 romance and sohtude — writes to that effect, but 
 Henry returns — is envied by the n)en and admired 
 by the women — dilTerent views of the ladies of 
 Haverfordwest, and a classification of old maids 
 sucli as was never before described. 
 
 THE summer vacation was approach- 
 ing fast, vvlieii Henry wrote to his father 
 for permission to leave the University, and 
 to return to Wales. In his letter he re- 
 joiced at the quiet he was about to enjoy, 
 and particularly so as he found a number 
 of those students who were alarmed at his 
 example and jealous of his genius, had 
 entered into a combination to make study 
 irksome to his amiable mind ; to add thorns 
 to the roses of popular a})})lause, and en- 
 deavour to darken the merit in whose 
 brightness their inferior abilities were 
 eclipsed. 
 
 E 5
 
 82 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Whether Major Percy discovered too 
 strong a predilection for solitude in his 
 son, or whether he dreaded his taking a 
 disgust to the University and a dislike to 
 public life, I cannot determine, but 
 tain I am he had some motive for waniing 
 him against romance and retirement, as 
 plainly appears from the folloning extract 
 of his letter to Henry. 
 
 " The result of my thoughts is, perhaps, 
 what 1 may find reason to vary from ; but, 
 at present, I think none have a right to 
 retire, but those who have eminently dis- 
 tinguished themselves in a public charac-* 
 ter, or have exhausted the vigour of their 
 understandincf and constitution in the dis- 
 charge of domestic and social duties. Re- 
 tirement ought to be the reward of vir- 
 es 
 
 tuous and useful industry, not an indul- 
 gence to a lazy inactivity of temper, and 
 an inglorious repose. 
 
 " The humblest man should consider, 
 that it is not for the admiration, but for 
 the benefit of society we are created ; and
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 83 
 
 those, whose genius and abilities seem the 
 most inconsiderable, ought to wait in ex- 
 pectation for the call of Omnipotence. 
 They may never, perhaps, become gene- 
 rals or bishops, but they may be useful in 
 inferior stations, and contribute to accom- 
 plish the designs of the more illustrious. 
 They may fill up a rank, or convert the 
 wicked, and have no right to turn them- 
 selves out of the way of Providence, upon 
 pretence that they are not important 
 enough to advance its purposes. 
 
 " I might add, my Henry, that the 
 whole body of mankind have a title to the 
 industry of every individual; and, I think, 
 a man who voluntarily secludes himself 
 from society, merely to enjoy the indolence 
 of retirement, should be made sensible of 
 his error, by those' objects which seem 
 to indulge it. Every tree, every animal, 
 every flower, every insect might be thought 
 to reproach his inactivity, and call out 
 upon his industry. The trees should 
 awaken it to architecture; the' beasts to
 
 84 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the improvement of the soil ; the flower 
 to the consideration of the scandal of 
 losing that monmentary space allowed to 
 his endeavours ; and tlie insect should 
 remind him, that no creature is so con- 
 temptible and insignificant but it may, 
 by some means or other, contribute to the 
 advantage of created nature. 
 
 ** But the munificent patron, the honest 
 statesman, the religious divine, the brave 
 soldier, the wealthy merchant, the ingeni- 
 ous artist, retires upon a different founda- 
 tion, and retires but to delight in the frui- 
 tion of those beings to whose benefit he 
 has industriously contributed. A good 
 minister, in particular, retires to view, in 
 a philosophical solitude, the progress and 
 completion of those noble designs he has 
 concerted for the general profit of man- 
 kind and the cause of virtue. He has 
 done the good action, and flies from the 
 gaudy praise which the breath of man 
 can bestow, to the more elegant enjoy- 
 meiit of that secret applause which the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 85 
 
 consciousness of liaving acted uprightly 
 diffuses over the soul. It is not alone 
 from a review of his own benevolence 
 that he reaps satisfaction ; he can extract 
 useful and pleasing reflections even from 
 the ill-conduct of others : their ingrati- 
 tude, their vanity, their folly, give a relish 
 to the rural sincerity, noble simplicity, and 
 astonishins wisdom of nature. His soli- 
 tudc, as a kind of beatific vision, in which 
 he truly enjoys that honesty of mind 
 which once shone out for the universal 
 benefit of the world, but now is the source 
 of his own domestic happiness: it was 
 once a stream, w hich nourished the roots 
 of virtue and knowledge in the public 
 scenes of life, and is now a fountain 
 springing with continual satisfaction in 
 his own bosom. 
 
 *' This is the kind of retirement, my 
 son, which the virtuous should wish for, 
 •which God allows, and which it is con- 
 sistent with the duties we owe to society 
 to enjoy. But it is not to be found in
 
 86 THE LIBERAL critic; OK, 
 
 the cloisters of monks, the peevish soli- 
 tude of the discontented, in the melan- 
 clioly of some tempers, or the indolence of 
 others. — I am better pleased with those 
 primitive saints who propagated the light 
 of the gospel by their dangerous and 
 laborious pilgrimages, than Avith those 
 who sequestered themselves from the 
 world, and lived in caverns and forests on 
 the draughts which the cool springs af- 
 forded them, and the fruits furnished by 
 the wilderness. The latter might be hap- 
 pier in themselves, but the former were 
 more beneficial to society; and sure it 
 was a stronger instance of religious for- 
 titude to encounter, than to tly from 
 temptations; to meet the fury of ignor- 
 ance and heathenism, than to resign plea- 
 sures and enjoyments, which their religion 
 convinced them were insubstantial, elu- 
 sive, and transitory. 
 
 " It is a blameable bftshfulncss that 
 restrains us from exercising our genius 
 for the use of the public, as it is a vain-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PZUCY. 87 
 
 glorious folly that pushes us on, moving 
 machines beyond our strength to manage ; 
 and I am of opinion, that, in fact, there 
 is" no one good quality more mistaken 
 than this of modesty. Blushes are by 
 no means certain marks of this virtue : 
 they often, it is true, attend where she 
 resides, and often we find them spread- 
 ing their delusive crimson over the coun- 
 tenance, when the heart is insensible to 
 shame. I take this perfection to be rather 
 the effect of a freedom from guilt, than a 
 confidence in superior merit : and if this 
 be its nature, why should it be ashamed 
 to appear? Why should it seek to hide 
 itself in corners, if it shine true upon the 
 touch-stone of life. 
 
 *' To sum up all, my dear Henry, if 
 we are virtuous, let our virtues benefit 
 the world by their influence; let them 
 participate the nature of the divine Being 
 from Avhence they proceed. And if you 
 retire hereafter, let it be to avoid popular 
 applause, and to enjoy the satisfaction
 
 88 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 arising from your own integrity ; let it be 
 into a shade of laurel, and not into a bed 
 of roses ; live in public as you should do, 
 and you shall always be sure of one re- 
 tirement, whicii neither popular commo- 
 tions nor private misfortunes can invade; 
 and that is — in your own bosom, where 
 you shall meet with that calm serenity, 
 self-approbation, and rectitude of think- 
 ing, which only can render life support- 
 able against the vices of mankind, the 
 assaults of passion, and the frowns of 
 fortune. 
 
 " But come, ray boy, as soon as your 
 vacation commences, enjoy retirement with 
 us till the studies of Cambridge again as- 
 sume their usual career." 
 
 I shall not trouble the reader with an 
 account of the impression made on Henry's 
 mind by this very amiable letter, nor shall 
 I waste my time in describing his journey 
 home, or the transports which attended his 
 reception. For, however fond some people 
 are of detailed particulars, I feel that I
 
 MENiOIRS OF HENRY PEllCV. 89 
 
 should have to omit some very important 
 matter, if I was condemned to be too mi- 
 nute. Besides, there are many tritiing cir- 
 cumstances of which I am ignorant, or 
 without disposition to know much about. 
 In this instance it is sufficient to have it 
 made known, that he was received with 
 delight by his family, and greeted in the 
 market-place by all his former friends. 
 Nor did he escape the attention of the 
 women. With the title of collegian, and 
 the improved figure of a man, he was not 
 an object to escape the notice of the ladies 
 of Haverfordwest. But this did not affect 
 his heart or excite his vanity. Little as 
 his commerce with the female world had 
 been, he could perceive that Haverford- 
 west abounded with young girls whose 
 pretty forms w-ere no proof of the perfec- 
 tion of their minds. He was not such a 
 novice, as to imagine a woman must have 
 sense because she is handsome; this he 
 conceived, would be as absurd as to think 
 thiit a house must needs be finely furnish-
 
 90 THE LIBERAL CniTIC ; OR, 
 
 ed within, because the outside is painted 
 and beautiful. 
 
 What angels can imagination paint more 
 charming than some of the ladies who as- 
 pired to Henry's love ! But, at the same 
 time, what creatures more insensate ! To 
 hear them speak, one would almost doubt 
 if heaven had any hand in making a thing 
 at once so fair and foolish, though so dif- 
 ferent from the nearly-forgotten Clara 
 Williams. — Never guilty of design, those 
 little sylphs never look like it. Their 
 smiles and frowns alike, effects of ac- 
 cident, want power to please or dis- 
 please. Their words, mere liquid sounds 
 of half-articulated nonsense, gush from 
 their pretty coral lips with such unmean- 
 ing energy, or drip with such deliberate 
 drawl, that even ridicule is robbed of all 
 its triumph. Frequent in blunders they ex- 
 cite no laugh in others, but often laugh 
 themselves when tiiey should be most 
 serious. Their misbehaviour moves no 
 anger, and their favours lay no obligations,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY ?ERCY. 91 
 
 but Upon such as are little wiser than 
 themselves. Every motion, every air, be- 
 trays affectation; whom they who have 
 sense can scarce stoop to pity, and they 
 who have none scarce condescend to 
 envy. In a word, gazed at by all, they 
 are admired and conversed with by none 
 but fops and fools ; amidst whom, while 
 they alternately reign the idol of flattery, 
 and slavishly sink the dupe of deceit, they 
 are still looked down upon, by all men of 
 sense, with the same contempt as the 
 brilliant peacock : though worthy greater 
 scorn in this, that the more beauteous 
 bird bears all his blemish, while their dis- 
 grace was seated in their head : his de- 
 formity abates his pride ; while theirs but 
 serves to make them more incorrigibly 
 vain. 
 
 The little attention paid by Henry to 
 this class of elegantes, gave him the re- 
 putation C')f a " very fine and prudent 
 young man ; one that was more attached 
 to womtn of sense, piety and learning,
 
 92 THE LIBKRAL CRITIC J OR, 
 
 t})an to beauty, levitv.and vonth. This 
 reputation immediately brought him with- 
 in the sphere of the observation of the 
 old maids of Haverfordwest ; a town 
 which is known to be as much infested 
 Mith that race of beings as wliat Pern- 
 broke Castle is with screech-owls and 
 daws. Admiring the little success which 
 intrusive beauty liad experienced, and 
 finding that timid grace had not even 
 povi'er to make an impression upon his 
 heart ; and, had they not themselves been 
 irritated by disappointment, and insavaged 
 by despair, it is more than probable that 
 they would have gained upon his esteem : 
 but forgetting the decencies proper to pro- 
 duce this effect, they, after a short time^ 
 attacked him with so much famine of 
 appetite and fury of aspect, that no per- 
 suasion of his mother's could prevail upon 
 liim to attend the card parties which they 
 frequented, or the coteries where they are 
 so constantly and so surely to be seen. 
 1 should be sorry that it were to go abroad
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY FEKCY, 93 
 
 that I mix up in this hungry trihc of old 
 maids, with that amiable and respectable 
 class, who " the world forgetting, have 
 minds composed and aftections ever even." 
 I mean that tribe who are tolerable fair 
 without being handsome, wanton w ithout 
 love, and considerably advanced without 
 being old. When animated by hope, tiic 
 s;ood-nature of this description is bound- 
 less, and their evenness of temper not to 
 be ruffied. In short, they appear to pos- 
 sess so many little perfections, that we 
 could not but acknowledge them worthy 
 of somethiuijj very like regard, if all these 
 accomplishments were not eclipsed by one 
 passion that absorbs all the rest : they are 
 sensible that the chief end they were made 
 for is to breed ; and therefore they are un- 
 vveariedly solicitous to get married. But 
 the misfortune is, that their industry to at- 
 tract the attention of all mankind for this 
 purpose in their early youth, deprives 
 them the admiration of anv one man as 
 tlicy advance into the vale. Disposed to
 
 94 ' THE LIBEEAL CRITIC ; OR^ 
 
 be the immediate mothers of the whole 
 human race, they exist without contri- 
 buting to the creation of the species. 
 Their too eagerness to become serviceable 
 to the state renders them useless, or dis- 
 graceful to it. What colonies might they 
 have peopled had they married in time, 
 and dispersed their numerous progeny. 
 But they struggle too late who aim to be 
 useful after the passage of maturity. They 
 are too imperfect to add one perfect indi- 
 vidual to the decaying numbers of man- 
 kind. They are barren from the neglect 
 of early fertility, and they vainly seek to 
 monopolize the men when their insatiable 
 lust is to be attributed more to perversion 
 of judgment and depravity of heart, than 
 the activity of the senses or the vigour of 
 the blood. Arrived at this state, it is for- 
 tunate that their taste is as little nice as 
 their appetite is far from being sated or 
 satiable. And in the few short intervals 
 of despair, their mind is ever busied in 
 preparing for action. Not that they are
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PURCf. 95 
 
 capable of reaping any pleasure from the 
 fruition of matrimony, but the reputation 
 of it : too old or too feeble to produce 
 a child, and too inanimate for any sen- 
 sation, they have nothing to enjoy but 
 vanity ; and this their eager souls have 
 such a passion for, that they hazard their 
 tranquillity, and even their lives, to be 
 hailed at the close of life by the endear- 
 ing names of wife and mother. 
 
 This general character, however, will 
 admit of some exceptions. There are 
 many old maids who have every qualifi- 
 cation requisite for the marriage state, 
 and feeling to enjoy the advantages of it. 
 There are many whom the graces have 
 combined to enrich with every endear- 
 ment capable of charming the men they 
 associate with. I am far from attributing 
 the properties of a part to the whole ; a 
 cruelty or weakness often resorted to by 
 profane writers, for the sake of the orna- 
 ments and eloquence it may be drest in. 
 Because some few old maids of Haver-
 
 96 THE LIBERAL CRITIC,* OR, 
 
 forcUvest assailed Henry with a ferocity of 
 determination, certainly not to be equalled 
 in the amatory annals of Wales, it is by 
 no means sufficient to justify me in attri- 
 buting the same spirit to the whole race. 
 
 It will be said of this chapter, I divest 
 it of all those glittering embellishments 
 of speech which dazzle the eyes of the 
 feeble, and how excessively emptv of truth 
 and argument will it not appear !— IIow 
 full of false reasoning and })assion! And 
 how stuffed with prejudice and calumny ! 
 Reader ! I entreat you to suspend your 
 judgment, till you are more intimately 
 acquainted with my sentiments,, or with 
 the Memoirs of Henry Percy.
 
 yEMOIRS or HENR'if PERCY. 97 
 
 CHAP. \ni. 
 
 Advocation of the fair-sex— contrast between Clara 
 Williams and other ladies of Wales — Henry is 
 anxious to cultivate her friendship — he is favoured 
 by fortune^ and meets her by accident — Henry's 
 own portraiture — Clara's reflections thereon, but 
 as love commences hope expires. Alas! poor 
 Clara ! 
 
 THE very great tenderness and respect 
 I have always expressed and really felt for 
 the fair-seXj and which I so publicly ma- 
 nifested in my " Spirit of the Book/' 
 would by no means suffer me now to exert 
 my pen against that amiable part of the 
 creation, if justice to my own sex, a dis- 
 interested zeal for the prosperity of the 
 other, and an invincible love of truth, 
 did not oblige rae, occasionally, to render 
 them a service by opposing their acquired 
 weakness, and assumed infirmities. Na- 
 ture, ever reminding me that I was born 
 of a woman, bids me respect that endear- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 ing name; yet honour, not allowing me 
 to forget by whom I was begotten, for- 
 bids me to degenerate from the dignity of 
 man. However generosity then may in- 
 cline me to favour the women in this 
 work, by overlooking their real imper- 
 fections, and putting an advantageous 
 gloss on their smallest merits^ yet it is an 
 act of justice to defend the amiable por- 
 tion of the women from the attacks and 
 influence of the worthless and depraved 
 portion of their ow^n sex, and the corrupt 
 and licentious of mine : this I shall do in 
 the course of these memoirs^ and to which 
 I now solicit the attention of the reader 
 to return. 
 
 With a heart disengaged, and a mind 
 but little occupied by the beauties or co- 
 quetry of Haverfordwest, Henry was con- 
 suming his holydays; the evenings de- 
 voted to the society of his dearest friends, 
 and the mornings frequently occupied in 
 riding and walking out. There is 'lothing 
 more, probable, than that, in those excur- 
 sions, he might have approached the vici-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 99 
 
 iiity of Ivy Farm, and that some incident 
 might have called the name of Clara Wil- 
 liams to his remembrance ; it is also pro- 
 bable that he might have contrasted her ap- 
 pearance and manners with the estimate he 
 formed of the character and conduct of 
 those ladies who made such imprudent and 
 violent attacks upon his affections. He 
 might also have wished to renew an ac- 
 quaintance with Clara. But she lived in soli- 
 tude: there could be no pretext for callingat 
 the farm ; even a feigned motive would be 
 thought indelicate^ and Henry would have 
 died sooner than Clara should consider 
 him indelicate or intrinsic. There is con- 
 siderable probability, that reflections of 
 this nature floated in the mind of our 
 hero ; but, as I contine myself to facts, 
 and do not extend my labours to the re- 
 gions of the imagination, the reader must 
 be content with being informed, that in 
 the neighbourhood of Ivy Farm there re- 
 sided Mrs. Courtney, a widow lady, and 
 her two daughters, who were intimately 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE LIBERAL CRITIC,* OR, 
 
 acquainted with the Percy family. This 
 lady is a most interesting character, and 
 the daughters, without ever going to a 
 boarding-school, or frequenting great 
 towns, have, by the example as well as 
 precepts of their mother, and other useful 
 helps, procured from books and proper 
 domestic instruction, become compleat or- 
 naments of this part of the country. Mrs. 
 Percy, accompanied by her son Henry, 
 paid a morning visit to this good iady, 
 and had not been there many minutes be- 
 fore Miss Williams was announced, and 
 introduced to Mrs. Percy and her son 
 with the little ceremony common to rural 
 society. It did not appear that this acci- 
 dental meeting gave any unusual pleasure 
 either to Clara or to Henry. They seemed 
 rather distant, and for some time took no 
 manner of advantage which the opportu- 
 nity afforded them of conversing toge- 
 ther, or renewing the little acquaintance 
 which took its origin at Ivy Farm before 
 his departure for the University. They
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 101 
 
 were both silenlj or where they> mingled 
 in the conversation it was more the effect 
 of mechanical politeness than ardour of 
 di9|)osition. But Clara was not an object 
 to remain long unobserved. Her fore- 
 head lofty and large^ her eyes lively and 
 quick, and her whole visage full of sweet- 
 ness and vivacity, Mrs. Percy was physiog- 
 nomist enough tobe apprehensive ofher wit 
 and judgment, and to fear their influence 
 over the mind of her Henry. But, what 
 was to be done? She came expressly to 
 invite her friend and daughters to a little 
 party to be given previously to Henrys 
 return to Cambridge, and as she learned 
 that Clara was distantly related to the real 
 house she then visited, it would appear 
 ungracious to omit her in the invitation. 
 She was therefore included; and in a little 
 time after, the Percy's took their leave and 
 returned home. I should have observed* 
 that in the jumble which generally pre- 
 cedes a departure of this nature, Clara 
 and Henry were cast so near each other
 
 102 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 that it would have implied fetupidity in 
 him if he did not remind her of his acci- 
 dental visit to Ivy Farm. But he had only 
 got as far as to ask, " Does INIiss Williams 
 
 remember "when the carriage was an- 
 
 nounced ready, and his mother called on 
 him to depart, before he had the good- 
 fortune to see the confusion of countenance 
 and timidity of eye with which his address 
 was attended. Mrs. Percy was no sooner 
 ('r parted than the appearance and ac- 
 complishments of her son became the imi- 
 versal topic of Mrs. Courtney's little circle; 
 I have hitherto said very little of this 
 distinguished youth : I shall now describe 
 the impressioa he made on those ladies, 
 particularly on' the heart and fancy of the 
 too susceptible Clara. 
 
 Majestic in person, of a lively under- 
 standing, and of manners gracious, affable 
 and sincere, he is ever cheerful, ever light; 
 ever present to his company, never absent 
 to himself; his voice all harmony, his words 
 all sense. His actions answer to his mien,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 103 
 
 and what he looks he is. Discreetly daring, 
 modest with becoming boldness, sprightly, 
 sedate, easy without levity, solid without 
 solemnity, good by approved principle, 
 and wise by parts anticipating experience. 
 His virtue not stiftened by austerity, nor 
 his wisdom foiled by any fondness of 
 shewing it. Never elated by prosperit}^, 
 adversity cannot depress him ; always se- 
 rene in every vicissitude of life, not from 
 insensibility, but from thought, resolution, 
 and conscious worth. His unblemished 
 conduct proves him the christian he pro- 
 fesses to be, and fit for the office he is 
 intended to assume. In him faith, free 
 from bigotry and superstition, zeal ac- 
 cording to knowledge, goodness without 
 ostentation, and devotion williout enthu- 
 siasm, give his piety so amiable an aspect 
 as proves the practice of it inviting. And 
 yet, thus blest, thus happy, thus worthy 
 to be so, so far is he from taking pride in 
 any advantages he possesses above others, 
 that he looks on them as the common pro.-.
 
 104 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 perty of all. Besides, it was well known 
 by the ladies of Mrs. Courtney's family, 
 and in truth by all the country, that he 
 was no more anxious to communicate 
 those advantages to others, than sure to 
 share in their miseries. The poor widow 
 has an advocate in him, the orphan a 
 friend ; the wretched find him their relief, 
 and all who are in distress, or under op- 
 pression, he recommends to his Father, 
 and implores for them his support and 
 defence. The good are ever sure of his 
 esteem, the sage of his admiration, and 
 both of his love and praise. Glad of ad- 
 vice, he is not forward to give it, nor 
 conceited enough to offer it unasked; and 
 when he does give it, his counsels are 
 honest, open, and persuasive, the torch 
 of reason and the flame of friendship. His 
 encomiums are pathetic, emulative and in- 
 sinuating, the spur of virtue, though the 
 curb of pride ; and his reproofs gentle, yet 
 piercing; calm, but resolute; serious, 
 though soothing; candid, and yet so
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. l05 
 
 piquing, that every haughtiness must 
 stoop, and obstinacy itself submit to rule. 
 Skilled, already, in every science, versed 
 in many languages, and master of every 
 elegance, his learning serves not to make 
 him arrogant, nor his eloquence to make 
 him talkative. Judgment, propriety, ener- 
 gy, dignity and grace, combine to dictate 
 all he says, and inspire all he does, that 
 envy itself considers him as a finished 
 pattern of manly perfection; a complete 
 gentleman, an useful friend, a loving son, 
 and an indulgent brother. " If wise in the 
 election of a wife," exclaimed one of the 
 i\Iiss Courtney's, at the conclusion to com- 
 ments similar to the above, " what a great 
 and happy character ! How enviable, and 
 how much to be envied !" 
 
 " I believe, my love," returned Mrs. 
 Courtney, *' that the election of his wife 
 will not be left to the choice of fancy or 
 to the hand of chance. Mrs. Percy has 
 determined to take the conduct of his mar- 
 riage on herself; and as soon as he is or- 
 
 f5
 
 1G6 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 dained, she proposes introducing him to 
 the only lady in this county whose fortune 
 is capable ef raising him to the rank she 
 is ambitious of raising him to in life." 
 
 his conversation ended, Clara rose to 
 red ' During its continuance, she felt 
 involuntarily her spirits kindle, but when it 
 came to a close, like the fire which is kindled 
 in the eyes of the consumptive, her spirits 
 but flashed to disappear, and she returned 
 oppressed with a melancholy which she 
 could not banish, and for which, perhaps, 
 she dare not account. The cause, how- 
 ever, is very obvious to' the reader. 
 Henry, the amiable Henry, from the first 
 moment she saw him, was blessed with 
 the silent approbation of her heart. In 
 his person all beauty, in his mind all de- 
 licacy. Nature, she believed, in a strife 
 of grandeur, had fashioned him to shew 
 the world how far the charms of human 
 perfection could be carried. And then he 
 was good, in her opinion, beyond what 
 fancy can conceive of man; with virtue
 
 MEMOIRS OF PIENRY PERCY. 107 
 
 and knowledge to form the most perfect 
 father, husband, and friend. 
 
 " But such a one," continued the re- 
 flections of Clara on her way home, but 
 such a one is too inimitable a work for 
 nature to produce in every century : it is 
 like a phoenix, the prodigy of an age; and 
 such a miracle of completeness but serves 
 to make the rest of his sex more contemp- 
 tible by comparison ; as Michael, painted 
 with the rebel angels, shews the fiends 
 more frig-htful. Alas! whv did I see, or 
 seeing w^hy suffer and despair. But I shall 
 correct the wanderings of my heart and 
 mind. I shall a^ain be content with the 
 humble station which heaven has allotted 
 me. Or, if I think of him, it will be to 
 pray for that capacity of head, and dis- 
 position of heart which may lift me to 
 emulate and imitate him ; which may give 
 me strength of soul to sink passion into 
 esteem, and to behold him without be- 
 traying my infirmity and weakness." — The 
 lovely Clara soon reached her little cot-
 
 108 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 tage, where I shall leave her for a time, 
 reigning the object of just admiration, 
 respect, and esteem in every heart, and 
 forcing envy itself to wish for her friend- 
 ship and esteem. 
 
 As to Henry, he returned to Haver- 
 fordwest with his mother, exulting in the 
 thought of the approaching entertainment, 
 and of the opportunity it would afford 
 him of cultivating an acquaintance with 
 Clara — a young lady whom he found 
 every person spoke of with the most 
 enthusiastic regard. — It is in one respect 
 fortunate for Henry, that he met with a 
 person of ]\liss Williams's extraordinary 
 capacity and Morth, for an opinion had 
 been growing upon him, and it was 
 strengthened considerably by his jesidence 
 at Cambridge, that women were of very 
 inferior excellence to man, and beneath 
 an honourable and persevering pursuit. 
 But since that he knew Clara, and heard 
 of the extent and lustre of her accom- 
 plishments, he began to examine into the
 
 HIEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 109 
 
 real talents of the sex in general, and 
 into the quality of the endowments they 
 were gifted with by heaven. And though 
 the prejudices he might have imbibed 
 from vulgar error falsely persuaded him, 
 that he should find the spliere which 
 women are capable of acting in extreme- 
 ly narrow ; he thought it, nevertheless, a 
 duty in us all to make ourselves perfectly 
 acquainted with their obligations, by a 
 full discovery of the province of their 
 abilities. Upon these principles he be- 
 gan his enquiry; and he could with the 
 utmost veracity aver, that he entered into 
 ifc without the least pride, or partiality to 
 his own sex ; so he could with equal safety 
 say, that all the prejudice he set out with 
 was in favour of the men, though the 
 honesty of his intentions soon helped to 
 undeceive him. He was not long in his 
 pursuit before he discovered a much wider, 
 fairer field of female glory to expatiate in 
 than he expected; and, upon the nicest, 
 most unpassionate comparison of his own
 
 110 THE LIBERAL critic; OR; 
 
 sex with the opposite, he found woman by 
 nature formed no less capable of all that 
 is good and great than man; but which 
 advantage is irreparably lost, ^through the 
 indolence of some women in not exerting 
 their talents, and the mean tyranny of 
 most men, in putting it out of their power 
 to improve their natural capacities. How 
 different is this conduct in Henry from 
 that of those men who triumph in the 
 trivial bravado of their name, and affect 
 a contempt even for such women as are 
 vastly their superiors. Vain men, who 
 support their pretensions without proper 
 materials, and who cannot fail corroba- 
 ting that of the women, since a weak de- 
 fence is ever the surest way to make a . 
 bad cause more and more impotent. 
 How exces.iively contemptible were the 
 arguments of those who endeavoured to 
 oppose Henry's opinions ; and if they had 
 not been able to make a better defence, it 
 was not for waijt of inclination or genius ; 
 it must then be foi* want of materials. But 
 where is the honesty or generosity, in en-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. Ill 
 
 deavouring to crush innocence and equity, 
 to palliate palpable vanity and falsehood? 
 As where is the wit in endeavouring to 
 stifle truth with fallacious witticism, mere- 
 ly to countenance bare-faced oppression 
 and tyranny ? — Do the persons opposing 
 the equality of women imagine ail men 
 to be so perverse as not to be reasoned 
 into justice and generosity, by the argu- 
 ments of Henry, while they may make 
 use of the mean methods of fallacy and 
 reason? Or do they take all the women 
 for such easy ideots, that they are to be 
 coaxed out of their natural right by every 
 fawning sycophant, sneered out of it by 
 every word-retailing witling, or braved out 
 of it by every wife-beating bully? No, I 
 hope they are mistaken ; at least I would 
 believe with Henry, that there are some 
 among our corrupt sex capable of soar- 
 ing above prejudice or passion, to discern 
 truth and honesty from liction and fraud, 
 and to give justice and reason the right- 
 hand of usurpation and fallacy. And for 
 my own part, I am proud that Henry's
 
 ]12 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 reverence for Miss Williams made him 
 resolve to shew the adversaries of the 
 rights of the female sex, that there is at 
 least one Avoman capable of preferring 
 truth to flattery, sense to sound, and who 
 dares to assert the dignity of her nature, 
 though the inmate of an ordinary cottage, 
 in the face of an usurpation that is hard- 
 ened by custom into tyranny. And if 
 one is so, why may not all, or at least as 
 many of them as the men, be so too? 
 They have understandings capable of 
 proving that right which the generality 
 of men want the heart to acknowledge ; 
 and they have hearts capable of resolu- 
 tion enough to assist that right against 
 such of our sex as want the sense and 
 sentiment to do them justice. 
 
 In reflections of this kind and conver- 
 sations of this nature Henry passed his 
 time and improved his understanding. 
 In the njean time, the night of Mrs. 
 Percy's party arrived, and he anticipated 
 all the delights he should experience in 
 he society of Miss Williams.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. HS 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Description of the ladies of South Wales — several 
 invited by Mrs. Percy — a view of the place of 
 their entertainment — a rural scene — an elegant 
 supper — Clara attends, and has love revealed to 
 her under the mystery of poetry — she fears to 
 comprehend, and determines to conceal her pas- 
 sion — her excellencies excite regret that the 
 springs and powers of other women's minds are 
 not equally cultivated and improved. 
 
 THE diversions and supper-party given 
 by Mrs. Percy in honour of her son, Avere 
 as fine, polite, and agreeable, as could be 
 desired, or the most elegant fancy suggest. 
 The company was numerous, and sprink- 
 led with beauty of a very superior cast 
 For, notwithstanding all the evil I have 
 said of Haverfordwest, 1 shall do it the 
 justice to say, that it possesses some wo- 
 men of extraordinary loveliness and worth. 
 In their persons, the most distinguished at 
 this entertainment, they are taller than
 
 114 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR 
 
 women generally are, and so surprisingly 
 graceful that one was necessarily charm- 
 ed whenever they appeared. Their faces 
 are the sweetest oval, and they have a 
 collection of wonders in them that are 
 quite enchanting. They have the finest 
 dark eyes in the world, Avith lips inimit- 
 ably red, and teeth like polished pearl; 
 real Welsh beauties being, in reality, 
 what Lucien says of his imaginary Sniyr- 
 nean, " a very miracle ;" wonders far 
 exceeding any other mortal figures I have 
 seen. — 'ihese are true Welsh women. 
 These are ot the first order of Haver- 
 fordwest, ard as remote from tlie flirts 
 and the screech-owls I described in a 
 late chapter, as the east is froiii the west. 
 — These terrestrial veils covered still fairer 
 spirits. They have the finest natural abili- 
 ties, and application has improved them to 
 great perfection. They have a correct and 
 fine taste, a happy imagination, and an 
 excellent judgment. Tbeir min.Js are rich 
 in the noblest sentiments^ tlieir heads full
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PEilCY. 115 
 
 of the most deiightfiil images, and they 
 not only express their notions easily, but 
 in accents pleasing and melodious. These 
 .qualities were strikingly evinced in the 
 course of the evening's entertainments— 
 the musical part of which was under the 
 government of Henry, and conducted in a 
 pleasure-ground not far distant from the 
 house. The way to it Mas up a winding 
 vale, and across a little stream of water 
 which conducted to a charming grove. 
 In the centre of this beautiful spot Henry 
 had arranged his orchestra ; and, in seve- 
 ral open little summer-houses, various in 
 charms, and surrounded by flowers, the 
 spectators were seated, enjoying the har- 
 mony which poured in floods through the 
 woods. Several of the ladies had instru- 
 ments in their hands, and others joined 
 their heavenly voices in performing an 
 Oratorio of Henry's choice. The female 
 performers were divinely fair, and looked 
 like favourite seraphs performing a musi- 
 cal religious^act. It began with the de-
 
 116 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 lightful syinphony in the Opera of Row- 
 land, and concluded with the lovely and 
 masterly piece of Del Rosa, from the 
 German, and set to music by Mozart. 
 The echo very quickl}* reverherated the 
 sweet sounds, nor did the enchanting 
 ^arty break up till the evening was far 
 advanced and the supper announced. 
 It was served up, and was an elegant 
 one indeed. The service was family- 
 plp.te, and the most l)eautiful china. All 
 things were answerable; the most noble 
 and excellent of their kind. The ladies 
 behaved in the most affable and engaging 
 manner; the gentlemen Avere attentive, 
 polite, and refined. Major Percy relax- 
 ed, enjoyed the scene. Mrs. Percy in 
 particular was amiable and matchless in 
 her action and discourse, and the enter- 
 tainment closed, after having atforded as 
 much felicity as perhaps was ever ex- 
 tracted from a similar enjoyment of a 
 human kind.. 
 
 I should not omit, however, to mention,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 1 17 
 
 that one circumstance occurred which had 
 nearly occasioned some uneasiness to Miss 
 Williams. She came attended by her 
 amiable friends the Courtneys, and with 
 a mind so composed, and manners so 
 disengaged that there was no possibility 
 of discovering in her affections any latent 
 sentiment in favour of Henry. In her 
 conduct to him she was, of the two, more 
 reserved than affable, and if he dared to 
 form any estimate of her sentiments to- 
 wards him, it could not have been favours 
 able to the attachment he found rapidly 
 gaining upon his own heart. In fact, 
 Clara had resolved for ever to disguise, 
 if she could not conquer, her regard for 
 Henry, or to die before she would suffer 
 him to be acquainted with the opinion 
 she entertained of his transcendant worth. 
 Thus circumstanced and situated, Henry, 
 under the notion of a fable, or the mys- 
 tery of poetry, conceived the idea of 
 introducing an original song in the con- 
 cert he had to direct, and as he sung
 
 118 THE LIBEIIAL CRITIC; OJt, 
 
 admirably well, he flattered himself that 
 if any emotion in his favour resided in 
 Clara's heart, it might be elicited on 
 so interesting and propitious an occasion. 
 He sung the folio wings words, which were 
 of his own rapid composition — 
 
 Gome, Calista, with your charms ; 
 
 Come, view the innocent delights. 
 To which, with smiles and open arm?. 
 
 Our peaceful wilderness invites. 
 
 Here feek no grandeur of a court. 
 
 Love's alone our harmless sport ; 
 
 Love crowns the night, love crowns the day, 
 
 And love's the burthen of my lay. 
 
 Arrived at this line, and having in a 
 polite zeal fixed his eyes too permanent 
 and intensely on the countenance of the 
 lovely Clara, who was one of his superior 
 performers, she turned her head with a 
 sudden confusion from his gaze, and as 
 the next two lines of his Ode were un- 
 fortunately of a nature to encrease her 
 embarrassment, the perturbation of her 
 mind must have been visible to every
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 1 1§ 
 
 person, save Henry : the lines were simply^ 
 
 these — 
 
 O what cruelty you show. 
 To shew my looks what e'er I do ; 
 Whom would you have me. Fair, pursue, 
 But you, alas ! I love — but you. 
 
 This scene was too finely performed 
 and too beautifully improved, not to create 
 that general sensation of applause which 
 is favourable to those who fear to express 
 or to expose too considerable a degree of 
 individual emotion. It was particularly 
 favourable to Clara. It protected her 
 from the public observation, and afforded 
 her time to recover that streni^th of mind 
 and command of character of which she 
 feared every person in company witness- 
 ed the loss. But to what a situation was 
 she again reduced when called upon, 
 almost immediately after the Sonnet of 
 Henrj, to sing the following lines acci- 
 dentally appropriated to her in the little 
 concert; and which, notwithstanding, forvn-
 
 120 THE LIBERAL CRITIC J OR, 
 
 ed an affirmative answer to the beautiful 
 appeal which caused her so much anxiety 
 and confusion. 
 
 Ces arbres, ce« rochers, cette eau, ces gazons frais 
 Ont pour moi des appas a ne lassir jamais. 
 Oui ; j'aime a demeurer dans ces paisibles lieux j 
 On n'y decouvi"e rien qui n'enchante les yeux. 
 
 "Yes, I love these solitary scenes, those 
 simple beauties which are by nature form- 
 ed. There is notliing here but what en- 
 chants the eye. Those trees, those rockSj 
 those rivulets, this fresh turf, are to me 
 pleasures that never tire ! While singing 
 this, it was evident some apprehension 
 sat upon her spirits. In the midst of all 
 the hopes the expressive Ode and looks 
 of Henry, and her own busy fancy could 
 raise, she returned to her cottage big 
 with a thousand torturing tears." 
 
 Henry, without having discovered those 
 rays of hope which emanated from the 
 eyes of Clara, felt an unusual compla- 
 cency. A smile, extorted from Clara by
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 121 
 
 ^rome playful guile of his, before her de- 
 parture^ was the noble reward he could 
 desire or could deserve, for all the pains 
 he had to encounter in the arrangement 
 of the entertainments of which he con- 
 sidered her the pride and ornament. — ^The 
 superior excellence which he discovered 
 in this charming girl, elevated his opi- 
 nion of the whole order of women ; and 
 he determined to advocate their cause 
 upon all occasions, but not with the in- 
 tention to stir up any of his sex to revolt 
 against the women, or to invert the pre- 
 sent order of things with regard to govern- 
 ment and authority. 
 
 I am free to confess, that I was pleased 
 to see Henry adopt this determination, as 
 many ill consequences attend the opposite 
 error. For the men, by thinking the wo- 
 men incapable of improving their in- 
 tellects, have entirely thrown them out 
 of all the advantages of education ; and 
 thereby contributed, as much as possible, 
 to make them the senseless creatures I 
 
 VOL, 1. e-
 
 1215 THE LIBERAL CHITIC ; OR, 
 
 have been compelled to represent a small 
 portion of the Haverfordwest ladies to be. 
 And what is the consequence, as I ob- 
 served in a former Chapter, of this treat- 
 ment ? Why, it finally reverts on our- 
 selves. The same want of learning and 
 education which hurries women into what 
 displeases the men, debars them of the 
 virtues requisite to support them under 
 the ill-treatment they are loaded with by 
 the men, on that account ; and for want 
 of those virtues they often run very 
 justifiable lengths to be revenged on 
 their tyrants. Thus does it arrive^, gene- 
 rally speaking, that both men and women 
 hold one another in sovereign contempt, 
 and therefore vie with each other which 
 shall treat the other worst. Whereas^ 
 how happy might they be, would both 
 sexes but resolve to give one another 
 that just esteem which is their due. 
 
 However, if truth may be spoken, it is 
 undeniable that the blame is chiefly and 
 originally with the men ; since, if they
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 13$ 
 
 would but allow women the advantagres 
 of education and literature, the latter 
 would learn to despise those follies and 
 trifles for which they are at present un- 
 justly despised. They would be able to 
 give the men a better opinion of their ca- 
 pacity of head and disposition of heart : 
 and the men, in proportion to the in- 
 crease of their esteem for the women, 
 would lessen, and by degrees reform 
 their ill-treatment to them. Women 
 would make it their study to improve 
 their faculties, and with increase of know- 
 ledge would grow in every useful ac- 
 complishment. Their pleasure and study 
 would be to entertain the men with sense« 
 and to add solidity to their charms; hy 
 which means both sexes would be happy^ 
 and neither have cause to blame the other. 
 But while the men lock up from the wo- 
 men all the avenues to knowledge, we 
 cannot, without reproach to ourselves, 
 blame them for any misconduct which 
 ignorance may be the occasion of; and 
 
 a S
 
 124 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the women cannot accuse the men of the 
 most cruel injustice in disesteeming and 
 misusing them for faults they deprive 
 them of the power of correcting. 
 
 To this neglect of female education 
 and principle it will be, that several 
 ladies will censure and decry this Book. 
 It will be said that I have no talent for 
 invention, no genius for design, no ima- 
 gination to affect and alarm. I employ 
 no wonders to amaze, no murders to 
 shock, no ghosts to startle. My work is 
 neither convulsed with thunder, nor illu- 
 minated by lightning. It contains no- 
 thing but common-place adventure. — I 
 excite no violent emotions, no contend- 
 ing passions; no fits, no faintings, no 
 fears! What a stupid hound I must be 
 not to murder a few of my actors, and 
 after shedding a torrent of blood in the 
 day, disturb the peace of the night by 
 bowlings and knockings ; cries and ex- 
 ecrations, and the exhibition of cadavers 
 festering in their shrouds. Thus shall I
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY ]»ERCY. 125 
 
 be accused by the readers of modern ro- 
 mance. Nor will the accusations be con- 
 fined to these elegant enthusiasts. Ladies, 
 a degree above this degenerate species of 
 boarding-school education, will say I have 
 not little taste but absence of reflection. 
 For instance, I might have rendered the 
 meeting of Clara and Henry, in this 
 chapter, much more interesting and in- 
 finitely affecting. I was afforded a happy 
 opportunity of pitching him off his horse, 
 and breaking his leg, in order that Clara 
 should rush screeching through a hedge, 
 and fall upon his neck, or kindly weep 
 over him. I might have set fire to a 
 neighbour's house, and sent Henry that 
 way just at the critical time, and inspire 
 him with courage and humanity to rush 
 through the flames, and return with a 
 naked beauty in his arms, whom he 
 should cover with his own coat; and 
 then, to his great surprize, discover that 
 it was no other than the lovely Clara 
 Williams. — I could have raised a flood as
 
 J26 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 well, and just as Miss Williams was being 
 carried away by its impetuous course, I 
 should have sent Henry in that direction 
 a hunting, and give him the fortunate 
 chance of pulling her out of the stream 
 by the legs. Or, what was easier for me 
 than to have Clara carried away by force, 
 and, as the brutal Tarquin \yas about to 
 perpetrate his savage purpose, send Henry 
 at the moment to cut his throat. I sub- 
 mit to these accusations, and candidly 
 admit I have little excellence in the per- 
 formance of a modern romance. I have 
 not magic to raise genii, nor have I any 
 domination over the world of demons, 
 spirits, and ghosts. And as the murder 
 of innocent people, or the burning of 
 neighbours' houses, is the province of an 
 assassin or incendiary, I cannot think it 
 my duty to commit those crimes, al- 
 though I am confident they would se- 
 cure to this work the captivating title 
 of " a most charming and interesting 
 book."
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 127 
 
 I once before entreated the reader to 
 suspend his judgment; I here repeat the 
 same request : not that I hold out the 
 delusive hope of surprizing by unnatural 
 novelty, or of shocking by unparalleled 
 outrage; I only mean that he will find 
 the remainder of these voluities to abound 
 in incidents sufficiently novel to affect 
 the feelings and to amuse the mind, 
 and with tragic scenes whose visible ex- 
 cellence shall not be blasphemed by nn- 
 necessary murder, rapine, or inhuinai-ily 
 of any kind. 
 
 It was never my intention to make liiis 
 w^ork a common instrument for exciting 
 public or individual amazement. Nor is 
 it in my plan, by flights of imagination or 
 beauties of comparison, to deprave the 
 judgment and corrupt the hearts of my 
 readers. I Icuve this humane employ- 
 ment to the Author of " the Monk," and 
 to those elegant romance-writers of the 
 present day whose beauties of thought
 
 128 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 are joined with those of the expression, 
 and who would be shocked at the vulgar 
 notion of improving the taste of the 
 times, or of communicating natural events 
 and vicissitudes in an instructive and aa' 
 tural way.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 1^9 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Henry returns to the University — has a new tutor 
 appointed to him — his character — described as 
 a man of nature and of truth — his exhortation to 
 Henry — his views of rehgion — his abhorrence of 
 bigotry, and the detestation of the Athanasian 
 Creed — Henry loses him, and pays a tribute to 
 his memory. 
 
 THE matters I have to record in these 
 volumes is of too important a nature to 
 suffer me to detain the reader in a sense- 
 less admiration of the scenes which occu- 
 pied the attention of Henry during the 
 continuance of his vacation in Wales. I 
 therefore announce his return to the Uni- 
 versity. This event was attended with in- 
 ward grief to his parents. They knew 
 his mind as faultless as his form, and saw 
 him governed, in all his conduct, by con- 
 scious honour and unblemished virtue* 
 They never had occasion to reproach him 
 
 &6
 
 130 THE LIBEKAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 ■with the least deviation from modesty and 
 truth, and consequently allowed him to 
 depart without perplexing him with that 
 load of moral precepts which are mixed 
 with the farewel of those parents who 
 doubt the principle and integrity of their 
 sons. In taking leave of Mrs. Courtney's 
 family, which he had frequently visited, 
 and where he occasionally met Miss 
 Williams, he could perceive that he had 
 much of their sensibility and friendship; 
 as Clara happened to be present at the 
 time, he had the felicity of taking her prof- 
 fered hand, and of receiving one of the 
 most bcM'itching smiles that ever illumi- 
 nated the countenance of a human being. 
 A smile, however, which dazzled so much 
 by its radiance that it deceived the nicest 
 observer, by inducing a belief that all was 
 equally bright and serene in every region 
 of the atmosphere. But it was with Clara 
 as it is with nature; the lustre of the 
 morning sun is no security against the 
 mid-day rain, or clouded horizon of the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 131 
 
 evening. Clara but suppressed her sor- 
 row to indulge in it solitary and unseen. I 
 now return. — 
 
 When Henry arrived a second time at 
 Cambridge, he had a new tutor appointed 
 to him, who was a most extraordinary man, 
 a Master of Arts, and justly esteemed the 
 most learned man in college. His father 
 was a man of good fortune, but kept his 
 son on a short allowance in the University, 
 because he refused to go into priest's or- 
 ders. Under this gentleman's private tu- 
 ition Henry was put, and in three years' 
 time that they lived in the same chambers, 
 in the greatest unity, notwitlistanding the 
 disparity in their ages, Henry learned 
 more than he should have done in treble 
 the time, if he had heard no more than the 
 college lectures, and the wranglers. For, 
 exclusive of his letting him into the most 
 profound acquaintance with the classics, 
 he spared no labour to give him a just 
 idea of nature and of rational and pure 
 religion. He exposed to his view the non-
 
 132 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; Oil, 
 
 sense and inventions, tfee old prejudices 
 and prepossessions of the high-churchmen, 
 and convinced him, that if many of them- 
 were sincere in their systems, yet they 
 were far from being clear in their practice. 
 He set the case of natural religion and re- 
 velation in the clearest light before him, 
 and made him sensible, that whatever is 
 contrary to the eternal immutable law of 
 moral truth and righteousness, can only 
 *be ascribed to the artifice and imposture 
 of the priest, or to the superstition and 
 hypochondriasm of the prophet, though 
 they may pretend to discover it in the 
 name of the Lord, and to support it by 
 dreams, visions, and voices. This charmed 
 Henry. He was all ear to his preceptor 
 and governor. *' Religion," would his pre- 
 ceptor say, finding him delighted with his 
 instruction, " religion consists in a steady 
 belief of the existence of a God, and a 
 discharge of the various duties which re- 
 sult fiom the several relations which we 
 stand in to a Creator, our neighbour, and
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 133 
 
 ourselves, as we expect a future reckoning, 
 and must account for all our actions. We 
 must love infinite perfection for itself, and 
 its own amiability; we must adore and 
 praise him, and offer him free and voluntary 
 acts of obedience, by trust and resignation, 
 and by crucifying the flesh with all its af- 
 fections. We must do every thing in our 
 power to create the common felicity ; be 
 generous to the utmost of our ability, al- 
 ways civil, ever good-humoured ; and by 
 deeds of munificence, mercy, and charity, 
 strive to imitate the inimitable perfections 
 of the Deity. This is the religion that 
 distinguishes the votaries of reason and 
 virtue, nature and truth. It is eternal 
 and unalterable, and was republished by 
 the Lord Jesus. Christianity has painted 
 these truths in the most beautiful colours; 
 has enforced them by miracles and sanc- 
 tions, and delivered us from the darkness 
 of paganism, and the vassalage of Ju- 
 daism. Therefore let obedience and hom- 
 age to the true God, and love to your
 
 134 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 fellow-creature, be your religion. Never 
 mind the ends and imaginations of the 
 doctors." 
 
 Thus was Henry instructed by his tutor 
 during the time they lived together, and en- 
 joyed an unmixed happiness. They envied 
 no monarch his reign. Their wishes and 
 their means were equal. Friendship scat- 
 tered roses on their pillow_, and morning 
 waked them to delight. But the happiest 
 state within this lower hemisphere is but a 
 fleeting scene, and when we fancy all is 
 well, in comes sorrow. The sable curtain 
 dropt between these happy mortals, and 
 then Henry Percy first tasted the cup of 
 bitterness. The angel of death was sent 
 to conduct his friend to the " lightsome 
 fields of Hades." The good tutor died in 
 the arms of his disciple, and Henry to this 
 day with the highest gratitude remembers 
 him. In truth, he was a man that was 
 adorned with the most valuable accom- 
 plishments, intellectual and moral. He 
 had a capacity the most compyehensive ;
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 135 
 
 a learning the most useful ; and what is 
 far more excellent than either, he was an 
 upright christian. The laws of righteous- 
 ness were his love and admiration, and 
 for this reason, he always had the highest 
 regard for the gospel. It vvas his opinion, 
 that true religion and virtue are taught by 
 our Saviour in all their sublimity and per- 
 fection ; and that there is no way so effec- 
 tual to practise good works, and to excel, 
 and persevere in them, as through the di- 
 rections of our divine Master, and through 
 the arguments and motives of the christian 
 doctrine. He did not believe an instance 
 of the mysteries, that stuff the monks have 
 made to cram the all-swallowing multi- 
 tude ; but no man, through all the ages of 
 Christianity, ever had a stronger faith in 
 the divine mission and preaching, the mi- 
 racles and worthiness of Christ Jesus; and 
 that faith was productive of the strictest 
 morality and virtue in practice. He was 
 remarkable in college for the piety of his 
 life, and that purity of manners which the
 
 136 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 sacred volume requires. This was a glo- 
 rious faith. Reader! may it be thine and 
 mine till our last agony. The monks may 
 give imagination scope, and preach reli- 
 gion into pious wonders ; may scream for 
 profitable mystery, and turn the people's 
 creed into a riddle: they may labour to 
 reduce the gospel into intricate schemes, 
 and unintelligible notions, because it is 
 too plain and simple a thing for men of 
 worldly ambition, false learning, and su- 
 perstitious fears; and then fit those schemes 
 and despicable notions to secure a tempo- 
 ral emolument, and to serve all the pur- 
 poses of error and spiritual usurpation. 
 Through interest, and through bigotry, 
 they may substitute inventive pieties in 
 the place of true religion, and multiply 
 their fancies into endless volumes, but 
 true Christianity does not consist iii cart- 
 loads of religious lumber; it lies briefly in 
 our Father, in repentance, and in amend- 
 ment. To fear God and keep his com- 
 mandments, is the whole duty of man;
 
 HEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 137 
 
 away then with mystery, implicit faith, and 
 vision, said the good preceptor to Henry. 
 Detest the bold usurpations of church- 
 men, their splendid pride, and cruel op- 
 pression. Abhor the errors which sanc- 
 tify superstition, dishonour God, and dis- 
 grace human nature ; abhor every thing 
 that is buiit upon, and superadded to 
 the writings of the apostles ; abhor spiri- 
 tual noise and nonsense ; what is not rea- 
 son and common sense, and from the sa- 
 cred oracles only take your religion. The 
 venerable Christianity of the New Testa- 
 ment deserves the kindest reception. It 
 is the most valuable blessing. We can 
 never be sufficiently thankful for a gift 
 which is so highly worthy of the majesty, 
 the wisdonij and goodness of the great 
 Creator. Flee infidelity then. Flee the 
 destructive theology of Athanasius. Re* 
 ceive that perfect constitution of religion, 
 which the Christ of God, the Prophet of 
 Nazareth, brought down from heaven, to 
 shew mankind the way thither ; to make
 
 138 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 US happy in ourselves, beneficent to each 
 other, and enable us to acquire that temper 
 which is so worthy of God the Father's 
 notice — perfect constitution. It is Avhat 
 •w'e might expect from the universal Parent. 
 Its laM's are purely spiritual; its dominion 
 merely moral ; and its conquests to subdue 
 evil habits and affections. It wants no 
 code|t ; no folios of church laws, and 
 grievous taxes upon industry, to support 
 it. It wants no worldly power, craft, or 
 violence : no pretended successors. It is 
 best promoted by the wisest reasons, and 
 the holiest examples ; by following strictly 
 the great and heavenly ensainple of the 
 holy Jesus. 
 
 ^o much for the manner in which this 
 pious man " made a parson" of Henry. 
 Like Maddox, in his FirmaBurgi, I mingle 
 his morality with my romance. They may 
 strengthen and enliven each other. 
 
 I hope it will not be imagined from the 
 above eulogiuin, and from my using the 
 words, " monks," and '' pretended succes-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 139 
 
 sors," that Henry was instructed to be no 
 friend to the clergy. On the contrary, he was 
 taught to have the highest regard for those 
 clergymen who preach the law of reason 
 and nature as they find it delineated in 
 the New Testament, and who spend their 
 lives in bearing testimony to the reality 
 and power of the religion of Jesus. When 
 they preach the gospel only; when they 
 manifest those degrees of knowledge, in- 
 nocence, and piety, which capacitate 
 priests for the discharge of the sacred du- 
 ties ; when they, instead of fortune-hunt- 
 ing, and delighting in power, splendour, 
 and pleasure, continually labour to per- 
 -fect the image of our Saviour upon the 
 temper and behaviour of the people, then 
 the pastors have all his admiration. Such 
 men, he was instructed to think, were a 
 blessing to society. Such men ought to be 
 treated with the greatest reverence and 
 respect. Their usefulness entities them 
 to a . comfortable and independent sub- 
 sistence.
 
 140 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; 01^, 
 
 But, alas ! it is too true, such excellent 
 men are not the majority among the 
 clergy. Most of them are monks and 
 pretended successors. They preach a tre- 
 theistic heresv, and disgrace the Christian 
 reli2;ion with an artificial theology: they 
 lord it over God's heritage, and by a 
 steady course of wrong conduct, make the 
 office cross its original purposes. Their 
 doctrine is abominable; and their man- 
 ners do not shew that accomplished purity 
 of heart which their Master commands 
 them to preserve. They are zealous to a 
 madness for the creed of Athanasius, and 
 by violence and disputation would corrupt 
 the whole world with that impostor's theo- 
 logy. But do they consecrate themselves 
 every day to the honour of a holy God, by 
 the most humble, most pure, and most 
 absolute oblation of soul and body, which 
 all the powers of both are capable of 
 making ? No, they rest the sole of their 
 feet upon that rotten spot called ortho- 
 doxy. The famous symbol is their religion;
 
 IIEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCV. 141, 
 
 but their spirit, the love of the present 
 world, vanity, riches, honours, and all 
 the temporal advantages, they reconcile 
 to the character of the priesthood by the 
 impious distinction of subordinate ends; 
 and from councils and traditions, and the 
 labours of the pria:iitive fathers, draw mys- 
 teries for the flock. 
 
 For these reasons, Henry was early in- 
 structed to love and honour one part of 
 the clergy, those rational and truly re- 
 ligious divines, who, in obedience to the 
 whole New Testament, declare the Father 
 the only true God, and to him appropriate 
 the character of God Almighty ; who make 
 it the whole business of their lives to ex- 
 plain the laws of this Almighty God, and, 
 in correspondence with Christ's great de- 
 sign and profession, labour to set up God's 
 kingdom in the lives and minds of men; 
 to bring them into a perfect obedience to 
 the will of the supreme Being; that they 
 may perform all the functions of human 
 nature upon the maxims and by the rules
 
 142 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 of the gospel, and profess to know no- 
 thing but Jesus Christ, anr) him crucified. 
 Glorious men, and such ministers, what- 
 ever church they belong to, Henry was 
 taught to love and honour such. 
 
 On the other hand, he was directed to 
 avoid, yet to pray for the other part of the 
 clergy, that their Father may reform them 
 by his blessed Spirit, and turn them from 
 the religion of Athanasius to the relij^ion 
 of Jesus; and be as meek and humble, as 
 pious, as pure, as benevolent, as the apos- 
 tles. — Should this ever happen, the world 
 would then be happy indeed. ISIortals 
 would live in the suburbs of heaven. But 
 while the public religion is Athanasian, 
 and the majority of our clergy are known 
 from other worldly men by their garments 
 only, I am very sure, ^Aithout pretending 
 to the spirit of prophecy, that infidelity 
 and vice will increase and multiply. This 
 was Henry's opinion of the clergy and 
 their religion. And still the last words 
 of his governoT were, " respect, and to
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCT. 143 
 
 the utmost of your power support the 
 worthy part of the Christian ministry. 
 They are friends to mankind. And, when 
 yOu form one of their numl>er, let your 
 religion be the exercise of virtue, righte- 
 ousness, and true goodness, offered to 
 the Deity, our Father, through Jesus." 
 
 Henry lust this friend, who was one 
 of the most amiable of men. And as 
 soon as he had shewn the excellence of 
 his mind, by a most painful affliction for 
 the loss of this worthy and distinguished 
 man, and by a just and natural grief had 
 paid the tribute he owed to his memory, 
 he hearkened to his advice, and called 
 reason to the government of his passions 
 on the doleful occasion. So fl\r as he 
 had gone in his great expression of sor- 
 row was reasonable, but to mourn im- 
 moderately, was quite defenceless, how 
 valuable soever any simple object of our 
 happiness may be. And Henry's favourite 
 Author, wise Epictetus, says, " we cannot 
 be truly virtuous, if we do not harmonize
 
 144 THE LIBERAL CRITIC," ORj 
 
 our minds to the things which happen, 
 and accord with the will of Him who 
 administers the whole." This was enough 
 to light up Henry's understanding. He 
 wiped away his tears, and from Seneca 
 repeated the following lines — 
 
 Due me parens, celsique dominator poll, 
 Quocunque placuit : n\illa parendi mora est 
 Adsum impiger. Fac nolle: comitabor geniens 
 Malusqwe patiar, quod bono licuit pali. 
 
 With tenderness he remembered his be- 
 loved tutor, but was soon resigned to the 
 divine will. In what he suffered, for what 
 he enjoyed, he was bravely resolved to 
 follow his admonitions, to benefit by his ex- 
 ample, and to make his own remaining life 
 a scene of acquiescence and of gratitude. 
 Whatever is, is best, as being by infinite 
 wisdom approved and chosen. All he 
 wished for was an agreeable companion, 
 for a friend, in the solitude in which he 
 lived in the University : but where to find 
 such a one he could not tell. He looked 
 around him, but though there must have
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 145 
 
 been many young men of probity, be- 
 haviour, knowledge, and lionour within 
 his sphere, he found it hard to find one. 
 This difficulty and the loss he had re- 
 cently sustained prompted him to pursue 
 his studies with solicitude; and in a short 
 time he completed the regular course of 
 education, took the accustomed degrees, 
 and prepared to return to Wales, where 
 his accomplishments and behaviour would 
 soon show how useful those ancient seats 
 of learning are where gentlemen them- 
 selves will take any care to make the right 
 use of them. 
 
 VOL. I, H
 
 146 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Henry bids farewell to college life — takes up erro- 
 nious opinions of the bliss of solitude — is cor- 
 rected on finding no enjoyment in Wales since 
 the departure of Clara Williams — is consoled on 
 finding a painting from her creative pencil — it 
 represents Arcadia, and contains her own like- 
 ness "occupied near the tomb of a departed friend 
 —it is copied and revered. 
 
 THE time came of bidding farewell to 
 college life and of settling a scheme of 
 felicity, for the only summer Henry had 
 to enjoy in an independent manner before 
 his ordfnation or career of professional pur- 
 suits.— His father left him uncontrouled in 
 his choice, but he too much appreciated 
 the pleasures that were in store for him in 
 Wales, the charming walks, the beautiful 
 waterfalls, the amicable society of parents 
 and friends, to think of seeking for enjoy- 
 ment in any other part of the country.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. liT 
 
 As we are all credulous in our own 
 favour, and willing to imagine that we 
 have no latent satisfaction in any thing 
 which we seek but the object we profess 
 to go in pursuit of, I wiM confess to the 
 reader, without restraint, that Henry had 
 suffered his head to be filled with expec- 
 tations of some nameless pleasure in a 
 rural life, and that he hoped for the 
 happy hour that should set him free 
 from the noise, and flutter, and wrang- 
 lings of the cloister, dismiss him to the 
 peaceful shade, and.^^ull him in content 
 and tranquillity. To solace himself under 
 the misery of delay, he confined himself 
 to the reading of pastorals, he was de- 
 lighted with scaj-ce any talk but of leav- 
 ing the University, and never went to 
 bed without dreaming of groves, and 
 meadows, hills and dales, and all the 
 other objects which constitute the true 
 features of picturesque scenery. 
 
 At length he had his clothes packed 
 wp, and saw the post-chaise at the door, 
 
 H 2
 
 148 'I'llE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR 
 
 he sprung in Avitli extacy, quarrelled with 
 his servant for being too long in taking 
 leave of his fraternity, and rejoiced as 
 the ground grew less ■which lay between 
 him and the completion of liis wishes. 
 A few days brought him to the residence 
 of his father, encompassed on three sides 
 with M'oody hills, and looking from the 
 front on a town the sight of all which 
 renewed his ardent expectations of plea- 
 sure, and gave him some regret for hav- 
 ing lived so long without the enjoyment 
 which these delightful scenes were now 
 to aiford him. His parents, and sisters 
 and brothers rushed out to receive him 
 with open arms, and considered his ar- 
 rival as a subject for increasing rejoicing. 
 
 The ni^ht and next morning were driven 
 along with inquiries about his family, and 
 in various other little domestic endear- 
 ments, nor was it less than three days 
 before he found a favourable opportunity 
 of being left entirely free to himself. At 
 last he was at liberty to visit ]\Irs. Court-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 149 
 
 ney, to prevail on her to call with him at 
 Ivy- Farm ; in short he was at liberty to 
 hunt the forest, to ran2;e in the Avilder- 
 iiess, and to sit by the cascade. But 
 these delightful objects only pleased him 
 for a time, after a few days they lost the 
 dominion of their charms, and he soon 
 began to perceive that the country was 
 not his exclusive element; tiiat shades, 
 and flowers, and lawns, and waters, had 
 very soon exhausted all their powers of 
 pleasing, and that he had not in himself 
 any fund of satisfaction, with which he 
 could supply the loss of his customary 
 amusements. 
 
 Ten weeks were to elapse from the time 
 he left college to the day fixed for his 
 ordination. Three only are yet gone, and 
 how shall he live through the remain- 
 ing? He goes out and returns : he plucks 
 a flower and throws it away; he catches 
 an insect; and when he has examined its 
 colours, sets it at liberty; he flings a 
 pebble into the water, and sees one circle
 
 150 THE LIBERAL critic; OFf, 
 
 spread after another. When it chances to 
 rain he walks in the great hall, and watches- 
 the minute-hand upon the dial. His friends 
 are afraid he shall grow melancholy, and 
 therefore they encourage the neighbouring 
 gentry to visit them. They came at first 
 with great eagerness to see the accom- 
 plished collegian, but when they met, 
 they had no common topic on which to 
 converse. And the women saw thev had 
 no power to charm, and the men were 
 afraid of his superior erudition and 
 taste. 
 
 Thus was Henry condemned to soli- 
 tude ; the day moves slowly forward, and 
 he sees the dawn with uneasiness, because 
 he considers the night as at a great dis- 
 tance. He has tried to gleep by a brook, 
 but found its murmurs ineifectual. He 
 walks because he is disgusted with sitting 
 still, and sits down because he is weary 
 with walking. He has no motive to ac- 
 tion, nor any object of love, or hate, or 
 fear, or inclination. He cannot dress with
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 151 
 
 ' grace, for he has neither rival nor admirer. 
 He cannot ming;le in the dance without a 
 partner, nor be kind, or cruel, without an 
 object interested in his passion. 
 
 I find I have given the reader just cause 
 to condemn rne for absurdity and extrava- 
 gance, and I am persuaded that I shall 
 here be accused of outraging nature, by 
 this sudden change or rapid visitation of 
 Henry's character. What 1 Henry, the 
 amiable Henry, the youth of nature and 
 of truth, and the adorator of Clara 
 Williams, to have no motive for action, 
 or any object for love ! How absurd ! 
 How preposterous ! What a departure 
 from the general principle which reigns 
 throughout the previous part of this work ! 
 To suppress this torrent of accusation, I 
 must give publicity to the secret from 
 which its origin proceeds. If Henry was 
 uneasy in solitude, if the current of his 
 youth was stagnating, and his senses lan- 
 guishing in a dead cairn, amounting to 
 stupor and mental indolencCj it was fcr
 
 152 THE LIBEUAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the want of a long-looked-for, and impor- 
 tant external impulse. Mrs. Courtney 
 had died during his last absence, and on 
 her death bed she prevaled on i\liss 
 Williams to sell her little cottage and 
 farm, and to remove, with her two orphan 
 daughters, to some part of England more 
 favourable than Wales for the formation 
 of friendships which might tend to their 
 future happiness in life. Clara obeyed 
 the injunctions imposed with so much 
 solem.nity upon her, and had left Wales, 
 no person knowing her final determina- 
 tion, some time before Henry re-appeared. 
 Reader, have I accounted for the absurdi- 
 ties and vagrancy you a,ccused me? In 
 fact, a modern romance writer, in the 
 place of my moderation, instead of let- 
 ting the world know that the absence of 
 Clara has disgusted Henry with the pur- 
 suits of rural life, would have delighted 
 in the opportunity of declaring him totally 
 tired of his existence, and calling upon 
 the destinies to drown him in some horse-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. l53 
 
 pondj or to hang him up by the neck. Bnt, 
 as I before observed, my disposition is not 
 for rapine and blood ; therefore, whoever 
 dehghts in murders and suicides had better 
 shut this volume, for most certainly it 
 will not be congenial to such minds. In 
 the impression the unexpected event 
 made on Henry, I also had it '^n view 
 to shew, that I have heard of many who 
 never thought themselves so much at ease 
 as in solitude, and yet who sincerely re- 
 solved, after a short trial, not to condemn 
 themselves to that mode of Hie, nor too 
 hastily flatter themselves to find happi- 
 ness in rural retirement. He would be 
 a benefactor to mankind, who could teach 
 the art of living alone ; tor I am confident 
 that a thousand and a thousand, who, like 
 Henrv, aifect to talk with ecstacies of the 
 pleasures of the country, ^re in reality 
 disposed to admire it irom some latent 
 motive, and to abandon it the instant the 
 external impulse of that motive ceases to 
 operate upon their sensibility and affec- 
 
 H 5
 
 154 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 tions. However, Heary's character was 
 too well formed to sink into entire effi- 
 minacy, or to droop like one depressed 
 by age, and in expectation of approach- 
 ing dissolution, as some of my humane 
 contemporaries would represent him to 
 be. No ; he rather soon recovered the 
 tone of his mind, and entered into such 
 little schemes as would be most a^ree- 
 able to bis beloved parents. And if he 
 did not as usual enjoy his walks and hi* 
 rides, he passed his time without much 
 ennui in music, literature and painting. 
 Of painting he was particularly fond ; 
 and as his father's study contained some 
 good pictures of the ancient masters, he 
 consumed much time in copying after 
 them. In this rare collection he was not 
 a little surprized to find a modern paint- 
 ing which he had never seen before, and 
 yet the objects on the canvas appeared so 
 familiar to his memory, that he could not 
 believe them to be the mere product of 
 the imagination.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HEXRY PERCY. 155 
 
 In the picture, there is exhibited a view 
 of the most deliditful region in the world. 
 You see the grandest rural scenes, and a 
 romantic wildness through the whole, which 
 gives uncommon beauties to the piece. The 
 happ}' fancy, and the prospects in the 
 country the artist lived in, supplied the 
 painter with vales more charming than 
 those. of Juan Fernandez; with lawns su- 
 perior to those of Tinian, and finer water- 
 falls than Quibs contains. The artist 
 copied the greatest beauties in nature, 
 and formed the finest imitations. The 
 invention of the whole is vastly pleasing. 
 The painter appears a master in. the land- 
 scape way. 
 
 In this realm of bliss, where every day 
 is delightful and serene, and an Elysian 
 temperature of sun-shine a.iid shade for 
 ever prevails, you see the happiest race 
 of mortals ; people that were strangers to 
 every care, and passed life away in a full- 
 ness of pleasure. You see them in the 
 vallies, and by the falling streams. Here
 
 156 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 they are plighting vows, and constant 
 affections to one another : and there they 
 are dancing away in country-measure. 
 The dancers really seem to trip it along 
 on the light fantastic toe, and in every 
 countenance love and laughter are in- 
 imitably expressed. These are not how- 
 ever the principal figures. 
 
 In the middle of this delightful country, 
 there appears the monument of one who 
 had been snatched away in her prime. 
 Her statue lies on the tomb, after the 
 manner of the ancients. There is this 
 sepulchral inscription : '' She was once 
 both amiable and lovely." — The unex- 
 pected melancholy scene strikes power- 
 fully some youths and virgins, who had not 
 a thought of meeting with this object of 
 sorrow, as they gaze upon the lovely 
 jmage, they seem to fall into the deepest 
 reflections. The eldest of the shepherd- 
 esses pulls off a garland of flowers, and 
 with a finger of her other hand points to 
 the short inscription. She ponders with
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 157 
 
 the most serious attention, and in every 
 face a gloominess of grief may be dis- 
 cerned through some remains of an ex- 
 piring joy. They all appear very greatly 
 affected, and seem to have many inte- 
 resting thoughts of dea^h, as they see it 
 spares not even worth and beauty, and 
 that even the happiest climate can afford 
 110. sanctuary from the grave. The point- 
 ing shepherdess is opening her mouth to 
 speak ; you almost see the motion of her 
 lips, and from them Henry must have 
 been dull and insensible if he was not 
 inspired to make the following exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 " What a span is life ! We must all 
 soon yield to the laws of corruption. 
 Death is the common lot, and inevitable 
 end, appointed equally for the first of 
 men, and all his frail descendants. He 
 is in swift pursuit; nor is there any art or 
 method to withstand his power. In the gay 
 and vigorous scenes of life, we form a 
 thousand pieasiag designs, and set before
 
 158 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; Oil, 
 
 our eyes a variety of the fairest prospects ; 
 but death comes stalking on unseen, and 
 suddenly we sink into the cold grasp of 
 this grim sovereign. See here, a ^voman 
 that once was lovely ! — So certain is im- 
 mortality. So uncertain the hour it may 
 seize us. Death meets us full from every 
 point of the compass. Nor is this all. It 
 is a decision for eternity. As the employ- 
 ment of our time has been, we must be 
 either everlastingly happy, or miserable : 
 as the tree falls, so it lies. We should 
 deliberately consult for the future, not only 
 the matter of our duty, but the most ac- 
 ceptable and amiable manner of perform- 
 ing it: that our Integrity and circumspec- 
 tion, our prudence and piety, may bear 
 a suitable proportion to the condition of 
 creatures who are to appear before God's 
 tribunal, in the manner of her who was 
 once lovely.' 
 
 But, although the lovely painting ex^ 
 pressed wonders, it was not this that held 
 his mind in astonishment and admiration.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 159 
 
 The attitude of the principal shepherdess, 
 and her face, her air and lineaments, and 
 the whole expression of the countenance 
 and fi2;ure, bore so strong a relation to 
 the appearance of Miss Williams, that he 
 could not but believe she must have sat 
 for the picture. This made him fasten his 
 eyes and whole attention upon the inesti- 
 mable production for a considerable tiiue, 
 and till he at last conceived that he knew 
 the character of the landscape, and recog- 
 nized the features of the fi(>;ures with which 
 it was animated, till he interpreted the 
 sepulchral inscription to appertain to the 
 once lovely Mrs. Courtney, and the va- 
 rious scenery and actors* into those views 
 and persons with which she was most ordi- 
 narily acquainted. — Who could have exe- 
 cuted so inimitable a painting? Who 
 could have drawn the portraiture of Miss 
 Williams in a manner so true and yet so 
 little flattering? Henry examined the pic- 
 ture with a view to dispel these doubts, 
 and after much pains was enabled to de-
 
 l60 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR; 
 
 cvpher the name -of " Clara" from some 
 minute characters which were nearly hidden 
 by the frairfe of the picture. Its more 
 general history he soon learned from Mrs. 
 Percy. It seems that Clara had the con- 
 duct of her dear friend JVIrs. Courtney's 
 funeral. According to the desire of that 
 once lovely w^oman, she was buried in a 
 spot which she considered the most beau- 
 tiful part of her extensive pleasure-grounds, 
 and Clara ordered a monument to be 
 erected from her own design, and then 
 made the sepulchral place the subject of 
 her incomparable pencil. The landscape 
 was from nature, the figures v.'ere from 
 life, and the statue was the exact repre- 
 sentation of her that was once so lovely. 
 The principal shepherdess she intended 
 for herself, and finished with so much 
 more regard lo. modesty than to truth, that 
 she veiled over all the peculiar beauties of 
 her gracefu.l person and divine features. 
 On the leaving the country, she presented 
 Mrs. Percy with the performance, and as
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. l6l 
 
 an evidence of her gratitude for tbe atten- 
 tions she uniformly experienced from her 
 since the" origin of their acquaintance. 
 For, in the absence of Henry, ]\Irs. Percy 
 delighted in the society of Clara, and if 
 she had not determined that he should 
 make a fortune by marriage when " made 
 a parson," she would have preferred Miss 
 Williams for his wife to any other woman 
 upon earth. Be this as it may, Henry 
 never ceased admiring the painting, nor 
 was he content till he compleated a minia- 
 ture of the shepherdess, or rather of that 
 figure which bore so striking a resemblance 
 to one so cherished and dear to his heart, 
 I am here reminded, that I omitted on 
 former occasions to state that Henry, 
 having passed all his vacations in Wales, 
 though I thought proper to pass them 
 over, in consequence of their barrenness 
 of instruction and incident, had frequent 
 opportunities of seeing Miss Williams in 
 the society of her friends, but I could 
 never learn that any expression of her's
 
 iG2 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 afforded him the smallest rav of encour- 
 agement, or that he entertained the most 
 latent degree of hope, even at the time 
 that he copied her miniature with so 
 much fervour, and preserved it Avith so 
 much rapture in his breast. Nor can I 
 take upon me to say, that Clara had 
 any particular motive in leaving her re- 
 semblance in the hands of Mrs. Percy : 
 perhaps time may unfold the extent of 
 the design, and the amiable wanderings 
 of her heart. At present I must close 
 this chapter: I have no occasion to pre- 
 dict my own history.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 163 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 Conversation with the reader on the hterary taste 
 of the times — the authov avows that he does not 
 write to please every body — he is governed by 
 the fable of the old man and his beast — Heni-y's 
 ordination approaches, and his father holds with 
 him a discourse which no person should read 
 ■who is not more than commcnily endowed with 
 phitosophy, religion and virtue. 
 
 NOTHING is more displeasing to a 
 reader than to have his curiosity excited, 
 and the gratification of it deferred to a 
 season of unreasonable distance, or till 
 the passion ^vears off and the appetite 
 languishes for v.ant of timely food. If 
 an author is more desirous to flatter and 
 cajole, than to amuse and instruct, he 
 will abandon his own reason, fall into 
 the errors of the public, and press all 
 the merit of his ftrguments into the first 
 J ages of his work.- But, surely, nothing
 
 164 THE LlirEIlAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 can be more opposite to the real interests 
 of the reader than snch a servility on the 
 ^vriter s pnrt. For if the charm is at once 
 exposed by which he proposes to delude 
 the imagination and enchant the heart, I 
 would ask nhat is to c -mpensate for the 
 coldness and insipidity of tlie remainder 
 of the volume?— I hear it said, how tedi- 
 ous he is! — IloAv stu[)id! how full of di- 
 gression ! — What a time he takes to " make 
 a parson !" I hear this said, yet I per- 
 severe, nnd I cannot tell the impatient 
 reader, but I may take a stretch across 
 the Atlantic before I ".make a parson" of 
 Henry Percy. I an.] not one of those who 
 sell the liberal and enlightened, for the 
 craving and turbulent reader. The latter 
 is anxious to know how the hero succeeds, 
 how he stands with his mistress, and 
 whether all the parties could not be 
 brought on the stage at oticc, with the 
 poniard of jealousy, rage, and vengeance 
 -in their hands, and fury and desperation 
 in the h^ce : whereas the former, the libe-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY, iGJ 
 
 •ral and enlightened reader, deliglits in a 
 performance in which he finds, that he 
 is conducted by desire, accompanied by 
 hope, instructed by wisdom, and attended 
 by pleasure from page to page. 1 am far 
 from representing these volumes in this 
 seducing light. But I promise the reader 
 who perseveres without asperity or im- 
 patience, that I shall never fall a victim 
 to the arrogance of the greedy by en- 
 chanting the curious at the expense of 
 the learned ; nor shall I gratify any per- 
 son v\ ith information that is not well- 
 timed, and derived from the pure foun- 
 tain of experience and truth. 
 
 No\\ that I have fallen into this real 
 digression, I shall assume leave to make 
 a few remarks on the subject of another 
 " great cry," that prevails against me. It 
 is said — " What a romance! — Wiiat im- 
 pudence to pretend to be acquainted with 
 the sciences, religion, politics, and atiairs 
 of state ! — How absurd, to inculcate the 
 love of virtue in a novel, or to affect to
 
 156 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 reform the age in a work whose province 
 should be to amuse, and not to instruct ! — 
 Besides, it is written in a style so inflated 
 and ridiculously grand, that ninety-nine 
 in a hundred of circulating library sub- 
 scribers can by no means comprehend 
 it, and must therefore pitch it back on 
 tlie counter, calling it miserable stuff!" 
 
 It is the greatest absurdity to think 
 that it is possible for any single man to 
 discover and acquire the talent of pleas- 
 ing all the world. It is neither my inte- 
 rest nor my disposition to offend thee, but 
 I must be permitted to ask, how is a writer 
 to amuse the sterile and lethargic ; how is 
 he to please the slothful and indolent; 
 how is he to instruct vanity and igno- 
 rance; how is he to gratify the taste of 
 those who are themselves destitute of a 
 polite taste, and of the most superficial 
 and ordinary accomplishments? To en- 
 joy the beauties of poetry, eloquence, 
 music, or painting, requires a certain de- 
 gree of taste and scientific understanding ;
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. l67 
 
 to comprehend a romance that ranks above 
 the common v/orks of that nature, demands 
 a certain elegance of sentiment which the 
 rest of mankind are entire strangers to, 
 I was present when two ladies came into 
 a library ; one to purchase my " Spirit 
 of the Book," for five-iind-twenty shilling?, 
 the other to return it with execrations as 
 *' miserable stuff," to the bookseller. The 
 first was the Honourable Miss C. V. tlie 
 latter' was a butcher's daughter. I would 
 not have sunk into this detail upon any 
 other principle whatever than that of 
 convincintT the enliditened reader that I 
 shall not be beat out of the bent of my 
 mind by the apprehensions of the im- 
 patient, or the terror of not pleasing 
 all the world. I feel too fully a moral 
 distinction in characters and manners, to 
 attempt so degrading an enterprize. The 
 liberal and enlightened reader 1 shall ex- 
 ert myself to please ; if I do not succeed, 
 I must attribute the misfortune to some 
 infirmity in my nature ; but if I thought
 
 168 THE LIBERAL CRITIG; OR, 
 
 I could succeed, it would animate my 
 efforts, and excite a greater sensibility of 
 all the decencies and duties of my under- 
 taking. 
 
 This point fixed, totally and for ever, I 
 now return to Henry, whoui I left absorb- 
 ed in the charms of the lovely Clara. I 
 have at this period more active duties for 
 him to perform ; and, although it is not my 
 intention to " make a parson" of him in 
 this chapter, 1 find this to be the proper 
 place for raising him to higher ground, 
 and giving him tints of a stronger colour- 
 ing. In proportion as the time of his 
 ordination approached, his father's soli- 
 citude increased, and he exerted himself 
 to improve and direct his religious learn- 
 ing. As Major Percy's instruction was 
 generally conveyed in conversations prin- 
 cipally held in his garden and pleasure- 
 grounds, his practice was to make the 
 objects around him, and which strike the 
 senses most, subservient to his purposes, 
 and to the communication of hio thoughts.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 1^9 
 
 I shall give a specimen of his manner. 
 One summer's evening, beautiful and 
 nrld as the day which enlightened the 
 universe, IMajor Percy, attended by his 
 son, visited the adjacent grove. The pro-- 
 found tranquillity which reigned there 
 was interrupted only by tlie murmurs of 
 a crystal stream, and the harmony of a 
 thousand birds. 
 
 " You are going into a stranire world, 
 my Henry," said the Mujor, " and in 
 which every age finds a particular ciiarm : 
 amusement seems to be that of youth. 
 Consider, my boy, with attention, yonder 
 flourishing tree; behold its leaves, its 
 branches, its stock; all appear beautiful, 
 and pregnant with life: every serene day 
 adds lustre to its flowers, and ausrments 
 their fragrancy : these flowers will soon 
 become delicious fruits.— The same watch- 
 ful hand which exposes it to the enliveninir 
 rays of the sun, defends it from the nip- 
 f)iug colds of the night, and by persever- 
 ing in these methods, reaps the benefit cf 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE LIBERAL critic; on, 
 
 a large increase. These beautiful flowers, 
 these"^ delicious fruits, are produced by 
 agriculture, and reward its toils. The 
 fertility of the plant is entirely owing to 
 the care of the husbandman. I^et the 
 beneficent hand which cultivates it be 
 withdrawn ; the branches which draw too 
 many of the juices from the parent stock 
 cease to be pruned, and those which are 
 ^veak and tender neglected; and imme- 
 diately this beautiful plant will no more 
 be loaded with fruit ; its beauty and fer- 
 tility will vanish with the culture. 
 
 '' This tree, Henry, is an emblem of 
 
 the human mind: it grows sterile and 
 
 deformed when deprived of its proper 
 
 nourishment by sloth and indolence. The 
 
 mental powers must be constantly re- 
 
 ' cruited, by reading, reflection, and the 
 
 conversation of wise and learned men. 
 
 The mind that values itself on its own 
 
 accomplishments is commonly the most 
 
 deficient. It is natural for youth to be 
 
 vain of their own abilities ; and, there-
 
 MEMOIllS OF HENRY PEllCr» 171 
 
 fore, nothing should be omitted by you to 
 increase your knowledge of the sciences, 
 and to inspire you with a continuance of 
 the love of virtue and truth. 
 
 " It is improper to think, that you have 
 acquired as yet a knowledge of men and 
 things. The fruits of the understanding, 
 as well as those of the earth, are granted 
 to none of us in a sufficient degree, other- 
 wise than by the service of other men, and 
 with the obligation of a return. Whilst 
 every man is improving his own private 
 industry for the common good, the a\ hole 
 Jbody of society testifies its gratitude to 
 him, by supplying him with all the other 
 helps he stands in need of It presents 
 him with tlie discoveries of every age 
 of the world, and the productions of all 
 places. The talents of man, as well as . 
 the productions of the earth, are spread 
 fj-om one end of our abode to the other, 
 that the inhabitants may acquire the re- 
 spective branches of knowledge from each 
 
 T O
 
 17'2 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Other, as they mutually interchange their 
 possessions. 
 
 " It will be of the greatest advantage 
 to you to be acquainted with the produc- 
 tions of nature; and philosophy should 
 be acquired by you in such an order, 
 that you may command an idea of the 
 general disposition of our globe, of the 
 aspects under which the heaven is seen 
 by the different climates of the earth, 
 and of the principal interests which unite 
 its inhabitants ; particularly those parts 
 which more immediately concern your own 
 profession and happiness, by rendering 
 you more virtuous and consequently more 
 great. 
 
 '' Above all, on going into the world, 
 and separating from all your early friend- 
 ships, study to improve your taste in 
 eloquence, music, painting, and all the 
 branches- of polite literature. The emo- 
 tions such acquirements excite are soft 
 and tender : they cherish reflection ; dis- 
 Dose to tranquillity ; and produce an agree-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 173 
 
 able melancholy, which, of all the dis- 
 positions of the mind, is best suited to 
 produce a fixed and permanent felicity. 
 
 *' This will confine your future friend- 
 ships to few people, and make 3'ou at- 
 tached only to those who are capable of 
 entertaining you with instructive conver- 
 sations. Those minds are not tinctured 
 with polite literature, whatever strong 
 natural parts they may be endowed with, 
 are not very nice in distinguishing charac- 
 terSj or in marking those insensible differ- 
 ences and gradations which render one 
 man preferable to another. Any one 
 who has but a moderate share of common 
 sense is sufficient for their entertainment ; 
 they talk to him of their pleasures, their 
 schemes, with the same freedom thcv 
 would to anv other. But those who are 
 acquainted with the treasures of science, 
 have little enjoyment but in the company 
 of a few select friends : they too sensibjy 
 feel how much tlie too greatest part of 
 mankind fall sliort of the notions they
 
 3'74 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 entertain ! and, their affections being thus 
 confined in a narrow circle, no wonder 
 they carry them farther than if they were 
 Miore general and more distinguished. 
 
 *' Nor are these, Henry, all the ad- 
 Tantages you may presume to hope for 
 from pursuing my instructions; for no- 
 thin 2; more softens and harmonizes the 
 temper, and cherishes these fine emotions, 
 in which true virtue and honour consists, 
 than a serious application to the sciences 
 and liberal arts. It rarely, very rarely, 
 happens, that a youth of taste and learn- 
 ing is not at least himself, whatever frail- 
 ties may attend him. The bent of the 
 mind for speculative studies must mortify 
 the passions of interest and ambition, and 
 <it the same time excite a greator sensi- 
 bility of all the decencies and duties of 
 life. He feels more fully a moral dis- 
 tinction in characters and manners ; nor 
 is his sense of this kind diminished, but, 
 on the contrary, it is greatly increased -by 
 ' kis speculations.
 
 WEMOIllS OF-lIENRy PERCY, 175 
 
 ** Habit is another powerful means, my 
 Henry, of reforming the minds of youth, 
 and implanting in them good dispositions 
 and inclinations. Those who for some 
 time continue in a course of sobriety and 
 temperance, will abhor riot and disorder ; 
 if they engage in business, or study, in- 
 dolence will seem a punishment : if they 
 employ themselves in practising benefi- 
 cence and affability, they will soon abhor 
 all instances of pride and violence. When 
 they are thoroughly convinced that a vir- 
 tuous course of life is the only method 
 of acquiring happines , there is the ut- 
 most reason to hope, that they will con- 
 stantly pursue that path, and, conse- 
 quently, become an honour to their 
 parents and instructors, a blessing to so- 
 ciety, and an ornament to their native 
 country. 
 
 *' I press these observations upon 3'our 
 attention, because it is now, and now only, 
 that your real course of study cojumences a 
 practical career. Hitherto you have ac-
 
 176 THE LILEKAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 quired little useful knowledge. For the 
 last fifteen years you have been condemn- 
 ed to the study of the dead; to the con- 
 templation of characters and manners that 
 bear no analogy to the present times, and 
 to the consideration of events and vicissi- 
 tudes better calculated to pervert the judg- 
 ment and deprave the heart than to for- 
 tify and improve the mind. The Greek 
 and Koman historians have made you 
 better acquainted with fraud and usur- 
 pation, with tyranny and oppression, than 
 with the virtues and independence of their 
 times. The mythology of the ancients 
 only serves to make you intimate with 
 idolatry and paganism, and to make you 
 despise the pure and simple worship of 
 the primitive church. Your ideas of love 
 are inflamed by the licentious descriptions 
 of O vidian authors, and your opinions (jf 
 men and manners, of public and retired 
 life, are perfectly erroneous, because they 
 are founded on Greek and Homan fable, 
 amatory, pastoral, and historical; and
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENllY PERCY. 177 
 
 whose relation, moral, religious, and po- 
 litical, concerns ages so remote, that they 
 kave no more impression on the heart or 
 the understanding, than what we receive 
 from the fictitious productions of the 
 present day. For fifteen years such has 
 been your whole employment. Do not 
 reproach me for sending you to schools 
 and universities where such a system of 
 education prevail. I was compelled to 
 follow the method laid down by law 
 for " making a parson." That method 
 lias cost me mucli money ; and if the 
 study of tyranny has not made you a 
 tyrant ; if the terror of oppression has not 
 made you a slave; if the hnagery of love' 
 has not made you a libertine; if pastoral 
 poetry has not made you an enthusiast;" 
 if heathen mythology has not made you 
 an idolater, and if the religion of na- 
 ture has not made you a Deist, 1 am'.^ 
 content with my loss, and shall live in' 
 hope that so much learned lumber will not 
 
 I 5
 
 178 THE libeual'critic; or, 
 
 entangle jour course, or cheek, your pro- 
 fessional career." ■ ■** 
 
 In this amiable manner did Major Percy 
 frequently amuse and instruct his son. 
 There is something so very remarkable in 
 the few last periods of his kind and ad- 
 monitory remarks, that I shall close this 
 chapter with a remark or two upon them. 
 I have the honour not to belong to any 
 university, but I have frequently visited 
 both Oxford and Cambridge, and had as 
 often to remark how very little their system 
 of study is adapted to prepare a student for 
 the profession it is intended he should 
 pursue in life. The divine reads Ze- 
 nophon, and qualifies himself for a mili- 
 tary life. The soldier studies Seneca, and 
 becomes a moralist. The sailor con- 
 templates the pastoral of Virgil and Theo- 
 tus, and pines on the ocean for the en- 
 joyment of rural life. And the politician 
 devours the history of Tacitus and the 
 lives of Tyrants, till he becomes so ca- 
 pable a statesman that ke can enslave the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HEN-RY PERCY. 179 
 
 people, and scatter the very country into 
 dust. The Universities are, without con- 
 tradiction, great and splendid establish- 
 ments; but, like most corporate bodies, 
 the principles of their improvement do 
 not exist in the state, but in themselves; 
 and it is well known, that where this is 
 unfortunately the case, no system for re- 
 novation or improvement is ever so much 
 as attempted. How long has Parliament 
 heard of, and published, and lamented: 
 over its own due corruption and degene- 
 racy. And yet it will never reform itself. 
 It will wait, with folded arms, the coming 
 of another Cromwell, and look on with 
 stupid insensibility while a revolution 
 rabble sap the foundations of the fabric,, 
 and level the once proud edifice with the 
 earth. I am no friend to innovation : to. 
 reform is not to innovate; and I lament,, 
 that while all the establishments of our 
 church and state have been reformed and 
 revolutionized, it has so happened, that, 
 the Universities escaped the spirit of inr-
 
 180 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR 
 
 vestigation and improvement, and retain 
 to this hour the darkness and the bigotry, 
 and the prejudice and errors of the most 
 remote and ignorant ages and intole- 
 rant times. Surely this subject merits 
 serious investigation. It is for this pur- 
 pose only that it has fallen from my 
 pen.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 181 
 
 CHAP. xir. 
 
 Thoughts of Major Percy on the best mode of ac* 
 quiring useful information — the study of nature 
 recommended — the principles of the old schools 
 exhibited and condemned — the purity of religion 
 contaminated by the bigotry of priests — moral 
 reflections pursued in a ramble between mountains 
 and vallies — the efFect intended to be produced. 
 
 I COME now to mention another very 
 important conversation which Major Percy 
 held with his son Henry previously to his 
 intended ordination and final departure 
 from home. " One grand error," said 
 he, " Henry, which has crept into philo- 
 sophy, through the extravagances of uni- 
 versity learning, is the very great distinction 
 made among the sciences; insomuch, that,. 
 to follow their round-about methods of 
 teaching them, it is impossible to find any 
 coherence in them ; and hence periiaps it 
 is that human understanding is considered 
 iaso limited a light, as to be thought in-
 
 182 THE LIBERAL CPvITIC; OR, 
 
 capable of excelling in many sciences. If 
 we hunt this chimera up to its source, we 
 shall find it to proceed from the cause 
 of bigotry and prejudice : which, con- 
 founding custom with nature, takes the 
 disposition of diflerent persons to diffe- 
 rent sciences for an effect of natural tem- 
 perament, Mhen in reality it is oftencr the 
 casual effect of necessity, chance, or edu- 
 cation. So that would the Universities 
 once make a sacrifice of prejudice to rea- 
 son, how plainly might they teach, that 
 there is, in fact, but one great science 
 in the world, whence all the rest, like so 
 many branches from their trunk, are na- 
 tural emanations ; which is the knowledge 
 of ourselves and all external objects, ac- 
 cording to their manner of affecting us. 
 The rest of our knowledge is all depend- 
 ing on thi.s ; and this well understood, the 
 others proposed in order and method, 
 have no great difficulty, nor any thing in 
 them which the meanest capacity is not 
 as capable of reaching as the most pro--
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 183 
 
 found. There is nothing; more wanting 
 than sensation, reflection, and attention 
 in observing the different appearances of 
 nature, to discourse on their effects. By 
 the help of these any one will be capable 
 of remarkino; that the luminous bodies in 
 the heavens are of an ignlous nature, 
 since they both Avarm and light us as our 
 terrestrial fires do; and to judge of their 
 motion and causes, there needs no more 
 than comparatively to consider their dif- 
 ferent and successive appurtenances by 
 the help pf proper instruments. Now 
 whoever a*e able to contain great designs 
 in the mind, and set the springs of them - 
 in agitation, may, with equal ease and 
 exactness, turn the whole machine of the 
 world, if they are but careful to remark 
 its ditierent appearances. The mind is 
 always in action, and he who has once 
 observed the main spring of nature, and 
 knows how it proceeds in one thing, may, 
 without any college lumber and drudgery, 
 discover its manner of operating in another.
 
 18-1* THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 There are but different degrees between 
 the impression made by the sun, and by 
 a spark of fire; nor is there any other 
 difference than that of more or less es- 
 sential or })articipative, in all the analo- 
 gies of nature. So that, to become per- 
 fectly versed in them all, there is neither 
 required excessive stress upon the mind, 
 nor violent exercise of the body. In 
 works of fancy there is much more in- 
 dustry and genius wanting, as they are ar- 
 bitrary, and not to be perfected so much 
 by rule, as by strength of judgment and 
 delicacy of taste. The cause tlien of 
 men's thinking that so much time and 
 trouble is necessary to acquire a few 
 knowledges, is the tautology with which 
 they croud their methods of attaining 
 them. To make their pupils reach one 
 necessary truth, they often lead them a 
 wild-goose chace through many unpro- 
 fitable volumes. All their knowledge ge- 
 nerally consists in a confused history of 
 other men's sentiments w ho have gone
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 185 
 
 before them ; hence most men repos- 
 ing in custom and the credit they give 
 to their masters, few have the good 
 fortune to gain a clear conception of 
 things, for want of a natural and concise 
 method in studying them. And what a 
 prodigious deal of time and money is 
 generally spent to make men fit for some- 
 thing, or rather fit for nothing ; seven years 
 of school, and as much at college; and 
 which after all serves only to complete 
 them clowns, fops, dunces, or pedants. 
 This is so true, that after we name one 
 great character in all the liberal profes- 
 sors, we are at a loss, and the nomencla- 
 ture concludes. But if this has corrupted 
 knowledge and retarded ^enius in the 
 walks of science, its ravage and outrage 
 in the sphere of religion has been greatci' 
 far. And as this is the si)hcre, my Henry, 
 in which you are destined to move and to 
 ^cek for preferment and i\ime, 1 shall give 
 you the result of my experience on that 
 subject both at home and abroad. 
 
 " To the everlastiufji: disgrace of out
 
 186 THE LrBEKAL critic; OK, 
 
 public system, it has poisoned a religion 
 which should be the pride of ttie devout 
 and tlic comfort of the pious. Its simple 
 pages are now filled uith the horrors of 
 bigotry and the outrage of trithcism. The 
 dreadful doctrine of Waterlands, and all 
 the shocking defences of a triple duty, 
 deform the national church, and deny its 
 votaries the capacity of worshipping the, 
 great Father of mankind only through 
 Jesus, and following that plain conduct 
 which the gospel requires^ by keeping the 
 commandments, and acting up to the dig- 
 nity of human nature. That uniform 
 practice of virtue and benevolence with 
 the worship of the Father, and which 
 finishes the character of a religious people, 
 is not the principle or the consequence 
 of our \\ors)np. The Christianity of the 
 apostle the only true religion, is un- 
 known, or so corrupt as not to be dis- 
 tinfyni-hed. The doctors came on from 
 counc'-s and universities ; and v>ith a 
 learning misapplied by prejudices and
 
 MEMOIHS OF HENRY P£UCY. 18? 
 
 prepossessions, they have darkened a 
 clear light of the sacred letters. They 
 divided the church into lighting sects and 
 factions, by texts and terms, and modes 
 and notions. They decreed the use of 
 reason in religion, and they preached and 
 M-rit, to make the incredulity of a doctrine 
 the very ground of believing it. I know 
 not how to account for the writings of the 
 Athanasian doctors, but by attributing the 
 deplorable state of our worship to some 
 unseen or eternal corruption. A cor- 
 ruption that has brought in a strange 
 counterfeit religion in the place of a re- 
 velation from heaven, and changed the 
 celestial Christianity of our Lord to a most 
 detestable form of tyranny, and a system 
 of the most shocking absurdities. That 
 divine scheme of the rhost perfect reason, 
 spotless virtue, and the greatest freedom, 
 which the Saviour of the world brought 
 down from heaven to earth, to bless 
 the race of mortals, we have converted 
 into an engine of temporal power and sa-
 
 188 THE LIBERAL CRITIC J OR, 
 
 cerdotal dominion, and to confirm our- 
 selves in our miserable slavery, we have 
 banished the truths of Christianity, and set 
 up our own judgment and sense of scrip- 
 ture in the place of them. Natural and 
 immutable reason, that plain and obvious 
 principle whereby to judge of religion, 
 and of the grounds upon which men claim 
 the favour of God, as his true worship- 
 pers, is dismissed, and for the glory of 
 God and the subtraction of souls, mystery 
 and confusion are introduced. The Fa- 
 thers come on with their volumes of in- 
 ventions. I\Iay the Lord forgive them, 
 and even {>ardon those who are still la- 
 bouring to empcwson our holy religion, 
 and who preach and write to graft their 
 spurious system of tritlieism upon the ge- 
 nuine stock of the gospel. Unhappy mi- 
 nisters ! You ought to be the public 
 guardians of the j)urity of our most holy 
 faith. You ought to be the dressers of 
 the Lord's vine-yard. You ought to 
 cleanse and weed it : but you cherish that
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 18^ 
 
 dreadful weed ; the impious Athanasius 
 sowed in it ! — A doctrine that is anti- 
 christian, and the most palpable absur- 
 dity, they are compelled to make th6 test 
 of a true protestant. This is such an 
 amazing procedure, that I cannot help 
 giving it all my indignation and contempt.'- 
 '' Do you, Henry, when ordained, avoid 
 such wretched and dangerous labours. 
 Imitate your great Master; neither per- 
 plex our faith nor adulterate our worship. 
 Omit all complex and mysterious articles 
 that you can possibly avoid. Let your 
 discourses bear the evident marks and 
 signatures of reason, wisdom, and moral 
 fitness, and your religion will in the end 
 prevail. The Spirit of God is stronger 
 than orthodoxy, and will support that doe- 
 trine he inspired the great apostle to 
 preach. Do you, Henry, endeavour to 
 catch this spirit, and it will enable you 
 to renovate the constitution of the church, 
 according to the princicles on which it 
 was first founded, and the whole world
 
 190 THE LIBERAL CUItlC; OR, 
 
 will then confess, what Saint Paul cJe- 
 clared to the Athenians, " That there is 
 one God, Maker and Lord of all things; 
 that he is not a local Being; nor delighted 
 with the pomp of external worship ; that 
 we are all his offspring, depend upon, 
 live in him, and from him receive the 
 daily blessings of his goodness; that in 
 compassion to the ignorance of men, he 
 gave them a particular revelation, and 
 designed by the gospel to bring them to 
 repentance, improve the moral perfec- 
 tions, and promote the social happiness 
 of mankind ; that he has appointed a time 
 of universal judgment; and his Son Christ 
 Jesus to be the judge, who will judge all 
 mankind with perfect equity ; that Christ 
 was slctin, sacrificed his life in the cause 
 of truth, and thereby exhibited the noblest 
 example of virtue, obedience, and good- 
 ness; that he arose from the dead, and 
 his resurrection is the evidence of his 
 divine commission and authority bein* 
 given to him ; that iiis worthiness pro-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 191 
 
 cured from God the keys of grace and 
 power, to restore life to the numberless 
 dead, and throui^h his coiisuinmate virtue 
 we &hall be redeemed unto God, and live 
 for ever in the heavenly world; if we 
 attend to the rules of truth and wisdom, 
 and in imitation of Jesus, so far as we 
 are able; be willing to sacrifice our very 
 lives and souls to the Will of our Creator, 
 and the happiness of his creation. This 
 was the religion of the great apostle, as 
 we read in the sacred writings. Henr}^, 
 kt it be your's. Do you preach universal 
 peace, freedom, and virtue to the Chris- 
 tian world, and your principles will stand, 
 when the doctrines and distinctions, the 
 mysteries and practices of the intolerant, 
 are sunk in the black abyss of non-ex- 
 istence. Lot your breast be filled with 
 a true Christian spirit, to prosecute the 
 great end for which you are to be or- 
 dained. Contribute your mite : offer the 
 best you have to the reduction of religion 
 to its genuine purity and excellency ; to
 
 192 THE LIBEUAL CIUTIC ; OR, 
 
 oppose, so far as you are able, those 
 schemes which bcai* the si<2;nature of su- 
 perstition and enthusiasm, or of knavery 
 and imposture; and shew at large what 
 those conditions are which entitle man- 
 kind to the great gospel-promise of a 
 resurrection to eternal life. Prove by 
 scripture, that Christianity is what I have 
 described it to be in the recited summarv 
 from the apostle/' 
 
 Thus ended the discourse of Major 
 Percy, and I most certainly should have 
 suppressed it, or, at least, considerably 
 curtailed its length, had it not made so 
 profound an impression on the niind of 
 his son, that he resolved to conform to 
 its precepts in every instance of his cleri- 
 cal conduct and practice. And in truth, 
 is not the religion of the great apostle 
 preferable far to the invented piety of 
 some Christian priests? that piety they 
 dare, m ith a gigantic boldness, to call the 
 religion of the Son of God. Unhappy 
 teachers ! The Son of God did not coine
 
 xMEMOIRS OF HEiVKY PERCV. 193 
 
 down fVoin heaven to teach the world upon 
 the system of the Athanasian Creed, as our 
 Theologers now preach; but the Saviour 
 of the world was born of a pure vh;gin, 
 and took our nature upon him, to shew 
 us how to worship the mo^^t glorious of 
 immortal beings,- whom the scriptures call 
 the blessed God ; and to subject us en- 
 tirely to the original primary law of na- 
 ture. The god-like mediator appeared, 
 that we miiiht view ourselves in the j^lass 
 of the gospel, and fill our minds with 
 sound knowledge, and useful notions. In 
 such a view of Christianity mo see the 
 excellency and suitableness of Christ in 
 all his offices. — lie is heavenly light that , 
 produces real inward holiness. As I may 
 not have occasion to return to this subject 
 immediately again, I am confident the 
 reader will excuse me for closing this 
 chapter with the last admonition which 
 Ileniy received from his liberal and learn- 
 ed father. It followed the discourse I 
 have jttst given, and passed in a ramble 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 194 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK^ 
 
 they had taken together to the extent of 
 Some miles from Haverfordwest. It is a 
 scene of mountains and vallies as beauti- 
 fully romantic as the eye can find in any 
 part of the world, and is seventeen miles 
 in circumference. The ocean is seen at 
 the end of many of the narrow vales, and 
 the hills arise in such charming horror, that 
 it is wonderful and delightful to wander 
 through the winding mazes, by the clearest 
 purling waters, which flow among the 
 shrubs and greens in various shades. This 
 is retirement. The forming pen of poets 
 could not make so silent and beautiful a 
 scene. It augmented the efficacy of the 
 discourse, and when it was concluded in 
 the following manner, it filled the mind of 
 Henry with reverence, and his eyes with 
 tears. 
 
 *' May your life and death be agreeable 
 to the dignity of human nature, your duty 
 to society, and religious service to the 
 creator of all things. In youth, be the' 
 son of temperance; in manhood, the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 195 
 
 brother of social love; and in age, the 
 father of wisdom. May your politics con- 
 sist in the most uninfluenced patriotism ; 
 your philosophy in the most refined hu-* 
 manity ; and your religion in the most 
 exalted notions and pure adoration of the 
 only pure God. By the first, you will 
 Sre mankind with the most undaunted 
 zeal for the welfare of your country ; by 
 the second, vou will soften their hearts to 
 the tender feelings of benevolence and 
 universal charity; and by the last, you 
 will familiarize their minds to the idea of 
 an all-perfect Deity, and teach them al- 
 most to anticipate on earth the joys of a 
 glorious hereafter. — In each of these, my 
 Henry, be yourself a great example." 
 
 I have given the entire of this long ex- 
 hortation, although I am confident there 
 are some great divines who talk in a dif- 
 ferent manner, and many of my readers 
 who will be disgusted with me for detailinty 
 it ; but as I before observed, it is proper 
 for me to shew those springs and powers 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 which origmally directed Henry's life, and 
 which also had considerable dominion over 
 the whole of his moral and political con- 
 duct. I promise, however, to abstain 
 from sermonizing for a considerable time, 
 and to exert myself to gratify the reader 
 in my next chapter.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENUY PEHCY. 197 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 Havinjr escaped from the tedious harangues of the 
 father, Henry has to attend to a long matrimonial 
 lecture from his mother — not expectin<i him to 
 rise in the church, she recommends him to look 
 out for preferment by marriage — she argues in 
 favour of mercenary alliances — he contends for 
 the disinterested contracts of the heart — she ad- 
 vocates cold-blooded matches — he labours in fa- 
 vour of love at first sight. 
 
 HAVING shewn in a former chapter, 
 that when it was determined onto "make 
 a parson" of Hcnr}^, his father had in 
 view to promote his Avelfare and ambition 
 through the channel of church preferment, 
 and his mother by means of marriage al- 
 liance, I feel that it is expected of me to 
 give publicity to the means she employed 
 to advance this favourite purpose. — The 
 task was difficult; the undertaking more 
 arduous than ]\lrs. Percy originally con- 
 ceived. Henry was neither proud nor
 
 19S THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 luxurious ; he did not possess that turn of 
 mind which necessarily carries with it a 
 violent and insatiable thirst for riches. 
 Simple and virtuous, he was absolutely 
 destitute of all those passions which are 
 proper to weigh down and stifle every 
 noble, generous, and disinterested senti- 
 ment. He was a stranger to such liber- 
 tine principles, as we see but too often, 
 like a destructive torrent, hurrying away 
 all the regards for humanity, friendship, 
 and honour. However, as Mrs. Percy 
 was conscious that exterior shew, and the 
 possession of wealth, is become the com- 
 mon standard of merit, and that a slavish 
 obsequiousjiess is paid to it, at the ex- 
 pence of all that is truly great and manly, 
 she exerted herself to make a mercenary 
 spirit creep into her son's matrimonial 
 pursuits, and to inspire him with an am- 
 bition for show and grandeur; to make 
 the love of money his ruling passion, and 
 by this means secure the governing prin* 
 ^ciple of all his actions.
 
 Mr.-Ar01KS OF HENRY PERCY. 199 
 
 '' I detest mercenary matches, my dear 
 mother," said Henry, one day, when the 
 conversation took that turn, "what abomin- 
 able prostitutions of persons and minds are 
 they not seen daily to produce! How 
 little a share has real friendship and 
 esteem in most of them ! How many of 
 your sex abandon all sensibility and shame 
 for a good settlement, under the legal 
 title of a wife ! How many of mine de- 
 stroy their honour in marriage, to repair 
 a broken fortune, or to gain one ! Are 
 such wretches to expect social happiness 
 with each other? Shall their miserable 
 experience be quoted by you to prove a 
 more wealthy woman worthy my future 
 clioice. 
 
 *' The real felicity of marriage does un- 
 doubtedly consist in an union of minds 
 and a sympathy of affections; in a mu- 
 tual esteem and friendship for each other 
 in the highest degree possible: but in 
 that alliance, where interest and fortune 
 only is considered, those refined and
 
 200 THE LIBhllAL CHITIC; UK., 
 
 tender sentiments arc neither felt nor 
 known. And what, my dear mother, arc 
 they exelianged for? Why, to make a 
 glare in the eyes of the Itttle and great 
 vulgar; to be hurried tln-ough scenes of 
 ridiculous and treacherous cereioony — to 
 raise envy in the silly and absurd part of 
 mankind, and pity and contempt in the wise 
 and judicious world. 
 
 " And tell me, what are the conse- 
 quences to the parties themgelvesr — Why, 
 at best, a cold, flat, and insipid inter- 
 course; void of the requisite relish of a 
 sinceie esteem, and the divine pleasures 
 of an honourable friendship. But, more 
 frequi'ntly, the iniquity of their interested 
 views, in one or both, appears stronger 
 and undisguised ; it is succeeded by con- 
 tempt and disdain, and throws such a 
 brand of contention and remorse between 
 them, as gives too just a cause for that 
 direful simiic, ' a hell upon earth is a mar- 
 riage without love or esteem.' 
 
 " If the happiness of a married life
 
 IIEMOIRS OF HENUY PERCY. 201 
 
 \ 
 
 does, as it most certainb/ must, arise from 
 an unfeigned love, or sincere friendsiiip ; 
 how is it possible for such god-like effects 
 to flow from such diabolical causes as 
 avaricious and mercenary views? Do such 
 dispositions, and can such contracted souls:,>- 
 ever feel the pure and delicate flame of a 
 sincere love? Of that mysterious affec- 
 tion which swells the heart, and over- 
 flows in the gentle streams of an anxious 
 fondness? Can interested designs, can 
 those slaves to dross, be animated with 
 the spirit of a generous, an elevated, and 
 inflexible friendsliip," 
 
 While Henry was concluding; this fervid 
 sentence, Mrs. Percy had the mortiflcation 
 to perceive, that his eyes were fixed on 
 the picture which contained the resem- 
 blance of Clara Williams. She under- 
 stood the . appeal, and replied to him in 
 the following manner : — 
 
 " A complexion of sensibility ; a lively 
 imagination, and a generous temper, Henry, 
 are so apt to be charmed with an agree- 
 
 k5
 
 f 02 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 able person, the insinuating accomplisii- 
 ments of music and dancing, painting and 
 literature, that it is instantly transported; 
 sighs, languishes, dies for possession. — 
 In this distempered condition, and amo- 
 - ix)us fit of madness, his sanguine and 
 heated imagination paints the object out 
 •to him in all the romantic lights of an 
 Arcadian divinity, an angel form, and a 
 heavenly mind; the pride of nature and 
 the joy of man ; a source of immortal plea- 
 sures; raptures that will never satiate, 
 bliss uninterrupted, and transports too 
 big for expression. — Bloated with all these 
 nonsensical ideas or chimeras, worked up 
 to a feverish fit of enthusiasm, he falls 
 down and worships this idol of his own 
 intoxicated brain. She blushes, looks 
 down, admires his eloquence, catches the 
 infection, and consents to marriage. The 
 old people conclude the bargain ; the 
 young ones are mad, and light-headed 
 with those ravishing scenes their distem- 
 pered fancies present to their view. We\h
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 203 
 
 my Henry, they are married. The young 
 man's senses are restored ; he finds his 
 imaginary goddess- a mere woman, with 
 the addition of a vain, affected, silly girl ; 
 and when his theatrical dress is off, this 
 poor deluded girl discovers that she mar- 
 ried a lying, hot-brained coxcomb. 
 
 " Thus come to their senses, and the 
 mask thrown off, they look at one another 
 like utter strangers, and persons just come 
 out of a trance. He finds by experience 
 that he fell in love with his own ideas, and^ 
 she with her own vanity. Thus plucked, 
 from the soaring regions of the imagina- 
 tion, they are vexed at and ashamed of 
 themselves for it, and heartily hate each) 
 other ever afterwards. From hence arise 
 reproaches, contradictions, brutality, and' 
 strife.. Thus all their tantastic bliss ends 
 in shame, n oitification, and repeiitance.. 
 
 " In serious truth, Henry, how cun it 
 be otherwise? — Passions are extremely 
 transient and unsteady ; and luve, with 
 no other support, will ever be short-lived
 
 204 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 and fleeting. It is a fire tluit is soon ex- 
 tinguished ; and Avbere the comforts and 
 elegancies of life are not employed to fan 
 it up, it rarely lights again, but from some 
 accidental impulses, by no means to be 
 depended'on; and which a contrariety of 
 tempers, the fatalities of sickness, the 
 frowns of fortune, and the frost of age, 
 may for ever prevent. 
 
 " In matters of this nature, Henry, I 
 beseech you to proceed with deliberation. 
 Believe me, unhappy marriages are more 
 frequently occasioned from the head- 
 strong motives of a heated imagination, 
 than from principles of precaution and 
 the considerate views of a reasonable self- 
 interest. Besides, your intended profes- 
 sion mav not, for a num.ber of vears, 
 bring you in more than from forty to 
 sixty pounds annually. Your father can- 
 not afford to purchase you a living, and 
 as the means he commands is l)arely suf- 
 ficient for the instruction and establish- 
 ment of the other children, you will be
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 205 
 
 literally cast upon the church for support. 
 How stupid it would then be of you to 
 seek your own ruin by entering into a 
 poor alliance, and how absurd to entail 
 poverty and sorrow upon one whom you 
 think worthy to be the partner of your 
 joys and your cares, the companion of 
 your days and your nighrs ! How shock- 
 ing to set out with deception, and proceed 
 with delusion, in such solemn en<>;a2e- 
 ments. For, must not all the pleasures 
 of marriage be unanimous and insepar- 
 able? And, can you be ignorant that 
 they flow as much, perhaps more, frorh 
 the comforts aud enjoyments of life, as 
 even from real friendship and unaffected 
 loveliness? — Again, believe me, if you 
 marry poor, time and experience will 
 unmask your real motives, shew you to 
 yourself in your native colours, and ex- 
 pose that reality your imagination labour- 
 ed to cover. Nor will you be blessed in 
 return for the sacrifice of the affections of 
 her you thus wed. Can you expect love
 
 206 THE LIBERAL critic; GR, 
 
 and esteem from one who exists in poverty 
 and gloom ; wliom you have in a manner 
 shamefully over-reached and ensnared? 
 Surely no. On the contrary, you may 
 bring down upon yourself certain indig- 
 nation and lasting contempt. For my 
 part, I would prefer to see you married 
 to Clarilla F***, or to Angelica J****, of 
 this town, and who have immense fortunes, 
 without much personal charms, than I 
 would to see you allied to the most lovely 
 and amiable woman upon earth, endowed 
 only with graces of person and gifts of 
 the mind." 
 
 At the mention of these names Henry 
 startled with horror. They were both 
 of that inveterate and invincible class of 
 old maids which I noticed in a former 
 paper, and Henry perceived that they 
 frequented his mother's parties, and court- 
 ed his attention in a manner more likely 
 to excite disgust than to create desire. 
 Clarilla was the most ancient, and she 
 endeavoured to make ample, amends in
 
 ^lEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. C!07 
 
 her old age for the time she lost in her 
 prime of life, by making all men welcome, 
 and proclaiming loudly that marriage was 
 the ardent object of her prayer ; though 
 neither the purchased roses on her cheeks, 
 nor the borrowed ivory in her gums, 
 would have had any power, even over her 
 own porter or apothecary, if the yellow 
 charms of all-enchanting gold, which the 
 god of waste had lavished on her, did not 
 supply the ravage of forty-five. It was 
 by this she was empowered, in this middle 
 stage of life, to vie with the beautiful of 
 her sex in the favorite commerce of their 
 youth, and to convince the world, that 
 the mind may remain corrupt after the 
 senses are incapable of enjoyment. But 
 gold in the possession of this lady had 
 no dominion over the affections of Henry : 
 nor had that which was also the prevail- 
 ing attraction of her rival, Angelica. 
 Angelica was, notwithstanding, by far the 
 most amiable of the two ; and, if she per- 
 sisted in a determination to ijiarry, it was
 
 208 THE LIBERAL CUITIC ; OK, 
 
 more to gratify an inclination to romance, 
 than to indulge in any sentiment of vulgar 
 desire. Angelica had read a great deal, 
 and had a very good memory ; could talk 
 incoherertlv in five different lanjrua^es : 
 had translated and even composed ; was 
 a critic in prose, and an author in verse. 
 But with all this deal of learning and 
 memory, she had much confusion of 
 mind, and was so blind, by poring over 
 books, as not to be capable of discern- 
 ing the difference of shades between a 
 dirty gown and a clean mantle. In short, 
 she is too much taken with the dead to 
 mind any decoruujs to the living; and, 
 but for the sake of informing the latter, 
 would scorn to converse with them. The 
 erudition and fame of Henry, however, 
 attracted much of her respect and ad- 
 miration : but the manner which she cm- 
 plo37ed to obtain a reciprocal return of 
 esteem totally failed in its purposes. Some- 
 times a learned flight would seize hold of 
 her senses, and" she would then conceive
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCV. 209 
 
 Henrv to be the hero of the romance she 
 liad been ensao-ed on. At other times she 
 would smk into a literary negligence, and 
 afford her elegant lover an opportunity to 
 carry her off the scene, and marry her by 
 force in some enchanted castle; but Henry 
 ■was too insensible, or to well-bred to 
 commit any manner of violence, and he 
 always left Angelica to come to her senses 
 as virtuous as the innocence it was her 
 general character to admire. 
 
 Althoujih Henry was considerably mor- 
 tified by the convincing arguments made 
 use of by Mrs. Percy, against poor alli- 
 ances, he could not, with any degree of 
 patience, hear her inention the names of 
 the two ladies I have just described, and 
 he returned, with more warmth than de- 
 corum, to the chain of opinions he before 
 advanced : — 
 
 " No, madam ! no," exclaimed Henry, 
 " you never can convince me ; I am too 
 well convinced, it is a truth of the plainest 
 demonstration, that slaves to fortune, or
 
 210 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the gratification of their selfish passions, 
 who centre their views in life within them- 
 selves, independent of the feelings of others, 
 are as incapable of happiness as of a 
 sincere and steady friendship ; nor can 
 their hearts glow with the warm benevo- 
 lence of a tender affection. You can 
 then never persuade me to think other- 
 wise, than that marriages which are made 
 on the mere motives of interest} will na- 
 turally turn out insipid, unhappy, and 
 fatal situations. 
 
 " If you find any instances to the con- 
 trary, they must be owing to a happy 
 chance. Those who in so important an 
 engagement will trust to ?i fors fortuncE 
 for their happiness, are not worth reason- 
 ing with. It is true, as you observe, wc 
 cannot arrive to certainty in human con- 
 tingencies; but when reason, and the 
 greatest degree of probability, are against 
 us, it is madness, it is egregious folly, to 
 act in contradiction to them. 
 
 " But I have inferred from your argu-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCV. Q] 1 
 
 inentSj iny dear mother, that prudence 
 and discretion, with regard to fortune, 
 are not to be banished frem my consi- 
 deration. That would be an extreme, on 
 the other hand, equally or more sub- 
 versive of my happiness, I admit ; but 
 reflect ! to talk of competence, is, in 
 effect, saying nothing at all; what may 
 be so to one man, is not so to another. 
 This only is certain, the nearer we bring 
 our desires of living, and our attachment 
 for pleasure, to the necessities of our 
 nature, the more easy and certain will 
 our happiness be : and I hope you will 
 allow, that splendour and magnificence 
 are more imaginary than real and neces- 
 sary ingredients to human felicity. Ho\t 
 much, or how little a fortune will content 
 me, depends chiefly on my own way of 
 thinking; but, your arguments have de- 
 termined me so far, that I am resolved to 
 lead a single life sooner than involve any 
 amiable woman in poverty and afflic- 
 tion."
 
 212 THE LIBEUAL CRITIC ; OH 
 
 5 v^i.j 
 
 This last observation of Henry's was 
 uttered with so deliberate a sentiment, 
 that it made a considerable impression on 
 the mind of Mrs. Percy, for she held old 
 bachelors in the utmost abhorrence ; and, 
 I must confess, with great appearance of 
 reason, as I believe whoever has observed 
 the declining days of old bachelors in ge- 
 neral, may see their unconnected, unre- 
 lative state in society, tottering to iheir 
 graves in a gloomy solitude, or at best 
 only attended by a few rapacious vultures, 
 who impatiently wait for their prey. No 
 tender affectionate companion, of similar 
 mind and manners, whose constant sun- 
 shine of love warmed the spring and 
 summer of his days, and now with an 
 unalterable friendship and fellow-feeling, 
 accompanies him arm-in-arm through the 
 dreary v^ilds of his winter, ^^ith guard ot 
 son or sons, whose filial pity and manly 
 vigour is ever ready to protect him from 
 the insolence of others, or to defend him 
 froiri those calamities to which our feeble
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 213 
 
 age exposes us ; surrounded with a prat- 
 tling offspring, fondly caressing their hoary 
 grandsire, and blooming a prospect of 
 future honour and virtue. What exqui- 
 site sensations this patriarchal breast must 
 feel ! What heavenly raptures his soul 
 must glow with. IMatrimony may ac- 
 quaint us with them. But these divine 
 supports are as little to be expected by 
 an old bachelor, as they are in my power 
 to describe. 
 
 The conversation embraced in this 
 paper is long and tedious ; it has, how- 
 ever, this advantage ; it must convince 
 the fair sex, that though fortune may buy 
 them a mercenary tyrant; though beauty 
 may provoke their ruin, or attract some 
 coxcomb ; yet good sense, and real 
 merit only, will touch the heart of, and 
 maintain their influence over, men of 
 Henry Percy's worth and knowledge. 
 It must prove to them, that the charms 
 of judgment, discretion, and good temper, 
 are the only lasting foundations upon
 
 214 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 which matrimonial felicity can be built; 
 that love will soon perish without friend- 
 ship ; and, finally, that as the standard 
 of human felicity in general is the prac- 
 tice of wisdom and virtue, so also of 
 the conjugal union in particular. 
 
 The remarks of Mrs. Percy have also ex- 
 posed a secret of a very mortifying nature 
 to all those who have any respect for the 
 established church. It appears, that the 
 salary of a curate is so miserable, that 
 he must of necessity turn fortune-hunter, 
 and marry in direct violation of all the 
 rules he imposes on others for the con- 
 duct of their lives. From forty to sixty 
 pounds per annum ! What curate can 
 follow the dictates of his heart? What 
 curate but must stoop to the infamous 
 deception of courting through fraud, and 
 proceeding to the altar full of guile and 
 deceit? What curate can be outwardly 
 what he is really within, and continue 
 in such a character as he may stedfastly
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 215 
 
 design to continue ? What curate, in fine,, 
 under such circumstances, can look for 
 any strong foundation for his future 
 happiness in marriage? From forty tQ 
 sixty pounds a year ! ! !
 
 Q\6 THE LIBERAL CUITIC ; OK, 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 Literary dissertation Upon the capacity of the genc- 
 rahty of readers, and upon the venality of such 
 authors as endeavour to please persons of con- 
 trasted habits and tastes — the duties of authors 
 ': suggested — they should fortify the principles, 
 not corrupt the taste, of their readers — strictures 
 on the clergy — conduct of the superior condemn- 
 ed — situation of curates deplored — singularity of 
 their being treated with derision, and allowed but 
 sixty pounds a-year for their sole support. 
 
 IT is an objection made by all modern 
 writers of romance, that the education of 
 their readers in general, gives such a dis- 
 sipated turn to the temper and manner of 
 thinking, as to render them unfit for the 
 rational pleasures of any instructive vo- 
 lume. Allowing this to be true, and 
 I fear but too true it really is, how pre- 
 judicial and fatal must flattery "be to such 
 readers! And how completely must that 
 licentious rank of ordinary novels poison
 
 • IfEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. Q]7 
 
 their understandings, and tend to destroy 
 the possibility of inspiring them with sen- 
 timents of wisdom and propriety ! 
 
 Those authors say, in vindication of 
 their imperfections, that a hodge-podge of 
 nonsense, intemperate and frothy sallies 
 of fancy, and romantic and unmeaning 
 expressions, are more adapted to the taste 
 of the times, and afford more entertain- 
 ment, than works that excite sensibility 
 iand improve the heart and the under- 
 standing. But those authors should know, 
 that it is by such a proceeding as this, 
 that they naturally form a young person 
 for a vain and ignorant reader. And if, 
 by this means, he finds a useful book to 
 be an irksome and disagreeable com- 
 jjanion, I ask, what wonder, and where 
 does the blame lie? — Nothing more na- 
 turally carries such a reader beyond him- 
 self; nothing more pufls him up with an 
 over-rating opinion of his own merit; 
 nothing more strongly entrenches his 
 frailties and imperfection^.; nothing more 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; 0J{, 
 
 effectually spoils his disposition and cor- 
 rupts his judgment, than the \vorks of 
 those authors who flatter his weaknesses 
 to secure his enervated applause, or to 
 sell a set or two more of their volumes. 
 This flattery renders him positive in his 
 ignorance, and impatient of contradic- 
 tion. If we allow those authors may 
 make a more speedy conquest by non- 
 sense and flattery ; yet whoever, 1 think, 
 reflects on the consequences, should be 
 convinced, that it must be fatal to the 
 future M'isdom and dignity of his country. 
 liCt coxcomb authors boast of such tri- 
 umphs over the public taste, but writers 
 of honesty will ever despise and shun 
 them. 
 
 Hereby, and for this very account, I 
 have great probability and v» ell-grounded 
 hopes, that these volumes will have a very 
 limited number of admirers. No Bond- 
 street lounger ; no elegante of high life ; 
 no Oxford wit ; no Cambridge blood , no 
 boarding-school miss j no mantua-makers;
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENKY PERCY. 2]§ 
 
 no milliners; no butchers' daughters; no 
 tradesmen's sons; no mechanics' wives; no 
 rogues, pimps, prostitutes, pickpockets, 
 shoplifters, mail-robbers, coiners, house- 
 breakers, murderers, pirates, gypsies^ 
 mountebanks, or any professors of vil- 
 la ny whose manners and habits are 
 principally formed by the instructions 
 furnished them by the romance-writers 
 of the present day; no one of these will 
 be the patient reader of this performance. 
 It must be content with the approbation 
 of the few; of, wit and wisdom; of purity 
 and truth. 
 
 By seasonably introducing into these 
 pages useful subjects on human life and 
 characters; by making solid and practical 
 reflections upon them, and engaging the 
 attention, I hope, by a polished, an easy 
 and lively nianner, I shall attempt to 
 correct and strengthen the judgment, to 
 enlarge the faculties of the mind, and to 
 raise the soul to a free and generous way 
 of thinking, By this conduct, I shall en- 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 deavour to drive out and extirpate that 
 childish, that little narrow-spirited way 
 of forming opinions ; that mean and in- 
 judicious distrust; those low and pitiful 
 artifices, and that lurking sort of cunning, 
 which is the certain characteristic of all 
 vulgar readers, and which is, fortunatel}'-, 
 for a liheral author, the detestation of 
 every great mind, and the abhorrence of 
 every generous spirit. 
 
 I am far from designing by these re- 
 marks to shew any intention of running 
 into any ridiculous extremes. Nothing 
 in nature is, I think, more odious and 
 contemptible than a literary pedant, a 
 formal,, conceited, and affected author; 
 -whose brain is loaded with a heap of in- 
 digested stuff, and is eternally casting up 
 his confused nonsense in hard words of 
 no meaning, jumbled quotations mis- 
 applied, and a jargon of common-places, 
 in order to let the world know he is a 
 man of reading; instead of which he con- 
 vinces the reader that he has taken a great
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. <-Cl 
 
 ileal of pains to render himself a fool of 
 the Hrst class^ and of the most irreclaim- 
 able kind. 
 
 But must these stupid pretenders to 
 wit and sense exclude my distinguished 
 and favorite order of readers from the 
 delightful amiisementj the amiable study 
 of a work, modest, intelligent, and bright, 
 and in which the author betrays a good 
 understanding joined to a generous mind ! 
 
 How engaging are the graces of such a 
 work ! How insinuating are its charms I 
 How imperceptibly does it win upon the 
 mind ! What a How of tender sentiments 
 it diffuses through the heart ; calms each 
 rougher passion, and swells the breast with 
 those exquisite emotions that rise, above 
 all description. 
 
 , Thus to imitate, and, if possible, to 
 equal this ctiaracter of a romapce, it is 
 that I often conduct the reader into a, 
 wilderness where there are no gilded 
 scenes to flatter ids senses^ no flowers to 
 conciliate his affections; but where, in
 
 222 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 solitude, the vital principle of a philoso- 
 phic performance can enter into his soul 
 and take possession of all its powers. 
 Hence my digressions on religion and 
 matrimony ; hence myi papers on manners, 
 morals, and politics ; hence my labours 
 to fix right and just notions concerning 
 my performance ; to inspire a certain 
 greatness of mind, that scorns the least 
 prevarication or treachery, and to fire the 
 soul of the reader with a sort of heroic 
 enthusiasm that no works of a more frivo- 
 lous nature should ever be capable of 
 extinguishing. 
 
 Thus should an author fortify the prin- 
 ciples of his reader, and by every possible 
 method in his power fix the root deep in 
 his mind. For unless the mind of the 
 reader burn with this noble and essential 
 flame, his pleasure in reading v\ill havje 
 but a weak basis, and a very slender tie; 
 every serious chapter, every little digres- 
 sion, will flurry his temper, shake his re- 
 solution,^ and miike bim rather dare igno-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 223 
 
 ranee than expose himself to apostacy. 
 
 7 
 
 Vicious minds and coki'se understandings 
 may, perhaps, laugh at these observations, 
 and consider this work as too fine-spun 
 and chimerical ; but a reader of fixed 
 principles and improved judgment will, 
 I trust, glide through its pages with se- 
 renity and confidence ; prepared for rocks 
 and quick-sands with unshaken courage, 
 an equal mind, and a zeal which no ob- 
 structions can ever relax or alloy. 
 
 Having prepared the attention for a 
 heavy chapter, I am the more at liberty 
 to record the serious reflections which 
 Henry indulged in previously to his ordi- 
 nation, and which was at that time on thg 
 eve of taking place. Launching into a 
 new and important profession, nothing 
 .could have been more natural than his 
 investitratini*; its features on evcrv side, 
 and ascertaining with uhat -advantasie or 
 disadvantage it was likely to distinguish 
 his future life, \yhile he viewed the 
 clergy en masse the picture had mtinv at-
 
 224 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR^ 
 
 tractions. Tliey are a numerous body, 
 and millions of money they have cost 
 the country tc maintain them. They are 
 protected by laws sufficiently indulgent, 
 and without number. Schools are erected 
 and supported at the public expence for 
 their education ; they themselves govern 
 these schools, and conduct the national 
 teaching, both in the schools and in the 
 pulpits. The first thing learned by in- 
 fants is to reverence them; they catechize 
 us when children, they instruct oilr youth, 
 and when we are men, we are not manu- 
 mitted from their instruction. Young 
 ■women are partial to them, old ones 
 adore them. When we are in health we 
 wait upon them for admonition ; and, when 
 sick, receive their counsel and discipline 
 at home. It is they that exhort, they that 
 rebuke, they that preach to the people, 
 they that pi'ay for them ; it is they who 
 adminibier the seals of the covenant, work 
 a holy and iu)perceptible change in wine, 
 and bread, and water, and they who utter
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PEliCY. 225 
 
 ineffable mysteries. They bless, they curse; 
 they offer heaven, they possess earth; they 
 denounce damnation ; they cry aloud, tliey 
 threaten, they terrify. They are ambas- 
 sadors from God; they know his will; 
 they bear his authority ; tliey communi- 
 cate his intentions, deliver his commands, 
 distribute his rewards and terrors, apply 
 his blessings and judgments. They .shut 
 the gates of Paradise ; they open those of 
 /hell; they -admit into Christ's church, they 
 nurture in it, or exclude us out of it, and 
 are daily apprising us of their own poner 
 and importance. But when Henry con- ■ 
 fined his view to the unbeneficed clergy, 
 to tlie curates, who are, without contra- 
 diction, the most laborious and, certainly, 
 not the least deserving pai t of our clergy, 
 he was shocked at the huuiiiity of their 
 condition, and seriously affected at those 
 obvious blemishes and detects in oui* ec- 
 clesiastical policy, which admit of so 
 degrading a contrast betv\een the circum- 
 staiices and dignities of the superior and 
 
 L 5 -
 
 2^6 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 inferior clergy. For how many are there 
 of the curates restricted to a very scanty 
 pittance, not sufficient, even with the 
 meanest economy, for the comfortable 
 accommodation of a single person ; and 
 much less is it adequate to the nume- 
 rous and pressing exigencies of a fa- 
 mily ! whilst others are either luxuriously 
 squandering away, or avariciously accu- 
 mulating, the wealth of the church, sup- 
 porting their extravagancies, or raising 
 their families, by the painful labours of 
 an humble and neglected curate, to the 
 manifest scandal of their sacred vocation, 
 and to the unspeakable detriment and 
 disreputation of their holy profession. 
 
 The honest Henry looked upon such 
 practices with the abhorrence and concern 
 which they really deserved ; — he often 
 made them the subject of complaints in 
 his private conversations with his parents, 
 and was unable to suppress his feariiil 
 apprehensions, not only about his own 
 fate, but upon account of religion hse\t]
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCT. 227 
 
 whose general decay he could not but 
 ascribe to the little encourao;ement g-iven 
 to the curates ; and to an impropriety of 
 behaviour in many rectors, who ought to 
 be its brightest ornaments, and constant 
 recommendation. And upon these ac- 
 counts it was, that Henry solely lamented 
 the want of a national regulation ; which 
 would be the only means effectually to 
 prevent or to cure these fatal grievances 
 of the curates ; and u hich, whilst they 
 subsist, will sink religion still lower in 
 the opinion of mankind, and render it 
 less significant and obligatory than it 
 appears at present. For that part of 
 the clergy, the curates, wlio are the 
 most useful in keeping up the small re- 
 mains of credit and regard which are 
 paid to it ; through their penury and de- 
 pendence, want much of that weight and 
 influence which would enable them to be 
 more serviceable in their vocation, and in 
 the glorious cause of their blessed master. 
 For Heni7 well perceived, that let a man s
 
 228 THE LI15EUAL ciiiTic; on, 
 
 intellectual endowments be ever so great; 
 let his education be the best tlic nation 
 affords ; let his conduct and morals be 
 uniformly regular, and irreproachable;-— 
 yet, after ail, if he is obliged to hire him- 
 self upon tlie present conditions to some 
 mercenary rector for bread, his abilities 
 will receive from his S7}?a/l stipend a great 
 disadvantage, and his example lose much 
 of its Avorth and lustre. So strongly has 
 the world connected the ideas of merit 
 u'ith wealth and promotion, that where 
 these are wanting,, the other is seldom 
 supposed to exist; and a meanness of 
 genius is almost as commonly inferred 
 from a meanness in condition, as if the 
 one was the natural consequence of the 
 other. The public discourses of " a poor 
 curate" will therefore be attended to with 
 such a kind of indifferency, as plainly in- 
 dicates in the hearer little expectation 
 either of information or amusement ; his 
 private judgment will be deemed far in- 
 ferior to that of his more fortunate neigh-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 229 
 
 boiir, and his admonitions and reproofs, 
 if he has resolution enough to impart 
 them, will be esteemed like His purse, 
 light and insignificant. But in reproofs 
 and admonitions he must be very cautious 
 and sparing, and possibly may not venture 
 to use them at all ; but the few favour?, 
 which a. compassion for his necessities 
 may excite, should be totally withdrawn; 
 and himself and his dependents experience 
 the recompence of his honest zeal in an 
 aggravated distress. A " poor curate" 
 must therefore be a silent spectator of 
 many indecencies, and in some debauchery 
 and drunkenness, the. fear of incurring 
 the neglect ol a wealthy benefactor, or 
 the displeasure of a set of protiigate pa- 
 rishioners, may prevail with liim to par- 
 take : — by his example giving counte- 
 nance to practices in the parlour, which, 
 by his functions in the pulpit, he is obliged 
 to condemn. Ti'us the poverty of the 
 curate occasions a defeat of the ends of 
 his ministry. And religion, instead of
 
 Q30 THE LIBERAL eillTIC; ORy 
 
 finding in him a principal guardian and 
 support, through the prejudices and in- 
 conveniencies attendant upon his condition, 
 not only loses much of that awful vene- 
 ration which is certainly its due, but is 
 oftentimes heated with unconcern and ir- 
 reverence, if not \vith such palpable con- 
 tempt, as the notion of its being a device 
 of priests and politicians may be apt to 
 inspire. 
 
 It was also a very just idea of Henry's, 
 that it is not sufficient that the curates 
 have barely a miserable competency, be 
 just situated above a pauper, not above 
 dependence, but he should be enabled 
 likewise to contribute to the relief of the 
 indigent and unhappy, as well as to make 
 some reserve for his own personal sickness 
 or misfortunes, and from w hich the sacred- 
 ness of their vocation does not at all exempt 
 them. That branch of charity which 
 consists in munificence, does of all others 
 most powerfully recommend a curate to 
 hh parishioners. Any other virtue may
 
 MEJiaiRS OF HENRY PERCY. 23^1 
 
 be occasionally admired ; a person nmy 
 be pious, just, and peaceable; but endue 
 him with an ability to be beneficent, and 
 what an amiable addition do we make to 
 his character. He might gain the favour- 
 able opinion of his parish before, but now 
 he gains their affections : is considered as 
 their common friend and benefactor, to 
 whom they will chearfuUy pay a superior 
 deference and regard ; and ^vho will find 
 both their ears and hearts more open and 
 accessible than, otherwise they would have 
 been. 
 
 But, alas T the stipendiary clergy, the 
 trulv industrious order of the curates, ai-e 
 in general so little able to extend their 
 bounty to others, that they often them- 
 selves stand in need of it : and to increase 
 their misfortune, labour under this pecu- 
 liar unhappiness, that, whilst care and a.p- 
 plication will remove the wants of others, 
 and accommodate them with a more plen- 
 tiful supply, the most intense share of iii- 
 dustry they can exert;, will^^ as to pecu-
 
 5232 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 niary purposes, be to them altogether in- 
 significant. The lowest artificer may reap 
 the fruits of an extraordinary industry, 
 but the poor curate has no such resource; 
 and whether he leads a single or a married 
 life, has a small or numerous family, en- 
 joys an unint'^rmitted health, or has many 
 interruptions to it, his scanty allowance 
 of forty or sixty pounds a 3ear must carry 
 him through every vicissitude to which he 
 is liable; and make an appearance besides, 
 which, under his circumstances, is almost 
 impracticable to maintain. For, if he will 
 not sink into the utmost neglect and con- 
 tempt, his onn, and the dress of his fa- 
 mily, must be something suitable to the 
 character he bears ; and their manner of 
 life, from his education, and other con- 
 siderations, sliould certainly be a few re- 
 moves from the very vulgar, somewhat bor- 
 dering rather on the genteel. But how all 
 this is to be accomplished with means so 
 inadequate, cannot be explained; so that 
 the poor curate must drag on an uncom-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. ^3 
 
 o 
 
 fortable being, with a mind harassed and 
 distracted with perplexity and care ; la- 
 bouring under evils he has not capacity 
 to remove : and the burthen of these in- 
 creasing with time, as his hopes and 
 strength grow languid and impair, he be- 
 comes at length little above the level of a 
 genteel beggar; glad to place his sons in 
 any state, however servile and dependent, 
 
 and solicitous io see his daua;hters occu- 
 
 * 
 pied as ladies' maids, milliners, and man- 
 
 tua-makers, in order to preserve them 
 from the dreadful necessity of prostitution 
 for hire. 
 
 It must be considered by every one in 
 whom the sensibility of human nature, and 
 all regard for the honour of religion, are 
 not totally extinguished, as a case sin- 
 cerely to be deplored — that an honest and 
 enlightened curate should thus spend his 
 time and strength, without respect, grati- 
 tude, recompence, or reward. Of this I 
 am certain, that Henry felt but little flat- 
 tered by the idea of his approaching ordi-
 
 S34 THE LIBERAL CRITIG; OR, 
 
 nation, and I can assure the reader, 
 he known the extent and nature of the 
 articles he had to subscribe to before 
 the bishop, and had not feared to hurt 
 and exasperate the best of parents, he 
 would have abandoned the design, and 
 left the promotion of the most sublime 
 and durable happiness of his fellow-crea- 
 tures, for some other profession, where 
 even the junior members are more re- 
 spected and Infinitely better paid*
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 255 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Henry's ordination takes place — he becomes chap- 
 lain to a neighbouring nobleman, who dies and 
 disappoints his hopes — accepts of a curacy under 
 a successor to a rectory promised to himself — 
 not content with the conduct of the rector, he 
 meditates a retreat — the jealousy inspired by his 
 talents advances his design — the one reproaches, 
 the other revolts — to escape rectorial domination, 
 it is determined to send Henry to London, re- 
 commended to a noble Duke. 
 
 AS I have already acquainted the 
 reader with the circumstances of Henry's 
 early life, I now proceed with pleasure to 
 recite the transactions which followed his 
 ordination; and which took place imme- 
 diately after his investigation, without 
 pique or resentment, relative to the me- 
 rits of the profession he was about to 
 embrace. 
 
 The friends of Henry's family were too 
 considerable to let him sink at once into
 
 *236 THE LIEEUAL critic; OK, 
 
 a small curacy : they recommended him 
 to a neighbouring nobleman, who gave 
 him the honourable badge of a scarf, and 
 made him his chaplain. His lordship was 
 very humane, very charitable, and, what 
 is eminently singular, he was very reli- 
 gious, but vvithal, not a little vain. By 
 his bounty he freed Henry from any pecu- 
 niary difficulties ; and, as he had some 
 livings in his gift, Henry was held in con- 
 stant expectation of preferment. His life 
 was as agreeable as he was intitled to ex- 
 pect : he gave nobody oflence, and respect 
 was always paid to his doth. Well! at 
 length his hopes were crowned ; a pretty 
 considerable living became vacant : he ob- 
 tained the promise of it : but, alas ! how 
 uncertain are human affairs ! Before his 
 presentation was signed, his patron was 
 suddenly taken ofi"; and the right of gift 
 being then vested in a stranger, he had 
 the mortification to see his lord's corpse 
 buried by another in the very church which 
 he hoped to have possessed from his
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENKY PERCY. Q37 
 
 fjounty. He was thus early thrown upon 
 the wide world ; but the fat pluralist, who, 
 as it were, stepped into his place, to make 
 hiin amends, appointed him his curate ; 
 and taking advantage of his inexperience, 
 beat him down to five pounds less than 
 the bishop would have allowed him, and 
 forced him to put up with twenty-three 
 pounds a year. On this pittance he most 
 certainly could not have lived, had not a 
 distinguished relative of his former patron 
 appointed him to the ofiice of his chaplain, 
 and gave him the run of a house where 
 he had nothing to do but to say grace at 
 meals, live Avithoat restraint, and make 
 one in the diversions of the family. In 
 this manner, it appears, he could have 
 rubbed on tolerably well, had not a little 
 misunderstanding arose between him and 
 his rector. The origin of it was this, — 
 •when Henry performed the whole of the 
 service, the church was crowded to excess, 
 and when the reverend doctor preached, 
 the congregation was so small that it barely
 
 238 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 justified the expression of "two or three, 
 being gpthered together." Indeed, how 
 was it possible to look at this orthodox 
 divine and think of common sense, much 
 less of divinity. How much less was it 
 possible to depend on his opinion of de- 
 votion: unless, if what an illustrious au- 
 thor says be true, that solemnity is the 
 cover of a sot; his solemn phiz betrays 
 one. A pompous strut, the smiles of self- 
 approving confidence, and an unwieldy 
 person, set off with a look of consequence, 
 stood him instead of genius. And for re- 
 ligion — a stupid loll, with eyes uplift, and 
 arms stretched out, big words, and faith- 
 ful lungs, stand proxy. vSaint Paul's at 
 noon strikes not with more deliberation 
 than he speaks, though it gives over 
 sooner. Yet ever inhumed in native want 
 of religion, in vain he struggles to bring 
 his devotion forth. Self, big self, the con- 
 stant buithen of his discourse, ever at 
 odds with sense, forbids it space, and 
 while he speaks so swells each puny word.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 239 
 
 that like some huge unwieldy mount in 
 labour, the loud, slow, grave, mile-mea- 
 sured accents his drawlino; tongue groans 
 out, portend some mighty birth; till, when 
 the lengthened, irksome, tedious period 
 ends, out pops the silly mouse, great I, 
 and only makes the congregation sleep or 
 smile. With him every clergyman is a 
 fool but one ; and that must be I : gi^eat I 
 is statesman, scholar, critic, and divine. — 
 No wonder, then, if Henry should meet 
 the disapprobation of this great arbiter 
 of piety and wisdom, and that he should 
 have been made sensible of the U)lly, sin, 
 and danger of preaching in a manner that 
 was thought more excellent than that of 
 his great orthodox master. 
 
 Hence, ye curates, collect your fate; ye 
 do not patiently submit to inferiority ; if 
 you dare to excel, it may cost you dear. 
 Henry expostulated with his rector, who 
 denominated him insolent and proud. 
 Henry retorted, and asked him, if he 
 thought him a galley-slave who is chained
 
 240 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 to the oar, and must, without murmuring^ 
 work exactly according to the instructions 
 of an ignorant and arbitrary task-master. 
 Do you think, Sir, continued Henry, the 
 education bestowed upon me qualifies me 
 only for a state of the most dependent 
 servitude upon you? And has the money 
 which has been expended to procure it, 
 been laid out to purchase for me your insult 
 and contempt? No, sir; you shall not 
 again call me insolent, I shall leave your 
 church; I would sooner turn out and 
 starve than be subject to the despotism of 
 such a tyrant : I give you notice to pro- 
 cure a curate to your purpose; some un- 
 fortunate wretch, who may not have sense 
 to discern, and resolution to comba^t; who 
 may be struck by a scare-crow, and ter- 
 rified into an abject compliance with a 
 dastardly despot. For my part, I shall 
 never be frightened into a quiet acqui- 
 escence in an unreasonable imposition ; in 
 a practice of contempt which is contrary 
 to our laws, ecclesiastical as well as divine.
 
 SlEjrOIRS OF henry' PERCY. 241 
 
 Here his rector, who had hitherto only 
 been silent from paroxism of passion, 
 suddenly burst into a torrent of rage, ii'oni 
 which Henry very properly withdrew, and 
 instantly after received this laconic epistle ^ 
 — "I accept your resignation this hour, 
 but shall give you no character, as I Judge 
 it prudent to make an example of you 
 in this way, in order to deter other cu- 
 rates from takinii like liberties with their 
 rectors." 
 
 Here is a condition, thouglit Henr}^ 
 for my suffering brethren, which neither 
 God, nor their wise and reverend an- 
 cestors intended them. But poverty inust 
 compel them to submit to it, altliough 
 no man of common honest^/ and con- 
 science can wi^h its continuance. It 
 ■was some time before Henry could bring 
 himself to believe that excellence was 
 the cause of his rector's animosity to- 
 wards hira; but When he was convinced 
 of this by some respectable parishioners 
 who were attached to his person and 
 
 VOL. I, M
 
 £42 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 instructed by his abilities, he fell into 
 the following train of reflections upon the 
 sin and danger of excellency, as I before 
 remarked. 
 
 In the first instance, the folly of excelling 
 is too obvious to be insisted upon, for every 
 thing is absurd that answers no particular 
 purpose. It is the property of wisdom to 
 aim at an end, and have a settled point in 
 view. It follows then of necessity, that 
 excellence in times like these is foolishj 
 because it answers no intent or purpose 
 whatever. It not only has not interest to 
 get a man bread, but often deprives him of 
 it, and he is denied even the cheap reward 
 of empty praise ; and the niggard publicly 
 refuses it, what it will even give the poor. 
 The places which were destined for its 
 nurture have banished it, and instead of 
 a merit it is reckoned a disqualification, 
 and all the blockheads serve it, as the 
 atheist does his God; they are afraid of, 
 though they deny its existence. It is 
 therefore worth no man's while to be so
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCT. 343 
 
 foolish as to excel. Besides, excellence 
 must surely be a sin, or why should al- 
 most every body be for punishing it. 
 Whatever is unnatural is ranked under 
 the denomination of sin ; now we are all 
 by nature equal ; to excel, then, must be 
 unnatural, because it necessarily destroys 
 that equality ; and the danger of excelling 
 is also as evident as it is imminent. ,A 
 man that rises upon the base of eminence 
 sets himself up as a mark for the arrows 
 of envy, and, what is still more dangerous, 
 to the flattery of his friends, who indeed 
 shoot the arrows with the feathers fore-; 
 most, but the wound is actually mor^ 
 mortal ; for, 
 
 If tL-^ officious zeal unbounded flows, 
 Tbie friend, too partial, is the worst of foes. 
 
 In short, such were Henry's contempla- 
 tions after the abdication of his first cu- 
 racy; and without having his p^'ide flat- 
 tered by his friends, or his temper soured 
 by his enemies, he returned to Haverford-
 
 244 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; CTR, 
 
 west with this experience, that curates of 
 sliining talents are rather objects of pity 
 than admiration ; but that in his own in- 
 dividual case he would never condescend 
 to become as stupid as liis rectors, in 
 order to make himself popular with them, 
 or please their fancy at the hazard of pro- 
 voking the public indignation. 
 
 The return of Henry in this state of 
 mind, and poor in character^ and in views, 
 was not a very encouraging prospect to 
 liis friends, who devoted him to the 
 church; and upon the principle, as they 
 ' conceived, of placing him in a most ho- 
 nourable and pleasing situation. But they 
 were not deterred; and, as his return af- 
 forded them an opportunity of hearing 
 him preach in their own parish-church, 
 they looked over his early disappoint- 
 ments, and comforted themselves that he 
 would yet succeed by promotion or by 
 matrimony. 
 
 On the Sunday appointed for Henry to 
 officiate, the congreg,ation was immense 
 
 )^
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCT. *^'>i'S 
 
 for Haverfordwefet, and his readiiur was ad- 
 mired, and his sermon applauded. And 3'et 
 his manner of preaching was only simple- 
 and natural. It corresponded with his de- 
 sign, which was to inform the understand'- 
 inn, and to move the heart. This end he at- 
 tained, by speaking cleai-ly and naiurall}', 
 and by observing, that his reasoning, me- 
 thod, style, and exterior, were regulated l>y 
 nature and true sense. False and confused 
 ideas, unaccurate reasoiiings, strained re- 
 flections, and tortured expressions, were 
 entire strangers to his dicourse. flow 
 unlike those preachers who take pains fiat 
 to follow nature; as if a man was no 
 sooner in the pulpit, but he must speak 
 no longer like the rest of mankind, or as 
 if the part of a preacher was like that of 
 a prophet among the Jews. Henry, on the 
 contrary, who always consulted nature, 
 preached with all the simplicity of t!;e 
 gospel, and wasted none of his time in 
 long exordiums and tedious preliminaries, 
 lie dwelt not upon tlie explaining of
 
 246" TME LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR,' 
 
 words and phrases tvhich every body in 
 Haveriordwcst understood as well as him- 
 self. He made no needless digressions; 
 he started no objections whicii any person 
 could think of, nor employed those cita- 
 tions and stories which fill up the gene- 
 rality of sermons, and clog and perplex the 
 nature of a text which in all probability 
 is clear and distinct in itself. True elo- 
 quence, the force of a discourse, an ele- 
 vated and sublime style, consists in fol- 
 lowing nature. Nothing admits of greater 
 vehemence and sublimity than the subjects 
 \Ahich religion affords. Henry was well 
 acquainted with these, and he scorned to 
 have recourse to that false sparkling, those 
 vain ornaments, and improperly figurative 
 expressions, which present confused and 
 erroneous ideas to the auditor's minds. 
 All that which costs other preachers so 
 much labour, flights of wit, refined 
 thoughts, ingenuous descriptions, studied 
 language, all that he entirely despised.
 
 ME3I0IRS OF HENRY PEUCY. £47 
 
 His object was not to raise a vain admi- 
 ration, but to instruct ignorance, sootii 
 calamity, and convert sin. I might make 
 other useful remarks about Henry's manner 
 of preaching, but I should engage too far 
 in the subject; for sermons are a dish 
 that is frequently served up to the public, 
 though less relished by it, than most others 
 with which it is presented. The palates 
 of the generality of readers, like those of 
 the generality of eaters, are much vitiated; 
 and the man in his study, as well as the 
 man in the kitchen, must contrive such 
 courses for entertainment as are adapted 
 to the reigning taste, otherwise they will 
 be alike unsuccessful in their attempts to 
 please. Dishes which are made up of 
 mere trifles, and have nothing to recom- 
 mend them but their novek^,. or the art 
 and dexterity of the Ifend that prepares 
 them, especially if heightened with a few 
 inflammatory and high-flavoured ingre- 
 dients, will be frequently preferred to 
 wholesome and substantial food, such as
 
 C48 THE LIBERAL CUITIC; OR, 
 
 is iitfefl and designed by God himself for 
 tl}e pleasure and support of his rational 
 creatures: notwithstanding the former shall 
 bring on many painful disorders, and pro- 
 bably an immature death; and the latter 
 shall be the means not only of preserving 
 health and life, but preserve it in lasting 
 bloom and vigour. God forbid, then, 
 nith this knowledge of the public taste, 
 that I should have such a paper-skull as 
 to annoy it with much preaching ; I shall 
 therefore briefly observe, that Henry's dis- 
 course gave a very general satisfaction, 
 tmd that it inspired his parents with reno- 
 vated hopes of his i^^pid progress in life 
 by preferment or by marriage. Of the 
 laiter event Mrs. Percy entertained the 
 most sanguine expectations : of the former 
 the Major was convinced, if his son was 
 but in the way of preferment. Besides, 
 Henry had none of that academical ill- 
 breeding which is acquired in colleges, 
 and which renders the clergy proper only 
 for the office of countrv curates. For it
 
 "MEMOIllS OF HENRY PERCY. 249 
 
 is a general complaint againbt our univer- 
 sities, that most of its members are ex- 
 tremely deficient iu the point of good- 
 manners. This, indeed, is in some mea- 
 sure owing to that consciousness of supe- 
 riority which every one feels from the 
 moment of his matriculation, A young 
 fellow, on putting on the gown, imagines 
 the world will mistake him for a man of 
 knowledge, and therefore he prizes hinir 
 self vastly beyond the rest of mankind; 
 This conceit habitually improves in him,, 
 as he advances in degrees ;. but the first 
 time that he begins to assume a more than 
 ordinary importance, is upon liis being 
 dubbed A. AI. However, the magisterial- 
 strut, the wise gravity of countenance, and 
 the general stiftness of action which de- 
 note a man of_ consequence, are not 
 adopted till the youth is made a parson, 
 and qualified to shew a sovereign con- 
 tempt to the majority of his fellow-sub^ 
 iects. Hence the whole scene of his life 
 is confined to those of his ou u standin2\ 
 
 w 5
 
 250 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 and he gradually degenerates into an osten- 
 tatious fool or arbitrary tyrant, too absurd 
 or too brutal for a court; too imbecile or 
 too savage for the country. But not so 
 with Henry : in putting on the gown he 
 was by that badge of learning marked for 
 a scholar ; in becoming a curate he did 
 not cease to be a gentleman. That soft- 
 ness, that delicacy, that je ne s^ai fjuoi 
 elegance of address, which good company 
 imperceptibly inspires, was in his eyes no 
 foolish, no impertinent affectation. An 
 utter stranger to clerical grimace, formal 
 elocution, and forced action, it was evi- 
 dent that he was intended for a larger 
 theatre than Wales, or that he had capa- 
 cities proper for a people of a greater 
 variety of taste and improvement of under- 
 standing. Viewing their son in this just 
 and favourable point of sight, and anxious 
 to place him beyond the little tyranny of 
 Welsh rectors, the Percies came to a 
 sudden resolution of sending Henry up to 
 London, furnished with letters to his
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 2.53 
 
 Grace the Duke of Northumberland, Sir 
 William A. A'Court, and Colonel Rich- 
 mond, who was also distantly related to 
 Henry's amiable parents. In this reso- 
 lution Mrs. Percy exulted — the English 
 have taste, Henry will be patronized by 
 the women, who in England govern the 
 men. — Duchesses will introduce him to 
 dukes, earls to countesses; he may be 
 married in such a manner, that his poste- 
 rity will wear the coronets of the first of 
 the English peerage ! — The Major did not 
 form his determination upon such uncer- 
 tain grounds. He knew the noble nature 
 of his Grace of Northumberland, and felt 
 convinced, that if Henry was presented to 
 him be would interest himself both in his 
 fame and fate : he would recommend him 
 as chaplain to some foreign embassy, or 
 provide for him at home, according to his 
 opinion of his virtue and deserts. As to 
 Henry, the resolution of sending him to 
 London operated on his mind but one 
 way; it made him rejoice that he had 5i
 
 252 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 prospect of escaping all rectorial domina- 
 tion, for the treatment he met with par- 
 ticularly affected him, and made him de- 
 termine to avoid, if possible, the menial 
 service of any other chinch. 
 
 "What a misfortune that rectors, so far 
 from feeling for their curates, should aug- 
 ment the inconveniences they cannot be 
 ignorant they are unavoidably subject to. 
 Instead of increasing their salaries, and 
 improving their condition by a gentleman- 
 Jikc behaviour, they too often abridge 
 their legal income, and then treat them 
 ^ith the contempt with which they see 
 poverty connected by the generality of the 
 world. There are many rectors whose 
 conduct to their curates is very diffe- 
 rent from this ;, but the general practice 
 is quite the reverse of just or amiable; 
 and plainly evinces, that nothing but the 
 interpositions of the legislature can settle 
 the situation of the curates upon a de- 
 sirable basis, and totally remedy evils 
 vhich by most men are observed and la-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 255 
 
 mented, but very severely felt by those 
 upon whom they immediately fall. 
 
 In what I have wrote on the subject 
 of Henry's first rector, and on his motive 
 for rejoicing in going up to town, it is 
 not my design to offend any man ; but 
 if the honest truths 1 have delivered shall 
 make me appear in the light of an enemy, 
 and cause me to be abused as such, I 
 can only consider this as the outrage and 
 resentment of a guilty mind, which has 
 too much pride to bear a monitor,, and 
 too little sense of goodness to attempt 
 a reformation of its faults. — I should be 
 extremely sorry to disturb the repose of 
 a man of true goodness and merit for a 
 single moment; and as for those who 
 have very little or none of either, I neither 
 court their favours, nor dread their resent- 
 ment. — It would afford me unspeakable 
 pleasure, could I make the memoirs of 
 Henry Percy the most humble and dis- 
 tant instrument in procuring a comfort- 
 able establishment for the unbeneficed 
 clergy. But if this is a happiness which
 
 254 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 the temper of the times is not disposed 
 to grant me, I nmst endeavour to sooth 
 my disappointment by reflecting on the 
 goodness of my intention ; and be con- 
 tent to be thrown aside like many others 
 before me, who have meant as w6ll, and 
 been as little regarded as I can be> 
 
 .a 
 
 • W i. w* ^ iV * - ■
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 256 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 Readers m general more attached to books that ex- 
 : cite astonishment in the mind than create im- 
 proveraent in the heart — reason why — Henry 
 arrives in London, and is presented to Colonel 
 Richmond — his character and eccentric amour — - 
 he becomes the friend of Henry — they ramble 
 through London together — visit the Royal Aca- 
 demy, and discover a beautiful painting by Clara;^ 
 which revives Henry^s hopes of meeting her 
 again — the friends retire to the country, effects 
 of the visit — and description of the scenery. 
 
 THE short time which Henry passed in 
 Wales was distinguished with all that feli- 
 city which for ever flows from virtue, and 
 the pure, original affection of the best of 
 parents. Parents who found in their son 
 a faithful, charming companion, who was 
 able to make their prosperity more happy j 
 and adversity more easy to them, if that 
 was ever to be their lot in this state : and 
 therefore they committed to his breast not
 
 256 THE LIBERAL critic; OJHy. 
 
 only the nature of their views, but all the 
 secrets of their souls. They lived in the 
 most perfect amity, and were, I believe, 
 the happiest family in the world. They 
 M^ere all possessed of the finest qualities ; 
 blessed with good sense, good humour, 
 and an equanimity of mind ; an affability 
 the most engaging; an affection that al- 
 ways charms : and as the parents loved^ 
 and Henry not only loved, hut studied to 
 please, there was nothing superior to them. 
 in the territories of happiness, within this 
 lower hemisphere. But here Henrys 
 domestic pleasures must for a time have 
 an end. His amiable parents saw the 
 Mecessity of parting with him for a con- 
 siderable time, and of placing him in the 
 way to those honours and advantages 
 which it was absurd to think such a rustic 
 people as the Welch could afford. — Ha 
 departed, and arrived safe in London 
 with his recommendatory letters, and 
 money sufficient to give a reasonable 
 time .for the realization of his parents''
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 257 
 
 too sanguine hopes and his own par- 
 ticular views. 
 
 Were I, like Doctor M , a mere 
 
 " book manufacturer," I could make 
 Henry's arrival in London furnish me 
 with nwterials for nine- hundred and ninety-^ 
 nine volumes ; but as I have no disposi- 
 tion to waite myself into a consumption, 
 to impose upon the public, or to invade 
 Blenheim Park, I do not profit by ad- 
 mirable opportunity, but proceed in my 
 usual manner; that is, in recording such 
 events, observations, and circumstances as 
 are incident to, and natural to be met with 
 in the progress of my hero's life. I am 
 told that 1 shall suifer for this obstinacy; 
 this pertinaceous adherence to a system 
 which is in such direct contradiction to 
 all other romance-writers, and so totally 
 opposite to the taste of the times. A 
 monstrous taste, which has possessed both 
 readers and w riters even of travels : for 
 travellers, of late years, scarce give us 
 any account of the natural affections, tlifc
 
 258 TH£ LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 families, associations, friendships, clans, of 
 the Indians J and as rarely do they men** 
 tion their abhorrence of treachery among 
 themselves; their proneness to mutual aid, 
 and to the defence of their several states ; 
 their contempt of death in defence of 
 their country, or upon points of honour. 
 . " These are but common stories. — No 
 need to travel to the Indies for what we 
 see in Europe every day." The enter- 
 tainment therefore even in travels con- 
 sist chiefly in exciting horror, and " mak- 
 ing people stare!" The ordinary em- 
 ployment of the bulk of the Indians in 
 support of their wives and offspring, or 
 relations, has nothing of the prodigious ! 
 But a human sacrifice, a feast upon ene- 
 mies' carcases, or women with child 
 ravished by brutal force, can raise an 
 horror and admiration of the wondrous 
 barbarity of Indians, and in nations no 
 strangers to the massacre at Paris, ths 
 Irish rebellion, or the Journals of the 
 Inquisition, These they behold with rih
 
 MEMOins OI' HENRY PERCY. tSQ 
 
 ligious veneration; but the Indian sacri- 
 fices, flowing from a like perversion of 
 humanity by superstition, raise the high- 
 est abhorrence, and happiest amazement. 
 What is most surprising in these studies 
 is the wondrous credulity of the public 
 for these marvellous memoirs of monks, 
 friars, sea-captains, and pirates ; and for the 
 histories, annals, and chronologies, received 
 by oral tradition or hieroglyphics. 
 
 It would not be difficult to illustrate 
 these remarks did they need illustration. 
 Every one must know that ** Dr. Clarke's 
 Travels in Egypt, in Search of the Statue 
 of Ceres," is read with avidity ; and that 
 " Sir Alexander Mackenzie's Journey 
 across America from the Gulph of Saint 
 Lawrence in the Atlantic, to the Borders 
 of the Pacific Ocean, near Nootka Sound," 
 is read without sentiment, and often cast 
 away with disdain. — And with this in- 
 formation glaring in my face, will I dare 
 to continue writing a romance that excites 
 no horror, and makes no person stare.
 
 £60 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Will I dare to bring my hero to London, 
 and amuse my readers Mitb the murder 
 of the innocent, the rape of the virtuous, 
 the groans of the wretched, the outrage 
 of the monstrous, and the struggles of 
 wild beasts in chains. What! \\ill I 
 dare to impose a book for a romance 
 upon the world, and in which there is 
 nothing unnatural, nothing calculated to 
 make people stare? Nothing but what 
 tends to increase the love of God, or our 
 own species ? Nothing but what restores 
 those natural notions of good and evil 
 which were almost lost, and which fixes 
 our admiration and love, or contempt 
 and hatred, on the proper objects, and 
 from which they have been perverted 
 by the romance- writers of latter times. 
 Reader! be not disheartened; proceed, 
 and judge. 
 
 Well, Henry arrived in London, and 
 repaired to Northumberland House. His 
 Grace was not at home: he was then at 
 bis seat in the North. — He next proceeded
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 261 
 
 to Colonel Richmond, whom he had the 
 good fortune to meet, and who received 
 him without any of that formal hypocrisy 
 which ignorant authors ascribe to the 
 noble attendants on a court. Such was 
 his kindness, that Henry considered his 
 difficulties at a close : for Colonel Rich- 
 mond took him by the hand, ordered him 
 apartments in his house, and from the 
 first instant became his friend. Rich- 
 mond was the son of an illustrious fami'y 
 ill England : he was born with an under- 
 standing the most lively, fruitful, and 
 comprehensive, and had the best educa- 
 tion his country affords bestowed on him. 
 This enabled him to delight in the con- 
 versation of Henry, to talk inimitably 
 himself on many subjects, and made 4iim 
 happily become every thing he said and 
 did. In short, he had a vast capacity, a 
 beautiful genius, and an amazing learning 
 for his years. He was for ever lively and 
 rational, and had a temper beyond de- 
 scription happy. The cast of his heart
 
 2b2 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; Oil, 
 
 was that of goodness itself, and in all lie 
 did, he studied the happiness of mankind. 
 He spent a considerable part of his pay 
 on the poor women and children of his 
 regiment, and much of his income in the 
 encouragement of industry and art, and 
 in the most generous reliefs to the dis- 
 abled of every sort. The sufferings of 
 others, whom he could not relieve, affect- 
 ed him in an uncommon way ; and plear 
 sure always filled his soul, when it was 
 in his power to do good, or oblige. So 
 far as he was capable he rendered him- 
 self a blessing wherever he came, and to 
 the utmost of his abilities always acted 
 according to the reason of things, and the 
 right of every case. In religion he was 
 not ashamed to differ from all his fashion- 
 able acquaintances : in all the dignity of 
 devotion, and beauty of holiness, he wor- 
 shipped the living God, the Father of 
 Spirits, and the Maker of ail things: he 
 worshipped him in spirit and in truth, 
 and asked with reference to that name
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 263 
 
 and authority which the Father hath con- 
 ferred upon his Christ. Such was the 
 amiable Richmond, and when we add to 
 his intellectual and moral capacities his 
 extraordinary fine person and splendid 
 accomplishments as a geatleman,. it was 
 no wonder that he enjoyed the admiration 
 of his acquaintances, and that he so sud- 
 denly gained the whole of Henry's esteem. 
 But, like Henry, he had a romantic turn 
 of mind ; an entertaining imagination, that 
 improved a fancy naturally fine : and to 
 such a degree, that he informed Henry, 
 after intimacy justified confidence, that he 
 fell in love — with a picture which some 
 unaccountable intervention placed in his 
 way while on duty at Windsor Palace. 
 " Yes Percy," exclaimed Richmond, on 
 seeing an expression of amazement in 
 Henry's countenance, " yes, amidst all 
 the vicissitudes of my profession, amidst 
 all the gaieties of my life, I set apart some 
 portion of the day for the study, for the 
 contemplation of this divine miniature."
 
 504 THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 Saying this he drew the miniature from his 
 breast, and after regarding it some time, 
 Avith iiis eyes ardently fastened upon it, 
 he presented it to the observation of the 
 astonished Henry. — Henry looked all ad- 
 miration and surprise — It was the portrait 
 of Clara — " the lovely Clara Williams." 
 No, reader, it was not. I confess it would 
 assist my romance, if I could torture it 
 into this circumstance; it would be a 
 happy event for a novelist, for a writer 
 not condemned to the obligations of truth. 
 But I cannot benefit by it. I must even 
 repeat, that it was not the resemblance of 
 Clara; the miniature represented a beauty 
 of a contrasted order. The forehead was 
 open, large, and inclining back ; tbe eyes 
 full, and of a light azure; the hair Saxon, 
 and curled naturally in the most graceful 
 manner; the countenance was lovely, tlie 
 mouth charming, and the smile beautiful 
 as the angel of Keynolds's dtguisce c?i 
 Nyniphe. — " And why did Henry look sur- 
 prised?" because it reminded him strongly
 
 ME510IRS OF HENRY PERCY. ^65 
 
 of one of the Miss Courtneys, the bosom 
 friend of the lovely and accomplished 
 -iJlara Williams whom he so much adored. 
 Richmond, who perceived the emotion of 
 Henry, attributed it to the dazzling lustre 
 of the saint he beheld, and assured him, 
 that the happiness of his future life would 
 depend on the discovery of the woman 
 whose portrait he would ever hold next 
 to his heart. Henry affected to laugh at 
 his enthusiasm, and attempted td persuade 
 him that the object of his passion existed 
 only in the creative genius of some artist s 
 mind. But he did not succeed, and he 
 was glad to conclude a conversation which 
 filled his imagination with doubt, and his 
 heart with despair, for tho issue of this 
 extraordinary amour. 
 
 The few iirst weeks of Henry's resi- 
 dence in London was employed in a man- 
 ner congenial to the taste and disposition 
 of himself and friend. In the evening they 
 frequented the most distinguished parties :-■ 
 in the morning they visited the public 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 institutions of every description and sort. 
 Among those, the first entitled to notice 
 was the annual exhibition at the Royal 
 Acadenriy : this the two friends frequently 
 attended, and as their attention one morn- 
 ing rambled from object to object, it was 
 at length fixed by a picture called a '' Cru- 
 cifixion :" a representation of that moment 
 in which nature was convulsed with horror 
 at the death of Christ; that awful mo- 
 ment M'hen all things seemed as it were 
 dissolving, and the sun had covered its 
 face, as unable to look at so tragic a 
 scene; when the dead awaked out of 
 their mortal sleep, and appeared sur- 
 prized at the news of Jesus dying ! The 
 rocks are split; the earth trembles with 
 amazement; and all nature appears in 
 the last agony. 
 
 On the cross you behold the Lord of 
 life and glory, and in his dying face you 
 see, wonderfully painted, that sacred zeal 
 with which he performed all his Father's 
 will; and laboured to revive the know-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 267 
 
 ledge of God, to shed the favour of divine 
 grace, and bring a sinful world to repent- 
 ance and virtue. His obedience unto death 
 is beautifully represented, and with grati- 
 tude we remember the Lamb that was 
 slain to purchase a general resurrection, 
 by sacrificing his very life and soul to 
 the will of God. 
 
 During this attestation of universal na- 
 ture, to register the time, and perpetuate 
 the memory of the death of Jesus, the 
 good thief appearsr looking up to hea» 
 ven with a confidence, grounded on the 
 Avords of Clirist. This confidence i$ 
 beautifully visible in the midst of his 
 tortures. But the wretch on the left-hand 
 of the expiring Christ raises himself on 
 the gibbet, and through an extremity of 
 pain, forces from the cross a leg the exe- 
 cutioner has broke with an iron-bar he 
 holds in his hand. The nail is covered 
 with the hideous spoils; then struggling 
 in torture, he projects his body; his mouth 
 in profile gapes enormously, and his white 
 
 N 2
 
 26'8 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 inverted eye-balls are streaked with red 
 and swollen veins ; the muscles of his face 
 appear in the most violent action, and the 
 whole is so strongly painted, that you 
 almost hear the hideous cries with which 
 lie rends the air. 
 
 Not far from the cross, you see a croud 
 of spectators, and, in one particular place, 
 a group of people in the greatest terror 
 and astonishment; which proceeds from 
 the confusion they behold in the heavens, 
 as they fasten their •^yes and whole at- 
 tention there. But, in contrast, a multi- 
 tude appears on the other hand, in whose 
 faces are painted fear mixed with the 
 greatest horror; this issues from a dead 
 body, which rises suddenly from the grave 
 in the midst of this crowd. At the foot 
 of the cross, among several others, blessed 
 Mary and the beloved disciple appear. 
 The attitude of the apostle, and his face> 
 express the strongest sentiments of grief. 
 The mother of Jesus seems petrified with 
 woe ; her air and lineaments have all the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 269 
 
 appearance of the relation she had to our 
 Lord. 
 
 From an internal and external evidence, 
 it was soon discovered to Henry, that this 
 transcendant painting was executed by the 
 apparently long-forgotten Ciara Williams. 
 It was put into the exhibition as a prize 
 picture; but the secretary had not the 
 artist's address, nor had it ever been en- 
 quired after or re-claimed. This damped 
 the pleasure which Henry felt at the 
 first discovery, but he could not dis- 
 guise his sensations from his friend, for 
 he eagerly explained to him — " This 
 sublime picture Miss Williams must have 
 copied from two prints of Crucifixions 
 done by Coypel and Rubens, and in her 
 piece has not only united the different 
 excellencies of the two great painters, 
 but exceeded them in many things. It 
 is impossible, you may perceive, for 
 the greatest master to treat the action 
 in this painting with a greater resem- 
 blance of truth, or to give a more lively
 
 270 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 expression of the various passions in 
 it." 
 
 Richmond seemed quite astonished. 
 " You know the lovely artist, then," said he. 
 " Lost to the intellectual world/' returned 
 Henry, " shfi lived not far distant from 
 tny friends; she lived seclud'ed among the 
 wildest mowntaias of Wales. And be- 
 sides her pencil, which equals Poussin 
 as well as Rubens, she excels in music, 
 arid plays and sings several pieces ex- 
 tremely fine." Henry then told him the 
 condition she was in, and how she had 
 lived in satisfactions to be envied, on 
 her little charming farm, since death 
 had robbed her of her father, and till 
 she accompanied the JMiss Courtneys 
 from home, in compliance with the dy- 
 ing request of their mother, who was one 
 of the worthiest of women. Tiie two 
 friends were transported with the pic- 
 ture; they gazed with wonder on the 
 fine imitations. The tender affections of 
 Henry instantly revived, and Richmond
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 2/ i, 
 
 nas delighted to find his companion in- 
 volved in a romance nearly as singular 
 aftd intricate as his own. For Clara's 
 residence baffled ail enquiry, and the 
 ori^J-inal of the mysterious miniature ao* 
 peared, in all probability, to be an ideal 
 'beauty existing only in the luminous re- 
 gions of the artist's mind. However, the 
 similarity of destiny was a further motive 
 for the continuation of friendship, and 
 although Richmond had not any imme- 
 diate patronage himself, he was resolved 
 to solicit that of his illustrious acquaint- 
 ance, and to rest satisfied while Henry 
 remained an unbeneficed member of the 
 church. But as this intended promotion 
 might not be immediate, and as Colonel 
 Richmond had to visit some friends in 
 Westmoreland, previously lo his joining 
 his regiment, he insisted on Henry's ac- 
 companying him, and on defraying all 
 the expence. Preliminaries being thus 
 settled, the friends departed, and arrived 
 at their destined .place in the ordinary
 
 ^72 THE XI EZRA L CRITIC; OR, 
 
 manner of otiicrs who have travelled the 
 same road. — I make use of this expres- 
 sion, '* ordmary manner," because a true 
 romance-writer would have seized this 
 opportunity of exhibiting the extraordi- 
 nary powers of his imagination and the 
 immensity of his picturesque skill. Two 
 lovers should know no contrast of night 
 and day in journeying to tlif Elysian 
 fields ; and they should pass over stag- 
 nating waters, and walk undaunted into 
 the region of the ghosts. The road in 
 other places should be dark and uncom^ 
 fortable as if leading to Tartarian coasts* 
 The rapid stream of Acheron, and the 
 infernal strand; the Stygian boat, and 
 the stern ferry-man of hell ; the different 
 ways, and the huge dog, that roars 
 through all the shades below, might all 
 have been enijjloyed to strike terror and 
 make people stare. But for me, I must 
 be content to observe that tlley travelled 
 in the manner customary to gentlemen, 
 and arrived at the seat of the Colonels
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. Q7$ 
 
 friends without any extraordinary circum- 
 stance occurring on the road. 
 
 On the side of one of those fine hills 
 on the Lake of Windermere, in a charm- 
 ing assemblage of garden and forest, in 
 the most beautiful confusion bv art dis- 
 posed, lived Mrs. Richmond, the Colo- 
 nel's aunt, and to whom he came on a 
 visit. Her house was not intended for 
 a seat or grand mansion, but to be, like 
 Pliny's Laurentinum, a little villc3 man- 
 sion, a plain convenient retreat for rhe 
 delights of reading and contemplation ; 
 comprehending what that wise and ele- 
 gant Roman calls Gratiam villa?; that 
 is, a useful and pleasing disposition of 
 the house and gardens, and opportuni- 
 tatum loci et lillores apatmm^ which re- 
 late to the situation and points of view. 
 No situation can be more still and 
 charming than this is; and from the 
 house and garden you see the Lake in 
 several vistas, and are entertained ^vith. 
 tlie changing spectacle it is continually 
 ^ N a
 
 274 THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 exhibiting. It is, by united beauties, an 
 enchanting pkiee. Its recesses are for 
 ever charming, amidst hills and woods, 
 the head-long cataracts, and gently-slid- 
 ing streams. There shall the friends rest 
 awhile, for the night advances and I am 
 fatigued.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PEIlGY. 275 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 Henry's introduction to Mrs. Richmond — descrip- 
 tion of her <iardens and estabUsliment — surprise 
 at the character of her religion, and singular sen- 
 timents thereon — her conversion and apostacy — 
 her abandonment to the dehisions of niethodism 
 — her daughter infected by fanataeism— her in- 
 struction in amorous piety — is attempted to be 
 debauched, while in a state of quietism, but is 
 ' saved by the accidental ajipearance of her mother, 
 who is shocked and restored to her senses again. 
 
 THE seat of Mrs. Richmond made 
 such an impression on the minds of her 
 accomplished visitors, that it would be 
 unpardonable in me to pass it over with 
 the rapidity which have hitherto charac- 
 terized my picturesque descriptions. — The, 
 garden is very extensive, and on one side 
 wiiKls about it, in the greatest beauty and 
 symmetry, a little rivulet, till it descends 
 to a k)wer bed that is covered with reeds, 
 and thence forms a navigation for a boatinto
 
 276 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the lake. You go down to this low spot 
 by a long spiral walk that is steep, and 
 covered over-head with shrubs to render 
 it almost dark. When you reach the bot- 
 tom, you find upon the margin of the flood 
 the figure of a being that answers every 
 idea of Charon, the surly god. — Then en- 
 tering the -skitf, we pass through reeds and 
 osiers which embrown the day, and land 
 on a piece of barren ground, where there 
 is a better, though still a swarthy light. 
 Here stands upon the bank a Mercury 
 with his caduceus, and a Neptune with his 
 trident; the latter inviting you to take the 
 ■water ; the first directing the traveller to 
 the Elysian Fields. 
 
 Tliis place, in imitation of Virgil's Ely- 
 sian Fields, contains near forty acres of 
 the finest carpet green, filled with fra- 
 grant herbs and shrubs, and a profusion 
 of all the flowers. Here and there are a 
 few swelling hills, which have clumps of 
 the most beautitul exotic and native trees, 
 that are perpetually green, and the whole
 
 MEMOIRS CIF HENRY FER€Y.. ^T 
 
 in form of an amphitheatre is surrounded* 
 by woods on rising grounds.. H^nry con- 
 sidered it the most delightful spot he had 
 ever seen, and Richmond pronounced it 
 to be much finer than the boasted Elysiaru 
 at Stow. Nor are there any statues, 
 temples, or other works of art in those 
 fields ; but on the side of one of the hills 
 •which encompass this fk)wery vale, there- 
 is, in a sweep within the wood, a fine orbi^ 
 cular house, that equals the Rotunda at 
 Stow. It has neither bust nor image in it, 
 and was designed for a place of prayer^— - 
 During the stay of the two friends, divine 
 service was performed there several morn- 
 ings and evenings, and Henry was so pro- 
 digiously charmed with every thing he saw 
 and. iieard; the piety and music within,. 
 and the Elysian Fields ia view from the 
 fine open temple on the side of the hill; 
 that he couJd not help fancying himself in- 
 the intermediate region of the blessed. He 
 thought he was arrived at tue rest which 
 remains for tlie people of God. It seemed
 
 S78 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 as if he had travelled at last to the bliss- 
 ful region of the holy, the good and 
 happy; that his wanderings through a 
 world, made infamous by prevailing rage 
 and malignity, were at an end, and he was 
 become a member of that eternal society 
 which adores the high and lofty One, with- 
 out ceasing, and for ever maintains an 
 inviolable regard to truth and righteous- 
 ness. Such ideas naturally arose from the 
 scene before him. Ixt the reader but 
 imagine himself in those fine fields, when 
 Henry was first there, and he will allow 
 some reason to be fanciful. 
 
 It could not however escape the atten- 
 tion of Henry, that the whole of the ser- 
 vice was a divine and heavenly work ex- 
 clusively addressed to the praise and glory 
 of the great Eternal, to the first indepen- 
 dent Cause and supreme Ruler of the 
 universe. In fine, he discovered, notwith- 
 standing the attention in the devotion of 
 Mrs. Richmond and her female followers^ 
 notwithstanding the fervour of their piety,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 27^ 
 
 the beauty of their worshi[), the charms of 
 the music, and the appearance of so many 
 divinities, worshipping only the one su- 
 preme Spirit, that she was not of the 
 christian religion ; that she worshipped the 
 Father o/z/y, and never sung the song of 
 the Lamb, or named the holy Jesus, or 
 those happy disciples whose names should 
 be rejoiced in for never-ending ages, and 
 by the millions yet to come. 
 
 Perceiving the horror and surprise of 
 Henry at this extraordinary discovery, she 
 affected to account for it thus. — The Chris- 
 tianity she saw in the realms of popery, 
 and the sad representations of our holy 
 religion, given by the unhappy Atha- 
 nasian priests, prejudiced her so much 
 against all revelation, that she concluded 
 it to be entirely the work of theologica-l 
 heads; and on account of too many de- 
 plorable priestly inventions, she rejected 
 the Scriptures, as books that could net 
 have the stamp of divine authority, if they 
 produced the dreadful doctrines which
 
 ItSO THE LIBERAL CRtTIC; ORy 
 
 priests of all denominations drew from 
 thence. With a monstrous zeal, the doc- 
 tors of every party preached, and writ for 
 the most senseless,, and the most cruel 
 things. Even, protestant divines find a 
 tritheism and persecution in their inspired 
 writings, and, to the dishonour of the 
 peerless majesty, and goodness of the 
 great God, find an infinite satisfaction by a 
 second slaughtered supreme being; and 
 therefore, and foi' various other reasons 
 too numerous to recount, Mrs. Richmond 
 thought the writings of the apostles were 
 fer from being consistent with the glory 
 ©f God, or of being serviceable to truth 
 ©r to society. This made her renounce 
 the religion she had been baptised into, and 
 made her become the infidel Henry per- 
 ceived her to hQ^ 
 
 But the truth is, Mr«. Richmond de- 
 ceived herself; her apostacy is to be at- 
 tributed to the blackest machinations of 
 imposture tiiat history has upon record. 
 Mrs. Richmond explained her real motives
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 281 
 
 to Henry : I shall give them to the reader 
 without a comment of my own. Mrs. 
 Kichmond was the darling of a rich old 
 micle, who spared no cost on her edu- 
 cation, and on her marriage bestowed on 
 her a princely fortune. Before and after 
 this event she lived in happiness and gran- 
 deur, and had the costly things of the earth 
 as soon as she mentioned them. This happy 
 state would have been to her as lasting as 
 it was great, had not her beloved husband 
 died and filled her heart with a lasting af- 
 fection and sensibility. In the disposition 
 of mind framed by this unfortunate event, 
 she formed the resolution to abandon the 
 great world, and to retire to her favourite 
 retreat at Windermere. In this place her 
 fine understanding and sensibility of mind 
 inclined her to piety, and to that infinitely 
 valuable and divine learning — the chris- 
 tian. In reading, she freely used her own 
 judgment, without any regard to the de- 
 cisions of others. Slie admitted truth upon 
 its own evidence. Sensible that she must
 
 i!82 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 be accountable, if she suffered a blind 
 -implicit faith to lead her into any error, 
 she admitted nothing that it recommended, 
 and she received only those revelations 
 which the purest reason communicated. 
 Upon the word of God alone she founded 
 her faith. The opinions of churchmen, a 
 human wisdom and knowledge, when con- 
 tradictory to the common sense and un- 
 derstanding of mankind, me never minded, 
 <Tlie glorious gospel only was her steady 
 hope, her solid comfort ', and as it gave her 
 a conformity to the Son of God in all 
 virtue, and ministered unto her an entrance 
 into his everlasting kingdom, she was de- 
 termined to give up all for the sake of it, 
 and to declare for the neglected truths of 
 -Christianity. At tlie same time, by a la- 
 boured education, she so happily culti- 
 vated the fine geniiis of her beautiful and 
 pious daughter Cleora, as to render . her 
 also an honour to human nature, an orna- 
 ment to the christian religion, and illus- 
 trious for learning of the most extensive
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 2 S3 
 
 kind. They were both the constant friends 
 of truth and liberty. The theology of 
 Athanasiiis they considered as the most 
 destructive of all pious inventions. They 
 detested the ecclesiastical power that main- 
 tained it, and were indefatigable and ex- 
 pensive in promoting the spread of that 
 heavenly religion, which is according to 
 the mind of the Lord Jesus. 
 
 It is hoped there is no English reader 
 so ignorant of the religious state of his 
 country, as not to know that a lady of 
 Mrs. Richmond's ample fortune and pious 
 disposition, did not soon become a prey of 
 the cunning and mercenary religionists 
 which have infested this kingdom since 
 the stupid times of Harry the Eighth, 
 Too soon, in truth, did she become their 
 victim ! Industriously attacked by a band 
 of fanatics, they brought her over to the 
 interior life, to silent worship, -to inspira^ 
 tion, quietism, and holy reveries. — From 
 this revolution, men of learning and worth 
 \A ere no longer seen in crowds at her house,
 
 SS4 THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 engaged with her in the noblest literary 
 conversations, for the advancement of 
 truth and the sciences, but in solitude she 
 moped away her remaining life, sunk into 
 passive unions of nothing with nothing, or 
 else in pious transcendings and other e.V' 
 tra'vagances, too idle to name. Her house 
 was always fdled with holy impostors : 
 she would no other company, and their 
 entire business was, to convert the simple 
 heavenly revelation of the apostles into a 
 gospel sublime and mysterious ; into a . 
 gospel fitted to excite tlie ardours of the 
 constitution, and to make the impulse of the 
 blood the only proper creed to be believed 
 in. By this wild religion, communicated 
 with spiritual sweetenings, sugarings, and 
 glances, Mrs. Richmond lost that velo- 
 city of perspiration which renders the ma- 
 chine superior to pressure, and in her 
 lone sinking hours she renounced her 
 reason in solitude, and sunk into non- 
 sense and vision from which there was 
 Jittle hope she could ever riser This is
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. S8^ 
 
 not said with any design to reflect upon 
 the devout exercises of the heart. Mrs. 
 Richmond was still an upright christian, 
 and however inclined to vision, was very 
 far from any thing amorous in her piety ; 
 very far from human love refined into se- 
 raphic rapture. — -But what betrayed C^ p/f^^y- 
 ^^ into a greater degree of weakness, 
 was her extreme youth, and the fire of a 
 poetic genius. The natural flame was 
 strong, and when she turned to fanaticism, 
 she fancied this fire was a visit from 
 heaven. She was fond of the delusion, as 
 it seemed a celestial companion in her 
 lone hours, and therefore, instead of check- 
 ing the high ideas, to try them at the bar 
 of human reason, she let them pass as 
 good and excellent, and they formed in 
 time a sort of sixth sensCy which never 
 fails producing imaginary joys in solitude. 
 The pious soul in this orb lives in a 
 dazzling light, and is the favourite and 
 friend of its maker, in his own conceit. 
 Now, reader, attend to what follows, —
 
 S86 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Cleora's religious instructor, a " gospel 
 preacher," for the most part living in the 
 house, fondly believing that he caused 
 her spirit to reside in the flesh, and that 
 he had elevated her mind into those di- 
 vine transports which are congenial with 
 angels and unbodied minds ; and thinking 
 that he had kindled her into an inebriation 
 of soul that would cause her to tran- 
 scend the limits of mortality; he taught 
 her to pray in silence in the inward sanc- 
 tuary, and to make her perfect and con- 
 solidate her soul, in an impenetrable 
 centre; he told her she must be absolutely 
 alienated from all sensible objects in her 
 meditations ; and that, lost in the depths 
 of reflection, she should suflcr no phys'icaL 
 being to interrupt her interior spiritual 
 prayer. 
 
 To this purpose he gave her a point to 
 meditate on, and desired she would give 
 it her whole ap[)lication, or she need never 
 sigh after Christian perfection. Cleora
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCr. 287 
 
 began, and the director left her under as 
 high a delusion as he could desire; but 
 he returned in half an hour to observe 
 the progress of the spiritual career. He 
 found her seated on a sofa, like contem- 
 plation on a monument; her eyes fixed, 
 and her whole body as if it were a petrifac- 
 tion. — Softly the holy man approached; 
 strange pleasures filled his soul as he 
 gazed upon his heavenly disciple, as be-. 
 lieving her quite perfect, from her attitude, 
 in the interior way, and that an entire ab- 
 sence of body made her quite glorious; 
 he began by touching the tip of her ear, 
 till at length emboldened by the inanima- 
 tion of the lovely fanatic, he proceeded 
 to take most illicit liberties, and might 
 have triumphed had the mystic charm not 
 been destroyed by brutal violence ; or had 
 not Mrs. Richmond, by accident, entered 
 the room, and became a spectator of the 
 most monstrous and audacious corruption 
 that the most infamous histories have upon 
 record.
 
 288 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR'i 
 
 " Take care, madam," said the atrocious 
 priest, on seeing Mrs. Richmond struck 
 dumb with astonishment or horror, " take 
 cttre ; there may be some circumstances in 
 this appearance that would bear mitiga* 
 tion, if all the particulars relating to them 
 were known. Besides, it is your duty to 
 discover virtue amidst intellectual immo- 
 ralities, and to disguise the imperfections 
 of a godly heart. And supposing the 
 M'orst, and that under the influence of a 
 weak mortal, and not under that of an 
 inspired Being, I began to take a few 
 liberties, might not the attitude of the 
 charming image, and the privacy of the 
 place, be too much for me, and tempt me 
 ^ to commit an indiscretion I should bt 
 sorry for all my life." 
 
 This speech was so far from satisfying 
 the insulted and amiable mother, that she 
 instantly ordered her servants to turn the 
 monster out of doors, and from that mo- 
 ment she perceived the dreadful conse- 
 quence of the mystic doctrine, and con^
 
 ilEMOlRS OF HENRY PERCY. 289 
 
 fessed that it might be extended to the 
 
 'most impure transactions. " O Cleora," 
 
 exclaimed the afflicted woman, " what a 
 
 deplorable error have we cherished — and 
 
 owing to there being no reason in our 
 
 "religion. Adhere to reason, m}^ child. 
 Whoever tells you^ you must give it up in 
 your religion, is the son of darkness, and 
 the truth is not in him." 
 
 The whole rabble of gospel saints who 
 infested the neighbourhood of the Lakes 
 durino; the delusion of this interestino; fa- 
 niily, were put to flight by the discovery 
 of the pious Tartuffe, and the anecdotes 
 which became public soon after their dis- 
 persion are too numerous and licentious 
 for the pages of this book. There were 
 hundreds of inspired quietists, and he and 
 she mystics; that is, persons who, by as- 
 .sociatmg and concentering with the divi- 
 nity, became all light, all eye, all spirits, 
 all joy, all rest, all gladness, all love ; 
 pure love. Filled with a rapturous still- 
 ness, they sat the hours away at a love- 
 
 VOL. T. o
 
 tjgO TIT-E T.IBT'V.AL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 banquet, and enjoyed a divine repose in 
 the suect fellowship of the bridegroonu 
 They even became sometimes like angels 
 without bodies, so exceeding light and 
 ' easy did tbcy feci themselves with the 
 body. They rested in quietness, and m ere 
 absorbed in silent spiritual pleasure, and 
 inexpressible sweetness. 
 
 No sooner did ]Mrs. Richmond disco- 
 ver all this to be miserable stutY, wretched 
 delusion; a wild senseless fancy, wanting 
 the beams of eternal and unalterable rea- 
 son, than a presiding good sense once 
 more appeared in all her actions, and kept 
 her ever again from sinking into the pro- 
 fundities, unions, annihilations, and in- 
 spirations of the gospel-preachers. " The 
 Jnly thing to be lamented/' said Henry, 
 at the conclusion of these remarks, " is, 
 that her present religion can never be that 
 useful, glorious piety, called Christianity; 
 ■ it can ^ever be that heavenly religion ) 
 .vhich was promulgated by Jesus,_ winch . 
 consists in oMng up prayers with our ,
 
 51E.M01RS OF HENRY PERCY. 291 
 
 lips, praising and giving thanks at proper 
 seasons ; and in reducing the principles 
 of the gospel to practice, by a righteous- 
 ness of mind, and an active univei sal be- 
 nevolence. And yet, if Henry had not 
 M'itnessed the manner in which IMrs. Rich- 
 yiond and her daughter worshipped, of 
 "what religion would he have said they 
 were ? In these fine solitudes, those ami- 
 able women of distinction and large for- 
 tunes passed their lives in the happiest 
 manner. They renounced custom and 
 false notions, the propensities and entries, 
 the noise and splendour of the world, and 
 in the tio\^ery retreat preserved t!je su- 
 premacy of conscience, and enjoyed the 
 noblest rational delights. They conse- 
 crated their lives to religion, and devoted 
 a considerable portion of their wealth to 
 the purposes of tlie most liberal munifi- 
 cence. " But they do not believe in reve- 
 lation." No ; their religion is nothing 
 more than tlie pure worship of the uni- 
 versal Father, without the least tincture 
 
 o2
 
 29^ THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 of Athanasian corruption, or any adulte- 
 ration from the holy or political cabinets 
 of man. Happy women ! I believe there 
 are few like them upon earth. Reason, 
 good sense, and good breeding, and good 
 humour, are there united, to complete the 
 felicity of mortals. To believe in reve- 
 lation might make them more glorious, 
 but it could not make them more virtuous 
 or give them a more heavenly temper. 
 
 The singular history of these ladies 
 made so favourable an impression on the 
 mind of Henry, that I thought it my 
 duty to detail to this length. In truth, 
 I was rejoiced that it came to his know- 
 ledcre, for I had some apprehensions that 
 he had no small disposition to become a 
 " gospel-preacher" himself For it is very 
 remarkable, that several clergymen of the 
 church of England prefer passionate de- 
 votion, in point of excellence of dignity, 
 to what they call virtue and praise-duty ; 
 and they seem so very fond of extatic 
 commotion, that one might think they
 
 :\IEM01KS OF HENRY FERCY. £9 J 
 
 placed the perfection of religion in inspi- 
 ration and transport. Yet they must now 
 own with Henry, that many illusions come 
 in the likeness of visions, and absurd and 
 impure fancies, under pretence of spi- 
 ritual raptures. So unsatisfying a thing 
 is rapture and transport to the soul, tlmt 
 it often distracts the faculties, but seldom 
 does advantage to piety, and is full of 
 danger in the heicrht of its lustre. Under 
 this conviction I was not a little pleased 
 to find that Henry thus benefited by what 
 'he had heard and seen. '' Such," said 
 he, " is the consequence of these aijiiable 
 women's parting with reason in religion, 
 and it shall be a warning to me, as a fol- 
 lower of Jesus, to take care that I do not 
 lose sight of the law of reason and nature, 
 while I profess myself a Christian, If 
 1 do, I will surely become an all-swallow- 
 ing bigot, and sink into nonsense and 
 vision, licentiousness and profanity."'
 
 i!S4 THE IIBEKAL CRn IC; OK, 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. 
 
 The empire of reason succeeds the destruction of 
 I'anaticisui — uoroeiJtic resources, and anecdotes 
 vi' the Richmond family— a rural excursion — a 
 i.torni — arc sheUered in the ruins of a nunnery — 
 di.<cover a pJace of rest — singularities attending 
 their reception by sir John J——. — ObseiTation.s 
 moral and novel upon the events of this ex- 
 cursion. 
 
 THE destruction of the reign of fana- 
 ticism, and the banishment of the whole 
 rabble of self-created saints and gospel 
 priests, was followed by the empire of 
 truth and reason; and men of sense, virtue, 
 and learning, found their former free ac- 
 cess to ^Irs. Richmond's hospitable house. 
 8uch v.as the revolution, and so con>- 
 pletely were the black ministers of super- 
 stition, inspiration, and credulity, driven 
 out ; and, like wounded deer, excommu- 
 nicated from the society, that Henry and 
 Kichmond were quite charmed with every
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 2J}^ 
 
 tliiiv^ they saw, and delighted and in- 
 structed with all they heard. And they 
 were so struck with Mrs. Richmond's 
 goodness, and the lively, happy manner 
 &he has of shewing it, that they conceived 
 immediately the greatest affection for her. 
 Indeed, so much good sense, good sayings, 
 and the best j^ood-humour, these a2:eeable 
 women put together, that I do believe, if 
 Sir Vicary Gibbs had come into this com- 
 pany, we should have seen his countenance 
 cease to be a libel on nature, and find it 
 for once illuminated with a smile. 
 
 From conversations these amiable per- 
 sons used often to ^o to music. Both 
 ladies swng with the greatest judgment and 
 extremely fine. Richmond played on the 
 violin, Henry on the liute. In the over- 
 ture to Cauiilk, and the soft airs of 
 Armifla, the little band appeared the 
 greatest professors. Their music was a 
 force irresistible : it penetrated into the 
 deepest recesses of the soul. — Recitation 
 from select poets' plays, afforded another
 
 U96 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 source of amusement to this distinguished 
 party. Henry could recite from Miltoii 
 Milh as much excellence as the immortal 
 Quin ; and Cleora, -whose mind had re- 
 covered all its brightness since the flight 
 of the ministers of darkness, was a de* 
 lightful speaker, and could excel the Jor* 
 dans and the Farrens of the times. She 
 had a beautiful figure, was born w^th 
 every charm to please, and mistress of 
 every virtue under heaven. She was just 
 nineteen at the time of Henry's visit, and 
 •bo eminently lovely, that Henry would have 
 been strangely perplexed to whom to as- 
 sign the golden apple, were he constituted 
 judge; and Cleora, Miss Williams, and 
 the original of Richmond's miniature, had 
 disputed the prize of beauty with her. 
 Her person was quite faultless, and her 
 face all harmony : her eyes a deep de- 
 lightful blue, large, sweet, and even. Her 
 lips and teeth what the warmest imagina- 
 tion or the correctest fancy could require. 
 She had an unbounded share vi social wi^
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY P£RCY. 297 
 
 and with equal strength and propriety 
 could express the whole series of the pas- 
 sions in comic characters. The pliantness 
 of her disposition could raise and keep up 
 a pleasurable sensation, and give a succes- 
 sion of joys to a company. She was what 
 Tertullion somewhere calls the Vis Colu- 
 brina, and in the most various represen- 
 tations could make her acting as bewitch- 
 ing as the discourse of the serpent who 
 seduced the first of women. She could 
 suit her face and person to any attitude ; 
 and so perfectly conform her words to 
 her gesture, that she lifted a character at 
 once into the loudest laughter. But Cleora 
 is not a Christian, because she thinks re- 
 ligion is no more than a moral constitu- 
 tion ; and believes every thing else, rites, 
 ceremonies, and holy orders, to be the 
 schemes of the cunning, and the dreams 
 of the visionary; that she despises all hu- 
 man inventions in religion, and with all 
 her sensibility and Promethean fire, ridi- 
 eules tlie high-flown, as well as the gospel" 
 
 5
 
 298 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 ecclesiastics. In her domestic amuse- 
 inents, and after Henry and llichmond 
 had been some time on their visit, she 
 made very free with the high-church doc- 
 tors. But she was perfection itself, when 
 she played Moline's Tartuff, or Gibber -s 
 Nonjuror. She likewise took off X'octor 
 
 It to the greatest exactness ; his very 
 
 voice and the mien of his visage, when he 
 
 was seduced by Lady J y into the 
 
 commission of a breach of trust and fide- 
 lity. I really believe, if the Doctor saw 
 her at the performance, he would confer a 
 blessing upon the world by putting an end 
 to his malignant and treacherous life. She 
 Ects this reverend criminal in so atrocious 
 a light, that one must want sentiment who 
 does not tremble for religion and weep for 
 humanity. 
 
 The morning;?, as I believe I observed 
 on a former occasion, of tliis truly amiable 
 society, were frequently spent in social 
 visits and rural excursions. It was on 
 «ri occasion of this latter nature, and on a
 
 ME.^IOfRS OF IIEN'RY PERCY. 299 
 
 day of the finest lustre, that they extended 
 their ride to the most picturesque boun- 
 dary of the lake. The distance from home 
 was considerable ; the winds began to 
 blow outrageously, the clouds gathered, 
 .and as the day advanced, the rain came 
 down like water-snouts from the heavens. 
 All the good that offered was the ruins of 
 a nunnery within a few yards of the water; 
 and among the walls, once sacred to de- 
 votion, a part of an arch that was enough 
 to shelter them and their beasts from the 
 floods and tempests. Into this they en- 
 tered, and for some time were perfectly 
 pleased to be so well sheltered. But at 
 last the storm and rain were quite over; and 
 they saw the sun with renovated streniitli 
 shine out, and with embellished lustre 
 drive back the hovering shades. Out 
 then they came from tb.e ruins, and as 
 they passed for a while on the banks of 
 , the relucient lake, they saw a handsome 
 little boat with two oars, in a creek; and 
 .concluded, very justly, tiiat there must be
 
 300 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 some habitation not far from one side or 
 other of the water. Into the boat, there- 
 fore they went, having secured their horses, 
 and began to row round, the better to dis- 
 cover; for they stood in much need of 
 refrCvShment, and were several miles from 
 home. For a quarter of an hour the gentle- 
 men were rowing as hard as they could la- 
 bour, and then came to the bottom of a 
 garden, which had a flight of stairs lead- 
 ing up to it. These they ascended. They 
 walked on, and at the further end of a fine 
 improved spot, they came to a mansion. 
 They immediately knocked at the door. 
 After some delay, and a confusion easily 
 distinguished, the door was half opened, 
 and a person; with a guilty suspicion of 
 countenance, demanded, with more dis- 
 trust than hospitality, what the travellers 
 wanted at that time of day. Open the 
 door^ man, said Richmond ; is it not suf- 
 ficient that you see these ladies alarmed 
 by the storm, and fatigued by the ride. 
 Shew them into a room. Without further
 
 , the na-tv entered, and not with' 
 ceremony the pa. ty ^^hi„g they 
 
 out being astonished ^'/J^/ ,^^\.irt>. 
 , 1 \A Havin" entered the nousc 
 beheld. Hav " ^..laentaUy went 
 
 out '""■°'^^"^" ; , "I.ery thing was in 
 
 " ? TfL enchantment, for their par- 
 order, as 'f by enctia ^^^^^ 
 
 ticular reception Some D 
 ;,„. ornamented the waiUd«^^^,^^ 
 Uy several periodical "«'^ y^i.-.d 
 
 of music. 'n--:'^\:/:; board laid 
 
 forap«Wi..y«--.-f-tndourand 
 
 out with every thing m ! ^ 
 
 f„,.tmn The apartment was (lecou 
 
 perfection, i" i „„,., he birds were 
 with the finest flowers, and the but 
 
 singing delightfully. ^_.^^,^ 
 
 When .he strangers -tuedy^^^^^ 
 
 „ot a little surprised, ndse^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^"^\:;^rPrii;. he flowers not 
 were as fine a Ure bell. 
 
 A figure entered. U ^^ 
 
 ture to call her a woman. ^ o 
 
 ™ c.,p ,vas short ui stature, 
 
 her picture. Sne w.s _ 
 
 dropsy-bellied, hnmpt beh.na,
 
 302 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 browed, and squinted dreadfully; sli- 
 ^vas flat-nosed, splay-footed, without a 
 tooth, and was prodigiously mantled. Ail 
 tins, however, had been no reflection upon 
 her, if her precipient had been good. 
 Mhere the mind of a woman is honest, 
 tne deformity of tlie case it is lodged' 
 m js of no consequence to the public But 
 where the mind is bad, it renders deform- 
 ity shociving. 
 
 Cross, dark, and obstinate, this creature 
 would answer no questions; but said her 
 master was out, and that it was her duty 
 to see that he found no company in his 
 house on his return liome. Tlmt he en- 
 tertamed no strangers, saw no friends- 
 "^ short, that he would be rancorous mad 
 ^yith her if he came to know that she 
 
 opened the door to any soul alive 
 
 " Who is your master? \Vhat is his name ? 
 V» here is the lady of the house .-'-The 
 answer to these interrogations were either 
 impudent or unsatisfactory, and conclud- 
 ed with,^-*' Cenie, come, the master will
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 303 
 
 soon return— you must all begone." The 
 noise of liorses, and loud rapping at the 
 front door, announced, in fact, the return 
 of the master: the woman screamed 
 %vith affright, rushed out, and once agam 
 left the strangers to wonder— and them- 
 selves. A step was heard in the passage, 
 a gentle tap struck the door, and a gentle- 
 man entered, whom, of all others in Eng- 
 land, they least expected to behold. He 
 proved to be Sir J. J. a distant relative 
 of the ladies, and a former acquaintance 
 of Richmond's. With Sir John, there 
 Avas no occasion for formality; Henry 
 only was introduced ; the rest considered 
 themselves at home. Dinner was served ; 
 tlie savage who first opened the door at- 
 tended table : it was not till he had placed 
 the desert and retired, that curiosity be- 
 gan its operations, and the ladies begged 
 lo know wliat Sir John could mean by 
 leading a life so mysterious, and by keep- 
 ing a housekeeper who represents him as 
 a monster, and who looks herself (it to
 
 301 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 frighten any civilized female out of her 
 wits. Ambiguity of answer, flush of 
 countenance, and confusion of mind, so 
 strongly marked Sir John's replies, that 
 tlie t:onversation was thought proper to 
 be dropped, and as the evening was ap- 
 proaching, the strangers had to depart; 
 just insisting on their reluctant host to 
 dine with them on the following day, or 
 as soon as he could possibly be dis- 
 engaged. 
 
 On the return of Mrs. Richmond and 
 the interesting companions of her excur- 
 sion, the conversation turned on the sin- 
 gular occurrences of the day, and the 
 Colonel remarked that he was sorry Sir 
 John had been invited to the house, as 
 he was regarded in town as a dangerous 
 character, and could be employed to any 
 virtuous purpose in the life he now pur- 
 sued. But this intimation did not shake 
 the mind of Mrs. Richmond. On the 
 contrary; for she observed that it was 
 iHiforlunately too much the way of the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 505 
 
 world to patronize the good, and to de- 
 sert the wicked. The good stand in need 
 of little protection^ they patronize them- 
 selves ; but the wicked require a constant 
 superintending care ; they possess no in- 
 ternal means of self-preservation, and be- 
 come more and more abandoned m pro- 
 portion as they are shunned by the vir- 
 tuous, and left to the uncontrouled 
 government of a depraved heart or a 
 perverted mmd. " For my part," con- 
 tinued this amiable woman, " when I 
 administer relief, I do not anatomize the 
 moral character, and shut my purse when 
 I find calamity to be the offspring of 
 vice : no ; my sensibility is rather rouzed 
 by this addition to the misfortune of the 
 claimant-for, what greater affliction can 
 befal a person than the curse of a dis- 
 position favourable to vice. And what is 
 the consequence of Ueating the wicked 
 M-ith the humanity you would confine to. 
 the virtuous? The consequence is often, 
 ni relormation of heart : at least, it acts
 
 306 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; Oli^ 
 
 Upon those springs and powers of tlie 
 intellectual system, which are most likely 
 to work up that generous principle, and 
 high tone of thinking, which improve the 
 character of man. — Let us then see what- 
 we can do with this Sir John. You Rich- 
 mond can instruct him in the noble sen- 
 timents of a soldier ; Percy can teach him 
 the humane doctrines of a divine, and 
 Cieora and I, surely, can soften the fero- 
 city of his nature, and make him blush 
 if he dare to derogate from the manners 
 of an honourable man." 
 
 There was no resisting arguments like 
 these ; the whole party concurred in them, 
 and chearfully agreed to promote the de- 
 sign they approved. Indeed, it was acting 
 with a consistent disposition and an exact 
 rectitude of mind. For assisting the good 
 is a common act of duty ; virtue in dis- 
 tress demands munificence ; nor is there 
 lay real alms but what is bestowed upoa 
 the wretch whose condition is embittered, 
 not only by poverty but by vice. Such
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 307 
 
 ^vere INIrs. llichmond's sentiments. As 
 a perfect ^voman she commits herself to 
 mstke, in regard to those things done by 
 'herself; and in all other events to the 
 nature of the whole. Let what will hap- 
 pen after she is ever contented, and tully 
 satisfied with these two things; to do 
 justlij what is at this and every mstant 
 'doing: and to approve and love what is 
 at' this and every instant allotted her. 
 A glorious sentiment ! Here is-" thy 
 will be done/' and the true integrity re- 
 commended by the gospel. 
 
 Although I am disposed to give so great 
 • and excellent a character of this lady, yet 
 I am far from thinking her apostacy a 
 little spot in her character. 1 must ac- 
 knowledge she is culpable indeed in this 
 article ; it is impossible to excuse her fine 
 understanding in that transaction; as it 
 certainly was easy for it to distinguish the 
 Christ, the Son of the living God, from 
 that Christ the Athenasian priests had 
 invented in horrible confession of faith.
 
 508 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 Mrs. Richmond had done gloriously to- 
 reject the Jesus of those , fathers of the 
 church, who made our Lord to be equal 
 in power, and all perfections, to his God 
 and Father: but as it is so. extremely 
 evident in the sacred writings, that tlie 
 true Jesus w^as a most perfect pattern of 
 all kinds of virtue, and of the most steady 
 abstinence from all kinds of evil, his whole 
 life a continued course of piety and good- 
 ness, and his sole concern for the honour 
 and glory of the universal Father ; — that he 
 was at all times ready to do, or to suffer, 
 the holy will of the blessed God ; — that 
 his doctrines, precepts, and promises, are 
 admirably adapted to reform the life, to 
 purify the heart, to exalt the affections, 
 and restore the will to its true libertv; — 
 that the gospel enjoined the greatest 
 simplicity and spirituality of divine wor- 
 ship ; and the whole system and claims 
 of our Lord were supported by great and 
 numerous miracles ; — criminal, I must 
 say; criminal was ]\Irs. Richmond in re-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 309 
 
 nouncing Christianity, and in adopting 
 the Zenonian Creed. But this excepted, 
 she was, without any other exception, as 
 upright and excellent a woman as over 
 honoured human nature. Laying aside 
 •for a moment revealed truths, let me 
 search through all nature, and I shall 
 not find a nobler object than Mrs. Rich- 
 mond herself. But she was a stoic : and 
 if I could for a moment cease to think 
 that I am a Christian, I should not be 
 able to hinder myself from ranking the 
 destruction of the sect of Zeno amon£j 
 the misfortunes that have befallen the 
 human race. — Glorious philosophy ! True 
 , philosophers 1 They placed the sovereign 
 good in rectitude of conduct ; in conduct 
 merely, and not in the event ; — in just, 
 complete action throughout every part 
 of life, whatever be the face of things, 
 whether favourable or the contrary. 
 ; Their true and perfect man ; without 
 regard either to pleasure or pain, unin- 
 fluenced equally by prosperity or adversity;
 
 310 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OK, 
 
 superior to the world, and its best and 
 worst events, does fairly rest his all upon 
 the rectitude of his own conduct ; does 
 constantly, and uniformly, and manfully 
 maintain it; thinking that, and that alone, 
 wholly sufficient to make him happy. Few 
 individuals, it may be, have ever arrived 
 at this trancendence : yet all may follow 
 the beautiful exemplar ; and in propor- 
 tion as we approach, so we advance pro- 
 portionably in merit and in worth. 
 
 I have commented to this length upon 
 Mrs. Richmond, because I admire beyond 
 measure the liberality of her remarks on 
 the subject of Sir John, and because I 
 was happy that she afforded Henry so 
 <xrand a lesson for the conduct of his 
 humanity in the disposition of any excess 
 of means he might at any time possess. 
 There is no expression more convenient 
 to an illiberal mind than — " The m retch 
 is worthless. — It would be a si?i to serve 
 such a wretch.'' There is no expression 
 more accomodiitiug to a hard heart and
 
 HEMOTRS OF HENRY PERCY. 311 
 
 Krallous mind than-" I sliall enquire into 
 
 the merits of the case and then " And 
 
 what then? seize the smallest pretence 
 for forming an improper estimate, and 
 then aggravate the evil by declaring the 
 wretch to be too vicious to be commu-, 
 nicated with or relieved. I am ignorant 
 where this morality is maintained: it is 
 practiced by the world, yet sure I am 
 it is not to be gathered from the sacred 
 
 page. . 
 
 In the present instance, it is sufticient 
 
 for my purpose that it was the morality 
 of i\Irs. Richmond, and" that it was 
 the instrument of Sir John's introduc- 
 tion to her house. That a latent, as 
 well as an avowed moral motive, lurked 
 in the minds of the younger party, may 
 well be presumed. There were various 
 appearances of mystery in his habita- 
 tion and conduct: curiosity was on the 
 sprino- to make that mystery out. Per- 
 haps ° he succeeding chapter may be able 
 to gratify the anxiety which this may 
 have raised.
 
 231 rilE LlBEilAL critic; OR, 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 Sir John visits the Richmonds — His licentiousness 
 is discovered, and intended to be reproved — His 
 character is given by Richmond — It is only to 
 be paralleled in Sully's Memoirs — Mode of re- 
 proof pointed out — Not likely to meet the ap- 
 probation of fanatic preachers and orthodox- 
 priests — Liberality a stranger to all churches. 
 
 IN compliance with Mrs. Richmond's 
 instructions, Sir John was received on the 
 day appointed ; and, indeed, on various 
 other succeeding visits, with all the atten- 
 tions of eood-breedins", and with all tliat 
 candour and liberality which marks tlie 
 character of generous and unsuspecting 
 minds. No person affected to shun iiim 
 as " a dangerous man ;" no person at- 
 tempted to reprove him for the errors he 
 had formerly committed^, or for those it 
 was certain he had in the compass of his 
 immediate design.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRV PLRCY. . 31$ 
 
 The art of reproving is so seldom found 
 in perfection, that it was fortunate for 
 Henry he had the experience of this ami- 
 able lady's manner of endeavouring to re- 
 form the conduct of Sir John. A princi- 
 ple of pride never extinct, no, not even in 
 the most infamous breast, renders it a dis- 
 gusting task to sit down and hear our 
 faults sifted out and (;\amined. When 
 the sentence proceeds from a superior, it 
 seems an arbitrary consequence of their 
 power ; and when it falls from an equal or 
 an inferior, it appears an insolent encroach- 
 ment on our ow^n. Therefore it was 
 Mrs. R.'s observation, " let us admit the 
 Baronet among us, and we will shew him 
 virtue in so amiable a form, that he shall 
 not be able to avoid loving her for tier 
 own native charms; and must unavoiu 
 ably reform, without sinking to the «?;•■■:- 
 sity of attending to reproof. 
 
 The little restraint which Sir John 
 found himself under with this amiable fa- 
 mily, induced him to cultivate their ac- 
 VOL. r. p
 
 31i THE LIBERAL CIIITIC; OR, 
 
 quaiiitance, and i^sel^sibly to fall off from 
 many libertine habits and dangerous pre- 
 judices — habits and prejudices which form- 
 ed a most humiliating contrast with the 
 opposite qualifications and endowments of 
 his mind. In speaking of these qualifica- 
 tions one evening after he had retired to 
 his own solitude, Henry, who was so com- 
 petent a judge of manners and literature, 
 could not avoid expressing his sentiments 
 before the ladies, and to the following ef- 
 fect : — 
 
 '' Extraordinary man ! To the most ex- 
 tensive experience and cultivated know- 
 ledge, he adds a very brilliant imagina- 
 tion^ and the most ready, rapid eloquence. 
 By toiUng in the mines of literature, he 
 has engrafted erudition upon genius : so 
 great is his proficiency in this art, such is 
 the splendour of his sophisms ; in views so 
 infinitely varied has he the magic power of 
 displaying his ideas, and illustrating his 
 arguments, that a prism is necessary to 
 distinguish his colouring, and mark the
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PEUCV. 315 
 
 true stream of light, from the felicitous 
 hues of fancy. His conceptions are vigor- 
 ous, and his methodical arrangenient is 
 excellent; and, by a happy union of rhe- 
 toric and logic, he is equally able to en- 
 force persuasion and refute objection. He 
 joins strength to delicacy, precision to co- 
 piousness) justness to elegance, and syiti- 
 raetry to variety. His winged expression ^ 
 aptly represents his thoughts, which have 
 often a boldness that txiUs with the impe- 
 tuosity of the thunderbolt. His imagina- 
 tion is abundant, and his language copious 
 and flowing — it animates and irradiates. 
 His flowery thoughts are often exhibited 
 in the most glaring light, and he plays 
 with the imagination of the hearer, as the 
 winds w ith the waves of the element." 
 
 " Stop, Henry, stop !'' exclaimed Rich- 
 mond, on seeing the favourable impression 
 which this descriptive character made on 
 the minds of the women, particularly on 
 that of Cleora ; stop there. 1 know the 
 man, and I know there is no character sb 
 
 p2
 
 316 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 dangerous to society as that which posr 
 sesses the art of makinij licentiousness 
 pleasing, and giving to vice the semblance 
 to virtue. The human heart is woefully 
 disposed to deceive itself, and does not 
 nant the artificial aids of corruption to in- 
 crease its natural propensity to evil. The 
 wisdom of an ancient republic is said to 
 have established the custom of exposing 
 drunken slaves to the view of their youth, 
 in order to impress on their tender minds 
 an abhorrence of that de^radino; vice. On 
 this principle I have interrupted your ge- 
 nerous culogium, and on this principle I 
 wiust direct the attention to my opinion of 
 6ir John. What Henry says of him is 
 nevertheless true: but he is deficient in 
 virtue, and his endowments should, con- 
 sequently, have but a transient dominion 
 over the feelings of the heart. The ear 
 may be charmed with the magic of his 
 sounds, but the soul should neither be 
 charmed nor exalted. The knowledj^e 
 of his corruption, of his propensity to
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 317 
 
 evil, and of the rapidity of his course to 
 the last staffe of dej^enerate nature, should 
 make us shudder instead of adniirins: his 
 discourse. Believe me, Henry, that who- 
 ever is base enough to practise those arts 
 vvhich loosen the bonds of morality, who 
 has dared to debauch the mind from its 
 innocence ; who blinds the colours of vice 
 and virtue, so as to obscure any distinc-i- 
 tion between them ; and who exerts the 
 powers of eloquence and pleasing, to lull 
 asleep the admonitions of conscience, can 
 never rank amongs the characters yoa de- 
 scribe; because, he who is deemed a traitor 
 to honour and to virtue, must cease to 
 have influence over the mind, and deserves 
 to be excluded from human intercourse 
 for ever. 
 
 These observations were concluded with 
 a warmth which enforced their propriety, 
 and carried, at the same time, a bleeding 
 conviction. Henry could make no repty : 
 Mrs. Richmond was struck dumb ; and 
 Cleora, after a pause somewhat painiul, ex,-
 
 SIS THE LlBiillAL CRITIC ', OR, 
 
 claimed with a too visible emotion, " Is it 
 possible that such a man could forget his 
 illustrious race of ancestors, and sacrifice 
 whatever is fair in reputation, amiable in 
 manners, and honorable in life, and lead a 
 life of desperate and dangerous licenti- 
 
 ousness?" 
 
 " Yes, Cleora,"said Richmond, resum- 
 ing the conversation, " the noble, the exalt- 
 ed baronet of my friend Henry, has wast- 
 ed the whole of his youth in the most 
 uninterrupted series of shame-'daring 
 pursuits. As if born to people a new 
 world with vice, and strip the old one of 
 all the virtue remaining in it, he has let 
 no modest woman he could come at 
 escape with her chastity untried ; and his 
 own sex have no other way to be admitted 
 into his orgies, than that of becoming pan- 
 ders to him, and no one of yours can hope 
 for justice or charity from him, without 
 purchasing it at the enormous price of her 
 honor. Above the fear of human laws, 
 he has often trampled under foot the di«
 
 MEMOIRS OF HEKllY PERCY. 319 
 
 vine; and, in spite of all justice, he has been, 
 forced to submit to his fascinating looks, 
 ^vllich dart destruction on every innocent 
 virgin he sees. Nor is his depravity more 
 universal than his industry in his adulte- 
 rous career. That he may lose no time 
 or opportunity which can second his flagi- 
 tious inclinations, -nhen the obscene de- 
 mon actuates him, he has a band of 
 under-ficnds ever out upon the scout, and 
 prying about in search of innocent vic- 
 tims for him to devour. M'iien I met him 
 some years ago, a Captain Bluff was at 
 the head of this virtue-hunting tribe ; and 
 none more fit for such an office than such 
 a wretch, whose very features look the 
 soul of sin. Noplace so sacred but he 
 dares prophane with base attempts against 
 unguarded purity; no sty so common 
 which he has not ransacked to satiate the 
 rapacious cormorant he serves ; and no 
 vile method has he left unpractised to gra- 
 tify his brutal passions, which either villainy 
 eould dictate, or impudence succeed in.-^
 
 ^^ THE LIBERAL critic; OR, 
 
 Such are the wretches Sir John loads with 
 his favours ; such the objects of his inglo- 
 rious profuseness; while those unhappy 
 victims his infamy has devoted to ruin, 
 are left by him a prey to shame and indi- 
 gence : I, myself, knew the hopeless, still 
 pitied Amanda, who, 'too unpractised in 
 the baseness of his sex, sacrificed her per- 
 son, peace, and honour to his unwearied 
 artifice : and what was her fate at last ? 
 why, if for a while he loaded her with all 
 that vanity could wish, or his fantastic 
 prodigality could purchase, how dearly did 
 he make her pay for it in the end ! After 
 her blessing him with two lovely children, 
 after her having fixed her affections and 
 happiness wholly in him, after her havmg 
 given up the just pretensions of her high 
 extraction for his sake, did he not, when 
 sated with her, abandon her, helpless and 
 friendless, to disgrace and penury ; and by 
 a neglect so much more keen as his extra- 
 vagance of pretended passion had made 
 her -less expect it, hurry her despairing^
 
 MEMOIRS OF llr.NRy PERCY. 321 
 
 soul to seek, by hasty steps, an asylum 
 
 from present misery in death!" 
 
 As no one of the party could attempt 
 to palliate or protect a character of this 
 nature, when Richmond concluded, as-ilent 
 mortification seemed to prevail ; a silence, 
 however, that announced more sorrow than 
 astonishment ; more regret of heart than 
 horror of soul. So true it is, that womem 
 seldom feel sufficiently shocked at the de- 
 pravity and licentiousness of our sex ; al- 
 though they instantly shudder, and cry 
 out, on the appearance of any error or 
 impunity in their own. Cleora reflected 
 more on the portrait drawn by Henry, 
 than she did on that pencilled by Rich- 
 mond, and she joined her mother in- recom- 
 mending, that the measure of reforming 
 the monster should not be abandoned, the 
 more so as he seemed of late so well die- 
 posed to cultivate the acquaintance of 
 those who led the most virtusous' and ho- 
 nourable life. To this Richmond had the 
 generosity ta accede > satisfied, a^ he said^,
 
 322 THE I.IBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 for having accounted for his original re- 
 mark, that Sir John was a dangerous man: 
 and, as it was perceived that the baronet 
 attached himself to Henry in a very point- 
 ed manner^, it was determined on, that 
 Henry should reciprocate his advances, 
 and, by gaining his confidence, discover 
 the means of correcting the errors of his 
 - 'heart, and the perversion of his mind. 
 The visits of Sir John becoming every 
 day more familiar and frequent, Henry 
 had various opportunities of conversing 
 with him ; and of gradually, though not 
 imperceptibly, effecting the wished- for re- 
 volution in his temper. As the mode pur- 
 sued by Henry did not rivet the feelings, 
 or clash too suddenly with long-acquired 
 habits, it had a more reasonable prospect 
 of succeeding. He blended the highest 
 prospects of pleasure with his morality: 
 and, in fact, in a true estimate of things, 
 so wonderfully are virtue and self-gratifi- 
 cation complicated together, that the very 
 pursuit of pleasure itself is not only con-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PEROY. 323 
 
 vertible into an actual exercise of virtue, 
 but even has a natural tendency to carry 
 us on to a still higher deG;ree of it : it be- 
 came scarce possible but that, to a con- 
 siderate man, the same principle of good 
 taste which regulates his amusements, 
 must irresistibly make its way into the 
 economy of his mind and temper; and lay 
 the foundation of solid worth in his inward 
 and moral character. 
 
 Both tiie orthodox and gospel-ministers 
 will immediately say that this is too libe- 
 ral a method of instruction. Imposilion^ 
 command, and arbitrary appointment, are 
 the lessons they choose to teach us ; and 
 indeed they are the only ones that can be 
 at all fitted to introduce the rio-our of 
 tiieir extravagant systems. Submission 
 and restraint is with them all in all ; and^ 
 there is always, with them, the more of 
 grace in any practice, the less there is of 
 nature! 
 
 To cultivate a taste of moral worth and 
 exjcellence from a principle of decency,.
 
 32^ THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR^ 
 
 proportion, and beauty in actions, is a 
 piece of rank philosophic pride rather than 
 of religious humility. Our conduct is 
 then most valuable in itself, when there is 
 the least ground to think it so in our ap- 
 prehension of it. This pride of virtue is 
 the ruin of it ; they can allow nothing to 
 be such that flows from so corrupt a prin^ 
 ciple» 
 
 At a time when the conversation ^f this 
 charming party, augmented by the society 
 of Sir John, turned upon the above sub- 
 ject, Henry took an opportunity to ob- 
 serve — " And yet the principle of pride, 
 or of reverence to a man's self was thought 
 fit to be inculcated by one of the wisest 
 moralists of antiquity ; and it will ever be 
 a very just foundation of moral merit, in 
 spite of all the visionary conceits of spi- 
 ritual mortification. Pride is one of those 
 qualities in our nature tiiat is either good 
 or bad, accoi ding as it is applied. For 
 instance, if the pride of Sir John was ex- 
 ercised on proper objects, we should
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. S25 
 
 shortly see hinix leading the senate, or 
 shining in debate ;. but now his pride ex- 
 hausts itself on things of imaginary worth, 
 and neglects what is real and genuine. 
 He may tell me, that his pride is con- 
 sumed in the pursuit of pleasure. This I 
 deny ; because I doubt whether he is not a 
 stranger to the supreme good called plea^ 
 sure, a supreme pleasure, which I should 
 be happy to assist him in the pursuit of. 
 
 Here Henry was interrupted by an ex- 
 clamation of surprize from the ladies, and 
 Mrs. Richmond told him she had hoped 
 he would rather restrict the baronet in his 
 career of pleasure than encourage him in 
 the dangerous continuance of it. 
 
 " 1 beg to repeat it, madam," said 
 Henry, " constraint and selt-denial is so 
 far from being necessary to virtue, as 
 you appeal* to imagine, that it is mere 
 weakness and want, of virtue that gives 
 them their use or expediency.. Pleasure, 
 then, is the very essence of virtue, and 
 should be pursued by Sir John till he emr
 
 326 THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 braces the realitv, and not the shade. It 
 is possible that he never yet enjoyed plea- 
 sure in its greatest extent. 1 ask him in 
 what it consists? It consists in the highest 
 tranquillity of mind, united with the most 
 perfect health of body ; blessings enjoyed 
 only through the habits of rectitude, bene- 
 volence, and temperance. I ask him, whe- 
 ther his pleasures have always flowed from 
 this state of body, and from those pure 
 delights of the mind which virtue only can 
 impart ? 
 
 On this appeal Sir John looked con- 
 fused, but not displeased. Henry conti- 
 nued thus : " Why, madam, would you 
 put constraint on pleasure ^ Contemplate 
 providence! Providence,, which does no- 
 thing m vain, would not have so exqui- 
 sitely adapted the w^orks of his hands to 
 the entertainment and service of man, if 
 constraint of any kind had been his deter- 
 mined portion and assignment in the pre- 
 sent life. The practice of our duty is in 
 the strictest sense to follow pleasure ; and
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCV. %^( 
 
 the way to recommend ourselves to a be- 
 nevolent and good duty is, not to harass 
 and afflict that being he has in his gracious 
 bounty bestowed upon us ; but, upon a 
 rational and judicious estimate of things, 
 to consult in the most etfectual manner at 
 once the greatest use, happiness, and im- 
 provement of it. There is no greater er- 
 ror than to conceive that we were brought 
 into this world to watch, prey, and be mi- 
 serable. We were brought into it rather^ 
 to indulge some portion of life in amuse- 
 ments and pleasures, and to the gratifying 
 our bodily appetites and inclinations in in- 
 nocent recreations and diversions. I be- 
 seech you, contemplate nature. To 
 what end are we furnished with such nice 
 and distinguishing palates, if no difference 
 is to be made between the leeks and 
 onions of Egypt, and the milk and honey 
 of Canaan ? If herbs and roots, the only 
 food of our antedeluvian ancestors, are 
 the only sustenance allowed for the use of 
 mankind, wiiy all those numberless crea-
 
 SS8 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; Olt, 
 
 turcs, that swarm through the imnieasuF- 
 able regions of earth, air, and seas, whose- 
 flesh affords so exquisite a relish, and so 
 wholesome a nutriment? If the insipid 
 acorn is so proper a nourishment as the first 
 race of human kind esteemed it, why do 
 we find the charming peach, and delicious 
 pine-apple, amidst the works of the crea^- 
 tion? If we are only to slake our thirst at 
 the pure limpid stream, why teems the 
 vine with swelling clusters, and pours out, 
 her purple floods of the choicest beverage? . 
 Why have we the sense of smelling if we 
 are to niake no distinction between the 
 offensive odour of the poppy, and the de- 
 licate scent of the rose and violet? To 
 what purpose has Providence painted the 
 tulip, carnation, and ranunculus, with 
 such an inimitable lustre, and lovely con- 
 fusion of colours, if the eye is not to 
 amuse itself with beholding their agreeable 
 charms, and endless diversity of beauties-? 
 Why has Heaven put into our minds the ideas . 
 of order, symmetry.^^and proportion, if it be
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 32& 
 
 unlawful to erect sumptuous fabrics, to plan 
 out regular parterres, and to embellish our 
 grounds with vistas, avenues, and cascades? 
 Why are we formed with minds so apt to 
 be affected with line compositions, with 
 tuneful numbers, and the irresistible force 
 of all powerful eloquence, if it be illegal 
 to peruse those noble writings which the*^^ 
 Greeks and Romans have left us, if no-' 
 thing but downright devotion is to be re- 
 garded by us ; if sermons and books of 
 piety are to be our only amusement and 
 study ? — Whence all that prodigious variety 
 of minerals, metals, and precious stones, 
 ' that lie buried in the bowels of the earth, 
 if they must not be employed for the use 
 and pleasure of man ? — Why labours the 
 imprisoned silk-worm ? and, thus hid for 
 months in lonely durance, draws from her 
 bowels those fine and slender threads, 
 which at once surprise and delight you, ' 
 if you are not to enjoy her labours, and"' 
 adorn yourselves with her manufacture h 
 Believe incj every thing is intended for'
 
 330 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 our pleasure. Let Sir John pursue plea- 
 sure^ then, without constraint; minding 
 only, that it consists in the highest tran- 
 quillity of mind, united with the most per- 
 fect health of body ; habits of rectitude^ 
 benevolence, temperance, religion, and 
 virtue.
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 531 
 
 CHAP. XX, 
 
 The conviction of error promotes reform — Henry 
 courts the acquaintance of Sir John, and deter- 
 mines to reform his character — Sir John gives his 
 own pourtrature — Henry trembles — Sir John con- 
 fesses that he detains by force a lovely woman in 
 his solitude — he is prevailed on to disclose all the 
 circumstances of her storv, and consents to be 
 married to her by Henry — the Richmonds attend 
 —the lady appears — her consent was a subterfuge 
 to obtain protection — the lovely prisoner was no 
 other than the beautiful Clara Williams. 
 
 HENRY Percy was a character so splen- 
 didly great, with endowments which threw 
 such a brightness over his life, that Sir 
 John, with all his vices and deformities, 
 could not resist admiring him ; nor admit- 
 ting, that whilst he himself was led to the 
 ver^re of his horizon without illumination of 
 public praise or individual regard, Henry 
 was growing illustrious by the honourable
 
 SS2 THE LlBERAl. CRITIC; OK, 
 
 exercise of rhe most exalted genius and 
 distinguished faculties of the mind. 
 
 The acknowledgment of error is the 
 principal part of reform : when Henry per- 
 ceived this favourable disposition, in the 
 place of sinking the Baronet still deeper 
 in his own opinion, he endeavoured to in- 
 spire him with that degree of pride and 
 ambition which is absolutely essential inj 
 the formation of a great and good charac:- 
 ter. — •' Man was not made," said Henry 
 to his new friend, " for a state of inacti- 
 vity, or even of useless industry. The 
 highest rank and most profuse wealth 
 cannot justify their possessor in the mere 
 appropriate employments of the station 
 which he inherits, or wherein his fortune 
 has placed him. It is not sufficient that in 
 summer he drives four- in- hand, keeps a 
 beauty, and visits Brighton, Worthing, and 
 some fashionable springs; or that in win- 
 ter he shines in town, and becomes con- 
 spicuous in every place of public and ele- 
 gant amusement. To acquire real ho-
 
 MEMOIRS OV HENRY PERCY. 333 
 
 nour^ and secure an acknowledged conse- 
 quence of his character, he must not pass 
 his days in opulent indolence, in the re- 
 creations of taste, or the enjoyments of 
 splendour; but direct his faculties, acti-" 
 vity, and personal consequence:, to cbjecfs 
 which may be of more real utility to his 
 country. He should not forget, ami Ithe- 
 pride of rank, theelegance of fashion, -md 
 the bounties of fortune, those solemn d^-'' 
 mands which society has a right to mal^ a 
 upon him, nor check the conviction, ihrt 
 a compliance with those demands forms 
 the most honourable duties of a citizen. 
 The Parliament, in particular, invites the 
 ingenuous and active youth of nobie birth^ 
 to a manly exertion of their talents, by i 
 display of those paths which lead to pre- 
 sent honour and future renown. Sir 
 John ! 1 should contemplate you with a 
 most affecting pleasure, if I could see you 
 turn aside from habitual dissipation, and 
 enter, with zeal, into some active line of 
 public life ; and, looking for a confirma-
 
 334 THE LIBERAL CRiTlC ; OR^ 
 
 tion of those honours which you received 
 as an inheritance^ and feeling an assurance 
 of future fame, in your endeavours to pro- 
 mote the prosperity of your country !" 
 
 Savage must that breast have been> 
 ■which was not won by this amiable mode 
 of proceeding. Sir John was more than 
 won by it ; he was enchantedi, instructed^ 
 affected. — " Percy," said he, " do not de- 
 spise, do not think contemptibly of me, 
 though you hear my extravagant history 
 from my own lips. Attend to me. 
 
 " A cheerful temper, a ready wit, a 
 convivial disposition^ and pleasing man- 
 ners, joined to a knowledge of the world, 
 and an insight into the weakness of hu- 
 man nature, is sufficient to compose a cha- 
 racter that may produce the most abund- 
 ant mfschief. A person endowed with 
 these qualities, and devoid of virtuous 
 principles, may give a wider extent to the 
 progress of corruption than a whole race 
 of vulgar and aroused profligates. Such 
 a character, while he possesses the power
 
 MEMOIJIS OF HENRY PERCY. 335 
 
 of giving pleasure to all, is particularly 
 calculated to excite the envy, intoxicate 
 the virtue, and even the confidence of un- 
 suspecting innocence and youth ; who, 
 aiming at the possession of those qualities 
 which they admire, will acquire the in- 
 sensibility of what is truly good, that lurk- 
 ed beneath them ; and become, perhaps, 
 bankrupt in honour as well as in fortune, 
 beyond the power of friendship, the hope 
 of recovery, or the prospect of reward. — - 
 This is one of the most extraordinary cha- 
 racters of the times — and yet, alas ! Percy, 
 it is mine. I possess considerable abilities; 
 my mind is endued with much useful, as 
 well as polite information. But my pe- 
 culiar and distinguishing characteristic is, 
 a perfect knowledge of mankind, and 
 which I exercise with a success that has no 
 example. Woman in particular is the 
 volume which I make the continual sub- 
 ject of my duty; and, directing the whole 
 force of my natural sagacity to that sex, 
 I acquire a supreme insight into their
 
 336 TH£ LIBERAL CRITIC ; Oft, 
 
 weaknesses, and am thereby enabled so to 
 apply the humorous flexibility of ray own 
 character, as to lead them always to my 
 purpose. This is my great and golden 
 attribute. By this talent I have progres- 
 sively passed from a milk-maid to a du- 
 chess; from a peer's wife to the innocent 
 daughter of the country peasant. But 
 what do I say, vain and impudent egotist as 
 I am. No, Percy, I did not triumph over 
 all the virtue of this intermediate space. 
 In the midst of my successful career, I 
 discovered that there is an order of women 
 that are stronger than man. Women en- 
 dowed with a description of virtue that 
 nothing can bend ; and with a dignity of 
 soul that nothing can destroy. To be 
 brief, I became acquainted with a lady in 
 London, who equalled the delicacy of the 
 Medician Venus in every charm of body ; 
 and so far as any mortal can reach the 
 greatness of the perfect moral character, 
 wds without weakness and imperfec'tion. 
 Ail ihat is just in society, or lovely in our
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 337 
 
 $ystein7 whatever is elegant in company, 
 or beautiful in arts, this lady was mistress 
 of. She had learned from philosophy the 
 order of nature; from breeding, the order 
 of human life ; and upon every useful, 
 every agreeable subject^ she talked so 
 perspicuously and beautifully, that it 
 was the most delightful entertainment ta 
 attend to her. To seduce this angelic be- 
 ing, I was not ashamed to employ all those 
 powers of my mind, and all those vile 
 schemes, which had crowned my former 
 endeavours with the most fastidious suc- 
 cess. I next offered her half my fortune : 
 she rejected the proposition with disdain. 
 1 then dared to offer violence : she alarm- 
 ed the house, and had me instantly turned 
 out of doors. I finally submitted to im- 
 plore her in marriage — and was refused ! 
 
 Driven to desperation ; irritated to a 
 
 degree of madness by a virtue so ferocious, 
 and a disposition so obstinate, reason and 
 honour lost all their dominion over the 
 judgment, and I contrived and succeeded 
 
 VOL. I, Q
 
 33S THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 in a plan for bringing this perverse beauty 
 into the sphere of my immediate power — 
 she now inhabits my solitude on the banks 
 of this lake." 
 
 ** What!" exclaimed Henry, with hor- 
 ror, "what! you dared to ." "Be 
 
 patient," returned Sir John; " I dared to 
 convey her away with violence, but posses- 
 sion has not been the reward of the power 
 I so dastardly employed ; so radiant is her 
 virtue, that I am compelled to turn from 
 its refulgence. So imperious her con- 
 troul, that I obey without ever being obey- 
 ed. At first, I had no thought of marry- 
 ing ; however, I soon found, that without 
 it I could never succeed. I proposed ma- 
 trimony, and was again insulted, again re- 
 fused ! Liberty, liberty alone is what she 
 exacts, is all that she requires at my hands. 
 To recover this liberty, various as nume- 
 rous have been her means ; but the old 
 woman, whom you have seen, and all the 
 rest of my people, are too faithful to be 
 bribed, and too cunning to be deceived.
 
 MEMOIIlS OP HENllY I^ERCT. 2^9 
 
 She has never been able to write or to 
 abscond. However, since my entire in- 
 timacy with you, Percy, and my acquaint- 
 ance with the Richmonds, I think I see in 
 her a relenting spirit, a more tender heart ; 
 I think she would now accept those offers 
 of marriage, which she before rejected with 
 so much displeasure and contempt." 
 
 It surely must be needless to observe,. 
 that Henry here took up the conversation, 
 and exerted all his abilities to induce Sir 
 John to liberate so intej^esting a woman, 
 or to marry her in the event of obtaining 
 her consent. — He did in fact persuade 
 him to take the latter purpose ; soon after 
 which Sir John departed for his solitude, 
 and Henry entertained the ladies with an 
 account of all that had passed. Mrs. 
 Richmond was disgusted at the idea of 
 the union, but Cleora was of opinion, that 
 a marriage contracted under such circum- 
 stances must be deficient of all those ma- 
 terials Avhich constitute true happiness. 
 
 To the lovely prisoner, then, Sir John
 
 3^40 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 made his honourable addresses, and it 
 seenns succeeded, for he shortly appeared 
 at Mrs. Richmond's, to invite her family 
 to the wedding ; a circumstance, as he 
 told them, connected with his happiness, 
 for the lovely creature he had so long per- 
 secuted consented to the union, merely, 
 and on the express condition of his friend 
 Henry Percy being the person who was 
 to perform the rite, and a family so dis- 
 tinguished as the Richmonds, to be evi- 
 dence of the solemn and sacred ceremony. 
 These arrangements were pleasurably con- 
 sented to : the day was fixed, and Henry 
 and the Colonel, and the ladies, set off 
 with the utmost joy to accomplish so de- 
 sirable an undertaking;. 
 
 On this second visit, the face of every 
 thing was changed. On entering the gar- 
 den, w hich led to the house, the company 
 perceived a lady in an open bower of 
 -woodbines and roses, by the side of a 
 falling stream, sitting at work, and a clean 
 handsome servant-girl placed near her,
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 341 
 
 and at the same useful labour of the 
 needle. It was a beautiful picture of in- 
 nocence and industry, and was a happy 
 addition to the fine character Sir John 
 gave of this lady. But her face was not 
 seen, and the party had to pass on without 
 being able to form any judgment of her 
 personal beauty. Sir John had an ele- 
 gant collation prepared, of which the com- 
 pany chearfuUy partook, but no lady ap- 
 peared ; her servant came to apologize, 
 and to say, she would be happy to enjoy 
 their society after the ceremony was per- 
 formed. To delay this any further would 
 be idle : the repast over, Sir John took 
 Mrs. llichmond by the hand, and intro- 
 duced her and her elegant friends into the 
 apartment prepared for the solemnity. It 
 was a splendid saloon, but in which the 
 freshness of shrubs, the laxuriancy of 
 flowers, and« the melody of birds, con- 
 spired to delude the fancy, and deceive 
 the si^ht. The bride was seated at the 
 far end, but she graciously rose up and
 
 S42 THE LIBERAL critic; OK, 
 
 approached the compan3\ She was dressed 
 in a white silk, with a coronet of myrtle, 
 interwoven with flowers, on her head, 
 and the whole was covered with a deep- 
 descending veil. Henry advanced to 
 receive her proffered hand, and led her 
 towards a table on which lay a prayer- 
 book, the marriage-licence, and the wed- 
 ding-rincj. — All was silence : the lady ap- 
 peared tremiilating with fear, and Henry 
 expressed a degree of sensibility which 
 h.e never betrayed publicly before. The 
 scene was assuming the character of a 
 Roman vision, or rather of an act less 
 connected with love and felicity than with 
 darkness and despair, when a gentle gleam 
 of light broke faintly through the gloom. 
 As Henry began to read, she threw up 
 the veil, and discovered a countenance 
 full of sweetness and composure; such 
 a mixture as arises from prudence, re- 
 solution, and innocence united. The 
 violent convulsions of nature had just 
 ceased to discompose her looks. The
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 34:3 
 
 book tell from the hand of Henry : he dropt 
 on one knee at her feet. She reached out 
 her hand, and raised liini with an indul- 
 gence he could little expect. " Come, 
 madam," said Henry at length, with a 
 perturbed voice, and eyes filled with tears, 
 " come, let me complete the happiness of 
 my friend ; viewing the exquisite charms 
 of so lovely an object, the Baronet courts 
 my expedition, and with longing eyes, 
 chides your delay. Reflect on the short 
 summary space." — " 1 do, I do reflect," 
 exclaimed the lovely sufterer, " and shall 
 employ that short remaining space in pro- 
 claiming my abhorrence, my instinctive 
 antipathy to Sir John. Heaven has sent 
 
 sHccour to my relief ." She could 
 
 say no more — agitated by contending emo- 
 tions, her frame became weak, and she 
 fell into Henry's arms, and wept upon 
 his neck, and sobbed as though her heart 
 would break, in terror of some new cala- 
 mity. Henry placed her on a sofa, and at-r 
 tempted, by the most endearing caresses, to
 
 544 THE LIBERAL critic; cm, 
 
 restore her to tranquillity. As she revived 
 and heard him speak, the whole creation 
 seemed to rejoice. Her heart was filled 
 with pleasure, and Henry gazed upon her 
 with the utmost satisfaction and delight. 
 While thus exulting in the bliss of such a 
 meeting, the sky darkened over the head 
 of Sir John ; lightning flashed from the 
 clouds, the flowers withered, the verdure 
 of the shrubs was blasted, and a hand- 
 writing appeared on the wall. — — — 
 — — — — — — — To be 
 
 less metaphoric — struck with horror at the 
 sudden and unaccountable change, he 
 beheld every thing in the darkest point of 
 view, and felt an immediate aversion to 
 the beauty he proposed to take to his em- 
 brace. Frantic with vase, and mortified 
 by disappointment, he traversed the room 
 with hasty strides, and after a few^ turns 
 disappeared. 
 
 As he withdrew, the ladv's fears va- 
 nished, her confusion ceased, and she felt 
 her whole anxiety relieved. Henry viewed
 
 MEMOIRS OF IIEXliY PERCY. 345 
 
 the lovely maid with pleasure, whose 
 beauty now seemed to receive a fresh 
 lustre; and her eyes glanced with equal 
 complacency on him. Mrs. Richmond, 
 Cleora, and the Colonel looked with sur- 
 prise and sensibilitv oh the interesting 
 events : they were ignorant of the cause 
 of such events, and wait'^d in silent ex- 
 pectation the issue of the scene. 
 
 Finding the lady inspired with sufficient 
 strength, Henry took her by the hand, 
 and" she, rising from her seat with a gra- 
 cious smile, allowed him to present her to 
 his friends by the name of Clara Williams! 
 Clara Williams ! 
 
 The refined and virtuous sensibility 
 which was expressed on the occasion of 
 this meeting, prepared the friends of Henry 
 to suspect that the lady was one for whom 
 he had a primitive love ; a manly tender- 
 ness; an affection natural to an honest 
 mind ; a love which was held in esteem 
 in this country, before Lkitish gallantry 
 lost its genuine lustre and innocence ip 
 
 Q 6
 
 346 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 the dissolute manners of France. The 
 ladies suspected it was Clara Williams, 
 and were no sooner apprised of the cer-^ 
 tainty, than they caressed her with the 
 cordiality of an old acquaintance, and 
 begged her to consider their house as hep 
 home. While preparing to depart, Henry 
 went in search of Sir John : he found him 
 walking in his study ; his arms folded ; 
 his eyes cast down. With familiarity and 
 sweetness, ennobled with that exquisite 
 expression which is almost peculiar to a 
 highly-accomplished man, Henry accosted 
 him, saying, — Why, Sir John, you are a 
 mere clown in gallantry, to run away thus 
 from the ladies ; come with me, and be 
 assured, though Clara may not love, she 
 yet will give you the elegant delights of 
 a chaste and mutual friendship. I have 
 had the honour of knowing her some years. 
 Come with me, I shall introduce youj 
 and I, said Cleora, who had just entered; 
 in search of Henry, shall plead with Miss 
 Williams to grant him a free and sincere
 
 Jk^EMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 347 
 
 forgireness. There was no resisting the 
 influence of Cleora's charms, and the elo- 
 quence of Henry's friendship. Sir John 
 yielded, and suffered himself to be conduct- 
 ed into the presence of Clara. He was about 
 to make a thousand apologies, a thousand 
 protestations : she prevented him : — " Re^ 
 member, Sir John," said Clara, " remem- 
 ber promises in the hour of distress are 
 very deceitful : they shew the fear and an- 
 guish, not the resolution of the soul. Take 
 time and leisure to reflect coolly on your 
 past conduct; learn the habit of loving 
 without passion; of living without vice; 
 and your actions then will be conform- 
 able to the dignity of your nature. But 
 determine nothing at this moment : sudden 
 resolves are only the lightning of a dark 
 mind ; deliberate councils yield a con- 
 tinued light, and will conduct you safely 
 to happiness. As for me, I forgive you; 
 but shall always consider you a dangerous 
 man, till married to a woman of superior 
 beauty and sense. Here her eyes met
 
 S4S THE LIBERAL CRITIC ; OR, 
 
 Cleora's; and Cleora remarked, that the 
 carriages were at the door, and, it being 
 lite, it was time to depart. P'arewell was 
 at length bidden ; and the amiable party, 
 augmented by Clara, returned to Mrs. 
 Richmond's, where, after the usual re- 
 freshments and ordinar}' conversation of 
 the day, they eagerly gathered round Miss 
 Williams to hear her relate the particu- 
 lars of her late dangerous and eventful 
 life. She complied. Her story runs thus: — 
 " On leaving Wales, the two Miss Court- 
 neys and I lived the summer in London, 
 the uinter in Bath. The eldest Miss 
 Courtney died ,* the youngest married a 
 man of fortune and worth. I lived with 
 them, and in their hospitable and elegant 
 house it was that I first met with Sir John. 
 1 understand from him that he has in- 
 formed you of all his proceedings respect- 
 ing me, to the day of his carrying me off 
 by force : I am happy to have no occa- 
 sion to retrospect so far back ; I take up 
 my stoi-y at that unhappy and violent pe-
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 349' 
 
 riod. My friends and I were passing the 
 summer months about sixty miles from 
 hence, at a beautiful and rural seat. — I 
 always loved solitary scenes, and was 
 taking my evening walk in a grove where 
 every thing served to amuse the fancy and 
 enchant the eye, when, as I was about ta 
 return, four men appeared, completely 
 armed ; and, like foresters, drest in green^ 
 They seized hold of me. The violence 
 deprived me of my senses, and it was 
 some time before I recovered them again;: 
 for, on opening my eyes, I found myself, 
 to my great astonishment, at a consider- 
 able distance from home, and seated in a 
 travelling coach, by the side of two men^ 
 who appeared to me the biggest and most 
 hideous that ever came into the world. 
 When I saw the condition I was in, I 
 instantly filled the air with my cries, and 
 invoked every power, ministers of grace 
 and men, to rescue me from the handj? of 
 the monsters 1- was in. , My lamentations 
 were in vain. No friendly being could I
 
 350 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR^ 
 
 see. The coach, like the wind, rolled 
 swiftly on. I was obliged to take the 
 monsters' advice,, and be still. 
 
 They told me they must stop my mouthy 
 if I continued to make any more noise, 
 but if I would quietly travel on, I should 
 be used with all the deference and respect 
 I could desire : for there was no design to 
 offer me the least injury ; but, at their 
 journey's end, to deliver me into the 
 house of their master,, a great and gene- 
 rous man, who wanted to make me his 
 wife. Who this w as, they had orders not 
 to tell ; but he had a seat like a paradise. 
 He lived like a prince; and nothing but 
 jocund humour, and whatever can please 
 the eye or charm the ear, or regale the 
 appetite, were administered within his 
 happy mansion. 
 
 " This discourse amazed me,- and I fell 
 into a profound reverie, which lasted till 
 we arrived at a little blind public-house, 
 where a fresh relay of private horses stood 
 prepared. Here I stopt, and met with
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 351 
 
 provisions which did not belong to such a 
 place. Every thing announced a precon- 
 certed plan too powerful to fail in its 
 effect. We changed horses in like nnan- 
 ner at two or three other obscure places. 
 And yet obscure and mean as they were, 
 there was a person up at each, and wines 
 and refreshment always laid out. From* 
 hence it was visible that no small power 
 moved this wheel, and in the midst of my 
 affliction, I flattered myself that baseness 
 and inhumanity could not be the last act 
 of such a play. About break of day, we 
 arrived on the banks of the lake, and at 
 the house from whence you procured my 
 release. But you have seen the house but 
 partially. It consists of several suits of 
 ground rooms, disposed in the manner of 
 Poussin's whims. The whole building is- 
 timber, put together in a masterly way, 
 and decorated with all the beauties of 
 carving, painting, and gilding, that art 
 and expence could lavishly bestow. There 
 is* .a magnificent chamber for music and,
 
 55^ TITE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 dancing, and a little theatre for comedy, 
 that is extremely fine. Gardens the most 
 beautiful surrounded these rooms, and the 
 disposition of opening and shade, walks, 
 and carpet green, banks of flowers, and 
 falling streams ; the whole looks like some 
 piece of fairy-ground. Fancy might take 
 this place for the habitation of pleasure ; 
 to me it was a place for demons and in- 
 famy. To the master of this villa I was 
 introduced, and to do him all the justice 
 ir> my power, was received with that po- 
 liteness and civility which no man living 
 knows how to practise better. He asked 
 me a million of pardons for the violence 
 he had offered me, and confessed a terror 
 and confusion, that he could only plead 
 in his defence the force of love. It was, 
 by the immartal gods, he said, that prin- 
 ciple of all-creating nature, which prompt- 
 ed hiui to proceed in the manner he had 
 done ; and as its sway is felt resistless, he 
 hoped I would excuse what this almighty 
 power had compelled him to do, and what
 
 • MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 353 
 
 he might yet perform. Violence he did 
 
 not wish to pursue, but . There was 
 
 a firmness in his manner that almost con- 
 vulsed my heart, and when he pronounced 
 
 the threat implied in the word " but ** 
 
 I was on the brink of sinking into a fit. 
 
 " Conversations of this nature v\ent on 
 from day to day, when he at length told 
 me his bent of love was honourable ; his 
 purpose marriage. Hearing this I en- 
 deavoured to soften my resentment; at 
 least to temper my refusal, for fear of 
 exasperating him to violence. I threw my 
 face into smiles, and told him, this was not 
 a request to be complied with in confmc- 
 ment. And if love was so mighty a thing 
 as he described, it was impossible he could 
 refuse m.e my liberty, but with pleasure 
 accord it, when I assured him 1 would 
 forgive him and see him at my friend's 
 house without any particular prejudice. 
 Having rejected his offers when at my 
 own supreme command; he was not to 
 be deceived in this manner, and he agaiii
 
 354 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OR, 
 
 had recourse to menace or bribe, to ly- 
 raiinize or importune. When he intended 
 to subdue by tyranny, he placed me in a 
 separate part of the house, under the con- 
 duct of the most vicious and deformed of 
 all women, and when he expected to suc- 
 ceed by importunity, he restored me to 
 the use of the finest apartments, and pro- 
 vided entertainments of great luxuriance 
 in splendour and fancy. One of tliose 
 entertainments was of a very extraordinary 
 nature. There entered into the magni- 
 ficent apartment in which I was sitting, 
 a doctor of divinity drest in his canonicals: 
 he saluted me with a respectful gravity. 
 A little after. Sir John entered, and with 
 him three young ladies, most richly drest, 
 and to all outward appearance extremely 
 well-behaved. They were extremely pretty 
 women, and passed for Sir John's relations. 
 Captain Bluff, the intimate of the Baronet, 
 attended particularly on them. — I instantly 
 left the room : Sir John pursued me. — Sir 
 Johii^ said I, this is an amazing polite
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 355 
 
 farce. Your players are of a very superior 
 kind of merit. They perform without a 
 blunder: there is a constant propriety in 
 their action and manner. You are the 
 generous lover, the doctor is a divine, the 
 captain a gentleman, and the ladies women 
 of honour! 
 
 " This sarcasm irritated the Baronet 
 beyond all endurance, and he seized me by 
 the arm, and swore — " Swear not," ex- 
 claimed I, " rather hear me solemnly 
 declare, and kneeling, swear by the first 
 tremendous power, that if you employ 
 any manner of force the catastrophe shall 
 be a tragic scene." I uttered this with an 
 energy of voice and lightning of counte- 
 nance that quite amazed and appalled 
 him ; and after a short pause, he raised 
 me from the ground ; assuring me, by 
 every oath that can bind a man, and by 
 that honour he valued more than life, 
 that he would employ no tyranny or 
 violence. — •" In the first instance," said I, 
 " in testimony of what you swear, send
 
 356 THE LIBERAL CRITIC,* ORj 
 
 those impostors and unfortunates ' im- 
 mediately out of the house." He complied 
 with this request, and ever since that 
 time, it was his whole study to merit my 
 compassion and esteem. All he had to 
 ask was, that I should command as I 
 pleased within the bounds of his solitude. 
 And indeed, as if the servants were all 
 spirits, every thing I called for instantly 
 arose. They were all my votaries, but 
 what is strange they never could be bribed 
 to convey a letter from me to a friend, or 
 to execute any commission likely to com- 
 mit the interests of their master. 
 
 '' But it is from the time, ^frs. Rich- 
 mond, that Sir John became intimate at 
 your house, that I am to date the com- 
 mencement of my happiness. Every visit 
 to you made a visible alteration in his 
 manners and character, and when he in- 
 formed me that Mr. Percy was of your 
 society, I began to calculate that the day 
 of liberation was approaching near. 1, 
 however, was reduced to the necessity of
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 357 
 
 a subterfuge. Sir John once again pro- 
 posed marriage : I consented on the con- 
 dition of which you are informed ; and I 
 trust that the making a promise which I 
 never intended to perform will be excused, 
 when it was to deceive the artifice and 
 treachery of Sir John, and thereby pre- 
 serve the iionour and integrity of my own 
 life. 
 
 " In conclusion, my dear madam, may 
 I not say, there is an acting Omniscience 
 sits at the helm ? — That he is a match for 
 the infinite dangers and hazards we are 
 exposed to, and will ever be the patron 
 of the moral character in his creatures. 
 We live among the malicious and envious, 
 the thoughtless and imprudent, the basest 
 and most reprobate men, yet Omnipo- 
 tence secures us from mischief, if we have 
 virtue and fidelity. lie blesses us with 
 the blessings of peace, when we see no 
 probability of escaping from misery or 
 the hand of man. God is in the whirl- 
 wind, and in the storm ; the clouds are the
 
 358 THE LIBERAL CRITIC; OU. 
 
 dust of his feet; he hides us in the secret 
 of his presence, and delivers us from evil 
 things and evil men. I am sure I have 
 reason to acknowledge his supreme ex- 
 cellence and boundless perfection; and 
 to declare and testify my inward sense 
 of his infinite power and purity, wisdom 
 and goodness, who so wonderfully deliver- 
 ed me from the abyss of misery I was 
 sinking into. I hope, indeed I hope, that 
 after this manifestation of his bounty to- 
 wards me, that I shall always depend on 
 his sacred word, submit to his righteous 
 will, regard his providence, and reverence 
 his laws." 
 
 Here Miss Williams ended her narra- 
 tion, and every one esteemed her the 
 more and more. Her conclusion was 
 quite charming, and shewed the rational 
 piety of her soul. Mrs. Richmond's little 
 party could not enough admire the lovely 
 Clara, and were delighted to find her 
 amongst them. As to what passed in 
 the mind of Henry I must leave that to
 
 MEMOIRS OF HENRY PERCY. 359 
 
 the sentiment and judgment of the reader. 
 All I shall further say is, that he had 
 but one subject of regret : the period of 
 his friend's leave of absence was nearly 
 expired, and the time was approaching 
 fast for his quitting this charming society, 
 and for the commencement of his public 
 career. As this will form a new epoch in 
 the annals of our hero, 1 shall conclude this 
 first volume ; and begin the second with 
 the history of a period connected with 
 characters, events, times, and circum- 
 stances, naturally more important and 
 interesting than those which could pos- 
 sibly occur in this early season of Henry's 
 clerical life. 
 
 In this volume, notwithstanding, I am 
 not conscious of having advanced much 
 dullness to disgust, or any sentiment or 
 opinion which may not be deduced from 
 some general moral principle, and from 
 some knowledge of taste and criticism. 
 But I have not the vanity to think this 
 volume exempted from errors and mis-
 
 360 THE LIBERAL CRITIC. 
 
 takes. Excellence in a clerical romancd 
 requires such a combination of talents as 
 seldom fall to the lot of any one in- 
 dividual : many allowances wi)], there- 
 fore, be made for an attempt in a com- 
 position wherein perfection must be al- 
 lowed to be a rare and difficult attain- 
 ment. — It is submitted to the attention of 
 the public with all the diffidence that is 
 due before a respectable tribunal, and 
 with all the anxiety that is natural to an 
 author who is ambitious to be useful and 
 to please. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 W. Lewis, Printer, St. Joliu's Square, London,
 
 /
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLIN0I9-URBANA 
 
 3 
 
 12 040250547 
 
 
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