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MANDEVILLK 
 
 A TALE 
 
 OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 IN 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 » 
 
 BY AVILLIAM GODWIN. 
 
 Ajid the waters of that fountain were bitter : and they said, Let the 
 
 name of it be called Marah. 
 
 Exodus, Cap. xv. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. 
 
 AND LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 1817. 
 

TO THE 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SINCEREST FRIEND I EVER HAD, 
 
 THE LATE 
 
 JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN, 
 
 (who a few pays SINCE QUITTED THIS MORTAL STAGE) 
 I AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBE 
 
 THESE VOLUMES. 
 
 October 25, 1817. 
 
 15660 i 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Approaching, as I now very rapidly 
 do, to the period when I must bid the 
 world an everlasting farewel, I am 
 not unwilling to make up my accounts 
 with it, as far as relates to this Kghter 
 species of composition. On this oc- 
 casion, I am contented to talk, to that 
 small portion of the world whose eye 
 is ever likely to light upon these prefa- 
 tory pages, with the communicative- 
 ness of an intimate friend. 
 
 Eight years ago I began a novel. 
 The thought I adopted as the germ of 
 my work, was taken from the story of 
 the Seven Sleepers in the records of the 
 first centuries of Christianity, or rather 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 from the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, 
 in Perrault's Tales of Ma Mere V Oie. I 
 supposed a hero who should have this 
 faculty, or this infirmity, of falling asleep 
 unexpectedly, and should sleep twen- 
 ty, thirty, or a hundred years at a time, 
 at the pleasure of myself, his creator. 
 I knew that such a canvas would na- 
 turally admit a vast variety of figures, 
 actions, and surprises. 
 
 When my respectable friend, the 
 publisher of the present work, found 
 means to put in activity the suspended 
 faculty of fiction within me, I resolved 
 to return to the tale which, eight years 
 before, I had laid aside. But the near- 
 er I looked at it, the more I was fright- 
 ened at the task. Such a work must 
 be made up of a variety of successive 
 tales, having for their main point of 
 connection, the impression which the 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 events brought forward should produce 
 on my sleeping-waking principal per- 
 sonao-e. I should therefore have had 
 at least a dozen times to set myself to 
 the task of invention, as it were, deno- 
 vo, I judged it more prudent, parti- 
 cularly regarding certain disadvantages 
 under which I found myself, to choose a 
 story that should be more strictly one, 
 and should so have a greater degree of 
 momentum, tending to carry me for- 
 ward, after the first impulse given, by 
 one incessant motion, from the com- 
 mencement to the conclusion. Such 
 was my motive for rejecting my former 
 subject, and adopting that which is 
 here treated. 
 
 Every author, at least for the last 
 two thousand years, takes his hint from 
 some suggestion afforded by an author 
 that has gone before him, as Sterne has 
 
X . TREFACE. 
 
 very humorously observed * ; and I da 
 not pretend to be an exception to this 
 rule. The impression, that first led 
 me to look with an eye of favour upon 
 the subject here treated, was derived 
 from a story-book, called Wieland, 
 written by a person, certainly of dis- 
 tinguished genius, who I believe was 
 born ^nd died in the province of Penn- 
 sylvania in the United States of North 
 America, and who calls himself C. B. 
 Brown. This impression was further 
 improved from some hints in De Mont- 
 fort, a tragedy, by Joanna Baillie. Hav- 
 ing signed these bills against me, I hold 
 myself for the present occasion dis- 
 charged from all claims of my literary 
 creditors, except such as are purely 
 transient and incidental. 
 
 * Tristram Shandy, Vol. I. chap. xxi. Edition 1775. 
 
PREFACE. Xl 
 
 To proceed in the same style of con- 
 fession and unreserve. I am not aware 
 that, in my capacity as an author, I owe 
 any considerable thanks to the kindness 
 of my contemporaries ; yet I part from 
 them without the slightest tinge of ill- 
 humour. If ever they have received my 
 productions with welcome, it has been 
 because the same public impression, or 
 the same tone of moral feeling, had 
 been previously generated in the minds 
 of a considerable portion of my species, 
 and in my own. When I have written 
 merely from a private sentiment, and 
 thought to try whether, as Marmontel 
 says, they valued me for myself, [which 
 I did in the Essay on Sepulchres, and 
 the Lives of the Nephews of Milton] 
 my reception has been such, as might 
 be well calculated to cure me, if I had 
 been constitutionally liable to the in- 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 toxications of vanity. Yet I have ne- 
 ver truckled to the world. I have ne- 
 ver published any thing with the slight- 
 est purpose to take advantage of the 
 caprice of the day, to approach the 
 public on its weak side, or to pamper 
 its frailties. What I have produced, 
 was written merely in obedience to that 
 spirit, unshackled and independent, 
 whatever were its other qualities, that 
 commanded me to take up my pen. 
 
 There are two or three things, which 
 I still meditate to perform in my cha- 
 racter of an author. But whether life, 
 and health, and leisure will be granted 
 me sufficient for the execution of what 
 I design, is among the secrets of " time 
 not yet in existence." In either event 
 I feel myself altogether satisfied and 
 resigned. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 
 
 VOL. !• 
 
MANDEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I, 
 
 J WAS born in the year 1638. The place 
 of my birth was the borough of Charlemont, 
 in the north of Ireland. My great uncle 
 passed over to that country in the train of 
 the Earl of Essex, in his famous and unfor- 
 tunate expedition thither undertaken forty 
 years before. The military reputation of my 
 great-uncle was considerable, and he died 
 full of years and of honour, under the pa- 
 cific administration of Sir Arthur Chiches- 
 ter. My father, who, as well as my great- 
 uncle, was a younger brother, was bred to 
 
4) MANDEVILLE. 
 
 the same profession, was sent over to Ire- 
 land for the advantage of being under his 
 uncle's eye, and was at this time an officer 
 in the garrison of Charlemont under Wil- 
 liam Lord Caulfield, a brave officer, now 
 grown old in the service of his sovereign. 
 
 Ireland was a country that had been for 
 ages in a state of disturbance and violence. 
 No people were ever more proud of their 
 ancestry and their independence than th€ 
 Irish, or more wedded to their old habits of 
 living ; — and the policy of the English ad- 
 ministration had not been such as to wean 
 them in any degree from the partialities to 
 which they were prone. The latter years 
 of Elizabeth however had conduced much 
 to the enfeebling of their military strength ; 
 and the pacific system of James seemed, 
 for a long time, to be no where attended 
 with so much success as in this island. His 
 system in Ireland, was that of colonization, 
 of placing large bodies of civilized strangers 
 in every great station through the country, 
 
MANDEVILLE. O 
 
 and undertaking, by a variety of means, to 
 reclaim the wild Irish from what might al- 
 most be called their savage state. The 
 government of his lieutenants and deputies 
 was not exactly that of benignity ; — it was 
 characterized by many forfeitures, and by 
 a vexatious inquiry, in every direction sue- 
 eessively, into the titles by which the Irish 
 chieftains held their estates; but it was sa 
 equally tempered with severity and firm- 
 ness, as to produce the spectacle, scarcely 
 before known, of a profound peace in the 
 island for almost forty years. 
 
 It was towards the close of this period 
 that Thomas Lord Strafford was appointed, 
 by Charles I, to the office of Lord- Lieu- 
 tenant. In his government there was a 
 greater proportion of sternness than in that 
 of his predecessors ; his character was in 
 the highest degree arrogant and imperious, 
 but there was a steadiness in his measures, 
 and his proceedings were stamped with the 
 features of intellect and ability, — so as to 
 
() MAKDEVI1.LK. 
 
 appear well calculated to impress a people 
 like the Irish with awe and respect. They 
 hated him, but you could scarcely see that 
 they hated him. They did not, even to 
 their own thoughts, fully analyze and con- 
 fess their passions ; they felt towards him 
 the sensations inspired b}^ a sort of superior 
 nature,— the core of their thoughts was 
 dread and aversion ; but their gestures were 
 paralyzed; the expression of these senti- 
 ments died away upon their tongue ; the 
 public language that followed him was that 
 of approbation and honour. Ireland was 
 substantially less tranquillized than under 
 Sir Arthur Chichester, and the other pre- 
 decessors of their present austere ruler ; but 
 it exhibited every external indication of 
 tranquillity and submission. 
 
 Strafford was finally withdrawn from the 
 government of Ireland in the beginning of 
 the year 1640. His absence was nitended 
 to be short ; but the growing convulsions of 
 his native country detained him, and he 
 
MANDEVILLE. 7 
 
 never returned. This produced a very nev^ 
 state of things in the country where he had 
 presided. His successors were not of a cha- 
 racter to impress either respect or terror 
 upon the people they governed, and the 
 Irish began to reflect in an independent 
 spirit upon their condition. An unex- 
 pected view of things opened upon their 
 thoughts. They had contemplated the as- 
 cendancy of the English government as a 
 detested thing ; but, at the same time, as 
 an evil that it was as much in vain to 
 struggle against, as the laws of nature, or 
 the convulsions of the elements. The other 
 subjects of this government had, for some 
 time, been under difierent impressions. The 
 people of INorth Britain, offended with the 
 injudicious and narrow-minded efforts that 
 had been employed to impose upon them 
 episcopacy and a liturgy, had risen in open 
 resistance against the tyranny, and had 
 quelled the oi)pressor. Tiie English, who 
 had long despised the naked and unvarnish- 
 
8 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 ed despotism that had been attempted over 
 them, were now ripe for the combined and 
 irresistible assertion of their rights. The 
 Long Parhament assembled towards the 
 close of 1640 ; and they began their opera- 
 tions with an open attack on the confidential 
 ministers of Charles I. Strafford in particu- 
 lar was the object of their unrelenting pro- 
 secution, and he was put to death by the 
 sentence of the highest court of judicature, 
 in the spring of the following year. 
 
 All this was greatly encouraging to the 
 Irish. The period was favourable ; and if 
 they neglected to improve it, they would 
 deserve to be slaves. They had both ex- 
 ample and opportunity to animate their ef- 
 forts. What they had suffered before, they 
 now ventured to shape into thoughts; and 
 what they thought, they dared to speak. 
 Their murmurs were audible ; and the 
 stream of the population was agitated, like 
 ocean before a storm. 
 
 The discontents of Ireland were first pub- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 9 
 
 lished through the constitutional medium, 
 her parliament. This assembly sent over 
 her commissioners, to assist the English le- 
 gislature with additional charges against 
 Strafford. They called loudly for the re- 
 dress of some of the most oppressive griev- 
 ances that had been imposed by the stern 
 lord-lieutenant. They demanded the esta- 
 blishment of certain ^rac^5, which had long 
 been promised by the crown, and the ob- 
 ject of which was to quiet the litigious 
 and technical inquiries at law, that had too 
 frequently been set on foot to disturb the 
 Irish landed proprietors in their possessions. 
 Thus far all was well; and the pm'itan and 
 the papist had gone hand in hand in the 
 assertion of general right. 
 
 But there was another and a deeper dis- 
 content at work in this unhappy country* 
 The majority of its population was Catho- 
 lic, and all the religious emoluments of Ire- 
 land were reserved for the Protestants. The 
 
 country had struggled for ages for her in- 
 
 a2 
 
10 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 dependence ; it was a war of the oppressor 
 against the oppressed ; of civilized man, or 
 man claiming to be such, against man al- 
 most in a state of barbarism ; and, inciden- 
 tally only, for nearly a century past, of the 
 two great denominations of the Christian 
 religion against each other. The party, or 
 rather the great mass of the population of 
 the country, who were in opposition to the 
 government, felt that they were the ancient 
 proprietors of the .^^oil. Irish manners and 
 Iri^h sentiments, every thing that was local 
 in human society, was with them; the 
 party that, in a great majority of cases, lord- 
 ed it over them, they regarded as aliens. 
 And when we add to this general view of 
 the case, the recollection that must neces- 
 sarily accompany it, of all the individual cir- 
 cumstances, and all the bitter aggravations 
 that attended each act of oppression, we 
 may easily conceive what must have been 
 the state of the Irish mind. But all this 
 would have been a matter of infinitely less 
 
MANDEVILLE. 11 
 
 magnitude than it actually was, had it not 
 been inextricably bound up with considera- 
 tions of religion. The arlifices, or rather 
 the mistakes and bigotry of the priesthood, 
 infused a venom into the hostility existing 
 on either side, that all together gave " note 
 of a fearful preparation." These things I 
 can state impartially now ; but it is through 
 a course of incredible ixiischief and suflTer- 
 ing only that I have learned this impar- 
 tial itj^ 
 
 The calamities that overwhelmed Ire- 
 land towards the close of the year 1641, 
 might in part have been foreseen by a 
 skilful observer, but not by such men as 
 then sat at the helm of her government. 
 There is no instance peihaps in the re- 
 cords of mankind, of such profound supine- 
 ness and security upon the eve of so terrible 
 a storm. I am not, however, writing a 
 piece of national history ; and therefore I 
 shall only say, that the conspirators had 
 finally chosen the )2i3d of October, as tiie 
 
IS MANDEVILLE. 
 
 day on which their insurrection should 
 break out through a very extensive line of 
 country. 
 
 The principal leader of the conspira- 
 tors in the province of Ulster, was Sir Phe- 
 lim 0*Neile. He was of a licentious and 
 brutal temper, oppressed with debts, stirred 
 up with the ambition of standing at the 
 head of his name and figuring as the 
 O'Neiles his predecessors had done, and 
 unscrupulous as to the means by which his 
 purposes were to be achieved. The first 
 exploit marked out for him, was the gain- 
 ing possession of Charlemont. The most 
 obvious step towards that end that sug- 
 gested itself to his thoughts, was to invite 
 himself to sup in the castle, with Lord 
 Caulfield and the principal officers of the 
 garrison, on the night of the 2^d of October. 
 This nobleman, who was accustomed to 
 live with his Irish neighbours on terms of 
 unsuspecting confidence, cheerfully accept^ 
 ed the proposal. No symptom of hostility 
 
MANDEVILLE. 13 
 
 had shown itself; every thing was as in a 
 state of the most perfect peace and securi- 
 ty. Sir Phelim came, attended with a numer- 
 ous train of followers ; but this occasioned 
 no surprise ; it was the custom of the times. 
 His manner was frank, companionable and 
 courteous. Lord Caulfield was particular- 
 ly desirous to do honour to his guest. The 
 rugged chieftain was gifted with a consider- 
 able vein of convivial humour; and the 
 officers of the garrison exerted themselves 
 to catch his tone, and be as easy, mirthful, 
 unrestrained and confiding, as he apparent- 
 ly was. The wine circulated ; a general 
 face of festivity prevailed ; the song, the 
 jest, the tale, was occasionally interspersed ; 
 every thing bespoke the fair and friendly 
 meaning both of the entertainer and his 
 guests. Lord Caulfield expressed himself 
 as conceiving a happy omen, from this so- 
 ciable meeting of the ancient Irish and the 
 English settlers ; and Sir Phelim echoed 
 his sentiment, and devoutly prayed that no 
 
l4 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 future misunderstanding might ever occur 
 to disturb so edifying a harmony. 
 
 The entertainment had at length advan- 
 ced to that point, that the good humour of 
 those who feasted was not unproductive of 
 some obstreperous sj^mptoms of hilarity ; 
 yet a noise was suddenly heard from with- 
 out, that fixed the attention of all, and over- 
 powered for a moment the mirth that went 
 round the board. It was the sound of a 
 scujffle ; but that speedily subsided, and was 
 succeeded by the sound of many feet as in 
 military movement. The eyes of those at 
 the table were turned on each other. The 
 visaues of Sir Plielim and his friends were 
 evidently firm and unruffled ; not so the 
 governor and his English oflHcers. The 
 apartment where they sat had doors at 
 the two' opposite ends ; tht se doors sudden- 
 ly flew open; and a file of hi^\\, appro- 
 pr>ately arnu d, entered at each. Lord Caul- 
 field rose to expobtulate ; but Su' Phelim 
 suddenly slopped him, with the air of a 
 
MANDEVILLE. 15 
 
 man who feels that he has the game in his 
 own hands. 
 
 *• Lord governor," said he, '' and as many 
 of the officers of the garrison as I see ht-re, 
 I have come among you in froHc and merri- 
 ment, but the purpose of my visit is serious. 
 You are my prisoners. It is in vain to re- 
 sist ; your men are ah'eady secured ; you 
 shall have no reason to complain of your 
 treatment ; we mean you no harm. Bat 
 to-morrow all Ireland rises in the assertion 
 of her rights. Our plan is entire and un- 
 broken ; Dublin is ours ; every fort and 
 garrison in Ulster, Leinster, Minster, and 
 Connaught, is ours. We meditate no in- 
 jury ; not a drop of bhmd shall be shed, if 
 it is in our power to avoid it. But we will 
 have our rights. We will not be tra,i«pled 
 upon as we iiave been by a handful of 
 foreigners ; we will not submit to have our 
 estates turn from us, because we or our an- 
 cestors have meritoriously drawn our swords 
 in the sacred cause of our couniry ; v\e will 
 
l6 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 not allow our inability to produce certain 
 deeds and musty parchmentSj to be set up 
 against immemorial possession to oust us 
 of our lands ; we are resolved that the holy 
 Catholic faith, to which every man of Ire- 
 land is a sincere adherent, shall no longer 
 go naked, like a dishonoured wanderer, but 
 shall be clothed again in all her pristine 
 magnificence and splendour. I repeat, we 
 bear you no hostility; we mean you no 
 harm ; but this castle of Charlemont we 
 claim for us and our cause; and you must 
 be contented for the present to remain my 
 prisoners.*' 
 
 Lord Caulfield felt the indignation of a 
 soldier at the language addressed to him. 
 He reminded Sir Phelim that he had him- 
 self nothing to complain of, that could in 
 any degree excuse his revolt from his sove- 
 reign. His family had experienced no 
 severity from the government, nor been de- 
 prived of any of their possessions. He had 
 been bred a Protestant, and must first be a 
 
MANDEVILLE. 17 
 
 recreant to the religion in which he had 
 been instructed, before he could be a traitor 
 to his king. The governor added, with 
 emphasis and fervour, that no cause could 
 be honourable that was served by such 
 means. '* You came under my roof as a 
 friend ; I exerted myself to receive you, a^ 
 became your rank and your former life. 
 You have abused my hospitality ; you have 
 treacherously used the language of kind- 
 ness, and the professions of good faith. 
 Fairly you could never have overpowered 
 me and the brave men that stand beside me, 
 I received a trust from my royal master j 
 wrest it from me by the open means of a 
 soldier, and welcome ! But you have taken 
 advantage of my weakness, or rather of my 
 sincere and honourable mind, which, in- 
 capable of deception in itself, knew not to 
 suspect it in another. You have made 
 me," and a tear burst into the old man's 
 eyes as he spoke, " a worthless servant to 
 my king. You have disarmed me by a 
 
18 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 paltry device, and prevented me from that 
 which it was my duty to do, discharging 
 faithfully the trust reposed in me, and 
 either conquering his foes by my own va- 
 lour and that of those under my command, 
 or dying with the sword in my hand, and 
 being overcome after I had exerted every 
 energy of an officer and a man in vain.'' 
 
 It was a singular concurrence of circum- 
 stances that enabled Sir Phelim and his fel- 
 low-conspirators to commence their revolt 
 in so formidable a manner. Lord Strafford 
 had raised an army of eight thousand Irish, 
 principally Catholics, to assist his master 
 in subduing the Scottish revolt. Charles 
 however, from the joint imbecility of him- 
 self and his counsellors, Strafford excepted, 
 after having marched his forces to the bor- 
 ders of Scotland, yielded the whole ques- 
 tion to his rebellious subjects, and sub- 
 scribed to all the conditions they thought 
 proper to impose upon him, without draw- 
 ing a sword. Thus his Irish levies were 
 
MANDEVILLE. 19 
 
 rendered useless. They were consequent- 
 ly disbanded ; and that no ill effects might 
 result from their being turned loose on the 
 public, it was agreed with the Spanish 
 minister, that they should immediately be 
 re-enlisted for the service of his master. 
 Sir Phelim and his fellow- conspirators were 
 among the most active for the execution of 
 this measure. But the companies being 
 enrolled, various pretences were raised to 
 baffle the embarkation of these troops for 
 the Spanish service. It unfortunately hap- 
 pened, that both the English and Irish par- 
 liament forbade the transport of these troops ; 
 and merchants were even obliged to give 
 security, that they would not lend their ves- 
 sels for this purpose. Thus formidable bo- 
 dies of men were left at large under the 
 most dangerous leaders; and those who com- 
 manded them, were in some sort invited to 
 meditate for themselves the destination 
 upon which they should be employed. 
 Lord Caulfield and his garrison, officers 
 
^0 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 and soldiers, of which my father was oiie^ 
 were marched under a sufficient guard to 
 Kinnard, in the neighbouring county of 
 Tirone, the principal seat of the insurgent 
 into whose hands they had fallen. Here 
 they were at first treated, as Sir Phelim 
 had promised they should be, with as much 
 courtesy and humanity as circumstances 
 would admit. 
 
 But a war of this sort is never carried on 
 with those decorums, and that spirit of for- 
 bearance and accommodation towards an 
 enemy, which ia sometimes practised be- 
 tween civilized and pohshed nations. The 
 plan originally laid down by the insurgents 
 was to seize all forts and garrisons, to retain 
 the gentry as hostages in their hands, the 
 better to secure a degree of moderation on 
 the part of government, and to shed as 
 little blood as possible. But they resolved 
 to possess the land of their ancestors, and 
 not to suffer any settlers from the superior 
 island to remain in their borders. This 
 
MANDEVILLE. 21 
 
 immediately led to much cruelty. The 
 British had made for themselves comfortable 
 and pleasant habitations, abounding with 
 corn, cattle, and every other accommoda- 
 tion, that an industrious people could draw 
 out of a picturesque country and a fertile 
 soil. They had lived among their Irish 
 neighbours with every appearance of good 
 fellowship ; and the demonstrations of love 
 and affection on either part had been mutual. 
 Hostilities between them had ceased, for 
 almost as long a time as the memory of 
 any one living could reach ; and nothing 
 €ould exceed the quietness and security 
 with which the new settlers enjoyed their 
 possessions. It may easily be imagined 
 with what feelings they received the man- 
 date, that they must dwell there no longer. 
 The success of the Irish in Ulster however 
 was such, that nothing could resist their 
 pleasure. The whole province, together 
 with the couQties of Longford in Leinster, 
 and Leitrim in Connaught, with the excep- 
 
22 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 tion of a very few strong places^ fell into 
 the power of the rebels. All this was 
 achieved in the short space of a week ; and, 
 at the same time, O'Neile saw himself at the 
 head of thirty thousand men. If any of 
 the British repaired to a spot where they 
 conceived they should be able to defend 
 themselves, they were, for the most part, 
 tempted to give up the undertaking, by 
 the offer, on the part of their assailants, of 
 assurance for their lives, and whatever they 
 could take away with them, with free pas- 
 sage and a safe conduct to any place to 
 which they might think proper to retire. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 . All this was calamitous enough ; but 
 the evil did not end here. Their enemies 
 were, for the most part, men of barbarous 
 habits, miserably accoutered, and unaccus- 
 tomed to obedience. It would need the 
 most exact discipline to keep in order bo- 
 dies of men, circumstanced as the Irish 
 were on the present occasion. The British 
 were of course disarmed, and ignominious- 
 \y led away in herds, as totally disqualified 
 and unworthy to live any longer inter- 
 mingled with the people by whom they 
 were now conveyed into banishment. The 
 Catholic priests, who had been the princi- 
 
24 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 pal instigators of the insurrection, sedu- 
 lously taught their hearers, that a Protest- 
 ant was a sort of being whose neighbour- 
 hood was pestilential to the true votaries of 
 the cross, and that, wherever he dwelt, he 
 brought down the displeasure and curse of 
 the Almighty upon the country in which 
 he was harboured. Hatred and contempt 
 are powerful inciters to cruelty. The Bri- 
 tish, circumstanced as they were, were 
 hated as heretics, and despised, because 
 they were in the power of their enemies, 
 and could make no retaliation to any con- 
 tumely that might be heaped upon them. 
 Insult went first, and plunder speedily fol- 
 lowed. The Irish took from the fugitives 
 the valuables they were carrying away 
 with them y they next stripped them of 
 their clothes. The season was now be- 
 come inclement and severe. The unhap- 
 py wretches, who were suffering every 
 species of privation and inconvenience, 
 could not always help, in the bitterness of 
 
MANDEVILLE. £5 
 
 their hearts, reproaching their conductors 
 with perfidy, who had first disarmed them 
 on the faith of the most solemn engage- 
 ments, and now took advantage of their 
 helpless condition to rob them of all that 
 remained to them. The Irish, in the to- 
 pics of heresy, and the assured damnation 
 of their victims in another world, found 
 copious matter for recrimination. From 
 words they proceeded to blows. The vi- 
 gorous and the infirm, men, women and 
 children of the English, were mingled to- 
 gether in this calamitous march. The re- 
 bels had, of course, no consideration for 
 the infirmity or inability of those they con- 
 ducted, but goaded them along like beasts. 
 In every thing that is most horrible and 
 revolting to an ingenuous mind, such is the 
 constitution of human nature, it is often 
 the first step only that is difficult. A child, 
 a woman, a sick or infirm old man among 
 the fugitives, became incapable of proceed- 
 ing any further : the cavalcade could not 
 
 VOL, I. B 
 
26 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 stop for this ; and they were left to perish 
 with hunger and cold by the side of the 
 highway. Such an event must either melt 
 the most untutored heart to pity, or the 
 emotion that spontaneously arises, must be 
 subdued by an antagonist sentiment of 
 careless barbarity and sanguinary scorn. 
 Hard words were mutually given and re- 
 turned between the persecutor and the vic- 
 tim. The debate which began in words, 
 did not always end so. The skein, or Irish 
 dagger, was an ever-ready instrument ; and 
 an uneducated and hot-blooded kern found 
 no difficulty in consummating his invec- 
 tives and his rage with a mortal wound. 
 The first drop of blood that was shed seem- 
 ed to be the signal for every kind of barba- 
 rity. Murder, when it had once unfurled 
 Its standard, did not satiate its impulse with 
 one, but with hundreds of victims. Boys 
 of seven and eight years of age, children 
 at the breast, women far advanced in their 
 pregnancy, seemed often to be made the 
 
MANDEVILLE. 2'/ 
 
 preferred objects of destruction. He that 
 has once dipped his hands in blood, ap- 
 pears to have no more obvious way of sti- 
 fling the whispers of remorse, than by wad- 
 ing deeper and more deep in pitiless cruel- 
 ty. Presently the dagger was found ton 
 slow and powerless an instrument, to grati- 
 fy the barbarity that wantoned round. 
 Drowning was a commodious means for 
 wholesale destruction, and was resorted to 
 on multiplied occasions. The most tragi- 
 cal scene of these inflictions was the bridge 
 of Portnedown, in the county of Armagh, 
 The bridge was first broken down in the 
 middle by the rebels, and the fugitives 
 were then driven upon it from one end and 
 the other. With pikes and swords they 
 were forced over into the water, and as 
 many as attempted to save their lives by 
 swimming were knocked on the head with 
 poles, or shot at from the banks. One 
 hundred and eighty persons perished thus 
 in one day ; and these executions were fre- 
 
28 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 quently repeated. An extraordinary con- 
 sequence followed upon this. The appa- 
 ritions of several of the persons thus mur- 
 dered, were shortly after seen nightly on 
 the surface of the river in which they 
 perished. The shapes of men and women 
 suddenly bolted out of the water, showing 
 themselves naked waist- high, and upright 
 in the stream. This vision continued for 
 many days ; the spirits uttered horrible 
 and terrifying cries, and imprecated re* 
 venge on their murderers ; so that many of 
 those persons who had not shrunk from the 
 destruction of the Protestants while alive, 
 could not endure the presence and the 
 voice of their ghosts after death. All who 
 lived near the scene fled from the fatal spot 
 with affright, and took shelter in the neigh- 
 bouring towns, from the hearing of sounds 
 which it was not in mortal hardihood to 
 endure and live. * 
 
 ♦ These facts are attested by many witnesses on oath ; 
 and Dr Ferriar, in an Essay on the Theory of Appari- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 29 
 
 Such were the tales that were daily, and 
 sometimes hourly, brought to my father and 
 his comrades in their confinement at Kin- 
 nard ; and it was soon manifest that this 
 war, which began with professions of cle- 
 mency, was rapidly degenerating into a 
 scene of cruelty and massacre, such as has 
 rarely occurred in the annals of the world. 
 The first excesses commenced among the 
 rudest of the people, and were perpetrated 
 by boors, unacquainted with almost the 
 slightest tincture of civilization. Yet, once 
 begun, it would have been difficult to stay 
 their progress, especially in a case like this, 
 where the affair was strictly a rising of the 
 population to give law to the land. But, 
 difficult or easy, the experiment never was 
 tried. 0*Neile, and most of the other heads 
 of the conspiracy, were as bigoted, as har- 
 dened, and as brutal, as the lowest of their 
 
 tions, has endeavoured to account for them, from natural 
 causes. 
 
So MilkNDEVlLLE. 
 
 followers. Sir Phelim himself was totally 
 without that firmness and serenity of spirit, 
 which, in souls of a happier temper, pre- 
 serves them from being too much elevated 
 by prosperity, or cast down by adverse 
 events. When he looked on the number 
 of his forces, and the extent of territory 
 that lay unresisting before him, his heart 
 dilated with pride, and he believed that he 
 had only to show himself in his strength on 
 this side or on that, and all would yield be* 
 fore him. On the other hand, he was too 
 impatient and arrogant, to be able to en- 
 counter with equanimity anything that 
 thwarted him. Amidst all the great and 
 mighty victories of which he boasted, he 
 did not fail to experience some reverses. 
 These rendered him frantic, in proportion 
 to the unmeasured joy that showed itself in 
 him on other occasions. He was repulsed 
 before the castle of Augher ; and he im- 
 mediately ordered ll e Protestants of three 
 adjacent parishes to be massacred- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 31 
 
 But the most considerable check he ex- 
 perienced at this time was at Lisnegarvy 
 (now called Lisburne). He could not en- 
 dure that, while he had gained possession 
 of the whole open country of Ulster, a few 
 principal places still had the audacity to 
 defy his arms-. Of these Carrickfergus 
 was the chief; and, to reach this place with 
 effect, it appeared necessary first to take 
 in the intermediate garrison of Lisnegarvy, 
 For this expedition he drew out four thou- 
 sand of the choicest troops from the my- 
 riads that followed his standard. The at- 
 tack was sustained and repelled with stea- 
 diness and vigour. But in this affair the 
 British proved the superior. The repeated 
 assaults of the besiegers only served to 
 swell the heaps of their slain ; and the 
 English boasted, that the number of the 
 enemy killed on this occasion, trebled the 
 amount of their whole garrison. 
 
 The disappointment sustained by O'Neile 
 in this attempt drew out all the savagenes^ 
 
32 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 of his nature. His ferocious spirit seem- 
 ed to search, how he could most signaUze 
 his vengeance, and leave the most memor- 
 able record of what a man, possessed of un- 
 limited power, and cursed with the utmost 
 depravity of will, could do. Among the 
 rest, he recollected Lord Caulfield. This 
 nobleman was the first victim that had fal- 
 len into his savage grasp. He had been 
 drawn within the sphere of his power, by 
 the modesty of Sir Phelim's carriage, and 
 the ostentatious exhibition he had made of 
 the gestures of peace and good faith. He 
 was the first man that had received the 
 pledge of Sir Phelim's honour, that he 
 should suffer no injury. Lady Caulfield 
 and his children, together with the wives 
 and families of several of the officers of the 
 garrison of Charlemont, had been made pri- 
 soners at the same time, and were all con- 
 fined within the same walls. The house 
 was the house of Sir Phelim, which had 
 been assigned them for their protection. 
 
MANDEVILLE. S3 
 
 The master of this house gave orders, that 
 they should all, without distinction of sex 
 or age, be put to the sword. There was 
 not a man of 0*Neile's staff, that lifted his 
 voice to remonstrate against so diabolical 
 an outrage. The satelHtes of this monster 
 were too faithful in their obedience, and 
 too much sympathized with the spirit of 
 their master, not to execute his mandate to 
 the minutest letter. My father and mother 
 were numbered among the corses of this 
 bloody day. 
 
 I was a little more than three years of 
 age, at the time when this tragedy was acted. 
 I do not remember the scene distinctly in 
 all its parts ; but there are detached cir- 
 cumstances that belong to it, tHat will live 
 in my memory as long as my pulses conti^ 
 nue to beat. My father. Lord Caulfield, 
 and the other officers, would doubtless have 
 met their fate with firmness, if they alone 
 had been concerned in the catastrophe. 
 
 The scene would have resembled what we 
 
 B 9 
 
34 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 read of the sack of Rome by the Gauls, when 
 the fathers of the senate sat each man in his 
 ivory chair in the porch of his own house, 
 and, without changing the position of fea- 
 ture or limb, expected their fate, while, to 
 the barbarians that traversed the city, they 
 appeared rather divinities than men. The 
 prisoners of Kinnard had, for many days, 
 looked forward to their death. The sue* 
 Cessive accounts of barbarities that reached 
 them, were like the distant thunder, and 
 taught them to anticipate the moment when 
 the storm would fall with accumulated vio- 
 lence on their own heads. 
 
 But within the narrow bounds of their 
 imprisonment they were not alone. The 
 ruthless cWieftain into whose hands they 
 had fallen, had hurried along every creature 
 he had found of the better class in the castle 
 of Charlemont, and hemmed them round in 
 this devoted spot. Who could behold with 
 unaltered eye the entrance of the barbarians, 
 that already in their purpose devoted the 
 
MANDEVILLE; 3S 
 
 women and children shut up in Kinnard, as 
 victims to expiate the destructive bravery 
 of their countrymen in the defence of Lis- 
 negarvy ? The prisoners were unarmed, 
 not unresisting. They seized every weapon 
 of offence that chance threw in their way, 
 and determined to procrastinate their des- 
 tiny, or to sell their lives at a high rate. 
 Several of the savages fell in the first as- 
 sault. Their reception taught them cau- 
 tion ; they retired to somewhat a greater 
 distance, and fired vollies into the midst of 
 us. Every shot told. I cannot go on with 
 the narrative. Dying groans, and piercing 
 shrieks, and the fierce and tremendous cry 
 of insult and triumph on the part of our 
 invaders, made up the horrible concert. 
 They pursued the unhappy wretches they 
 were sent to destroy, to garrets, and along 
 the roofs of the building. They ceased not, 
 till the funereal and agonizing cries which 
 had lately tormented the air, gave place to a 
 still more funereal and awe-creating silence. 
 
56 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Murder had done his work, and there no 
 longer remained a victim to destroy. 
 
 From the general massacre of the English 
 within the walls of Sir Phelim's residence 
 this day, I was the only one that escaped. 
 My preservation was owing to the fidelity 
 and courage of an Irish woman-servant, to 
 whose charge I had been committed. Her 
 mistress and family she could not save ; 
 but me she caught up in her arms with a re- 
 solution that nothing could subdue. " What 
 have you there ?'* said one of the murderers ; 
 " that child is an English child.'' " By the 
 Virgin/' replied the woman, " it is my own 
 flesh and blood ; would you go for to con- 
 found this dear little jewel, as true a Ca- 
 tholic as ever was born'd, with the carcases 
 of heretics ?" " Let the child speak," an- 
 swered the ruffian, " he is old enough ; who 
 do you belong to ?" " To me ! to me 1'* 
 shrieked the woman, in an agony of teiror. 
 " Speak ]" repeated the assassin, and lifted 
 over me the instrument of death. I hid my 
 
MANDEVILLK. 3? 
 
 face in my nurse's bosom. I did not com- 
 prehend the meaning of the question, but I 
 felt that the faithful creature who embraced 
 me was my protector. *' To Judy," said I; 
 " Judy is my mammy/* " Begone/' said 
 the murderer sternly, drawing back his 
 skein, " and mix no more with this dunghil 
 of Protestant dogs/' 
 
 Judith carried me away, with the inten- 
 tion of retiring with me to her native vil- 
 lage, and bringing me up as her own child. 
 On any other occasion this might easily 
 have been done, but not now. The insur- 
 gents, who had begun, as I have said, with 
 vows of moderation, and a resolution to 
 avoid as much as possible the imbruing 
 their hands in blood, having once overstep- 
 ped this limit, and dipped their hands in 
 one murder after another, felt that there 
 was no retreat ; and avowed their determi- 
 nation not to leave one Briton, man, wo- 
 man or child, alive in the districts where 
 their power was supreme. Judith was 
 
38 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 questioned about me again and again, in 
 different places through which she passed ; 
 and all her self-command, fervour, and 
 quick turns of ingenuity, were scarcely suf- 
 ficient to preserve me from the hostile sword. 
 Convinced but too fully of the imminent 
 dangers that hung over my life, she turned 
 her steps in the direction of Dublin. 
 
 At length, at the town of Kells, it was 
 her fortune to fall in with the reverend 
 Hilkiah Bradford, who had for several pre- 
 ceding years been chaplain to the garrison 
 in which I was born. He immediately knew 
 her. He suspected the meaning of her ex- 
 pedition, and felt that he had some recollec- 
 tion of my own features. Judith shewed 
 the since rest transports of joy in meeting 
 him, and thought that all her troubles would 
 now be at an end. She was however mis- 
 taken in her calculations. Hilkiah, who 
 was a man of the utmost integrity and pu- 
 rity of heart, willingly took me under his 
 protection, but insisted on an immediate 
 
MANDEVILLE. 39 
 
 and irrevocable separation between me and 
 my faithful preserver. The reverend cler- 
 gyman was imbued with all the prejudices, 
 that belong to the most strait-laced of the 
 members of his sacred profession. His 
 continual theme was that the church of 
 Rome was no other than the spiritual 
 Babylon, prophesied of in the book of 
 Revelations ; and the text of scripture on 
 which he was ever most prone to descant, 
 was, " Come out of her, my people, that ye 
 be not partakers of her sins, and that ye 
 receive not of her plagues/' He was fully 
 convinced that a Papist was more especially 
 an object of tlie hatred of the almighty 
 creator, than either a Heathen or a Maho- 
 metan. And, if such were the sentiments 
 familiar to his youth, and in which he had 
 been too fatally confirmed by the conspi- 
 racy of the Gunpowder Treason, and the 
 diabolical crime of the infatuated Ravail- 
 lac, it may easily be supposed how much 
 strength this opinion gained in him, by th€ 
 
40 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 dreadful scenes with which he was at this 
 moment surrounded. 
 
 Fearful was the contention between Ju- 
 dith and the reverend Hilkiah, as to the 
 destiny to which I was now to be consign- 
 ed. The exertions of this uninstructed ma- 
 tron were not less strenuous, than those of 
 the woman whose the living child really 
 was, when she pleaded before Solomon. 
 She, who had shielded me again and again 
 from the daggers, already dropping with 
 gore, of her savage countrymen, thought 
 foul scorn to be baffled by an unarmed he- 
 retical priest. She had congratulated her- 
 self on her success, when she had escaped 
 from the lines of the rebel Irish, into a town 
 that was at this moment filled with Eng- 
 lish, fugitives and others. But she found 
 herself further from the purpose of her af- 
 fectionate heart here than before. My life, 
 indeed, was now in safety. In that thought 
 she truly rejoiced. But was it to be en- 
 dured that she, who had nursed and fed me 
 
MANDEVILLE. 41 
 
 from her own breast from the hour of my 
 birth, and who had just brought me hither 
 unhurt through a thousand hair-breadth 
 escapes, should now be thrust out from me 
 with contumely, as one whose touch hence- 
 forth would be contamination and pesti- 
 lence to me ? She raved ; she intreated. 
 *' And was not it myself that saved him ? And 
 has not he owed his life to me times with- 
 out number ? And am not I ten times his 
 mother ? Jewel, dear^ you have no mother; 
 you have no father; suddenly, fearfully, 
 they have been taken from you ; there is 
 nobody now in all the world that can do 
 for you but Judy. Mr Bradford, you can- 
 not be so cruel ; you are a priest, though 
 your are not a Roman; I have always 
 thought you a good man. Who shall take 
 care of the poor helpless wretch, if I am put 
 away from him, who am his natural foster- 
 er ? You do not mean to be the death of 
 him ! Kill me, cut me to pieces, but do not 
 ye, do not ye, be so barbarous as to put 
 
4S MANDEVILLE. 
 
 me away from him, and leave me alive. 
 My child ! my child I my child V 
 
 It will easily be imagined, that I was 
 moved to the utmost degree with the ago- 
 nies of my nurse, and that I joined my an- 
 guish, my tears, my cries, my intreaties, to 
 hers. Bui this was a portentous moment, 
 in which all human emotions, except with- 
 in a certain definite limit, were utterly 
 extinguished. Bigotry was lord paramount 
 on every side, and strode along triumphant, 
 wn hearing, and cased in triple adamant, 
 over the ruins of every feeling of the heart. 
 Had the contention been only between 
 Judith, and the reverend divine who claim- 
 ed to take me under his protection, without 
 doubt her more energetic spirit, and her 
 more muscular limbs would have borne off 
 the prize. But, in the street of Kells, she 
 was wholly surrounded with British, — with 
 creatures who had just, through every de- 
 gree of hardship and misery, escaped with 
 life, who had each one left behind a hus- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 45 
 
 band, a wife, or a child, the prey of this 
 bloody pursuit, and to whoai it was agony 
 to see among them for a moment a being 
 of the race of their destroyers. The more 
 clamorous the unhappy woman showed 
 herself, the more importunately she forced 
 her intreaties and her shrieks upon their 
 hearing, by so much the more inexorably 
 were they resolved to expel her. Was 
 a woman of this accursed, savage, Irish, 
 Popish brood, to be supposed to have any 
 feelings, or any feelings entitled to the sym- 
 pathy and favour of a Protestant heart ? 
 They repelled her with every degree of 
 contumely ; and, when at length she sunk 
 senseless under the protracted contest, they 
 flung her out of the town, like some loath- 
 some load of contamination, too pestilent 
 for wholesome British senses to endure. 
 
 From Kells, my victorious protector bore 
 me away in triumph to Dublin, and thence, 
 with the least possible delay, procured a 
 passage on board a frail and crazy bark 
 
44 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 for England. The general opinion then 
 was, that the insurgents would in a few 
 dajs get possession of the melropolisj 
 which they would not fail to make a scene 
 of greater horror and devastation than any 
 that had preceded, and that not one native 
 of Great Britain would be left alive in the 
 island; at least such was the firm persua- 
 sion of those, who had passed through the 
 scene of all these horrors, and who felt their 
 escape, and their continuing to exist, as an 
 incredible miracle. All who could provide 
 themselves with a passage, though at never 
 so excessive rates, were eager to quit the 
 devoted coast. And, to heighten the cala- 
 mity, there was a succession of violent 
 winds and impetuous storms, such as had 
 never before been known. Our poor fleet 
 of barks was slenderly victualled, and load- 
 ed with passengers. But no danger, and 
 no distress, could induce them to make 
 land again, preferring, as they did, all the 
 hostility of the elements, to the bare chance 
 
MANDEVILLE. 45 
 
 of falling into the hands of the infuriated 
 enemy. We were in perpetual danger of 
 perishing at sea, and much the greater part 
 of the vessels that left Dublin at the same 
 lime, were actually cast away. Our pas- 
 sage was not accomplished under three 
 months ; a great number of the persons on 
 board had expired with hunger ; and those 
 who reached the British coast alive were so 
 much enfeebled with the extremities they 
 had endured, as scarcely to be able to drag 
 theqr bodies on shore. 
 
4$ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER Iir. 
 
 Mr Bradford, on his arrival, immediate- 
 ly hastened to London, and from thence 
 wrote to my uncle, my father's elder bro- 
 ther, wlo in consequence of the late ca- 
 lamity was become my natural guardian, 
 to ask his directions hovv he was to dispose 
 of me. The answer he received expressed 
 my uncle's wish that I should be brought 
 to him without delay, and adiled a request 
 that my preserver would have the goodness 
 to accompany me. These directions were 
 no sooner known, than they were carried 
 into execution; and, at the end of the second 
 day from our leaving London, we reached 
 
MANDEVILLE. 4? 
 
 in safety the place of our destination, which 
 lay immediately on the verge of the sea, on 
 the shores of the Eni^jli^h channel. 
 
 1 resided constantly under the roof of this 
 uncle for the next following eight or nine 
 years of my life ; and it is therefore neces- 
 sary that I should here describe the most 
 remarkable features of this residence. I 
 did not immediately see and feel these par- 
 ticulars, in such a manner as to have en- 
 abled me to describe them, if I had been 
 early removed from the observation of them; 
 but they insensibly incorporated themselves 
 as it were with the substance of my mind ; 
 and my character, such as it was afterwards 
 displayed, owed much of its peculiarity to 
 the impressions I here received. 
 
 The dwelling-place of my uncle was an 
 old and spacious mansion, the foundation 
 of which was a rock, against which the 
 waves of the sea for ever beat, and by 
 their incessant and ineffectual rage were 
 worked into a foam, that widely spread it- 
 
48 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 self in every direction. The sound of the 
 dashing waters was eternal, and seemed 
 calculated to inspire sobriety, and almost 
 gloom, into the soul of every one who 
 dwelt within the reach of its influence. 
 The situation of this dwelling, on that side 
 of the island which is most accessible to an 
 enemy, had induced its original architect 
 to construct it in such a manner, as might 
 best enable it to resist an invader, though 
 its fortifications had since fallen into decay. 
 It was a small part of the edifice only that 
 was inhabited in my time. Several magni- 
 ficent galleries, and a number of spacious 
 apartments, were wholly neglected, and suf- 
 fered to remain in a woful state of dila- 
 pidation. Indeed it was one wing only 
 that was now tenanted, and that imperfect- 
 ly ; the centre and the other wing had 
 long been resigned to the owls and the 
 bitterns. The door which formed the 
 main entrance of the building was never 
 opened j and the master and all that be- 
 
MAKDEVILLE. 49 
 
 longed to him were accustomed to pass 
 by an obscure postern only. The court- 
 yard exhibited a striking scene of desola- 
 tion. The scythe and the spade were never 
 admitted to violate its savage character. 
 It was overgrown with tall and rank grass 
 of a peculiar species, intermingled with 
 elder trees, nettles, and briars. 
 
 The dwelling which I have thus describ- 
 ed was surrounded on three sides by the 
 sea; it was only by the north- west that I 
 could reach what I may call my native 
 country. The whole situation was emi- 
 nently insalubrious. Though the rock oa 
 which our habitation was placed was, for 
 the most |)art, of a perpendicular acclivity, 
 yet we had to the west a long bank of sand, 
 and in different directions various portions 
 of bog and marshy ground, sending up an 
 endless succession of vapours, I had almost 
 said steams, whose effect holds unmitigat- 
 ed war with healthful animal life. The 
 tide also threw up vast quantities of sargas- 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
50 MANDEViLLE. 
 
 SOS and weeds, the corruption of which was 
 supposed to contribute eminently to the 
 same effect. For a great part of the year 
 we were further involved in thick fogs and 
 mists, to such a degree as often to render 
 the use of candles necessary even at noon- 
 day. 
 
 The open country, which, as I have said, 
 lay to the north-west of us, consisted for 
 the most part of an immense extent of bar- 
 ren heath, the surface of which was broken 
 and unequal, and was scarcely intersected 
 with here and there the track of a rough, 
 sandy, and incommodious road. Its only 
 variety was produced by long stripes of 
 grass of an unequal breadth, mingled with 
 the sand of the soil, and occasionally adorn- 
 ed with the plant called heath, and with 
 fern. A tree was hardly to be found for 
 miles. Such was the character of the firm 
 ground, which of course a wanderer like 
 myself, avoiding as carefully as might be 
 a deviation into quaggy and treacherous 
 
 19 
 
MANDKVILLK. 51 
 
 paths, selected for his rambles. The hut 
 of the labourer was rarely to be found ; the 
 chief sign of animal life was a few scattered 
 flocks of sheep, with each of them its shep- 
 herd's boy and his dog ; and the nearest 
 market-town was at a distance of seventeen 
 miles. Over this heath, as I grew a little 
 older, I delighted to extend my peregrina- 
 tions ; and though the atmosphere was for 
 the greater part of the year thick, hazy 
 and depressing, yet the desolateness of the 
 scene, the wideness of its extent, and even 
 the monotonous uniformity of its character, 
 favourable to meditation aad endless reverie, 
 did not fail to be the source to me of many 
 cherished and darling sensations. 
 
 My uncle was the eldest son and lineal 
 representative of the opulent family of the 
 Mandevilles, and could boast that he was 
 proprietor of four or five splendid and deli- 
 cious mansions in different counties of Eng- 
 land. It will naturally be asked therefore, 
 how he came to chuse the most uninviting 
 
5^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 of them all, and to live in it in so obscure 
 and unlordly a style ? The answer is simple : 
 because so to live suited the frame of his 
 mind, 
 
 Audley Mandeville, my uncle, had from 
 the hour of his birth been the object of his 
 father's persecution. There was an opposi- 
 tion of tempers between them, that seemed 
 to render harmony for any length of time 
 impossible. My grandfather was a naval 
 adventurer, and had twice sailed with Sir 
 Francis Drake round the world. His 
 countenance and figure bore strongly the 
 marks of the hardships he had endured. 
 His manners had all the rudeness which is 
 supposed characteristic of. a sailor. He 
 "was not without some proficiency in the 
 line of his profession ; but in all other mat- 
 ters he was as ignorant as a Hottentot; and 
 every kind of knowledge and refinement 
 with which he was unacquainted, he thought 
 himself entitled to hold in utter contempt. 
 It will scarcely be regarded as an excep- 
 
MANDEVILLR. 65 
 
 tion to this character, that he considered 
 rank and fortune with the utmost partiality, 
 and set no small value on those advantages, 
 in this respect, with which he was himself 
 endowed. He had particularly the highest 
 notions of the prerogatives annexed to the 
 paternal character, and the obedience he 
 was entitled to exact from his offspring. He 
 had a Herculean frame, and a robust con- 
 stitution ; and in this arlicle, as well as the 
 rest, he seemed to regard his own endow- 
 ments as the standard of human excellence. 
 Audley, his eldest born, was precisely 
 such a son as would be most unwelcome to 
 such a father. He came into the world in 
 the seventh month of his mother's pregnan- 
 cy. It was with the greatest difficulty, and 
 by dint of the most unremitted tenderness and 
 attentions on her part, that he could be 
 reared to man s estate. He was deformed 
 in his person.' He was, as the poet lex- 
 presses it, 
 
 " A puny insect, trembling at a breez?." 
 
04! MANDEVILLE. 
 
 He was scarcely equal to the most ordina- 
 ry corporal exertions ; and the temper of 
 his mind corresponded to the frame of his 
 body, tender as a flower, deeply suscep- 
 tible of every unkindness and whatever 
 thwarted his views and propensities, un- 
 equal to contentiorr, and sinking, as with- 
 out power of resistance, under any thing 
 that presented itself in the form of hostility. 
 
 Yet this delicate creature was not slen- 
 derly furnished with intellectual endow- 
 ments. Unqualified as he was for every 
 species of hardihood, his happiness was 
 placed in sedentary pursuits, He was an 
 elegant scholar, and displayed the most live- 
 ly and refined taste as to all those objects 
 which address themselves to that facnlly. 
 He was, in particular, a most admirable 
 musician. 
 
 All these qualities, which, to a person 
 capable of appreciating them, would have 
 rendered him an object of love and esteem, 
 were lost, and worse than lost, upon my 
 
MANDEVILLE. ,55 
 
 grandfather. He was not satisfied to re- 
 gard them with negligence and contempt ; 
 they became to him every day more and 
 more the objects of inextinguishable ab- 
 horrence. The consequence of all this 
 was, that, after a trial of some years, my 
 grandfather and my uncle seldom met. 
 The son shrunk with unconquerable terror 
 from the presence of his father ; and the fa- 
 ther exerted himself to forget that he had 
 such a son, and was inexpressibly morti- 
 fied at any thing that brought back the 
 fact to his recollection. Meanwhile, the 
 education of Audley Mandeville was en- 
 tirely domestic ; he was supposed not to 
 have strength to contend with the difficul- 
 ties of a public seminary. He was there- 
 fore in some sort a prisoner in the pater- 
 nal mansion ; he took no exercise without 
 being previously informed that his father 
 was from home ; and he had continually 
 present to his thoughts the depressing con- 
 viction (for in that way it certainly ope- 
 
56 ^ANDEVILLl. 
 
 rated upon him) that he was the object of 
 his father's detestation. 
 
 The consolations he possessed to sup- 
 port him under these melancholy circum- 
 stances were few. His mother was his 
 principal comfort, and her he regarded 
 with sentiments scarcely short of adoration. 
 His mother had also a niece, who was be- 
 come an inmate in the house. This young 
 lady was the progeny of my grandmother's 
 sister, who had married unhappily, against 
 the consent of all her family, and whose 
 husband had turned out a profligate, and 
 had deserted her. The young lady I have 
 mentioned was the only offspring of this 
 marriage, and was now completely an or- 
 phan. 
 
 Amelia Monlfort had, in the result of 
 these accidents, been m ide the equal and 
 almost constant companion of her more 
 high-born cousin. They had a similarity 
 of tastes, and their studies were in many 
 respects the same. Like Audley, she had 
 
MANDEVILLE. 5? 
 
 a keen relish for music, and had studied 
 under the same masters. They often there- 
 fore joined their respective performances, 
 either with the voice or the instrument. 
 My uncle had a voice so singularly melo- 
 dious, as to have gained him the appella- 
 tion of the little nightincrale. Though de- 
 formed in his person, his eyes were re- 
 markably beautiful ; and his countenance 
 had an expression of sweetness, modesty 
 and diffidence, tliat seemed irresistible. 
 While Amelia laboured with her needle, 
 the tediousness of her employment was of- 
 ten relieved to her, as Audley read aloud 
 some favourite author, while she plied the 
 sempstress' toil. She was not permitted 
 the advantage of masters for language • but 
 this privation was made up to her, particu- 
 larly in Italian, by the instructions of Aud- 
 ley. As he had scarcely any other com- 
 panion, the society of Amelia was singu- 
 larly dear to him. Yet much of his time 
 was spent in sequestered solitude. His li- 
 c2l 
 
58 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 terary diligence was often too severe and 
 unremitted to allow of an associate ; but 
 this separation and study only made the 
 conversation of his confidential and con- 
 stant friend the more precious to him, when 
 his hours of study were at an end. 
 
 It was scarcely to be imagined, that two 
 young persons of different sexes, whose 
 tastes were in many respects the same, 
 should be so constantly together, without 
 their being impressed with a mutual pas- 
 sion. To Audley Amelia was all the 
 world, as for weeks together he often saw 
 no other human creature, except his mo- 
 ther, his instructors, and the servants. His 
 mother however died, before he w^as of an 
 age when vigilance on this subject is usual- 
 ly resorted to. Commodore Mandeville, 
 now a widower, substituted in the place of 
 his wife, as superintendent of his house- 
 hold, a maiden sister of his own, Mrs Do- 
 rothy Mandeville, a person of a very not- 
 able character, who, as soon as the duties 
 
MANDEVILLE. 59 
 
 of her function were performed, always-' 
 found relaxation and refreshment in books. 
 Her library however was not numerous, 
 being entirely confined to two subjects, — 
 books of devotion, and books of genealogy 
 and heraldry. Between her active and her 
 sedentary occupations her time was fully 
 engrossed ; and she was a person of so 
 much importance in her own eyes, that 
 there was scarcely any other living being 
 that she could think entitled to much place 
 in her thoughts. Audley and Amelia 
 therefore, now growing towards man's and 
 woman's estate, went on in the same train 
 to which they had been accustomed while 
 children, or rather with a greater degree of 
 attachment and effusion of soul than ever, 
 without awakening the smallest suspicion 
 in the elevated mind of Mrs Dorothy. 
 
 Audley Mandeville however had not 
 contented himself with expressing the par- 
 tiality he felt, in general terms. Even from 
 his boyish days he had been accustomed to 
 
60 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 talk to Amelia of love and marriage ; and 
 she listened to the tale with no less delight, 
 than that which he felt in giving it utter- 
 ance. This was the sacred secret of their 
 privacy ; they never alluded to it in words, 
 but when all witnesses were far removed 
 from their discourse ; and they found in 
 the joys they anticipated, and the plan of 
 secluded and noiseless life they purposed 
 for the future, a topic of conversation that 
 could never be exhausted. Audley fer- 
 vently protested, that, knowing no other 
 life than this, being, by the infirmity of his 
 constitution, shut out from more active and 
 boisterous scenes, and having learned, from 
 the inhumanity of his father, to detest the 
 sentiments and manners of his species in 
 general, he would never yield to mutability 
 and alteration, would never give ear to any 
 other scheme of existence than that which 
 his heart told him was the only one worthy 
 of his adoption, and would either live for 
 his Amelia, or cease to live at all. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 61 
 
 The first person who was induced to re- 
 mark the nature of the communication go- 
 ing on betw^een Audley and Ameha was a 
 servant-maid ; and, as this female was of a 
 fretful and malignant temper, to which no- 
 thing was so distressing as to see other per- 
 sons delighted and happy, she did not fail 
 officiously to communicate her observa- 
 tions to Mrs Dorothy. The old lady was 
 astonished ; she never could have believed 
 it. It never could have come into her 
 head, that the blood of the Mandevilles 
 could degrade itself by an ill-assorted wed- 
 lock. She had indeed allowed herself to 
 doubt, whether her brother, the commo- 
 dore, had conducted himself with his usual 
 propriety, in matching with the mother of 
 Audley. But, that iVudley himself should 
 fix his choice on a degraded branch of his 
 mother's family, a girl without a shilling, 
 and whose father, if he had met with his 
 deserts, would have paid the forfeit of his 
 life to the injured laws of his country, — she 
 
62 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 would as soon have thought of the lord of 
 the forest engendering with a serpent, or 
 the eagle with the wren. 
 
 After some deliberation however, and 
 having satisfied herself by mute observa- 
 tions that the suggestion was something 
 more than the groundless garrulity of a 
 chamber-maid, she hastened to impart all 
 she knew to the ear of the commodore. 
 The commodore was still more astonished 
 than his sister. His son indeed was the 
 object of his aversion, and he never liked 
 to be reminded of his existence. He re- 
 garded him with ineffable contempt, as 
 concentring in his person and habits every 
 thing that the naval hero most empha- 
 tically despised. The tale however of 
 Mrs Dorothy, placed poor Audley in a 
 new light in his eyes. He now for the first 
 time confessed to himself, that the eldest 
 son of an ancient and opulent family stood 
 for something. He would have been glad 
 to regard this child of his wrath as a mere 
 
MANDEVILLE. 63 
 
 zero ; but that he should marry at all, 
 and still more that he should join himself 
 in wedlock to the lowest fgnominy and dis- 
 grace, for such he regarded the match that 
 was suggested, was indeed a shock he was 
 little able to sustain. 
 
 Presently however he recovered him- 
 self. " No, no," he exclaimed, '^ it cannot 
 be. I see how it is. The knave has been 
 playing his waggish tricks with the girl. 
 They have been making a scholar of him ; 
 and if scholarship is good for nothing else, 
 it will teach him not to throw himself away 
 like a natural. But this must not be. It 
 is too bad, in one's own house, and among 
 one's own kin. We must send the girl 
 away. If the fool will be sowing his wild 
 oats, he must contrive to do it as his betters 
 did before him, and in a way not to make 
 a noise in the world.'* 
 
 In answer to this harangue, Mrs Doro- 
 thy produced to the commodore a copy of 
 verses in Audley's hand-writing, in which 
 
64 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Amelia stood for the object of his devotion, 
 and all the sentiments were expressive of 
 the happiness of a wedded life, however 
 frugal, rustic and obscure, where love 
 spread the board, and a union of hearts 
 sweetened the cup. The commodore, not 
 without difficulty and hesitation, construed 
 the scroll ; Mrs Dorothy's annotations were 
 of considerable service ; the studies of the 
 naval hero had not laid among the votaries 
 of the Muse. At length however he be- 
 gan to apprehend something, and inclined 
 to the opinion, that all might not be lies, 
 even though the tale was told in verse. 
 
 Fury succeeded to scepticism and inves- 
 tigation. He sent to summon this ill- omen- 
 ed son to his presence. This was an inci- 
 dent that scarcely occurred once in a num- 
 ber of j^ears, and it threw poor Audley into 
 a fit of trembhng. There was nothing ser- 
 vile and cringing in the temper of the 
 youth ; and his tremors did not flow from 
 any infirmity of his intellectual nature, but 
 
MANDEVILLE. 65 
 
 from the delicacy of his frame, his total 
 want of experience in the tempesJs of llie 
 world, and the terror which always seized 
 him, when he heard his father's name, and 
 still more when he was placed within the 
 sound of his voice. 
 
 *' Well, Sir," said the commorlore, ^' here 
 is a pretty story I have heard. Do you 
 know that paper?" throwing down the 
 copy of verses which Mrs Dorothy had in- 
 troduced to his notice. Audley took tliem 
 up, and seated himself with the paper in 
 his hand, that he might ruminate on the 
 scene in which he was engaged, and hs- 
 ten with the more convenience to what- 
 ever his father should thuik proper to de- 
 liver. 
 
 *' You are a hopeful youth to think of mar- 
 rying ! Why, are you arrived at these years, 
 and understand nothing of such matters 
 yet? Do not you know, that the marriage 
 of the heir is the most considerahle event 
 that can happen in a family like ours ? 
 
66 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Have you never heard, that the king is al- 
 ways consulted upon it, and that, if you 
 were left without a father, he would be 
 your guardian, and could give you in mar- 
 riage to whomever he pleased, without your 
 having the smallest voice in the matter? 
 The power that would be vested in him, if 
 you were an orphan, while I live, is fully 
 in me. Do you think, because I take but 
 little notice of you, and judge it a misfor- 
 tune to my race that I should have such a 
 son, that I will allow you to run your own 
 course, and be the ruin of our bouse to the 
 latest posterity ? 
 
 " I know however how to act in such a 
 case. I shall instantly send away the minx,, 
 where you shall never hear of her again as 
 long as you live. I am indeed quite com- 
 petent to act in the affair ; and it is only a 
 mark of my condescension, that I trouble 
 myself to say a word to you about the mat- 
 ter. But I wish, once for all, that you 
 should be thoroughly informed of the na- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 6? 
 
 ture of the case. As you have once gone 
 wrong, it is fitting you should be put upon 
 your guard, that there may be no danger of 
 your committing such an error a second 
 time. And therefore I now expect, that 
 you will profess your entire contrition for 
 the offence of which you have been guihy, 
 and sign a paper, declaring that you will 
 never think of thia Amelia, and that yoti 
 will never take the remotest step upon the 
 sacred subject of marriage, without having 
 previously obtained my full sanction and 
 concurrence. It is out of my fatherly 
 kindness, thajt I have taken the pains thus 
 largely to explain the subject to you. I 
 am not used thus to take my child, over 
 whom I hold an absolute and uncontrolable 
 power, into a participation of my counsels ; 
 and, I trust, in the present instance I shall 
 see the visible effects of all this condescen- 
 sion and consideration I have had for you/ 
 Audley Mandeville, as I have already 
 said, was one of the most timid and uncon«» 
 
68 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 tending of human creatures, and of all per- 
 sons existing on the face of the earlh, stood 
 the most in awe of his father. You would 
 have thought, that a harangue of this orien- 
 tal and unsparing - sort, would have sunk 
 him into earth, or shivered his delicate 
 frame into a thousand atoms. It proved 
 otherwise. What cannot tlie powers of 
 almiiihty love etlect ? He shook off his in- 
 firmities, and appeared altogether another 
 creature from what he had been from his 
 birth up to the present moment. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " do not think to awe me 
 by the severity of y ur tones, or tliesiernness 
 of your aspect. Witai have you ever done 
 for me? When have you ever exerted the 
 smallest ca'^e in my behalf? You have de- 
 serted me from tlie hour »»f my birth, as 
 the bird of the wilderness deserts her eggs, 
 leaving them to be hatched as ihey may. 
 When I was a child, did you ever hold me 
 in your arms ? Did I ever experience from 
 you one caress, or so much as a smile ? 
 
MANDEVILLE. 69 
 
 Have not your voice and your presence 
 always been to me a source of unmingled 
 terror ? Did you ever wish me to live ? 
 Did you ever love me for a moment? I 
 have a conception of the character of a 
 father ; and had it been my lot to have 
 been blessed in such a relation, I think I 
 could even have adored the being, who was 
 the source to me of unspeakable sensations. 
 But I am the outcast of the worhl, cut off 
 from every h'iend. I have been a prisoner 
 under the paternal roof, and havemoredread- 
 ed to approach you, than the vilest slave to 
 the most cruel eastern tyrant. Thus blight- 
 ed and forlorn, what could I do ? 1 have 
 found a friend, a friend that is more than 
 all the world to me. I have but one con- 
 solation : there is but one tie by which I 
 hold to the present scene of existence. 
 But that consolation has now for years 
 made up to me the loss of every thing else. 
 My cousin is to me a spring of inconceiva- 
 ble delights. When 1 am fatigued, she 
 
70 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 cherishes me \ when I am sick, she is my 
 nurse ; when I am overwhehiied with all 
 the griefs that my state and constitution 
 cast upon me, her smiles are the only thing 
 that make existence supportable. She calms 
 my impatience ; she drives away my in- 
 ward distress by the sweetness of her coun- 
 tenance; her power over me is without a 
 limit, I cannot part with her. She is the 
 pole-star by which I steer through the 
 voyage of life ; and if you put out her light, 
 my days and nights to come will be pur- 
 poseless, and wrapped in everlasting dark- 
 ness. You have done me no good ; you 
 have scarcely at any time troubled yourself 
 with anything that concerns me 3 in this, 
 which is every thing to my poor desolate 
 heart, I conjure you let me alone. 1 will 
 not be awed ; I will not be cajoled ; no- 
 thing shall turn me aside from the part I 
 have chosen for myself. I know not why 
 I speak this ; not with the hope to move 
 your inflexible spirit 3 but I speak it to 
 
MANDEVILLE. 71 
 
 lighten my heart. All my paths shall be 
 direct ; and the few words I shall utter — 
 few certainly shall I ever address to a father 
 —-shall at least be unstained with duplicity 
 and falsehood." 
 
 In these artless strains did this poor in- 
 experienced youth pour out his sentiments 
 to his flinty -hearted father. The commo- 
 dore was inexpressibly astonished at all 
 that he heard. He had not doubted that 
 his son, every thing that he had ever yet 
 known of him being made up of a shrink- 
 iig and sensitive diffidence, would have felt 
 annihilated, and incapable ofuttering a word, 
 before the anger of his father. The com- 
 modore had cruelly wasted his great guns 
 upon him, at the same time that he believed, 
 that the smallest intimation of his pleasure 
 would have deprived Audley of all power 
 of resistance, and that, where he conde- 
 scended to interfere, the whole question 
 was settled in a moment. 
 
7^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mranwhile, though the commodore 
 was absolute and dictatorial in his temper, 
 he was not at the same time without his 
 wiles. The enemy that he could not con- 
 quer by force, he was not indisposed to 
 take in by stratagem. A view had just 
 opened upon him, that he had not in the 
 smallest degree anticipated ; aiid he drew in 
 his fierceness. He had the prudence to 
 stop in his career, and allow himself time 
 to revise his measures. He muttered words 
 of resentment and menace ; but what he 
 said was confused and incoherent ; and he 
 abrupdy ordered the youth from ids pre- 
 sence. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 73 
 
 All that had passed thus far, had pro- 
 ceeded without impediment or reflection. 
 The commodore no sooner heard the un- 
 welcome information from his sister, than 
 he acted upon it. It was most congenial 
 to his temper to use decisive measures ; and, 
 where he thought he could settle a business 
 at once, he did not relish the subjecting 
 himself to protracted trouble. But, before 
 his interview with his son was over, he re- 
 collected an appointment that had been 
 made with a distant relation of his late wife, 
 who had undertaken to conduct Audley to 
 London, and initiate him in those scenes of 
 populous and busy life, which were so re- 
 markably contrasted with any thing the 
 youth had yet witnessed. From the scene 
 which had just passed, and the unexpected 
 resoluteness Audley had displayed, the com-? 
 modore began to think, that whatever steps 
 might be taken for the summary removal 
 of Amelia, it might be more prudent to take 
 in his son's absence. Every thing now 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
74 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 passed in quiet for several days -, the com- 
 modore's fury seemed to have evaporated 
 itself in threats ; and Audley, unskilled in 
 the treachery of the world, suffered himself 
 to be lulled into the same security, as before 
 this explanation had taken place. He 
 thought of his father only at rare intervals ; 
 but Amelia was always before him ; he was 
 in her presence as often as he pleased ; he 
 dreamed of her every night, and in these 
 few days he had advanced whole years in 
 love. The affection that reigned in his 
 bosom, contracted in some nameless way 
 new sweetness, from being now looked upon 
 as a thing forbidden ; at the same time that 
 he had so little meditation and calculation 
 for the future, that he lived with his whole 
 soul in the present time, and was contented. 
 To say all in a word, Audley was constitu- 
 tionally a dreamer ; and his day-dreams, as 
 always happens in this disease, moulded 
 themselves in correspondence to the pro- 
 pensity of his mind. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 7^ 
 
 At length the cousin arrived with whom 
 his journey was to be taken. The course 
 of Audley's life had been uniform; and this 
 had infused into him a sort oi vis inerticB^ a 
 disposition opposite to that of '' such as are 
 given to change.'* When he thought of 
 London as a vision only, the thought was 
 by no means without its attractions ; but 
 when the time came that was to turn it into 
 reality, he shrunk instinctively away, and 
 wished the engagement had never been 
 contracted. He could scarcely remember 
 the time when he had slept out of his owA 
 bed ; the sort of prison-life he led under his 
 father's roof, made him but so much the 
 more completely master of the arrangement 
 of his time ; all the little machinery of his 
 studies was about him ; but, most of all, 
 he must leave Amelia behind him ; and he 
 felt that the whole world would be a blank 
 to him, where she was not present. Amelia 
 however was zealous to press him to the 
 expedition ; she declaimed earnestly, but 
 
76 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 sweetly, against the supineness and indo- 
 lence that she saw was growing upon him ; 
 she told him, that now was the age at which 
 he ought to store his mind with observations, 
 and make trial of that activity which ta- 
 lents like his required from their possessor. 
 What could not the exhortations of Amelia 
 achieve ? He set out on his journey with a 
 heavy and foreboding heart; and when the 
 time of leave-taking came, he seemed to 
 have a melancholy presentiment that he 
 was parting from the idol of his soul for 
 ever. 
 
 The stage was now free for the machina- 
 tions of the old commodore and his sister 
 Dorothy. They had cabaled and coun- 
 selled together, previously to the departure 
 of Audley; if that can be called counsel, 
 where the veteran seaman laid down the 
 law never to be contradicted, and his obse- 
 quious minister applied all the energy and 
 activity of which she was mistress, to carry 
 his mandates into execution. The wing of 
 
MANDEVILLE. 77 
 
 Mandeville House in which Audley and 
 the ladies resided, was the very mansion of 
 tranquillity ; not so that portion of the 
 building which was occupied by the mas- 
 ter. He had for his chosen companions 
 two of his sea-mates that had been disabled 
 in the service, — one that had lost an arm, 
 and another that, from a fracture of the 
 knee-pan, was not able to support him- 
 self without a crutch ; and their midnight 
 orgies were occasionally turbulent and cla- 
 morous. Dorothy and the commodore had 
 agreed, considering the dangerous turn of 
 mind that Audley betrayed, that the only 
 way of putting to rest the question of 
 Amelia, and freeing themselves from all 
 further trouble on the subject, was to marry 
 her ; the two gentlemen that dwelt at Man- 
 deville House, both bachelors, presented 
 themselves most conveniently for the pur- 
 pose ; and it was canvassed with all due 
 formality, whether the cripple, or he that 
 was maimed of an arm only, was most eli- 
 
78 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 gible for the purpose. The lot at length 
 fell upon Thomson, the cripple ; he was 
 completely a man in every dimension ; 
 •when he sat, or when he stood, there was 
 nothing to object to in his figure ; it was 
 only when he moved, that he was deficient. 
 Beside that, he was ten years younger than 
 his companion, having only reached the 
 thirtieth year of his age. 
 
 Amelia was in reality far from being 
 that paragon of perfection, which the ima- 
 gination of her fond lover had painted her. 
 She had a considerable talent for music; 
 she had a soft and flexible temper ; lent an 
 accommodating ear to every thing that was 
 said to her, and was not without the power 
 of comprehending to a certain extent the 
 notions of her favourite Audley. She was 
 daily in his society ; and perpetual oppor- 
 tunity had increased her capacity of follow- 
 ing the peculiar train of his ideas. Add to 
 which, she had an ingenuousness of counte- 
 nance, which, paradoxical as it may sound, 
 
MANDEVILLE. 79 
 
 deluded the spectator ; it made him give 
 her credit for more than actually passed in 
 iier mind. All together, she was not in all 
 probability the woman that would have fix- 
 ed Audley's choice, if he had lived in the 
 world, where a number of other candidates 
 would have continually passed before his 
 eyes. But what could be expected ? They 
 sang together ; they read together 5 he was 
 her zealous and affectionate preceptor; and 
 love rendered her three times a more im- 
 proving and promising pupil to him, than 
 she would have been under any other 
 master. In his life he had never seen an- 
 other female of his own age, v.'ith whom he 
 had held even one hour*s familiar communi- 
 cation. And it was the characteristic of 
 Audley's mind, that whatever impression 
 was once strongly fixed upon it, was in- 
 delible. No time could efface it ; no illu- 
 sions, no machinations, however artful, had 
 power over it ; his soul remained for ever 
 faithful to its first predilection ; and though 
 
80 MANDEYILLE. 
 
 shattered, so to express myself, into ii thou- 
 sand pieces, the image was but muUipHed 
 by the violence it received. 
 
 The business was now, as we have said, to 
 marry Amelia; and Lieutenant Thomson 
 was fixed upon for the husband. The com- 
 modore opened the plan in the first place 
 to his young friend. The two divisions of 
 the family lived in a state of so great separa- 
 tion, that Thomson had scarcely seen Ame- 
 Ha; but he had seen her. The commodore 
 inquired of him, in the first place, how he 
 stood inclined to marriage, and, next, what 
 he thought of the niece of his patron ? — to 
 both these questions the answer was en- 
 couraging. Amelia was not destitute of the 
 advantages of youth and beauty; and Thom- 
 son considered it as no small benefit, to be- 
 come in some sort a member of the Man- 
 deville family. The commodore spoke of 
 settling him in a comfortable independence, 
 andtalkedof bestowing one thousand pounds 
 upon his niece as her portion in marriage. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 81 
 
 These were considerations that by no means 
 operated to induce the lieutenant to slight 
 the proposal. 
 
 " But I must be frank with you, Jack," 
 continued the commodore. " I am your 
 friend ; I hope you know that. I will not 
 therefore deceive you ; I will tell you the 
 whole truth. This girl has been brought 
 up in my house ; she was the niece of my 
 poor wife that is gone ; she was the orphan 
 child of a worthless father, and we could 
 do no less ; she has been brought up with 
 my son Audley. You know my son Aud- 
 ley ; I believe you have seen him ; a poor 
 unfortunate being, deformed, and that never 
 had a day's health. He has lived shut up 
 in a band- box; knows no more of the 
 world than a child. He never spoke to a 
 woman in his life but this girl and his own 
 mother ; yet this poor wretch has taken it in 
 his head, forsooth, that he must have a wife. 
 Amy, to do her justice, is a likeJy girl ; he 
 has seen her every day, and thinks himself 
 D 2 
 
82 AlANDEVILLE. 
 
 in love with her. The girl very naturally 
 would have no objection to marry the heir 
 of the Mandeville estate ; and so, if we do 
 not mind and look about us. thev think to 
 make a match of it. 
 
 " I need not tell you, my dear Thomson, 
 that that must not be. The girl is a likely 
 and a good girl ; but she is no match for 
 a son of mine. Nor indeed is it my wish 
 that this poor creature should marry at all. 
 He has not the wit to govern himself; he 
 must always be in leading strings 5 and is 
 there any sense in placing such an object at 
 the head of a great family ? His children, I 
 dare swear, would be all such poor helpless 
 creatures as himself. But his brother Henry 
 [my father], whom I have just put into the 
 army, is as likely a young fellow as you shall 
 see on a summer's day. The King himself 
 [James I.], who is- an admirer of fine young- 
 men, 1 assure you, took a great deal of no- 
 tice ot him, when he was introduced at 
 court on his appointment : and it is him I 
 
MANDEVILLE. 83 
 
 look to for the continuance of the Man- 
 deville family. 
 
 " And now I have laid open my heart to 
 you, Jack. You have made the circumna- 
 vigation of the globe, and are not a poor 
 ignoramus like this hopeful heir of mine ; 
 but (I say it without flattery) must know 
 something of the world. You know that 
 such things as this boy and girl have taken 
 into their heads must not be ; but that we, 
 who are older and wiser, must take care 
 and see every thing right. Now then, 
 Thomson, what I ask of you is an act of 
 friendship ; and as I have been always 
 kind and faithful to you, I hope you will 
 not deny me -, and I assure you, you shall 
 be never the worse for it in the end. It is 
 natural, as I said, that the girl should like 
 to marry the heir, and be at the head of Man- 
 deville estate. But she is a good girl in the 
 main, and will make a good wife. She shall 
 be set right in this freak of hers ; I will take 
 care of that. What say you?" 
 
84 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Lieutenant Thomson was a good-heart- 
 ed, generous young man, and regarded the 
 being serviceable to his friend as the first 
 of human virtues. He had no objection to 
 marriage ; he liked the person of Amelia ; 
 and he was not displeased with what the 
 commodore had dropped about an esta- 
 blishment and a portion. Thus far his mo- 
 tives were selfish ; but it was not a small 
 recommendation of the plan in his eyeSy 
 that, in pursuing it, he was to confer an es- 
 sential benefit on his patron. He entered 
 thoroughly into the ideas that had been 
 stated to him -, he was convinced that the 
 heir of a great family ought not to be thrown 
 away upon an unequal marriage -, and he 
 saw all that had yet passed between the 
 young people, as an idle and unauthorized 
 fancy, which it became their elders warily 
 to counteract. He answered therefore, 
 that, provided Miss Amelia could be tho- 
 roughly cured of this foolish notion of hers, 
 and could approve of him for a husband. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 85 
 
 it would give him the greatest pleasure to 
 adopt the commodore's proposal. 
 
 The negociation having been thus far 
 successfully conducted, the harder task re- 
 mained, of reconciling the mind of Amelia 
 to the project. This part of the business 
 was devolved upon Mrs Dorothy. The 
 influence of the commodore was reserved, 
 like that of the descent of a god by the 
 Greek tragedians, as a last resource, to be 
 used only in an embarrassment that no- 
 thing but the descent of a god could solve. 
 Mrs Dorothy could reason with her niece ; 
 and Amelia would feel herself free, with a 
 person of her own sex, to express her ob- 
 jections. If the commodore had spoken, 
 what he said would of course have been 
 received in silence ; and that consent is 
 most to be relied on, and by consequence 
 is most acceptable to the party by whom 
 consent is desired, which is given in words. 
 
 Mrs Dorothy took the young lady round- 
 ly to task. She first communicated to her 
 
8^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 all the observations she had made. i\me- 
 lia blushed abundantly. She had flattered 
 herself, that whatever had passed between 
 her and Audley, as it had constantly passed 
 in the sacredness of privacy, had been a 
 secret to all but themselves. Maiden mo- 
 desty always feels the discovery that a par- 
 tial sentiment has been nourished towards 
 a person of the other sex, with a sensation 
 like guilt. 
 
 Mrs Dorothy proceeded to enlarge on 
 the unsuitableness and enormity of such a 
 match. She could not have believed that 
 Amelia, who had been admitted under the 
 roof of Mandeville House out of charily, 
 could have been guilty of so ungrateful and 
 treacherous a return, as that of seducing the 
 heir. It could only be ignorance, that 
 caused her for a moment to harbour the 
 idea of such a union. The laws of Eng- 
 land, and of the whole civilized world, ren- 
 dered the thing impossible. A crowned 
 head might as well be expected to be join- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 87 
 
 ed in wedlock to a shepherdess, — a thing 
 that did well enough in a romance, but was 
 not to be found anywhere else. She told 
 her niece the story of the Earl and Count- 
 ess of Hertford, who lay in separate im- 
 prisonment for nine years, in consequence 
 of having contracted an unauthorized mar- 
 riage, till at length the death of the lady 
 finally restored the Earl to his liberty ; to 
 which she added many other anecdotes, 
 which plentifully occur in the instructive 
 annals of Queen Elizabeth. She added, 
 that the commodore had resolved to apply 
 to the government of his country for an in- 
 terdiction against so disgraceful an act j 
 but that he had kindly allowed her first to 
 try the strength of expostulation with Ame- 
 lia, before he had recourse to so terrible an 
 expedient. The consequence of the idea 
 being persisted in, and, still more, if the 
 rites of the church were resorted to, to 
 sanction a thing in its own nature so abo- 
 minable, would be the utter ruin of Aud- 
 
88 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 ley. He would undoubtedly be committed 
 for life to a solitary imprisonment, and cut 
 off from every shilling of his inheritance, 
 by a decree of the court of Star-Chamber* 
 Mrs Dorothy here overwhelmed her poor 
 unprotected hearer with an account, alto- 
 gether unknown before, of the delinquen- 
 cies of her father, which, as the ancient 
 maiden set them forth, subjected him to 
 the penalty of an ignominious public exe- 
 cution, and cut off his posterity from the 
 possibility of ever becoming mixed with 
 the better orders of society. 
 
 This eloquent harangue was finally wound 
 up with an appeal to every generous feel- 
 ing in the heart of Amelia. The fate of 
 her beloved Audley was placed completely 
 at her disposal. The young man, like all 
 persons brought up with the notion of be- 
 coming heirs to a great estate, was head- 
 strong and obstinate, inaccessible to the so- 
 ber suggestions of reason, and obstinately 
 bent to run on destruction. It was in the 
 
MANDEVILLE. 89 
 
 power of Amelia only to save him. By 
 marrying another she would preserve him 
 for ever from the possibility of fatal mis- 
 chief; while he himself, seeing that there 
 was no hope for him in the pursuit of this 
 destructive scheme, would soon be restored 
 to quiet and self-possession, and would fi- 
 nally, by the innocence of his mind, and 
 the eminent talents with which he was en- 
 dowed, become a comfort to himself, and 
 an ornament to his family and his country. 
 The discourse of Mrs Dorothy drowned 
 the fair face of Amelia in tears. A thou- 
 sand varying emotions contended in her 
 bosom as it proceeded. She saw all the 
 fond hopes with which the sweet music of 
 Audley*s voice had inspired her, withered 
 for ever by the pestilential breath of her 
 aunt. The first impulse of her soul how- 
 ever was a generous one. She would ne- 
 ver, no never, be a cause of calamity to her 
 cousin. For herself, it did not signify what 
 became of her. She had never thought 
 
90 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 herself of much importance in the world; 
 and now, that it was discovered to her that 
 she was at best only a dishonoured branch 
 of a respectable family, her depression was 
 complete. She had never flattered herself 
 to be more than the ivy that might be sup- 
 ported by the nobler stem of her illustrious 
 lover ; but that she should injure him, and 
 wither the honours that were so truly his, 
 she could die a thousand deaths rather th m 
 endure the idea. She was now altogether 
 worthless and nothing ; and let her be sa- 
 crificed. 
 
 The situation of this generous girl was 
 truly a pitiable one. By the unfeeling con- 
 trivances of the commodore and his sister, 
 she was attacked in this point, that was 
 every thing to her, with her only protector 
 at a distance. They did with her what 
 they pleased. They made her believe what 
 they pleased. What chance had she, in a 
 contest with these grey-headed conspira- 
 tors ? The very pith of all they insisted on 
 
MANDEVILLE. ^1 
 
 was, that whatev^er measure it was neces- 
 sary for them to pursue, must be taken 
 without exciting the smallest suspicion in 
 the mind of her beloved admirer. . 
 
 It was so arranged, that the moment Mrs 
 Dorothy had exhausted the whole artillery 
 of her eloquence upon her niece, the com- 
 modore entered the room where they were 
 sitting. This completed the defeat of Ame- 
 lia. She might have expostulated with her 
 aunt ; she might have ventured upon a few 
 timid questions and objections. But the 
 presence and the voice of the commodore 
 struck her dumb. She threw herself at his 
 feet. " Oh, sir," said she, " dispose of me as 
 you please. I grieve for my offence ; I 
 intreat you to pardon any confusion and 
 mischief I may have occasioned in your 
 family. I would not for the world be a 
 cause of injury to your son.** 
 
 The commodore, finding her in this 
 tractable and humble frame of spirit, en- 
 deavoured to vsoothe her. His soothings 
 
Sfa MANDEVILLE. 
 
 were like the softened roarings of a bear 
 murmuring her maternal regard to her 
 cubs. This was a style of address to which 
 his rugged nature was altogether unsuited ; 
 he could afford little more than some inar- 
 ticulate indications of what he meant; and 
 it was incumbent on Amelia, to take the will 
 for the deed. 
 
 Whatever remained to be done was 
 speedily effected. Short courtship suited 
 best, with such a marriage as was now in 
 hand. The poor lieutenant, was little 
 versed in the temper and manners of the 
 frailer sex ; and all that was coldness, and a 
 certain unconquerable horror at the sacri- 
 fice Amelia was making, he unsuspectingly 
 set down to maiden coyness and reserve. 
 She was of a nature so gentle and so mild, 
 that she could not deport herself disdainful- 
 ly to any one. Add to which, Thomson 
 was not of a romantic temper. He knew, 
 that the wedlock he was contracting was 
 not a match of love. He took to wife a 
 
MANDKVILLE. 93 
 
 beautiful and amiable young woman, with 
 a handsome portion, and, by so doing, con- 
 ferred an essential benefit on his patron ; 
 and he saw no reason to be discontented 
 with his lot. As to Amelia, the painful 
 duty (for duty she esteemed it) in which 
 she was engaging, she wished to have over 
 as soon as possible. When it was done, 
 and could not be recalled, she hoped she 
 should feel more resigned to her fate. But 
 all the interval was nameless repinings, and 
 horror, and anguish, — a state of mind too 
 terrible long to be endured. 
 
 Audley in the mean time had been led 
 away to London. For a few days he was 
 amused with the journey, and the multifa- 
 rious objects which the metropolis present- 
 ed to his observation. He saw the king, 
 and the Duke of Buckingham, and Prince 
 Charles. It was at the time that the two 
 latter were just returned from Spain ; tiiey 
 were at the height of their short-lived po- 
 pularity ; and the nation overflowed with 
 
94 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 gratitude to theai, for not having brought 
 over the infanta to be their future queen. 
 Audley received a letter from Amelia, full 
 of tenderness and love ; and he was delight- 
 ed. One of the conditions arranged by the 
 old people with his mistress, when they 
 terrified her from her loyalty and her vows, 
 was, that she should receive no more letters 
 from her lover. She admitted that this was 
 best ; she knew she could not read the ar- 
 dent effusions of his unsuspecting soul, in 
 her present state of mind, and live. She 
 even made it her own request, that she 
 might not so much as know when a letter 
 from him was brought. She prescribed to 
 herself for the present the impossible task, 
 of forgetting that he existed. Ah, how lit- 
 tle was her acquaintance with the subtlety 
 of love, and how much did she overrate the 
 firmness and resolution of which she was 
 capable ! 
 
 For Audley, he lived a few days upon 
 her first letter j but it was not long, before 
 
MANDEVILLE. Q5 
 
 he began to pine for another and another. 
 No second letter ever came to his hand. 
 He wrote under a still increasing anxiety 
 and perturbation of mind. What he wrote 
 contained so ingenuous and unaffected a 
 picture of a beating and a bleeding heart, 
 that even the persons who had conspired 
 the death of all his hopes on this side the 
 grave, began to be moved. The commo- 
 dore ordered the man of business who was 
 his agent in London, to wait upon his son, 
 and acquaint him with the marriage that 
 had taken place. Audiey listened to the 
 man ; but he did not understand him. It 
 was as if the fellow had used words, wholly 
 unconnected with the possibility of a mean- 
 ing. In all the vocabulary of poor Audiey, 
 there was no phrase that could express the 
 marriage of Amelia with another. 
 
 There was a sensible portion of time in 
 which the mind of the young man remain- 
 ed in this state of stupefaction, and he real- 
 ly could not understand what his visitor 
 
96 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 came to announce to him. The posture 
 which succeeded, was that of unbelief, a 
 firm rejection, as of an impudent invention 
 that was sought for some reason or other to 
 be imposed upon him. In sentiment, he 
 relied upon the fidelity of Amelia, as upon 
 the pillars of creation. In reasoning, he 
 knew how possible it was that one should 
 lie ; that his father or another should seek 
 to deceive him in this point -, but that the 
 tale should be true — was impossible. 
 
 He ordered without a moment's pause 
 the quickest mode of conveyance to be 
 provided for him, and he set out for the 
 Mandeville estate. During the journey, 
 his mind was in the greatest agitation. He 
 adhered most constantly and inflexibly to 
 his first conclusions; but from the region 
 of the brain, where thought succeeds 
 thought with such trackless swiftness, he 
 could not wholly shut out ideas of an oppo- 
 site kind. He reached Mandeville House, 
 fevered, and burnt up with a thousand emo- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 97 
 
 tions. He thought only of his cousin 5 he 
 inquired for no one else. There is some- 
 thing in the supernatural tone of an anxious 
 mind, that awes even the most brutish. 
 The servants dared not speak to him, or 
 answer his questions ; they could only tell 
 him that Miss Montfort was not there. 
 He hastened to her apartment ^ — all was si- 
 lent and deserted, and spoke death to his 
 spirit. Nothing appeared, as it used to ap- 
 pear. Her bed looked as if it had not late-, 
 ly been occupied ; her books and her desk 
 were gone ; he saw only the virginals 
 [harpsichord] with which she had been ac- 
 customed to soothe his cares. He called 
 for his father ; but the habitual tempera- 
 ture of both was reversed ; the commodore 
 had seen him unseen as he passed along the 
 gallery, had marked the wildness of his eye, 
 and the vehemence of his gestures, and had 
 not the courage to approach him. 
 
 The fatigue of mind and body which 
 Audley had undergone, was a thing to 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
98 MANDEVILLE. ' 
 
 which he was ahogether unused -, he sunk 
 under it, was no longer able to support 
 himself, and was quietly conducted to his 
 bed. In the night he was seized with a 
 strong fev€r ; in the morning he became 
 delirious. He called incessantly for Ame- 
 lia. Shortly after, in fancy he beheld her 
 before him ; he then saw her torn away by 
 ruffians ; he heard her screams ; his own 
 screams were agonizing, and pierced to the 
 soul ; it was by force only that he could be 
 confined to his bed. When the first vio- 
 lence of his delirium subsided, he expostu- 
 lated with his attendants with an incon- 
 ceivable flow of eloquence ; he intreated 
 them to attempt to deceive him no longer ; 
 it was ineffectual and impotent ; he knew 
 that Amelia would never give him up ; 
 nothing could diminish this confidence in 
 him. " Then, oh, bless me with the truth ! 
 let my ear hear words responsive to those 
 that repose in my heart ! bring her to my 
 presence ; let my eyes once more be made 
 
 10 
 
MANDEVILLE. 99 
 
 happy with the hght of her countenance ; 
 let my hand once more be pressed in the 
 hand of Amelia ! I will give up my fami- 
 ly; I will renounce all claims to my in- 
 heritance ; I will maintain her with the la- 
 bours of my hands ; I will dwell with her 
 in the wilds of America; and no one that 
 has known me, shall ever again be annoyed 
 with the mention of my name." 
 
 The commodore was inexpressibly as- 
 tonished with the incredulity of his son, and 
 thought it became him to put an end to it. 
 For this purpose he caused a letter to be 
 written by Amelia herself, announcing the 
 event. Its contents were as follow : 
 
 " Audley, I am married. It is for your 
 sake I have done this. Nothing but the 
 consideration of your welfare, could have 
 prevailed with me. If I had not complied, 
 your ruin would have been inevitable. I 
 have removed the only obstacle that could 
 turn you aside from that career of honour 
 and virtue, for which nature designed you. 
 
100 MANDF.VILLE. 
 
 Do not be angry with me. The act by 
 which I have sealed our separation, was 
 not the act of infidehty or indifference. 
 Forgive it I But, above all, be happy, my 
 1 ! Be happy !" 
 
 This letter was speedily conveyed to the 
 young man's hands ; and it effected in him 
 an entire revolution. He gazed upon it 
 earnestly. He studied it intently, as if his 
 whole soul were riveted upon its contents. 
 In the hand-writing he could not be mis- 
 taken. His knowledge of it was as intimate, 
 as his acquaintance with the features and 
 voice of the writer. It was that evidence, 
 which alone could convince him of the rea- 
 lity of his calamity. 
 
 All his agitation was now past. No more 
 of violence, or raving, or impatience, was 
 ever again discovered in Audley. The 
 tears at ^rst rolled in streams down his 
 cheeks ; but not a muscle of his face was 
 moved. He remained the statue of despair. 
 No smile from that day ever lighted his 
 
MANDEVILLE. 101 
 
 countenance ; no accident ever raised up 
 his head, or prompted him to laok upon the 
 heavens, or with a direct view to behold 
 the sun or the stars. Narrow as had been 
 the scene of his education, in this one event 
 he had lost every thing. The society of 
 Amelia, the being for ever united to her, 
 was the only boon in the globe of the living 
 world that he had ever desired. And now all 
 things were the same to him, — except that 
 he had a preference for looking on desola- 
 tion. All within him was a blank ; and he 
 was best pleased, or rather least chagrined, 
 when all without was a blank too. There 
 never perhaps was an example of a human 
 being so completely destroyed at once. He 
 was the shadow of a man only. 
 
 I know not whether the commodore him- 
 self did not sometimes almost repent the 
 work of his hands. One thing however is 
 certain, that, much as he disliked this son 
 before, he was now exceedingly anxious to 
 alter the succession of the estate, and fix 
 
102 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 the inheritance upon my father, Audley's 
 younger brother. My father however al- 
 ways steadily opposed the project. Whe- 
 ther, in spite of this opposition, it would 
 have been effected if the commodore had 
 lived, I cannot determine. An accident 
 however, the consequence of inebriety, cut 
 him off, shortly after the events of which I 
 am speaking. Another chance happened 
 in no long time following, which completed 
 the tragedy. Amelia died in childbed of 
 her first child, and the infant did not survive 
 her. Thus every thing was wound up with 
 Audley at once. He was left uncontroled, 
 the master of himself and of an ample for- 
 tune, with no other disadvantage, than that 
 he totally wanted the spirit to enjoy the 
 one, or to use the other. This was the state 
 of mind in my unfortunate kinsman, which 
 solves the riddle that occurred, and shows 
 why, being the lineal representative of an 
 opulent family, and proprietor of four or five 
 splendid and delicious mansions indifferent 
 
MANDEVILLE. 103 
 
 counties of England, he was induced to 
 choose the most uninviting of them all, and 
 to live in it in so obscure and unlordly a 
 style. 
 
 My uncle had felt much regard for my 
 father, — as much as w^as compatible v^ith 
 the peculiar turn his mind had taken; which 
 was to dwell for ever on one event, to con- 
 sider that in relation to himself as the only 
 reality, and scarcely to bestow so much re- 
 gard on every thing that existed in the world 
 beside, as an ordinary human creature would 
 bestow upon the shadows of a magic Ian- 
 thorn. Years rolled over the head of this 
 unfortunate man in vain. While he was 
 young, the amiable object of his early love 
 was all that interested him on earth; and, 
 as he grew older, habit produced upon him 
 the same effect, which had at first been the 
 child of passion. He loved his sadness> 
 for it had become a part of himself. AH 
 his motions had for so long a time been lan- 
 guid, that, if he had been excited in any 
 
104 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 instance to make them otherwise, he would 
 scarcely have recognized his own identit3% 
 He found a nameless pleasure in the ap- 
 pendages and forms of melancholy, so great, 
 that he would as soon have consented to cut 
 off his right hand, as to part with them. In 
 reality he rather vegetated than lived -, and 
 he had persisted so long in this passive 
 mode of existence, that there was not nerve 
 and spring enough left in him, to enable 
 him to sustain any other. 
 
 My uncle felt a marked kindness for me 
 for my father^s sake. Though fortune was 
 of no value to this victim of sorrow, yet he 
 could not help being conscious that his 
 brother's conduct had been peculiarly ho- 
 nourable, when he refused to concur in the 
 commodore's plan for disinheriting his eldest 
 son, and rather chose to expose himself to 
 his severest displeasure, than aid in the in- 
 juring a person so near to himself, so inof- 
 fensive in his manners, and who had in him- 
 self no powers of defence against the medi- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 105 
 
 tated wrong. My uncle therefore received 
 me with kindness, and immediately ap- 
 pointed for me and Mr Bradford, who was 
 prevailed on to become my tutor, an a- 
 partment in his house. Beside the indivi- 
 duals of the family I have already named, 
 I had also a sister ; but she for the present 
 resided with her mother's relations. 
 
 E ^ 
 
106 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I WAS too young in years when I enter- 
 ed my uncle's nnansion, to have a clear no- 
 tion of what were the first impressions I re- 
 ceived there. I remember only the silence, 
 the monotony, and the gloom, that per- 
 vaded it. My uncle had his apartments -, 
 and I and ray tutor had ours. It was a gene- 
 ral rule through the house, that no one was 
 to intrude himself on the master uncalled 
 for. If by any rare accident I came with- 
 in sight of him unexpectedly, I was instruct- 
 ed to hide myself, to steal away with 
 cautious steps, and to do nothing that might 
 excite observation. My education was 
 
MANDEVILLE. 107 
 
 grave and sad ; but if the restlessness of 
 boyisli years chanced at any time to awake 
 me to a gayer tone, the sight of my uncle 
 checked my buoyant spirits at once, my 
 countenance fell, and my thoughts became 
 solemn. No emotion however of aver- 
 sion or dislike ever accompanied this. A 
 harsh word never fell from his lips; an 
 angry tone never escaped him. The only 
 expression of displeasure of which he seem- 
 ed capable, was some gesture showing that 
 he suffered and was distressed, but always 
 without any token of resentment, or word 
 of reproof. I thought therefore of my 
 uncle with awe, never with fear. I saw in 
 him a mysterious being exciting my won- 
 der, and in whom I was ever most unwilling 
 to occasion displeasure ; but at the same 
 time a being incapable of inflicting the 
 smallest mischief. It is strange, but from 
 my own experience I can aver it to be true, 
 that this silent, inoffensive, and mournful 
 carriage, rendered it a thousand times more 
 
108 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 impossible for me ever to forget the atten- 
 tion that was due to him, than the fiercest 
 tones and the most passionate demeanour 
 could have established in my mind. 
 
 Still my uncle was not so altogether dead 
 to all that passed around him, but that he 
 considered himself as my natural guardian, 
 and held it his duty that at certain inter- 
 vals I should be summoned to his presence. 
 These intervals gradually settled themselves 
 into a distance of one month from each 
 other. On the first Sunday in every month 
 I looked to visit his apartment. I was con- 
 ducted thither by my tutor, and generally 
 received from him before we set out, an ad- 
 monition as to the behaviour it would be 
 proper for me to observe. Our visit seldom 
 lasted more than two minutes, and was al- 
 ways attended with a small donation, which 
 to my youthful mind associated it with 
 ideas of pleasure. My reverend preceptor, 
 who knew his cue, constantly said some- 
 thing, without being asked, upon the topic 
 
MANDEVILLE. 10& 
 
 of my proficiency. The good man how- 
 ever, who displayed surprising powers of 
 copiousness and amphficalion on all other 
 occasions, seemed at these times like one 
 rigidly formed in the discipline of Lycurgus. 
 My uncle I am sure would have expired 
 on the spot under one of the ordinary 
 homilies of Hilkiah. Commonly, when 
 approached, my uncle held out his hand to 
 receive me. Sometimes he would withdraw 
 the hand already held out, as if the touch 
 of hand to hand had something too much of 
 life in it for him to be able to endure, and 
 would take hold of my coat. I have known 
 him lay his hand upon my head ; but for him 
 to kiss me, or seat me on his knee, was im- 
 possible. That would have been utterly in 
 contradiction with the unenterprising apathy 
 that constituted his existence. 
 
 I was my uncle's only visitor, and my 
 visits were uniformly such as I have de- 
 scribed. He would no doubt have preferred 
 receiving me alone, had he not feared, that 
 
110 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 the thoughtlessness of my years might 
 sometimes make me overstep the limits of 
 quietism which he found necessary, and 
 that the restraint of my tutor's presence 
 might be requisite. Beside, that in receiv- 
 ing us together, he considered himself as 
 discharging two duties, extending towards 
 me the notice of a parent, and giving en- 
 couragement to my preceptor in the ex- 
 ercise of his functions. But it is not to be 
 conceived to what a degree my uncle found 
 these visits exhausting to his spirits. He 
 continued indeed inflexible in the resolu- 
 tion to go through this painful duty ; but 
 he was sometimes obliged to defer the visit 
 for several days, before he could summon 
 up energy and firmness enough to receive 
 us. 
 
 The precautions of my uncle against the 
 turbulent and boisterous spirits he antici- 
 pated in a boy, were scarcely necessary in 
 my instance, I never was a boy. It will 
 easily be supposed from the description I 
 
MANDEVILLE. Ill 
 
 have given of the house and its neighbour- 
 hood, that I did not meet with many occa- 
 sions to excite my hilarity. The entire 
 household, as always happens to a certain 
 degree in the mansion of an opulent coun- 
 try-gentleman, were moulded after the fa- 
 shion of their master. You might have 
 thought yourself in the monastery of La 
 Trappe, or the withdrawing-room prepared 
 to receive those who had visited the cave 
 of Trophonius. To an observer of a satiri- 
 cal and biting vein, which was not my case, 
 it would have appeared a ludicrous spec- 
 tacle to see how every one, from the stew- 
 ard down to the scullion, seemed to ape 
 the manners of the master. They had all 
 and severally a solemn countenance, and a 
 slow and measured step. When you spoke 
 to them, they seemed to hesitate whether 
 they should answer you ; and if the final 
 decision was in your favour, the answer 
 was framed by the most concise and sen- 
 tentious model, Mr Bradford formed the 
 
112 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 only exception to this rule. He was of im- 
 portance enough in his own eyes, to make 
 it unbecoming that he should shrink into 
 the mere imitator of another. Except in 
 the presence of his patron, as I have al- 
 ready stated, he had therefore a great deal 
 to say for himself. It will presently be 
 seen, how far his discourses are to be con- 
 sidered as discordant with the general tone 
 of this silent mansion. 
 
 The sort of intercourse in which I thus 
 lived with my fellow- beings, formed me 
 early to a habit of reverie. I delighted 
 to wander ; but I was not delighted with 
 objects of cheerfulness. It will already 
 have been seen, that I was not often in- 
 truded on with impressions of this sort. I 
 loved a hazy day, better than a sunshiny 
 one. My organs of vision, or the march 
 of my spirits, gave me an aversion to what- 
 ever was dazzling and gaudy. I loved to 
 listen to the paltering of the rain, the roar- 
 ing of the waves, and the pelting of the 
 
MANDEVILLE, 115 
 
 Storm. There was 1 know not what in the 
 sight of a bare and sullen heath, that afford- 
 ed me a much more cherished pleasure, 
 than I could ever find in the view of the 
 most exuberant fertility, or the richest and 
 most vivid parterre. Perhaps all this proves 
 me to be a monster, not formed with the 
 feelings of human nature, and unworthy to 
 live. I cannot help it. The purpose of 
 these pages is, to be made the record of 
 truth. 
 
 One thing is particularly worthy of ob- 
 servation in this place. It is strange, 
 young as I was, how the scenes which im- 
 mediately preceded my quitting the shores 
 of Ireland, lived in my mind. I thought 
 of them by day ; I dreamed of them by 
 night. No doubt, the silence which for the 
 most part pervaded my present residence, 
 contributed to this. All was monotonous, 
 and composed, and eventless here; all that 
 I remembered there, had been tumultuous, 
 and tragic, and distracting, and wild. I 
 
114 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 saw in my dreams — but indeed my days, 
 particularly that part of them which was 
 passed in wandering alone upon the heath, 
 were occupied to a great degree in vision- 
 ary scenes — I saw, I say, in my dreams, 
 whether by night or by day, a perpetual 
 succession of flight, and pursuit, and an- 
 guish, and murder. I saw the agonising 
 and deploring countenances of Protestants, 
 and the brutal and infuriated features 
 of the triumphant Papist. I recollected 
 distinctly the expiring bodies I had beheld 
 along the road-side in my flight, some 
 perishing with hunger and cold, and some 
 writhing under the mortal wounds and tor- 
 tures that had been inflicted by their pur- 
 suers. All this of course came mixed up, 
 to my recollection, with incidents that 1 
 had never seen, but which had not failed to 
 be circumstantially related to me. It 
 would indeed have been difficult for me to 
 have made a separation of the two; what I 
 had heard, had been so fully detailed to me. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 115 
 
 and had made such an impression upon my 
 juvenile fancy, that it stood out not less dis- 
 tinctly pictured to my thoughts, than if I 
 had actually seen it. This was all the 
 world to me. I had hardly a notion of any 
 more than two species of creatures on the 
 earth, — the persecutor and his victim, the 
 Papist and the Protestant ; and they were 
 to my thoughts like two great classes of 
 animal nature, the one, the law of whose 
 being it was to devour, while it was the un- 
 fortunate destiny of the other to be mangled 
 and torn to pieces by him. 
 
 It is now necessary that I should intro- 
 duce my reader to a more intimate ac- 
 quaintance with the reverend Hilkiah 
 Bradford, the instructor of my youth. His 
 figure was tall and emaciated ; his com- 
 plexion was of a yellowish brown, without 
 the least tincture of vermillion, and was 
 furrowed with the cares of study, and the 
 still more earnest cares of devotion ; his 
 clothes were of the cut that was worn about 
 
116 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 forty years before ; and his head was al- 
 v/Siys decorated with a small velvet skull- 
 cap, which set close to the shape, and be- 
 yond which the hair, though itself kept 
 short, protruded above, below, and all 
 around. His gait was saintly and solemn. 
 He conformed himself not at all to the ce- 
 lebrated maxim of Plato, of " sacrificing 
 to the Graces." He went on directly to 
 the great end of his calling, his duty to his 
 Heavenly Father, without ever condescend- 
 ing to think how his manner might im- 
 press, favourably or unfavourably, his fel- 
 low-mortals, mere " earth and worms.** 
 He was, as I find it expressed by an emi- 
 nent historian,* speaking of an individual 
 who seems to have had a striking resem- 
 blance to my tutor, " a person cynical 
 and hirsute, shiftless in the world, yet abso- 
 lutely free from covetousness, and I dare 
 say from pride.*' Like that person also, 
 
 ^ Wood, Athenae Oxonienses, Vol. II. col. 671. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 117 
 
 ire seemed to have a peculiar vocation for, 
 and delight in, the instruction of youth. 
 In this occupation, he laid aside that blunt- 
 ness that accompanied him upon other oc*- 
 casions ; and if he was not critically per- 
 suasive, yet there was something so une- 
 quivocally zealous and affectionate in his 
 manner, as answered all the purposes of 
 persuasion. 
 
 He was familiarly conversant with the 
 Greek and Latin languages, and with 
 poetry ; yet he did not disdain to com- 
 mence with me in the first rudiments of in- 
 fant learning, and gradually and gently 
 led me on, from the knowledge of the al- 
 phabet, and the union of two letters in a 
 syllable, to an acquaintance with many of 
 the sweetest and the sublimest monuments 
 of ancient lore. In these respects I found 
 myself most fortunate underhis guidance;— 
 yet I must own that he did not receive ex- 
 actly the same sensations from Ovid and 
 Virgil that I did. He had a clear appre- 
 
118 MANDEVILI.li. 
 
 hension of their grammatical construction ; 
 but he was not electrified, as I often was, 
 with their beauties. The parts in which- 
 he most seemed to delight, were those, in 
 which these poets bore the most resem- 
 blance to certain passages of sacred writ ; 
 So that, r.s Mr Bradford persuaded himself 
 to believe, they must have had some un- 
 discovered access to the fountains of in- 
 spired wisdom. He found the Mosaic ac- 
 count of the creation in the commencement 
 of the Metamorphoses, and the universal 
 deluge in Deucalion's flood. But, above 
 all, he was struck with the profoundest ad- 
 miration in reading the PoUio of Virgil ; 
 he saw in it clearly a translation of the in- 
 spired raptures of the prophet Isaiah fore* 
 telling the coming of the Messiah ; and he 
 exclaimed, as he went on, with a delight, a 
 thousand times repeated, and never to be 
 controled, " Almost thou persuadest me 
 that thou art a Christian !" 
 
 The gloominess of my character might 
 
MANDEVILl.E. 119 
 
 llave made me an unpleasing or unpromis- 
 ing pupil to many instructors, but not so to 
 the reverend Hilkiah. In the premature 
 gravity of my features he read a vocation 
 to the crown of martyrdom, if such should 
 be the fortune of the Protestant church in 
 our time as to demand of its faithful ad- 
 herents the sealing their sincerity u'ith 
 their blood : and, as my tutor regarded 
 light laughter, and merriment, and the fro- 
 lics of youth, as indications of the sons of 
 Belial and heirs of destruction, he hailed 
 with proportionable delight my inflexible 
 seriousness as the token of a happier desti- 
 nation. Nor did I fail to entertain a re* 
 gard for my preceptor, fully correspondent 
 10 that by which he was animated towards 
 me. I saw the singleness and simplicity 
 of his heart; I felt his entire innocence of 
 those tricks, and that hollow and hypocri- 
 tical personation of an assumed part, which, 
 with young persons of any discernment, so 
 early introduces an opposition of interests, 
 
V20 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 and a trial of skill between the master and 
 scholar, which shall prove hiixiself the most 
 successful deceiver. My preceptor never 
 treated me like a child -, he considered me 
 as a joint candidate with himself for the 
 approbation of the Almighty in a future 
 state ; and this habit of thinking is calcu- 
 lated, probably beyond any other (when 
 sincerely cultivated), to level all distinctions 
 between the rich and the poor, the young 
 and the old, and to introduce a practical 
 equality among the individuals of the hu- 
 man race. 
 
 This just and upright man had all his 
 passions subdued under the control of his 
 understanding : there was but one subject, 
 that, whenever it occurred, inflamed his 
 blood, and made his eye sparkle with pri- 
 mitive and apostolic fury ; and that was, 
 the corruption of evangelical truth, and the 
 grand apostacy foretold to us in the Scrip- 
 tures. In a word, the spring and main 
 
 movement of his religious zeal lay in this 
 u 
 
MANDEVILLE. 121 
 
 proposition, " that the Pope is Antichrist.'* 
 I was well prepared to be a ready hearer of 
 this doctrine : for, had not my father and 
 my mother fallen untimely victims under 
 the daggers of Irish Catholics ? He was, if 
 I may so express myself, the more like one 
 possessed in speaking on this topic, for he 
 claimed to be collaterally descended from 
 John Bradford, the famous martyr in the 
 reign of Queen Mary, — a man who, in the 
 flower of his life, defied all the torments of 
 fire for the sake of Jesus, and who scorned 
 to purchase the clemency of his persecu- 
 tors, by an engagement in the smallest de- 
 gree to remit his exertions to convert his 
 fellow-creatures from the errors of Popery. 
 
 Mr Bradford took care, that I should be 
 early initiated in the main topics of con- 
 troversy between the church of England 
 and the church of Rome. Idolatry — this 
 was the first and favourite subject of charge 
 against the professors of Popery. The 
 first of the ten commandments, the basis of 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
1^52 MANDIiVILLE, 
 
 all Christian morality and duty, was that 
 <' God alone should be worshipped." The 
 second, which the adherents of Antichrist 
 found it necessary to blot out of the cata- 
 logue, was, that we should " make to our- 
 selves no graven image, or the likeness of 
 any thing in heaven above or earth be- 
 neath, to bow down to it, and worship it." 
 But the Papists, in defiance of these prohi- 
 bitions, had saints for every day in the ca- 
 lendar, and addressed their prayers to all 
 the host of heaven, beseeching their inter- 
 position with the Almighty, and vainly 
 imagining that they would be more near to 
 hear, or more inclined to favour, than the 
 omnipresent and all-merciful Creator. Add 
 to this, their crucifixes, and their images 
 and pictures of God and his saints, which 
 they employed as incitements to devotion, 
 in express defiance of the revealed will of 
 the Most High. Yet is there no sin, against 
 which the denunciations of God's word are 
 more frequent and terrible, than the sin of ^ 
 
xMANDEVILLE. 123 
 
 idolatry ? In the Bible we are forbidden to 
 " call any man master on earth ;" yet the 
 Pope has been erected into the infallible 
 head of the church. In the Bible we are 
 told, " If any man shall add to the words 
 of his revealed will, God shall add to him 
 the plagues that are written in the book; 
 and if any man shall take away from 
 them, God shall take away his part out 
 of the book of life ;*' and we are specially 
 warned, that we adhere to the commu- 
 nications we have '' received from Christ 
 Jesus, and beware lest any man spoil us af- 
 ter the traditions of men." Yet the Papists 
 have both added to and taken from the 
 written word of God, and have expressly 
 placed their vain traditions upon a level 
 with the inspired writings themselves. It 
 is clear therefore, that '* God has given 
 them up to a reprobate mind, and aban- 
 doned them to a strong delusion that they 
 should believe a lie ; that they may perish 
 with the children of this world, and not be 
 
124 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 made partakers with the heirs of light :"— 
 in fine, thslt every one who died unre- 
 clairiied from the errors of Popery, would 
 be the object of God's wrath and condem- 
 nation in a future world. 
 
 Mr Bradford was particularly shocked 
 with the unbounded usurpations and arbi- 
 trary power of the church of Rome. He 
 found in her the " beast with seven heads 
 and ten horns, and upon his horns ten 
 crowns, and upon his heads the name of 
 Blasphemy." Under another figure she 
 was typified by the " woman, arrayed in 
 purple and scarlet colour, that sat upon 
 this beast, drunk with the blood of the 
 saints and the martyrs, and having a gold- 
 en cup in her hand, from which she made 
 all nations, and all the kings of the earth, 
 drunk with the wine of her fornications." 
 " How unlike was all this/' exclaimed my 
 preceptor, " to the simplicity of the divine 
 author of our religion, who declared that 
 his kingdom was not of this world/ and 
 
MANDEVILLi:. 125 
 
 who, while on earth, liad not ' where to 
 lay his head!' The Popes on the other 
 hand claimed, that ' whatsoever they bound 
 on earth should be bound in heaven, and 
 whatsoever they loosed on earth should be 
 loosed in heaven.' Tliey usurped the 
 power of giving away crowns, and setting 
 up and deposing kings, and in the height 
 of their intoxication set their foot upon the 
 neck of emperors. There was no end to 
 their pride, their pomp, and their temporal 
 magnificence. They claimed the whole 
 wealth of the world as theirs. They, * as 
 God, seated themselves in the temple of 
 God, showing themselves that they were 
 God.'^' 
 
 My preceptor was further revolted at the 
 sanguinary character of the church of Rome. 
 She put the dagger into the hands of her 
 votaries, and caused them to commit innu- 
 merable massacres. Assassination was one 
 of her favourite means for achieving her 
 purposes. He loved to expatiate upon the 
 
126 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 examples of Ballhasar Gerard, Clement, and 
 Ravaillac, beside others with whose stories 
 he was accurately furnished. The Gun- 
 powder Plot, if it had been completed as it 
 had been designed, would have exceeded 
 all these in horror. The cruelties of the 
 Inquisition furnished also a copious field 
 of declamation to Mr Bradford. To these 
 he added the wholesale extermination of 
 the unresisting Albigenses and Waldenses. 
 The idea of burning a man alive for his 
 opinions, was the most infernal, that cruelty 
 had ever devised. No bigotry perhaps 
 could persuade its adherent, that a man at- 
 tached even to death to the religious opi- 
 nions he had formed, was a criminal, in the 
 same sense as a murderer, or a robber, a 
 man who broke through all the restraints 
 of morality, or violated all the securities of 
 society, that he might indulge in depravity 
 and excesses. The unfortunate victim of 
 the law against heretics, was usually a man 
 of exemplary moral habits, and who sacri- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 1Q7 
 
 ■^ficed every baser and sensual inticement 
 to the dictates of his conscience. He was 
 therefore, if erroneous, rather an object of 
 pity, than of ferocious vengeance. Mr 
 Bradford usually wound up his argument 
 on this particular head, with the favourite 
 maxim of the most liberal at the time of 
 which I am speaking, — -that all sects and 
 every denomination of creed were entitled 
 to toleration, except the Papist, who obsti- 
 nately refused, when in power, ta grant to- 
 leration to those that differed from him, 
 and who therefore deserved that the "measure 
 which he dispensed, should be rigorously 
 measured to him again." 
 
 But if Mr Bradford regarded the whole 
 church of Rome with horror, and all her 
 members as obnoxious to the pains of eter- 
 nal damnation, the Popish priesthood, 
 
 eremits and friers, 
 White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery, 
 
 were particularly the objects of his aver- 
 
128 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 sion. He considered the craft of Popery 
 as calculated with infernal subtlety, to en- 
 slave the minds, and subjugate the under- 
 standings of all its lay-adherents. The ce- 
 libacy of her clergy had the immediate ef- 
 fect of creating a vast body of men, dis- 
 persed in all kingdoms, provinces, parishes 
 of the Christian world, with few considera- 
 tions to bind them to their particular coun- 
 try or neighbourhood, and who therefore 
 to an astonishing degree formed part of 
 the wheels and pins of the vast mechanism, 
 by which the conclave of Rome undertook 
 to control the civilized world. By means 
 of her dignitaries, she did not fail to super- 
 intend the education of all persons of royal 
 or elevated birth, and to have some of her 
 clergy admitted to political offices, and pos- 
 sessing the secrets of all cabinets. Auricu- 
 lar confession, and the sacrament of absolu- 
 tion, was a stupendous device for subject- 
 ing the consciences of all, men, women 
 and children, to her despotic authority. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 129 
 
 The doclrine of indulgences, dispensations, 
 and pardons for sin, to be issued from the 
 Papal chamber, strongly inforced this, and 
 brought vast sums of money into the dispo- 
 sal of the Visible Head of the church. The 
 first encouraging men to sin by the hopes 
 of forgiveness, and then granting them ab- 
 solution, was a nice game, by which the 
 power of the clergy over their illiterate fol- 
 lowers was increased to an incalculable de- 
 gree. The doctrine of purgatory, and of 
 masses for the dead, was another admirable 
 machine, for raising to the utmost height 
 the power of the church. Every man who 
 was anxious for his state in the future world, 
 could not fail to feel strongly excited, to ap- 
 propriate a part of his possessions for the 
 delivery of his soul ; and every child or 
 heir to an estate would be influenced by 
 the same motive, whetlier out of affection 
 to his predecessor, or from ostentation, that 
 he might appear to have that grace of piety 
 and natural affection, to w^hich he was real- 
 V 2 
 
130 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 ly a stranger. The vast armies of monks, 
 nuns and friars, with their mitred abbeys 
 and convents of all sorts, were another 
 great reinforcement to the church of Rome, 
 andj by forming a part of the national man- 
 ners of the different countries in which 
 they were established, seemed to afford a 
 security to the church, that could never be 
 overturned. Neither did my preceptor fail 
 to be furnished with a copious collection 
 of the frauds of the clergy, by which they 
 seemed arrogantly to insult the understand- 
 ings of mankind, from the holy house of 
 Loretto, and the transformation of the bread 
 and wine in the sacrament into the body 
 and blood of Christ, to the relics of the 
 saints, and the milk of the virgin exhibited 
 in a thousand churches. Thus insolently 
 were the best energies of our nature tram- 
 pled on by a set of hardened impostors; 
 and the flock of Christ (for such they ought 
 to have been found) cajoled and terrified 
 out of the use of their own eyes and their 
 
MANDEVILLE. 131 
 
 own judgQients, at the same time that, by 
 the mortal sin of idolatry, they were made 
 to consign themselves over to eternal dam- 
 nation. 
 
 Mr Bradford was singularly delighted 
 with those tremendous stories which are to 
 be found in the history of the Reformation 
 of Religion in Scotland, particularly relating 
 to the eminent confessors, Patrick Hamil- 
 ton, and George Wishart. Hamilton, a 
 young man of noble birth and extraordi- 
 nary talents, was betrayed to the stake by 
 Alexander Campbell, prior of the Domini- 
 cans, who, under the cloak of friendship 
 and a desire to be better instructed, extort- 
 ed from him a full confession of his senti- 
 ments, and then accused him before Chan- 
 cellor Beaton, primate of Scotland. Far 
 from relenting at the tragic catastrophe thus 
 treacherously occasioned, Campbell was 
 present at the execution, and still insulted 
 Hamilton at the stake ; when the martyr, 
 seized with a prophetic afflatus, turned to- 
 
132 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 wards his tormentor, reproached him with 
 his faithlessness and his hypocritical pro- 
 fessions of favour to the principles of the 
 Reform, and then, with a solemn and awe- 
 striking accent, cited him to answer this 
 within forty days, before the judgment-seat 
 of Christ. The consequences were memo- 
 rable. Campbell is related to have been 
 immediately seized with a supernatural hor- 
 ror, which he was by no means able to 
 shake off, to have declined shortly into an 
 incurable frenzy, and presently after to 
 have died, to the terror of every beholder. 
 
 'The concluding scene of the life of 
 Wishart is not less impressive. He was 
 condemned to be burned alive by the sen- 
 tence of Cardinal Beaton, nephew and suc- 
 cessor to him who had tried Hamilton ; 
 and the cardinal had the inhumanity to 
 cause a gallery to be prepared in his castle 
 of St Andrews, with tapestry, silk hangings, 
 and cushions of velvet, that he might gratify 
 himself with beholding the execution. But, 
 
MANDEVILLE* 133 
 
 while a priest appointed for that purpose ex- 
 horted Wishart, now surrounded with flames, 
 to repent of his heresies, and ask pardon of 
 the Almighty, tiie victim imperiously com- 
 manded him to be silent, adding, " This Are 
 occasions trouble to my body indeed, but 
 it has in no wise broken my spirit ; but he 
 who now looks down so proudly upon me 
 from yonder place, (pointing to the cardi- 
 nal), within a few days shall be as igno- 
 miniously thrown down from it, as he now 
 proudly reposes himself there." All which 
 was punctually fulfilled. A courtier, to 
 whom the cardinal had refused a boon 
 which he earnestly solicited, in revenge as- 
 sassinated the prelate in his bedchamber, 
 and threw his dead body into the streets, 
 from tlie very balcony which he had shortly 
 before occupied at the execution of this 
 holy martyr. 
 
 My preceptor was profoundly addicted 
 to cabalistical divinity, and especially to 
 that branch of this science which he deem- 
 
134 MANDEVILTwE* 
 
 ed applicable to the church of Rome. 
 He was particularly gravelled with that 
 triumphant argument of the Catholics, 
 built upon the concluding promise of 
 our Saviour to his church, " Lo, I am 
 with. you always, even to the end of the 
 xvorld," and the insulting tone whh which 
 her votaries demanded of the Protestant, 
 What becomes of this promise, if, as you 
 say, the visible church of Christ for more 
 than a thousand years has been universally 
 plunged in damnable error, so as to deserve 
 to have applied to her the description of 
 " Babylon the Great, the mother of harlots 
 and abominations of the earth ?'* Against 
 this attack Mr Bradford had no other re- 
 source, than an attempt to trace in eccle- 
 siastical history, the " two witnesses clothed 
 in sackcloth, that were to prophecy one 
 thousand two hundred and sixty days j'* 
 and to show that, in the intervals of greatest 
 darkness and most universal apostacy, God 
 " had yet reserved to himself seven thou- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 135 
 
 sand men, who had not bowed the knee to 
 the image of Baal/' But the study to 
 which the reverend Hilkiah most indefa- 
 tigably applied himself, was the *' number 
 of the beasl, which is the number of a man ; 
 and his number is six himdred and sixty- 
 six." This he had turned in a thousand 
 ways ; he had tried it in arithmetic ; he had 
 essayed it in anagram ; every way it af- 
 forded him conclusions, that seemed to point 
 at the latitude of Rome. Still my precep- 
 tor had a secret misgiving, that he had not 
 arrived at the right solution. We were at 
 one time not without some apprehension, 
 that, by the severity of this inquiry, his wits 
 Would have been unsettled, and that he 
 would have been rendered a qualified can- 
 didate for the cells of Bedlam. 
 
 A book that my preceptor particularly 
 recommended to my attention, was Fox's 
 Acts and Monuments of the Church ; nor 
 did I need much persuasion to a study, to 
 which my temper inclined me, and which 
 
136 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 occasions that sort of tingling and horror, 
 that is particularly inviting to young per- 
 sons of a serious disposition. In this tre- 
 mendous volume the engravings eminently 
 help to iiiforce the dead letter of the text. 
 The representation of all imaginahle cruel- 
 ties, racks, pincers and red-hot irons, cruel 
 mockings and scourgings, flaying alive, 
 with every otlier tormenting method of de- 
 struction, combined with my deep convic- 
 tion that the beings thus treated, were God's 
 peculiar favourites, tiie ornaments of th^ 
 earth, the boast and miracle of our mortal 
 nature, men " of whom the world was not 
 worthy," — ^produced astrange confusion and 
 horror in my modes of thinking, that kept 
 me awake whole nights, that drove the co- 
 lour from my cheeks, and made me wander 
 like a meagre, unlaid ghost, to the wonder 
 and alarm of the peaceable and weiUcJis* 
 posed inhabitants of my uncle*s house. 
 
MANDKVILLE. 13? 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In advancing thus far, I have, for the 
 sake of presenting in one view ideas of a 
 particular kind, outrun the course of my 
 narrative, and must now return to bring up 
 some smaller anecdotes of my early years, 
 which, by this method of arranging my 
 materials, have been put somewhat out of 
 their place. Amidst the dreary uniformity 
 of my uncle's residence, every arrival of a 
 stranger was hailed, like a festival day in a 
 school-boy's almanack. It promised some 
 novelty: it was solemnly announced; and 
 with no less effect, than when the pedant, 
 from his eminence apart, " and in his own 
 
138 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 dimension like himself," makes proclama- 
 tion of a holiday. Though I was of a 
 gloomy and saturnine cast, it is not to be 
 understood that my heart did not beat, and 
 my blood did not tingle, like those of my 
 fellow-creatures. There was this difference 
 between me and my uncle, though in the 
 gravity of our dispositions we considerably 
 resembled each other. To judge from ap- 
 pearances at least, he desired no novelty, 
 or none of an extrinsic sort, and shrunk 
 from all disturbance. He was used up as 
 to the views and prospects of life, and che- 
 rished hope in his bosom no longer. Not 
 such was the condition of my existence. 
 I hoped for, and I dreamed of, pleasures yet 
 untasted. I was no friend to light laughter 
 and merriment; but my heart was suscep- 
 tible of attention and curiosity ; and the 
 novelties that presented themseh^es to my 
 senses I was well disposed to investigate. 
 The world to me was yet in its nonage, — had 
 all the freshness and vi2:our of youth; I 
 
MANDEVILLE. 139 
 
 had much to see, much to learn, much to 
 make trial of, and much to taste. I felt 
 like one for whom adventures and great 
 events are reserved, and, as we find it ex- 
 pressed in the common story-books, who is 
 "to go out, and seek his fortune/' When 
 the arrival of a stranger was announced, I 
 felt again and again a sort of prophetic an- 
 ticipation, This may be to me the eventful 
 moment, big with a thousand causes of ad- 
 miration. 
 
 Many a stranger arrived at our postern, 
 who, to the nicety of a critic in language, 
 would have been a stranger no longer. 
 But it was not so to me. The very butcher 
 who came once a week to bring us pro- 
 visions, did not, even by the unvaried re- 
 gularity of his approaches, altogether di- 
 vest himself of the grace of novelty. The 
 chimney-sweeper was another of those rare 
 phenomena, who, by the repulsiveness 
 of his sable hue, and the cry by which he 
 proclaimed that he had reached his unen- 
 
140 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 vied height, communicated some sensation 
 to my childish organs. Bat the visitor 
 dearest to my youthful curiosity, was the 
 pedlar. Pedestrian as he was, the pack 
 which he bore on his shoulders, displayed, 
 when unfolded, a multiplicity of tempta- 
 tions to expence that was truly astonishing. 
 Besides gloves, and stockings, and handker- 
 chiefs, and ribbands, and linens, and stuffs, 
 for the men and the maidens, I generally 
 found among his treasures some toys, or im- 
 plements of childish industry, upon which 
 I did not fail to set an immeasurable value. 
 The vender himself was ordinarily a Jew, 
 and was in my eyes the greatest curiosity 
 in his whole collection. I watched his 
 physiognomy with sly and sensitive vigi- 
 lance. I asked him questions about him- 
 self, his travels, his language, and his coun- 
 trymen, and not only gained information 
 that furnished to me a copious field for 
 fancy and rumination, but found also con- 
 siderable entertainment in his jargon, and 
 
MANDEVILLE. 141 
 
 the uncouth accent and articulation with 
 which he delivered his answers. 
 
 I have already done full justice to the 
 virtues of my preceptor ; I have shown my 
 esteem for him, and the ascendancy he 
 possessed over my mind. In matters of 
 opinion that was complete. I was con- 
 vinced of his integrity ; I admired his in- 
 tellectual powers ; I was lost in astonish- 
 ment at the greatness of his attainments. 
 I was conscious of the limited sphere of 
 my own knowledge; I distrusted my judg- 
 ment ; I looked up to him as an oracle. 
 Such is the natural indolence of the ma- 
 jority of human minds ; we love to have 
 some one at hand, upon whose decision, in 
 questions of truth and falsehood, of good 
 and erroneous taste, of prudence or the 
 contrary, we can rely, and thus save our- 
 selves from the fatigue of investigation, and, 
 as we fondly hope, from the dangers of 
 being misled and erroneous. 
 
 Most men, after this ample confession. 
 
149 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 will be surprised when I add, that I scarce- 
 ly loved Hilkiah. I am ashamed of the 
 perverseness of my own heart when I speak 
 it; but it is the truth. Hilkiah was my 
 instructor, with powers much more ample 
 than those of an ordinary instructor, I had 
 no parent ; and my uncle, who stood to me 
 in the room of one, was of too passive and 
 retired a character, to be appealed to, or to 
 be expected to interfere as an umpire be- 
 tween us. I felt the extraordinary powers 
 with which my tutor was invested, at the 
 same time that I felt he had not those 
 claims over me, which the mysterious ties 
 of nature instinctively impart, or by pre- 
 judice and long established custom impose 
 on the unformed mind. Hilkiah too was 
 aware of the full extent of his trust, and 
 was well disposed to avail himself of. its 
 prerogatives. Add to which, there is some- 
 thing in the sacerdotal character, that scarce- 
 ly fails to inspire into him in whom it is 
 vested, a magisterial tone, and a disposition, 
 
MAN DEVI LLE. 143 
 
 such as I have already described m Mf 
 Bradford, amply to uarol the volume of his 
 lessons, and to accompany his instructions 
 with a full statement of the causes and con- 
 siderations by which they are inforced. 
 
 All this was insupportably galling to me.^ 
 When my instructor dwelt upon those con- 
 ceptions which had no special application 
 to myself, and which seemed to me branches 
 of the great code of immutable truth, I 
 was patient, submissive and docile ; but 
 when this elaborate style was applied to 
 things that thwarted my inclination, or 
 was made the vehicle of pointed reproof 
 upon my character or actions, I was by 
 no means equally tame. The extremely 
 unfavourable impression which was thus 
 made upon me, was perhaps partly owing 
 to the solitary nature of my education. I 
 did not find myself one of a tribe, whose 
 feehngs were common with each other, and 
 who might have afforded me the example 
 «f a cheerful or a careless submission ; I 
 
144 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 dwelt in a monarchy, of which I was the 
 single subject. I was not indeed a tumultuous 
 and refractory pupil; I did not give much 
 trouble to my preceptor ; but on that very 
 account these things revolved incessantly 
 in my mind, and worked themselves more 
 deeply into the substance of my character. 
 
 The part of my narrative in which I am 
 now engaged, would perhaps to many men 
 appear tedious and frivolous. It was not 
 frivolous to me ; and the history of my 
 maturer years would be very imperfectly 
 understood, without the explanations I am 
 here endeavouring to give. 
 
 One of the subjects on which Mr Brad- 
 ford thought proper to lecture me, was my 
 pride and self-conceit. In my own opinion, 
 I had no pride but what was becoming, and 
 no esteem for myself greater than that in 
 which I was amply justified. But my pre- 
 ceptor thought otherwise. He explained 
 to me with great emphasis, that humility 
 was the cardinal virtue of a Christian, with- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 145 
 
 ©lit which it was impossible to enter into 
 the kingdom of God. It was the dis- 
 tinguishing feature of evangelical religion, 
 that its professors owed, and confessed they 
 owed every thing, to the mere mercy and 
 unmerited favour of their creator. He re- 
 quired nothing at our hands but the ex- 
 plicit and unequivocal acknowledgment of 
 his sovereign grace; and unless we emp- 
 tied our hearts of all merit and presump- 
 tion, and confessed that in ourselves we 
 w^ere entirely abominable and worthless, 
 we could form no expectation of his favour. 
 — T found this doctrine hard to flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 Hilkiah went on to insist, that the most 
 ragged and shivering beggar stood an equal 
 chance with myself, to receive the most 
 exalted marks of divine favour in the king- 
 dom of heaven. He plainly told me, that 
 a person of the most loathsome and offen- 
 sive appearance might, in the sight of God, 
 be among the excellent of the earth, and be 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
146 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 ranked by omniscience with his most cho- 
 sen saints. 
 
 If all this had been delivered as doctrine 
 merely, I should have been content. What 
 my preceptor offered to my consideration 
 would have passed as words, and I should 
 have been a good Christian upon as cheap 
 terms as most of my neighbours. But 
 Hilkiah did not stop here. It may be that 
 he was actuated towards me by a parental 
 affection ; certain it is that he commented 
 with great rigour upon my supposed de- 
 fects in this nature ; and what was worse, 
 in a style so general and loose, as convey- 
 ed no distinct ideas to my mind. If my 
 preceptor had so designated my faults, that 
 I could have had a clear apprehension 
 where the error lay, I have that conviction 
 of my own candour, particularly at this 
 early stage of human life, as to be per- 
 suaded that I should have ingenuously and 
 sedulously applied myself to the remedy. 
 But it is so easy to rail, and so delightful 
 
MANDEVILLE. 14? 
 
 to the majority of declaimers to unburthen 
 themselves " in good set terms," and yet 
 with a reasonable absence of thinking and 
 precision, that it is not to be wondered at 
 that Hilkiah became tickled with the speei- 
 ousness of his discourse, without adverting 
 to that radical defect, which made it wholly 
 unsusceptible of being applied to use. The 
 discourse of my preceptor, though shaped, 
 it may be, into specious and well sounding 
 periods, was vague and indefinite. If I de- 
 sired to correct myself in conformity to its 
 admonitions, I knew not where to begin. 
 I understood that it was querulous and 
 severe, but that was all. It inspired into 
 me painful emotions ; but it furnished me 
 with no light to direct my course. I regard- 
 ed my tutor as censorious and cynical ; I 
 believed him to be unreasonable and un- 
 just; and by degrees came to view him as 
 an enemy, that misconstrued my disposi- 
 tions, that traversed my pleasures, and 
 sought to rob me of that self-complacency 
 
148 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 which is the indefeasible adjunct of an 
 honourable mind. 
 
 It must be admitted that I was not at this 
 time uncharacterized by a certain loftiness 
 of mind and disdainfulness of spirit. Whe- 
 ther these features were consistent with the 
 purity of a gospel religion, I must leave to 
 the casuists. No doubt this frame of soul 
 in me was rendered somewhat more palpa- 
 ble and systematical, by the habitual gravity 
 of my character. By that gay and frolic- 
 some mood which is for the most part inci- 
 dent to our early years, it would in some 
 degree have been smoothed down ; and, 
 amidst the bursts and sallies of a buoyant 
 spirit, I should often have forgotten my 
 self-respect, and dismissed the idea of my 
 own importance. But to the uniform se- 
 dateness, not to say sadn-ess of temper, which 
 characterized me, this self-oblivion was more 
 difficult. I was proud, because I felt my 
 value. 1 was conscious that my intellectual 
 powers far exceeded the common rate ; I 
 
MANDEVILLE. 149 
 
 was not unaware of the quickness of my 
 apprehension, and the clearness and subtlety 
 with which I distinguished the differences 
 of things ; 1 felt ambition, and the secret 
 anticipation of a high destiny, which sub- 
 sequent calamities have at length succeeded 
 to extinguish within me ; I felt the ardour 
 and generosity of my spirit, which, as I 
 believed, made me capable of great things ^ 
 I felt an inborn pride of soul, which, like an 
 insurmountable barrier, seemed to cut me 
 off for ever from every thing mean, despi- 
 cable and little. My bosom was fraught 
 with that principle which Pythagoras so 
 emphatically recommends to his pupils, of 
 self- reverence, — a determination of mind by 
 which he who has it, is irresistibly impelled 
 to reject whatever might stain the integrity 
 of his spirit, or oblige him to part in any 
 degree with the approbation of his own 
 heart. When my preceptor, with that pri- 
 meval simplicity and innocence for which 
 he was so remarkable, pointed to the beggar- 
 
150 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 boy or the scullion, and bid me ask myself, 
 What was I better than they ? I perceived 
 my soul revolt from the ignoble compari- 
 son, and believed I must dismiss all the dis- 
 cernment with which my reason inspired 
 me, before I could subscribe to the humi- 
 liating conclusions which he called on me 
 to draw. It is not impossible that my birth 
 and fortune, my being heir to the honourable 
 name and opulent property of Mandeville, 
 contributed their share to the disdain with 
 which my bosom swelled against Mr Brad- 
 ford's insinuations. 
 
 One of Hilkiah*s whims was, that iq 
 order to subdue the carnal pride of an un- 
 regenerate nature, it was good for me to be 
 called occasionally to the exercise of those 
 vulgar offices, which in the houses of people 
 of family are ordinarily reserved for menials. 
 Why should not I brush my own clothes, 
 or black my own shoes ? The Saviour of the 
 world condescended to wash his disciples' 
 feet j and the pope (though this was no re- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 151 
 
 commendation to my preceptor) has his 
 anniversary, when he observes the same 
 ceremony to this day. To the evangehcal 
 motives for this disciphne, Hilkiah added 
 others drawn from the stores of philosophy. 
 Nothing could be more precarious tlian the 
 favours of fortune ; and, if I might some 
 day fall into the situation of being obliged 
 to subsist by the exertions of my own in- 
 dustry, why should I not now, in the pliant 
 years of youth, anticipate this necessity ? 
 I was a man, before I was a gentleman; it 
 was good therefore, that I should not be 
 wholly ignorant of the true condition of man 
 on this sublunary stage, that I should be 
 somewhat acquainted with his plain and ge- 
 nuine state, and not only with the refine- 
 ments of artificial society. We lived in the 
 midst of the confusions of a civil war ; who 
 could tell at what point all this violence 
 might terminate? As the presbyterian had 
 subdued the episcopalian, and the indepen-* 
 dent the presbyterian, might not the fifth 
 
152 MANDEVILLB. 
 
 monarchy-man finally get the start of all, 
 and level the proud fortunes of the noble 
 and the gentlenian with the dust ? Was it 
 not good to be prepared for these changes ? 
 The most enviable character that could fall 
 to the lot of man, was independence ; this 
 was the goal, however mistakingly pur- 
 sued, which men aspired to, when they 
 sought after wealth, and ** joined house to 
 house, and field to field,'* with insatiable 
 greediness. But the man of true indepen- 
 dence is he that suffices to himself, and 
 stands in no need of another^ And this 
 doctrine my preceptor illustrated by the 
 known story of Diogenes, who, when he 
 was told that Menas, his slave, had turned 
 runaway, exclaimed, '' Aha ! can Menas do 
 without Diogenes, and cannot Diogenes do 
 without Menas ?" 
 
 It may seem but a childish tale ; but I 
 cannot express with what loathings I was 
 seized, when I was called upon to put in 
 practice this lesson of humility. I remem- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 163 
 
 ber an occasion when it was necessary to 
 remove some logs of wood from one side of 
 the farm-yard, the only creditable and well 
 arranged appendage to our mansion, to an- 
 other side. This appeared to my precep- 
 tor a desirable opportunity for the practical 
 illustration of his lessons. 1 was yet a mere 
 urchin ; and the task assigned me was 
 considerately apportioned to my strength. 
 — After all, this was certainly an injudicious 
 mode of inforcing moral truth. An ac- 
 countable and voluntary being cannot be 
 made better, but by enlightening his under-. 
 standing. Morality has nothing to do, but 
 with actions chosen by their performers.. 
 Where there is absolute command on one 
 side, and unconditional submission on the 
 other, a useful result as to external circum- 
 stances may be achieved ; but there cannot 
 be a particle of good moral sense implanted 
 by what is thus done under the bare influ-» 
 ence of authority. 
 
 No doubt I was a proud creature ; and,. 
 G 2 
 
154 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 as I have already said, T never was a boy. 
 As I did not appear born to feel the hard 
 hand of necessity, I expected to bend only 
 to my own will, and to consult my own 
 judgment, in every thing I did. I under- 
 stood something of the importance of les- 
 sons, and I willingly complied in v>^hatever 
 related to that point. I was desirous of 
 possessing all the advantages of ediication, 
 and all the information that falls to the lot 
 of an ingenuous youth, destined to fill an 
 honourable station in life. And lessons, a 
 progress to be made in languages or in 
 science, possess all the character of a sys- 
 tem of mechanism, and accordingly are as 
 readily submitted to, as the order of our 
 meals, or the putting on of our clothes. It 
 is principally where the caprice of him who 
 has authority shows itself, where the wand 
 of command is exhibited in abrupt naked- 
 ness, that the heart of the proud one revolts. 
 Whatever proceeds in unvaried uniformity, 
 or in stated and regular progression, we 
 
MANDEVILLE. 155 
 
 subscribe to without a murmur. What is 
 thus prescribed, we acknowledge to be in- 
 tended for our benefit ; and the reason of 
 the thing having once been known, or sup- 
 posed to be known, we continue to act upon 
 that reason, without insisting that it should 
 be submitted to an examination perpetual- 
 ly to be repeated. But when Mr Brad- 
 ford, no longer seated in the chair of the 
 pedagogue, issued his imperious mandates 
 of Go there, or Do this, whenever what he 
 required related not to my abstract advan- 
 tage, but to the common usefulness of life, 
 my spirit refused to submit ; I felt convin- 
 ced that I was treated in a manner unbe- 
 coming and unjust; and, my neck never 
 having been bowed to the condition of a 
 slave, my whole soul revolted at the usur- 
 pation. Hilkiah saw something, but im- 
 perfectly, of the state of my mind on these 
 occasions ; but, instead of modifying and 
 adapting his proceedings to my tone of 
 feeling, he took the contrary course. He 
 
156 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 held it for " stuff of the conscience/* that 
 he should subdue my refractoriness, and 
 bring down a stubbornness of soul, so op- 
 posite, as he imagined, to the temper of a 
 true Christian. Alas, good man, he little 
 understood the tendency aad nature of the 
 task he had undertaken ! My pride was 
 not perhaps so great, that it would not have 
 yielded to severe calamity, or to ferocious 
 and unmitigated tyranny : I cannot tell. 
 But there was no power that could be ex- 
 ercised by Hilkiah, who was a man sub- 
 stantially of a gentle temper, and under the 
 roof of my nearest relation, that had any 
 chance of rendering him victorious in this 
 contest. I submitted indeed outwardly, 
 for my nature did not prompt me to scenes 
 of violence; but I retained the principle of 
 rebellion entire, shut up in the chamber of 
 my thoughts. If at any time I manifested 
 tardiness, (and how could it be otherwise, 
 when the soul was averse ?) this called 
 down from my preceptor a bitterness of re- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 157 
 
 mark, or a dryness of irony, that filled my 
 bosom with tumults, and was calculated to 
 make me understand something of the tem- 
 per of a fiend. Hilkiah, as I have said, 
 felt disposed to multiply his experiments in 
 proportion as he found me restive. And it 
 grieves me to confess that this ill- contrived 
 and senseless proceeding, at length drove 
 me into a rooted aversion of heart from this 
 good man, to whose industry and care I 
 owed so much, and the parity and zeal of 
 whose intentions entitled him still more to 
 my regard. It was Hilkiah, that first made 
 me acquainted with the unsavouriness of an 
 embittered soul. From time to time he fil- 
 led all my thoughts with malignity. I can 
 scarcely describe the frame of my temper 
 towards him. I would not have hurt him ; 
 but I muttered harsh resentment against 
 him in sounds scarcely articulate ; and I 
 came to regard him as my evil genius, 
 poisoning my cup of life, thwarting my 
 most innocent sallies, watching with a 
 
158 MANDEVtLLE. 
 
 jaundiced eye for faults in me which my 
 heart did not recognize, and blasting that 
 sweet complacency, in which a virtuous 
 mind is delighted to plunge itself and to 
 play. 
 
 I said little ; but this circumstance only 
 deepened the effect on my mind. " Give 
 sorrow words," says the great master of the 
 human soul. Whatever sentiment finds its 
 way to the lips, and vents its energies 
 through the medium of language, by that 
 means finds relief. " Out of the abundance 
 of the heart the mouth speaketh ;" and we 
 feel satisfied, if we have told, even to the 
 desert air, but much more in the hearing of 
 an intelligent creature, the story of our 
 griefs. But my silent nature was an ever- 
 living and incessant curse to me. My dis- 
 pleasures brooded, and heated, and inflam- 
 ed themselves, at the bottom of my soul, 
 and finding no vent, shook so my single 
 frame of man, like to an earthquake. 
 I know there are rugged and brutal na- 
 
MANDEVrLLE. 159 
 
 tures, who would interrupt me here, and 
 cry out, that there is an easy remedy for all 
 this. The boy whose thoughts are here 
 described, was too much indulged; an ef- 
 fusion of wholsome severity would soon 
 have dispersed these clouds of the mind, 
 and have caused him to know, that there 
 was nothing but ground for congratulation, 
 where he found so much occasion for com- 
 plaint. And let these brutal natures go on 
 in the exercise of their favourite discipline I 
 There will always be crosses, and opposi^* 
 tion, and mortifications enough in the march 
 of human life, from the very principles 
 upon which society is built, and from the 
 impatience our imperfect nature is too apt 
 to conceive, of the imputed untowardness 
 and absurd judgments, of those that are 
 placed under our control. But let those of 
 happier spirit know, that this imperious dis- 
 cipline is not the wholsome element of the 
 expanding mind, and that the attempt to 
 correct the mistaken judgments of the 
 
160 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 young by violent and summary dealing, 
 can never be the true method of fostering 
 a generous nature ; in a word, that to make 
 the child a forlorn and pitiable slave, can 
 never be the way to make the man worthy 
 of freedom, and capable of drawing the no- 
 blest use from it ! 
 
 I have said that I was habitually a vi- 
 sionary. My visions were frequently of 
 long duration, and branched out into a va- 
 riety of minuter circumstances. In these 
 moods I sometimes imagined that every 
 thing around me was engaged in a conspi- 
 racy against me, that I was, in some inex- 
 plicable way, a captive, whose genuine des- 
 tiny led to higher things, but who, like 
 some imperial bird that had fallen into the 
 hands of lawless men, was shorn of its 
 strongest feathers, and deprived of its ge- 
 nuine and heart-awakening element, shut 
 out from the sublimer scenery for which 
 its nature fitted it, and robbed of that mys- 
 terious and inestimable freedom in which it 
 
MANDKVILLE. 161 
 
 could feel at home, at its ease, and resting, 
 so to express it, upon its proper centre. 
 
 However strange it may appear, I am al- 
 most inclined to say, that the boy, particu- 
 larly in these visionary moods, feels a more 
 earnest aspiring than even the man, after 
 true freedom, with all its adjuncts and re- 
 tinue of inexplicable events. The com- 
 parison is the same, as between the colt, 
 whose mouth has never known control, 
 who frolics in a thousand wild gestures and 
 attitudes, and has nothing to do but to prance 
 along the plains, — and the horse. Man by 
 degrees has bowed the neck to the hard yoke 
 of necessity, has looked through human life 
 and the conditions of existence, and has 
 reasoned himself into submission, to those 
 distasteful, but inevitable evils which are 
 inseparably interwoven in the web of mor- 
 tal life. Not so the boy : he has seen no- 
 thing of this ; nor have any considerations 
 occurred to his mind, leading him to choose 
 
162 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 subjection, and voluntarily and resolutely 
 to resign the sweets of liberty. 
 
 I am aware, that in what I now record I 
 am relating a strange story ; but it is neces- 
 sary to the illustration of my future life. 
 The moral of iEsop's fable of the lion and 
 the man is applicable here. We see every 
 where the monuments of human achieve- 
 ments ; but the lions have no historians 
 and no statuaries of their own. All those 
 persons who have produced practical trea- 
 tises on the art of education, have been 
 men. The books are always written by 
 those who are the professors of teaching, 
 never by the subjects. Every author in- 
 deed was once a boy ; but he seems to ab- 
 jure the recollection of what he was, when 
 he puts on the manly gown, and to have no 
 consideration and forbearance for that state 
 through which every man has passed, but 
 to which no man shall return. I have been 
 obliged, by the tenour of what I have to re- 
 cord, to take a contrary course. It has 
 
MANDEVILLE. 163 
 
 been necessary for me, to resume the cha- 
 racter of my early years, and to forget for 
 the moment that those years have passed 
 away. I have committed to paper what, 
 during those years, passed through my 
 mind ; I have nothing to do with either 
 vindicating or condemning that of which I 
 am the historian. I may thus perhaps have 
 performed a task of general utility ; it sure- 
 ly is not unfitting, that that which forms one 
 considerable stage in the history of man, 
 should for once be put into a legible and a 
 permanent form. Far be it from me to im- 
 pute my own feelings during this period, to 
 every youth that is placed under the direc- 
 tion of a preceptor. 1 know that my feel- 
 ings were solitary, unsocial, exaggerated, 
 wicked. Still I regard myself on the whole 
 as a member of the great community of 
 man ; and I cannot be persuaded that feel- 
 ings, which were so familiar and habitual 
 with me, do not under some modification 
 exist in the majority of human minds^ dur-^ 
 
164 MANDEVILLE* 
 
 ing that period of life which in my own case 
 I have been attempting to describe. 
 
 But to return. I may sum up the vievir 
 of my situation, so far as Mr Bradford is 
 concerned, by saying that it consisted of 
 two features principally. 1 had the most 
 unbounded deference for this good man in 
 all his speculative decisions. His religion 
 was my religion ; his prejudices were my 
 prejudices. As an essential characteristic 
 of my nature was energy, I could have died 
 for the faith in which he had instructed me; 
 I could not bear to hear his tenets contra- 
 dicted or opposed. At the age of which I 
 am speaking I was but little of an intellec- 
 tual gladiator ; I therefore made up in 
 zeal, what I wanted in skill ; my blood boil- 
 ed, my flesh trembled, and my mdignation 
 exceeded all ordinary pitch, when I heard 
 sentiments uttered, which my education 
 had taught me to regard as the pernicious 
 suggestions of a blasphemous spirit. Yet, 
 at the same time that I regarded Hilkiah 
 
MANDEVILLE. 165 
 
 in this point of view with unmingled reve- 
 rence, I never wished to behold his face. 
 His countenance, his figure, his gestures, 
 the very tone of his voice, were all subjects 
 of aversion to me. My understanding, my 
 opinions, were at his devotion : but my 
 heart took a different course. " It came 
 not into his secret ; and to his counsels it 
 was not united.'* In all that was most 
 cordial and consolatory to the spirit it stood 
 off from him, as wide as the poles from each 
 other. In my wishes and cherished visions 
 he had no part. This was a peculium that 
 I carefully shut up in my own bosom, and 
 of which no creature that lived was a par« 
 taker. 
 
166 MANDEVILLE* 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Such was the monotony of my life during 
 the years in which I resided under the roof 
 of my uncle. Few were the occasions 
 that were calculated to awaken in me the 
 social affections, in their purest and most 
 fascinating tone. To all this however 
 there was one exception. I have already 
 said that I had a sister. This sister I had 
 scarcely seen ; and I almost forgot that she 
 existed. One morning Hilkiah communi- 
 cated to me the intelligence that she was 
 expected on a visit ; my uncle had invited 
 her to spend a week or ten days under his 
 roof. It cannot be imagined what pleasure 
 
MANDEVILLE. l67 
 
 I derived from the information. The en- 
 trance of one stranger, and that stranger a 
 visitor, under the battlements of our man* 
 sion, was an event as menioi able, as a con- 
 gress of half the sovereigns of Europe, and 
 all the splendours of their reception, would 
 be to the fashionable and the gay. 
 
 My sister was one year younger than 
 myself. She had regular features, a trans- 
 parent complexion, and a most preposses- 
 sing countenance. " Her pure and elo- 
 quent blood spoke in her cheeks." Her 
 eyes were dark and expressive ; and her 
 smiles were bewitching. Her form was 
 light and airy, like that of a sylph. Her 
 motions had a naivete and grace, that I can- 
 not conceive to be exceeded. She made 
 me a painter. Whenever I shut my eyes, 
 I saw her t whenever I let my thoughts 
 I loose in imagination, I pictured to myself 
 ' her gestures and her air. The tone of her 
 voice was thrilling; and there was a beau- 
 ty in her articulation, that made my soul 
 
l68 MANDEVILLK^ 
 
 dance within me, and without the laboiif 
 and weight of emphasis, gave to every thing 
 she said an impression beyond the power 
 of emphasis to convey. Oh, Henrietta, 
 thou dearest half of my soul, how can I re- 
 collect thee, such as I now saw thee, with- 
 out rapture ! 
 
 There is something in the prejudice of 
 kindred, that has an uncontrolable power 
 over the soul. I was alone in the world ; I 
 had neither father, nor mother, nor brother ; 
 but Henrietta was father, and mother, and 
 every thing to me in one. We had a thou- 
 sand things to talk about ; and it seems to me, 
 at this distance of time, as if we had pos- 
 sessed a power of dividing and multiply- 
 ing the thoughts we expressed, and of giv- 
 ing to every one a fineness and subtlety, 
 that the grossness and earthiness of more 
 advanced years can never reach. We de- 
 livered our ideas with frankness; we had 
 none of the false reserve, that makes older 
 persons warily examine the recollections 
 
MANDEVILLE. 169 
 
 and sallies that press to the tongue, and 
 throw away one, and mangle another ; lest 
 they should say any thing, that should sub- 
 tract from the consideration they aim at, 
 and of which afterward they might see 
 reason to repent. 
 
 We walked together ; and wherever we 
 walked, the place seemed to invest itself in 
 inexpressible charms. Nothing could be 
 more dreary and desolate than the scenery 
 in the midst of which I lived ; but the pre- 
 sence of Henrietta gave to it the beauty of 
 the Elysian fields ; and when she was gone, 
 yet I could not visit the well-known haunts 
 without their reviving in me the same ra- 
 vishing sensation. She talked ; and my 
 soul hung on the enchanting sounds. To 
 the little tales of the place from whence she 
 came and its inhabitants, I could listen for 
 ever. Her observations were so unlike to 
 any thing I had ever heard before. What 
 a contrast to Hilkiah, and my uncle, and 
 the gloomy and formal estabhshment of 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
170 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Mandeville House ! My sensations were 
 not less surprising, than those of Shake- 
 spear's maiden in the desert island, when 
 first she saw and contrasted the features 
 and figure of the graceful Prince Ferdi- 
 nand, with those of the aged Prospero and 
 the hag*born Caliban. I seemed now for 
 the first time to associate with a being, with 
 whom I felt an affinity, and whom I recog- 
 nized as of the same species as myself. 
 This was indeed a memorable era in my 
 existence. I was never weary of my sister's 
 company ; no sooner by any accident did I 
 lose it, but I instantly felt as if some insup- 
 portable period of separation had inter- 
 vened, and I sought her presence again 
 with uncontrolable eagerness ; by night in 
 my dreams Henrietta was sure to appear, 
 and in some way to be the principal per- 
 sonage in their incoherent and fantastical 
 drama. 
 
 The character of my preceptor was en- 
 tirely artificial, and yet of an artifice difficult 
 
MANDEVILLE. 171 
 
 to express. Nothing on earlli could be 
 more void of what is commonly understood 
 by artifice and design ; he was of a sim- 
 plicity the most perfect and unsoiled ; he 
 stood defenceless and unarmed, the ready 
 prey of any one who should think it worth 
 while to play upon the unsuspiciousness of 
 his nature. But his character was the crea- 
 ture of colleges and of books, of monastic 
 discipline and theological debates, and bore 
 little resemblance to nature, as she shows 
 herself in those parts of the world, or those 
 classes of society, where these causes have 
 no operation. My uncle was a mere sha- 
 dow, the semblance of a man, where no- 
 thing seemed to bear the impression of sub- 
 stance. But the sallies of Henrietta were the 
 pure effusions of an unsophisticated spirit, 
 and were like the first breathings of the 
 morning in nature's sweetest climate ; they 
 carried with them the freshness of untainted 
 air, the mild moisture of the dew, and the 
 resistless charm of a thousand odours and 
 
17^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 perfumes, 1 know, that in thus describing 
 them 1 may seem to rave, and that the 
 majority of readers will consider all this, as 
 mere bombast, and high sounding words 
 without a meaning. But, in fact, the sen- 
 sations 1 felt were such as all words that I 
 have the power to command, must sink 
 under the endeavour to convey to another. 
 
 My uncle, being duly informed of the 
 arrival of his niece, in a day or two after 
 sent to summon her to his apartment. Hen- 
 rietta, curious about so near a relation, the 
 representative of the elder branch of our 
 family, tasked me to give her a faithful ac- 
 count of his manner, his character, and all 
 those peculiarities of which she had not 
 failed already to hear so much. They had 
 of course been greatly the object of my 
 youthful wonder and remark ; and, to grati- 
 fy so dear a friend, I conquered the natural 
 brevity of my sentences, and placed before 
 her in a vivid light, those circumstances, 
 which had impressed so strong a picture in 
 
MANDEVILLE. IfS 
 
 my mind. When she received the sum- 
 mons I have mentioned, she exclaimed, 
 *' Must I go alone ? And will not you, 
 Charles, accompany me to my uncle ?" But 
 she was speedily convinced, that his direc- 
 tions must be literally obeyed, and that his 
 spirits were too tender to enable him to 
 sustain an interview with both of us at 
 once. When Henrietta was introduced to 
 him, he uttered a few short sentences, with 
 apparent effort, and with intervals between, 
 " You are welcome" — *' I am glad to see 
 you" — "A fine girl !'* while the singularity 
 and mournfulness of his manner bereaved her 
 of speech : and thus the interview ended. 
 
 Some days after, my uncle made the 
 cardinal and mighty effort of receiving us 
 both together: but this was never repeat- 
 ed. He looked at us tenderly. " Love one 
 another,'* he said ; " be a comfort to each 
 other ; assist each of you the other in the 
 various trials of life !" 
 
 " What a man 1" said Henrietta, as we left 
 
174 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 the room. " I am sure I love him. It is 
 impossible to feel any other sentiment to- 
 wards him. How much he must have 
 suffered ! What a life ! Poor, dear uncle !'* 
 
 " But, Charles," she proceeded," we must 
 be all in all to each other. We have no 
 parents; we have no relation in the world, 
 but the owner of this house. And he lives 
 among the dead. I cannot think of this 
 mansion, but as of one of the Pyramids of 
 Egypt ; and its master is like a deceased 
 prince I have somewhere read of, whose 
 body rose at a certain hour every night out 
 of its coffin, and having passed through 
 several apartments of state in silence and 
 sadness, returned to its place, and laid down 
 again in death, till the same hour came 
 round on the following night. 
 
 " Our poor uncle ! He has done with the 
 world. All his thoughts and hopes are 
 buried in the tomb. Though he exists on 
 the face of the earth, he has no longer any 
 concern or interest with the inhabitants of 
 
MANDEVILLE. 175 
 
 th€ earlh. But we, Charles, — we are young. 
 It is the fate of all living creatures, to have 
 at some periods quick feelings and a heart 
 unwouiided ; and our turn is to come. We 
 know not what destiny is reserved for us. 
 But we shall meet it with quick imagina- 
 tions and a beating bosom ; and the dis- 
 appointment of all that have gone before 
 us, will not prevent us from anticipating 
 joy, with as sanguine a spirit, as inspired 
 the first man, before iiistory had yet written 
 one solitary page of warning and example." 
 Swift flew the hours during this ecstatic 
 visit, and the ten days limited for its dura- 
 tion were speedily at an end. The day 
 before the departure of Henrietta, and the 
 day before that, we began to look towards 
 the misery of separation. For a time 
 however this recollection merely gave bit- 
 terness to a moment 5 and we seemed to 
 use it, only to give zest to our never-ending 
 conferences, and as an inducement to plunge 
 so mucli the more desperately into the 
 
\76 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 sweets of each others society. Gradually 
 it became otherwise. The morning of the 
 last day we were to spend together made 
 us sober; and as we watched the setting of 
 the sun that evening beneath the ocean- 
 ^vave, without speaking a word, the eyes of 
 both of us filled with tears. 
 
 *' Well !" said Henrietta, rousing herself, 
 " it cannot be helped; we must submit to 
 our fortunes. The day, I am confident, will 
 come, when we shall meet again ; no one 
 knows how soon ; no one knows for how 
 long. At this moment I feel that I do not 
 love any human creature so well as my 
 brother; the recollection ofyou, my Charles, 
 will charm away many a sorrow, and will 
 speak consolation and pride to my heart. 
 Still too we have something left ; we can 
 write letters. You will write to me, will 
 you not ? And when I have the pen in my 
 hand, and my chattering vein comes upon 
 me, with which I have already tried your 
 patience, I will think you are present 
 
MANDEVILLE. 177 
 
 You know I have always been the princi- 
 pal talker, and you have answered me with 
 silence or few words ; so I will think I 
 have got you beside me, your arm under 
 my arm ; that will do very well, will it not? 
 I see by your looks, that you think it will 
 do but poorly ; I know that too, Charles. 
 Heigh ho ! but we will make the best of 
 it, and be glad of that, when we can get 
 nothing better.'* 
 
 Was not this charming talk ? and could 
 I help loving such a sister as this ? I could 
 not talk thus; I could only look the things, 
 which she clothed in such bewitching words. 
 But, oh ! every syllable and every articu- 
 lation penetrated to my heart. No, I can- 
 not but think, that never creature loved as 
 1 loved. And the innocence and simpli- 
 city of our affection, which was all soul, 
 and had no alloy of grossness, turned it into 
 a purer, a brighter, and a more heavenly 
 flame. We loved, as the angels may be 
 supposed to love above the cerulean sky. 
 H 2 
 
178 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Some persons will affirm, that the senti- 
 ments and ideas I express are above the 
 age of the actors. It may be so : I only 
 know that all I have related comes far short 
 of the reality. It was with us, as it is said 
 sometimes to be with a person at the point 
 of death, who already breathes of heaven, 
 who seems to have put off this cumbrous 
 load of flesh, and to partake by anticipa- 
 tion, of the prophetic spirit and the un- 
 earthly vision that characterise the state of 
 saints above. The situation was new to 
 us, to me especially ; and what was felt by 
 one of us, was imparted as it were by elec- 
 tricity to the other. My life had been so 
 monotonous, and its course had had so 
 little in it to awaken the finer feelings. If 
 I dared hazard an idea, which after all may 
 not be true, I should say, Henrietta talked 
 best, but I loved the most. But in both of 
 us the situation was such, that it awakened 
 in us faculties which otherwise might have 
 slept for another climacteric. We leaped 
 
MANDEVILLE. 179 
 
 a gulf of years, and seemed to understand, 
 what ordinary mortals do not understan'd 
 till they have celebrated many more anni- 
 versaries at the altar of life. 
 
180 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 CHAPTER VI I r. 
 
 My sister had not long left us, when Mr 
 Bradford was seized with a distemper, that 
 threatened to put a speedy end to his life. 
 A physician was called in from the nearest 
 town, and all proper assistance was afford- 
 ed. But it speedily appeared that the dis- 
 ease was too strong for the power of medi- 
 cine to baffle ; and its virulence was such, 
 that in a few days it put an end to the life 
 of this venerable and innocent being. In 
 one of those intervals which afforded him 
 a comparative degree of composure and 
 ease, he caused me to be called to his bed- 
 
MANDEVILLt, 181 
 
 side. He desired me to sit near him ; and 
 he took one of my hands in his. 
 
 " My dear Charles/' said he, " in the so- 
 litude in which we have lived, you have 
 been for years the principal subject of my 
 anxiety. Your parents you lost early by 
 the most dreadful calamity ; the state of 
 your uncle's heaUh and spirits have long 
 incapacitated him from supplying their 
 place ; Providence seemed to have cast you 
 entirely on my care. I have done my duty 
 according to the best of that light that was 
 afforded me ; and 1 am thankful that I have 
 been spared so long for that purpose. It is 
 now the will of the Lord, that I should be 
 taken from you y and it is not given to me 
 to foresee what will be your destiny, when I 
 am no more with you. All that remains is, 
 that I charge you, * in the sight of God who 
 quickeneth all things, and before Jesus 
 Christ/ that you hold fast the truth that has 
 been committed to you. I foresee that 
 great trials are yet reserved for the people 
 
182 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 of this unhappy land. The power of An- 
 tichrist is not at an end ; and the cup of his 
 enchantments still retains all its pernicious 
 ingredients. There shall come a falling 
 away and an apostacy, even in this chosen 
 land of Great Britain. But be j^ou fast in 
 the faith. Eschew the persuasions of the 
 ' scarlet whore that sitteth upon the moun- 
 tains.* Let not your soul come into her 
 secrets, neither be you a partaker in her 
 blasphemies. 
 
 *' For myself I go to the blessed few, 
 whom Christ has chosen out of the world. 
 I go to the little flock of his saints, whom 
 he shall bring with him in his glory. There 
 I shall see my excellent namesake, who 
 when threatened with the flames, defied the 
 power of the evil one. There I shall asso- 
 ciate with the glorified spirits of Wishart 
 and Hamilton, who amidst the pangs of 
 death, with pious fervour predicted, the one 
 the assassination of his judge, while the 
 other summoned his accuser to meet him 
 
MANDEVILLE. 183 
 
 without delay before the judgment-seat of 
 Christ. Where 1 am, no pope, nor cardi- 
 nal, not one member of the vast Anti- 
 christian hierarchy shall ever come. 
 
 '' But I do not so far rejoice in the glory 
 that awaits me, my dear Charles, as to 
 make me in any degree unmindful of 
 whatever appertains to your welfare. I 
 have endeavoured to do my duty by you ; 
 but at this awful moment, when I am com- 
 pelled to review for the last time what I 
 have done, I am filled with apprehensions 
 and fears, lest, with the sincerest anxiety for 
 your good, I may at any time have chosen 
 erroneous means. I may have assumed an 
 undue authority ; I may have mistaking- 
 ly awakened evil passions in your bosom. 
 If I have done so, I ask your forgiveness. 
 We are all of us fallible creatures, and 
 ought at all times to fear the errors we 
 may commit. Do not then, my sweet 
 Charles, remember these things against me ; 
 treasure up only those truths I have de- 
 
184 MANDEViLLR. 
 
 livered to you for your everlasting benefit. 
 Remember me as your friend; and let the 
 eye that looks upon my tomb, and the 
 tongue that [ have taught to repeat the les- 
 sons of human and divine learning, con- 
 tinue to bless me !" 
 
 My heart melted at the ingenuous con- 
 fessions and the earnest affection of this ve- 
 nerable man. I recollected all the dis- 
 pleasure and the animosity I had felt against 
 him, and I was ashamed. The eye that 
 had darted at me glances of reproach, was 
 now closed in death; the tongue that had 
 overwhelmed me with sharp rebuke and 
 bitter homilies of reproof, was silent for 
 ever. I shed a torrent of sincere tears over 
 his remains. I accused myself of a per- 
 verse and a wicked nature, that where all 
 was meant so sincerely, 1 could have har- 
 boured such stormy resentments. 
 
 This good man, the friend of my earliest 
 youth, did not many hours survive the last 
 iadmonitions and expressions of kindness he 
 
MANDEVILLE. 185 
 
 had addressed to me. I looked on his in- 
 sensible corpse ; it was the first time I had 
 ever viewed the human form, after death 
 had already extinguished the intellectual 
 spark ; and it was an awful meditation to 
 me — to me, more than to many others; 
 for the habit of my soul was endless rumi- 
 nation, in which the tongue was chained up 
 in silence, and the limbs almost forgot their 
 office, but the thinking part of the machine 
 worked incessantly, like the members and 
 wheels of a vast machine, or like the eter- 
 nal descent of the waters in a foaming cata- 
 ract. 
 
 The funeral of Mr Bradford followed 
 soon. Thoujjh the nearest market-town 
 was at a distance of seventeen miles, we 
 had a diminutive parish church and its lit- 
 tle churchyard, that was only six miles from 
 us. I had seldom visited it ; for Mr Brad- 
 ford, while he lived, filled the joint offices 
 of my preceptor in learning, and the chap- 
 lain to Mandeville House ; and every Lord's 
 
186 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 day duly pronounced a discourse, and be* 
 came the organ of the houshold in prayer^ 
 in a little chapel, which was preserved ia 
 a state of decent repair for that purpose. 
 I knew the church however; it had occa- 
 sionally formed a centrical point in my 
 rambles; I was not unfamiliar with its un-. 
 pretending architecture and its scanty con- 
 gregation of graves. At the west end, near 
 the outer wall of the chancel, was a vault 
 which had been built by one of the ances- 
 tors of the Mandeville family ; and to this 
 repository were the remains of Hilkiah 
 conveyed. The steward of my uncle mar- 
 shalled the ceremony; a hearse was procured 
 for the occasion ; and the mourners, myself 
 in chief, followed on horseback. The day 
 was gloomy ; the whole hemisphere was 
 wrapped in a thick grey cloud, yet without 
 rain. My soul became satisfied in this 
 seeming harmony of the elements with the 
 melancholy of the scene. 
 
 I have described the feelings which sue- 
 
MANDEVlLLb:. ' 187 
 
 ceeded within me immediately upon the 
 death of my preceptor. But these feelings 
 were temporary. While the grave of Hil- 
 kiah was freshlv closed, and his last scene 
 was vividly impressed on my memory, I 
 repented most truly of all the anger I had 
 conceived against him. But when the 
 impression of his last moments was some- 
 what faded, and^ what passed at that time 
 only ranked with the other recollections of 
 our protracted intercourse, my original no* 
 tions returned to me. While the remem- 
 brance of his last benedictions was new to 
 me, I loved him ; at all times, in a certain 
 sense I honoured him ; but finally the 
 habit returned to me, of considering him as 
 the being, who had poisoned the first plea- 
 sures of my infancy, and who had fust caused 
 me to feel the pains of mortification and 
 contempt. His image, the figure which 
 my fancy conjured up of his person and his 
 countenance, was displeasing to me. In 
 my dreams the idea of Hilkiah always came 
 
188 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 associated with painful sensations. Yet, 
 along with this, he was not the less my 
 oracle and guide, the master of my theories, 
 and the regulator of my faith. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 189 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It has sufficiently appeared that my 
 situation was a sohtary one, while Hilkiah 
 lived; what did it become when my vene- 
 rable preceptor was no more ? If freedom 
 could make happiness, I was free. My 
 uncle was a mere cypher in the economy 
 of his own houshold. Having already- 
 reached the twelfth year of my age, and 
 being considered as the immediate heir to 
 the Mandeville estate, none of the servants 
 had the boldness to control me in my 
 caprices. Happily those caprices were 
 neither violent nor adventurous. Still more 
 happily for me, this period of my interreg- 
 
190 MANDEVJLLE. 
 
 num was short. What effect would have 
 been produced, if the interval in which I 
 was my own master had been protracted, I 
 can scarcely venture to say. I shut my 
 books. This had been the case during the 
 short season of Hilkiah's mortal sickness. 
 But then my thoughts were much occupied 
 with his precarious state, and the melan- 
 choly catastrophe that seemed to impend. 
 When that was decided, and still more 
 when the remains of my preceptor had been 
 finally carried forth from the mansion in 
 which he had enacted so considerable a 
 personage, I felt that I was entering on a 
 new epoch. The apartment in which we 
 had sat together, was now entirely mine. 
 The easy chair, in which in his character 
 of my pedagogue he had delighted to re- 
 pose himself, was vacant. 
 
 I shut my books. Probably after some 
 interval, if the experiment had been tried 
 upon me, I should have returned to them. 
 But for the moment I was delighted with 
 
 4 
 
Mandeville. 191 
 
 the change. That which had for years 
 been imposed upon me as a task, could not 
 immediately convert itself into a pleasure. 
 Greek and Latin, the historian equally and 
 the poet of antiquity, avaunt ! It was the 
 badge of my liberation, that I no longer 
 pored upon pages, rich with the spoils 
 of time. This short period had a memor- 
 able effect upon me. If before I had been 
 a lover of liberty, and had felt the deepest 
 repugnance to every species of contradic- 
 tion and control, I now seemed to myself 
 to have actually entered upon the privileges 
 and immunities, that are the just inheritance 
 of the maturer part of my species. 
 
 For a few days I was contented with the 
 simple fruition of these privileges. To 
 Bavour the condition in which I was placed, 
 to me was happiness enough. But, after a 
 short time, this pleasure became familiar to 
 the sense, and stood in need of further ex- 
 citement to give it pungency. How far 
 did my liberty extend r I went into and out 
 
IQQ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 of my uncle's house as I pleased. But was 
 this the boundary of my discretion ? Could 
 I wander no farther than my legs could 
 carry me; and were my rambles confined 
 to so much as might be accomplished be- 
 tween sun and sun ? 
 
 It was my own voluntary choice, that 
 brought me back each successive evening, 
 to the house in which I had resided ever 
 since my escape from Ireland. I might 
 emancipate myself from this restriction 
 whenever I pleased. I might contrive the 
 scheme of a secret elopement. But, if I 
 desired to use my freedom with this addi- 
 tional enlfirgement, would elopement be the 
 wisest way ot accomplishing that? Might I 
 not form a project of departure and absence, 
 to which it should not be difficult to obtain 
 my uncle's consent ? When I thought of 
 absenting myself for a time from this scene 
 of my early years, the first suggestion that 
 offered to me was tiiat of paying a visit to 
 my beloved sister. How much further the 
 
mandevillr. 193 
 
 genius of romance, when I had put myself 
 under his guidance, might conduct me, I 
 could not tell. But, if I were enabled to 
 execute any part of the project that now 
 rose to my thoughts, I determined that the 
 first stage in my journey ings, the first branch 
 of the inheritance of pleasure I proposed to 
 myself, should be, once again to embrace 
 my dear Henrietta. 
 
 1 endeavoured in another way to antici* 
 pate the events of my future history. I 
 was left to my own devices. No one of 
 the houshold had the presumption to talk 
 to me of my future destination ; and the 
 silence and reserve of my own nature pre- 
 vented me from inviting them to enter on 
 the topic. But was my education ended ? 
 I was not so ignorant of the rules of politi- 
 cal society, as not to know that ten years 
 more must elapse, before I should be 
 acknowledged by the laws of my country 
 as my own master. How was this pe- 
 riod to be filled up ? Sh jitld I receive no 
 
 VOL I. I 
 
194 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 more instruction in learning ? Would some 
 reverend divine, hitherto a stranger, be in- 
 troduced as the successor of Hilkiah, to 
 superintend my studies, and keep alive the 
 devotions of Mandeville House ? This was 
 a very anxious question to me. If .the 
 authority and the magisterial rebukes of 
 Mr Bradford, familiarised as I had been 
 to them from my earliest years, had proved 
 an intolerable torment, vi'ith what patience 
 could I think of being subjected upon the 
 same terms to an entire stranger ? 
 
 These reflections, as of a bird escaped 
 from his cage, that seems to ask himself to 
 what woods and coverts he shall presently 
 make his resort, and that, while he flutters 
 his wings, has the whole cope of heaven 
 before him to dart himself to the east or the 
 west as he pleases, were speedily put an end 
 to in my case, by a communication from 
 the steward, that it was my uncle's determi- 
 nation to send me to Winchester school, I 
 
 had once seen Winchester, and its cathedral, 
 11 
 
MANDEVILLE. 195v 
 
 the venerable repository of the remains of 
 our Saxon kings. I was not displeased at 
 the new scene of life that was now chalked 
 out for me. I had made a sufficient expe- 
 riment of the system of a private education, 
 and I detested it. I easily conceived that, 
 in a numerous school, the masters were in 
 some sort a mere appendage to the esta- 
 blishment, and that the whole was a species 
 of commonwealth, in which each member 
 had his own rights of equality, or claims of 
 empire, to assert, and each supported either 
 the one or the other as he could. I had 
 never had experience of a similar scene, 
 and knew not how I should find myself 
 adapted for the combat. My imagination 
 sparkled, and my blood tingled, at the 
 thought of it. But I did not shrink. 1 felt 
 that I was at the age for experiments; and 
 I did not find myself willing to pass through 
 the scene of existence inglorious, without 
 once having asserted myself, or dared to 
 mix among my equals. 
 
196 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 I only suggested one condition, at the 
 price of which I was willing to yield with- 
 out a repining word, to my uncle's decision ; 
 this was, that I might first be permitted to 
 spend a few days on a visit to Henrietta. 
 My request was immediately granted. The 
 place of her residence was in the New Forest, 
 not far from the Southampton Water. It is 
 not possible to conceive any thing more 
 beautiful than the surrounding scenery. 
 To me, who had been accustomed for years 
 to look only on sands and morasses, and 
 all that was dreary and neglected, it was 
 transporting. 
 
 I entered the New Forest by way of Ly- 
 mington, and penetrated to Beaulieu. It 
 was in the neighbourhood of this charming 
 village that my sister resided. The whole 
 of the ride, which was of nine miles in ex- 
 tent, was exquisitely beautiful. It was a 
 lovely evening towards the latter end of 
 summer; and the recollection of the purpose 
 of my journey was scarcely necessary to 
 
MANDEVILLE. 197 
 
 heighten the dehght of the senses, though 
 that certainly bestowed upon it an addition- 
 al zest. The country was hixuriant, and 
 richly covered with wood. Through a 
 great part of the way, the road lay among a 
 thousand venerable trees, that seemed for 
 ages to have defied the rage of the element.^ 
 and whose branches were barely sufficiently 
 apart to afford an opening, amidst multi- 
 plied meanders, for the traveller to pass. 
 Sometimes however a rising ground over 
 which the road conducted me, opened a 
 more extensive prospect, and I viewed the 
 Isle of Wight, with its fields, its towns, and 
 its variegated scenery, and the arm of the 
 sea which flowed between, and divided me 
 from this seeming terrestrial paradise. The 
 stilness and silence of Sowley Water, a fresh- 
 water lake by the margin of which my road 
 partly conducted me, agreeably contrasted 
 with the eternal mobility, and never end- 
 ing murmur, of the majestic tide beyond. 
 Further on, a considerable extent of ruins 
 
iQB MANDEVILLE. 
 
 presented itself, known by the name of 
 Beaulieu Grange, which formerly afforded 
 residence to the cultivators, and storehouses 
 for the produce, that belonged to the monks 
 of Beaulieu Abbey. One wall in particu- 
 lar, eighty feet in width, and of proportion- 
 able height, appeared to have formed the 
 gable end of a vast barn, and was now 
 mantled v/ilh ivy in vast profusion, the 
 clusters of which depended thick and wide 
 from the edifice which formed their sup- 
 port. At length I discovered the village 
 upon the banks of a romantic stream, which 
 owes its name to the beauty of its situation. 
 My sister lived with a family of the 
 name of Willis. The husband had been in 
 the sea-service, but having sustained con- 
 siderable injury from an accident, became a 
 cripple for life, and had retired on a small 
 pension. The wife had been a school- 
 fellow of my mother's, was a very notable 
 woman, possessed various accomplishments, 
 and was eminent for her intellectual powers. 
 
MANDEVILLE, 199 
 
 She had however been a girl of no fortune, 
 and was considered as having married be- 
 neath her pretensions. The friendship that 
 had begun between my mother and her at 
 school, had continued through life ; Mrs 
 Willis had paid us a visit in the summer 
 immediately preceding the Irish rebellion, 
 and having conceived a romantic affection 
 for the little Henrietta, and having no chil- 
 dren of her own, had prevailed on my mo- 
 ther, to allow her to take the child over to 
 England with her on her return. It was 
 probably owing to this circumstance that I 
 now had a sister. After the dreadful convul- 
 sion in which my father and mother perished, 
 my uncle Audley Mandeville, as the repre- 
 sentative of the family, had taken their chil- 
 dren into his protection, and myself having 
 been received under his roof, he paid a 
 handsome pension to Mrs Willis for the 
 maintenance and education of Henrietta. 
 The cottage in which the Willises resid- 
 \ ed was the most beautiful I had seen, in the 
 
200 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 whole course of my excursion. It was or- 
 namented throughout by the taste and ma- 
 nual ingenuity of its mistress; and nothing 
 could be more lively and agreeable than the 
 whole of its finishing and furniture. It 
 struck me like a tenement in fairy -land. Of 
 one room the walls were entirely covered 
 with feather- work ; the soft plumage of 
 the swan, the partridge, the goldfinch, and 
 the bullfinch, being interspersed with the 
 master-feathers of the peacock, the ostrich, 
 and the pheasant, so as to compose a thou- 
 sand ingenious figures, with the softest and 
 the most brilliant tints, that nature in all her 
 prodigality ever engendered. The disabled 
 sailor, though his accident had unfitted him 
 for strong and athletic exertions, was fully 
 capable of amusing himself in his own 
 petty domain, and under the instructions 
 and superintendence of his wife, had be- 
 come an admirable gardener. The par- 
 terres, the arbours, and the little orchard, 
 appended to his cottage, exhibited every 
 
MANDEVILLE. 201 
 
 kind of beauty and rustic wealth of which 
 such a domain was susceptible. The gar- 
 den was terminated on the bank of the 
 Beaulieu river ; and here Mrs WilHs had 
 erected a grotto of several compartments, 
 cool, shady, and refreshing, a most agree- 
 able retreat from the meridian heat of an 
 August sun, lined with many-coloured spars 
 in a thousand fantastic forms, which spark- 
 led like a mighty assemblage of jewels and 
 diamonds. 
 
 The reader must not suppose however 
 that all this splendour in any degree de- 
 praved and stained the character of simpli- 
 city, which so well accorded with this ob- 
 scure and solitary retreat. The wealth I 
 observed around me, was nature*s wealth, 
 uncorrupted by the hand of man, not 
 bought with the tears, and groans, and blood 
 of a hundred miserable victims, as cheap 
 and ordinary in its materials, as it was 
 beautiful from the elegance and taste of the 
 hand that had arranged it. The trees were 
 I 2 
 
20^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 unshorn ; the walks were neither straight, 
 nor forced into strange serpentizing involu- 
 tions, but simply accommodated themselves 
 to the inequalities of the surface. Every 
 thing was tended with an exquisite neat- 
 ness ; yet the hand of art never protruded 
 itself, but was employed with that modesty 
 which so well becomes it, as the silent and 
 observant hand-maid of nature. The poul- 
 try-yard was well stocked with fowls of 
 various sorts ; and whichever way I looked, 
 all appeared clean, healthful, blithsome, and 
 contented. 
 
 My soul was harmonized to almost para- 
 disaical joy, as I alighted at the door of the 
 cottage. To have seen my sister, whom I 
 so entirely loved, would have been to me a 
 happiness, ample and overpowering. But 
 I could not be insensible to the quiet con- 
 tentment, the cheerful tone, and the alacri- 
 ty of kindness, of Beaulieu Cottage, so op- 
 posite to every thing I could remember to 
 have seen. Here every thing seemed to 
 
MANDEVILLE. 203 
 
 rejoice in the mere feeling of existence ; 
 there (at Mandeville House) all was formal 
 and slow; and you would have thought they 
 continued to live, from mere apprehension in 
 lifting the latch of the door which dismisses 
 man from this mortal stage, or want of that 
 energy necessary to the individual who shall 
 resolve to die. AVhat I saw gave me a new 
 existence; my blood circulated with a brisker 
 flow ; my eyes sparkled ; my cheeks glowed; 
 and I felt as if this were the first day in which 
 I had known what it was to be truly alive. 
 Not that I had not experienced mighty 
 pleasures in my rambles and reveries during 
 the life of my preceptor ; but they were of 
 so different a nature ! They were solemn ; 
 they were even sublime ; but they were 
 deeply steeped in, or rather entirely pene- 
 trated with, melancholy. What 1 now felt, 
 appeared to be similar to the sensations 
 that might have been habitual to all man- 
 kind, if Adam had never fallen, and if the 
 human species had universally retained the 
 
^04i MANDEVILLE. 
 
 innocence in which they were originally 
 created. 
 
 Mrs Willis was a perfect royalist. Not 
 that she was much accessible to the angry, 
 and not at all to the malignant passions. But 
 lovalty to her was of the same nature and 
 substance, as her religion. She had learned 
 both from her father and grandmother, and 
 she would have felt it like sacrilege to call 
 either in question. She felt that neither of 
 them produced in her any but the best 
 feelings ; and as she stood in need of a God 
 to look up to in Heaven, so it was a solace 
 to her mind to think of the king, as the 
 protector and compassionate father of his 
 people. The saint-like simplicity of Charles 
 the First (at least as she read his character), 
 and the exemplary purity of his domestic 
 morals, particularly fitted him to till the 
 place in the scale of being, which her ima- 
 gination had previously provided for him : 
 and Mrs Willis had in one instance been 
 deeply implicated in a contrivance to free 
 
MANDEVILLE. 205 
 
 him from his imprisonment in the Isle of 
 Wight. 
 
 The understanding, the accomplishments, 
 and the principles of this admirable matron, 
 all of them strongly recommended her to 
 the acquaintance and friendship of thie loyal 
 nobility of these times. Lord Montagu of 
 Bonghton was her nearest distinguished 
 neighbour ; and though his more splendid 
 and magnificent residence was in North- 
 amptonshire, yet he spent a few months of 
 every year at his rustic mansion of Beau- 
 lieu. The elder Lord Montagu, by no means 
 a public character, was however reported 
 to have expressed himself in terms of so 
 strong censure of the proceedings of the 
 parliament, as induced them to issue an or- 
 der that he should be brought up a prisoner 
 from Northamptonshire, though already 
 eighty years of age, and committed to the 
 Savoy in London. As he was on the road 
 near Barnet, he chanced to meet the Earl 
 of Essex, commander in chief of the parlia- 
 
206 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 mentary forces, who was newly setting for- 
 ward on his expedition, and who expressed 
 a wish to pay his respects to this venerable 
 character; but Lord Montagu, understand- 
 ing who it was that approached, roughly or- 
 dered his coachman to drive on, with the bit- 
 ter remark, that " this was no time for com- 
 pliments!*' The elder Lord Montagu died in 
 confinement in 1644 : and the present lord, 
 who lived entirely retired from public af- 
 fairs, was principally distinguished for the 
 beauty, the promising character, and high 
 expectations men formed, of his children. 
 Lady Montagu, daughter to Sir Ralph 
 Winwood, formerly secretary of state, was 
 Mrs AVillis's most intimate and particular 
 friend. 
 
 This, and other siaiilar connections of 
 the mistress of Beaulieu Cottage, were of 
 the greatest service to Henrietta. She was 
 not like me, a wild and undisciplined savage, 
 with that mixture of timidity and spirit that 
 is to be found in an unbroken colt 3 but, be- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 207 
 
 ing accustomed to the best and most polish- 
 ed society, was herself, in proportion to her 
 years, a pattern of whatever was most per- 
 fect in that kind. Yet, as I have already 
 shown, the cultivation she had received was 
 for from having converted her into a courtly 
 automaton. She expressed herself with the 
 greatest ease 5 her sentiments were unpar- 
 rotted and unstudied ^ and they were utter- 
 ed by her with the utmost gaiety, grace and 
 unreserve. 
 
 One part of the scenery at Beaulieu I 
 have not yet mentioned : the ruins of the 
 Abbey. Several portions of this formerly 
 immense structure, were still applied to use- 
 ful purposes ; what had been the refectory, 
 was now the parish-church ; and the house 
 of the prior was still a dwelHng-house, te- 
 nanted by one of the best families of the 
 vicinity. These circumstances took away 
 the feeling of desolation, which usually ac- 
 companies a heap of ruins ; and the recol- 
 lection of the devotion, the habits, and the 
 
208 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 vast undertakings of past ages, was plea- 
 singly mingled with the neatness, the ac- 
 tivity, and the civilization, that continued to 
 occupy the scene. Thus, whether I sat in 
 the well-economized apartments of Mrs 
 Willis's house, or wandered amidst the 
 hanging woods which cast their brown and 
 solemn shadows upon the expanded stream 
 beneath, or reposed among the ruins them- 
 selves, every thing was soothing and agree- 
 able, and strikingly addressed itself to the 
 better and more beneficent passions of the 
 soul. 
 
 My visit to my sister and her protectress 
 was short ; but it has often occurred to me 
 since, to imagine what a different being I 
 should have been, if it had been my lot to 
 have been brought up at Beaulieu Cottage, 
 instead of at Mandeville House. As it was, 
 I belonged to no one ; T hung loose upon 
 society, or rather had never entered into 
 its circumference ; never, except in one in- 
 stance, and that for a very short time, had 
 
MANDEVILLK. 209 
 
 I seen a friend, a creature that irresis- 
 tibly called forth my sympathies and my 
 confidence. I ran wild in the woods ; I told 
 no tale ; 1 utlered no sound that partook of 
 equal communication ; every thought I har- 
 boured in my soul, was a reverie ; every 
 passion was a monopoly, and fied from part- 
 nership, as from a pestilence. Oh, had I 
 spent my earlv years at Beaulieu, had I 
 passed a part of every day with Mrs Willis, 
 a woman whose every word was a spark de- 
 tached from the storehouse of wisdom, whose 
 every look was benevolence, who had that 
 grace for ever attending her, that won your 
 confidence, and with an irresistible power 
 drew forth your soul, — had I lived with my 
 Henrietta, had I associated with the noble 
 scions of the house of Montagu, and the re- 
 spectable family that dwelt at the priory, 
 I also should have been a human creature, 
 Ishould have been the member of a com- 
 munity, I should have lived with my fellow 
 mortals on peaceful terms, I should have 
 
210 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 been as frank, as I now was invincibly re- 
 served, suspicious, and for ever disposed to 
 regard my neighbour with thoughts of hos- 
 tility ! I should then have been amiable ; 
 and I should have been happy ! "But my 
 fate was determined, and my character was 
 fixed. The effects of living under such a 
 master of a houshold as ujy uncle, with 
 such a preceptor as Mr Bradford, and in 
 the midst of such an establishment as that 
 of Mandeville House, v/ill never be obli- 
 terated, as long as one thought exists within 
 this brain, and one pulse beats within my 
 frame of man. 
 
 I passed an entire week at Beaulieu ; and, 
 if I had passed an eternity, it would have 
 seemed like a single day. Every thing I 
 saw was amiable ; and I threw myself with- 
 out apprehension into the arms of every one 
 I met. Every thing I saw was frank, and 
 easy, and communicative, and sensitive, and 
 sympathetic. It was like the society of 
 "just men made perfect/' where all sought 
 
MANDEVILLE. 211 
 
 the good of all, and no one lived for himself, 
 or studied for himself. Mr Willis, the owner 
 of the cottage, had been bred, as I have 
 said, to the sea-service : but he retained 
 nothing of his original profession but its in- 
 genuous, unvarnished manners, and a blunt- 
 ness, in no way connected with indifference 
 to another's feelings or another's happiness, 
 but that served only to convey in a more 
 unequivocal manner the truth of his bene- 
 volence. Ke had been instructed by his 
 wife ; c!nd, as he regarded her with a love 
 approaching to adoration, he was in some 
 sense a copy of this exemplary matron, with 
 inferior intellects, and whimsically qualified 
 and dashed with the phraseology and gait 
 of an English sailor. His very lameness 
 seemed to give him an additional interest 
 with the spectator : the goodness of his 
 heart blended, in a way 1 am not able to 
 describe, with his infirmity; and you loved 
 him the more, because he was feeble and 
 helpless, and joined the sentiment of a true 
 
212 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 philanthropy, with an apparent want of 
 power, as well as of will, to do you harm. 
 
 The Montagus were at Beaulieu the 
 whole time of my visit ; and the two sons 
 of Lord Montagu in particular seemed to 
 me a perfect specimen of all that is most 
 admirable in character, and most engaging 
 and excellent in boyish years. Edward was 
 particularly praised for the beauty of his 
 person, the united lire and sweetness of his 
 disposition, and the gallantry of his temper. 
 He contributed afterwards in an eminent 
 degree to the bringing about the Restora- 
 tion, and was slain, at twenty-five years of 
 age, in the attack on the Dutch East India 
 ships in the port of Bergen in Norway, un- 
 der his kinsman, the Earl of Sandwich. 
 Ralph, the younger brother, was a no less 
 perfect creature, but of a different cast. 
 AVhile Edward was all fire and activity, 
 with an arch, yet affectionate smile for ever 
 coming and going on his lovely features, 
 while he played, and danced, and fenced, 
 
MANDEVILLE. 213 
 
 and rode, like a creature that never knew 
 satiety or taiii^Mie, Ralph was sober, calm 
 and reported, equable in temper, but more 
 proi»e tf) med'tJlion and study and the gra- 
 tification o( a liberal curiosity, than to the 
 exercises of the field. 
 
 But it is in vain that I dvvell on the Wil- 
 lises and the Montagus. These amused 
 me for a moment, and produced a tempo- 
 rary improvement to my temper. But 
 Henrietta was the whole world to me. In 
 every thing I thought of her approbation j 
 and I resolved to accomplish myself in 
 whatever was praise-worthy, because 1 felt 
 that she was capable of being my umpire 
 and my judge. I knew that she would be 
 a friendly and a partial judge ; but I was re- 
 solved against the interterence of partiality ; 
 I lixed it as my purpose to satisfy her most 
 enlightened discernment. Henrietta was the 
 universal subject of eulogy to all that knew 
 her ; the daughters of the hous^of Montagu 
 yielded her the superiority without a repin- 
 
214 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 ing thought. Her gaiety was more irresis- 
 tible, her naivete more touching, her car- 
 riage more graceful, than that of any of her 
 companions. She sung with a more thrilling 
 and heart-felt tone, and danced with a more 
 sylphlike and etherial air. What should I 
 do to make myself the worthy mate of such 
 a sister, was therefore the perpetual burthen 
 of my thoughts. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 2J15 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 From Beaulieu I proceeded to Win- 
 chester. This was a scene no less new to 
 me ; but how different from that which I 
 had just quitted ! Dr Pottinger, the head- 
 master, had been the acquaintance and fel- 
 low-collegiate of Mr Bradford. He felt 
 therefore some respect for me on that ac- 
 count ; but still more perhaps because I 
 wasthesolepresumptiveheir tothe property 
 of Mandeville. He examined me in my 
 progress ; he assigned me a class, and pro- 
 vided me with the implements of study. 
 The school-room was a spacious and lofty 
 building, and I looked round me, astonish- 
 
216 MANDRVILLE. 
 
 ed at every thino I saw. 'J'he piij>ils were 
 about one hundn d and fifty ; and never in 
 my life h,id 1 see so numerous an assem- 
 bly. But this was not an assembly, thrown 
 together promiscuously and for a moment ; 
 but an assembly (subject to those changes 
 incident to all human societies), with which 
 I was to associate, with few interruptions, 
 for several years to come. Some of the 
 boys had already reached the full stature 
 of manhood ; and others were so young, 
 that they seemed to hold their books with 
 a faltering and uncertain hand, and rather 
 to lisp, than articulately to pronounce, the 
 inflections of their accidence. I also ad- 
 mired the garb of the scholars on the foun- 
 dation, who wore black gowns of crape, 
 and, when they went out into the air, 
 placed upon their heads trencher-caps, 
 like those belonging to the students in the 
 universities. 
 
 This was indeed a busy scene. The 
 murmuring labours of the boys, proceeding, 
 
MANDEVILLE. 217 
 
 as it did, from the half-closed lips of one 
 hundred and fifty human creatures, produ- 
 ced a united sound, low, monotonous, in- 
 distinct and perpetual, unlike every other 
 sound, but more resembling the rustling of 
 the waves under the dominion of a mode- 
 rate breeze, than any thing else to which 1 
 can compare it. The loud, authoritative, 
 stentor voice of the master, in its suddi n 
 impulses, made me start again, till practice 
 had accustomed me to this abrupt breach 
 of the ambient air. The character person- 
 ated by the director of a great school, if re- 
 ferred to the nature of man, is wholly arti- 
 ficial ; but in him it becomes in a short 
 time a second nature, which it is almost 
 impossible for him ever after to lay aside. 
 The withdrawing of the head-master at any 
 time, produced a sudden revolution ; and 
 the voices from every quarter became more 
 acute, with a stirring and lively note. The 
 government of a seminary of this sort is a 
 curious theme for meditation : its subjects 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
218 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 are for the most part the most elastic, wild 
 and thoughtless animals that can be con- 
 ceived ; yet they are governed, if you re- 
 gard external appearances only, much like 
 a machine ; the machinist has to touch a 
 spring only, and the whole is obedient. 
 
 After a few hours^ labour, the assembly 
 was dismissed. All care was then at an 
 end ; the signal was given for universal 
 thoughtlessness and hilarity. The elder 
 boys had an air of erectness, fearlessness 
 and independence, that you would have 
 thought they had never known restraint. 
 Eut, in reality, their gait and their air were 
 in part the growth of the restraint they 
 had passed through. They were prisoners, 
 dismissed indeed, but with some links of 
 the chain still adhering to them. Their 
 motions had not the ease and the grace of 
 a creature in the state of nature ; they had 
 a stamp of pertness and insolence and pe- 
 tulance, that said, We are servants, but 
 this is our Saturnalia. They had felt the 
 
MAXDEVILLK. 219 
 
 weight of the yoke upon their own necks ; 
 and they were resolved to retaliate their 
 sufferings at the expence of the first vic- 
 tim they met. Thus they played alter- 
 nately, from hour to hour, the parts of the 
 despot and the subject, the commanded 
 and the commander. 
 
 I, as a new comer, was exposed to a 
 thousand ridiculous questions. The in- 
 quiries were wanton, and the inquirers had 
 small care of the answers they received. 
 All that I experienced in this sort was fro- 
 licsome ; it had little consideration for the 
 feelings of the person to whom it was ad- 
 dressed ; but I must on the other hand 
 confess, that it had little in it of malice or 
 deliberate cruelty. 
 
 Many readers will consider the detail I 
 have here given as frivolous and common- 
 place. Who has not had experience of the 
 interior of a numerous school ? The propo- 
 sition however insinuated in this question, 
 is not true. One half of the human spe- 
 
220 MANDEVILLK. 
 
 cies (the female sex), to which I may add 
 a considerable portion of the other, have 
 had no opportunity of experiencing what I 
 have described. But it is not for that rea- 
 son that it is introduced here. It is the 
 express purpose of the narrative in which 
 I am engaged, to show how the concur- 
 rence of a variety of causes operate to form 
 a character : and if 1 were to omit any cir- 
 cumstance that possessed a very strong in- 
 fluence on my mind, the person into whose 
 hands this story may haj)j)en to fall, would 
 have an imperfect picture of the man who 
 is set before him, and would want some of 
 the particulars necessary to the develope- 
 ment of the tale. 
 
 Another circumstance made a very es- 
 sential part of the scene into which 1 was 
 now introduced. I was entered a student 
 of Winchester College in August 1650. 
 Parties at this time ran very high in the 
 English nation ; nor was the society of which 
 I was now a member without its share of 
 
MANDBVILLE. 221 
 
 this spirit. A year and a half before this 
 period King Charles had passed through 
 Winchester in his journeNS as he was con- 
 ducted from Hurst Castle to London for 
 his trial. In this ancient city in particular, 
 he had been received with great respect ; 
 the mayor and aldermen had waited upon 
 him in form, as if this had been the period 
 of his highest prosperity, to present him 
 with the keys of the town ; and the neigh- 
 bouring gentry had flocked from all sides 
 to welcom.e him, some out of curiosity to 
 see him, but more out of zeal, either from 
 original affection to his person, or compas- 
 sion for the low estate into which he was 
 fallen. This was a memorable period at 
 Winchester school. The boys had asked 
 and obtained permission to become specta- 
 tors of the scene. And the melancholy ca- 
 tastrophe that so shortly after followed, 
 caused the whole to make an indelible im- 
 pression on their memory. People had 
 but a confused idea why the king was 
 
^22 MANDEVILLE^ 
 
 conducted to London on the present occa- 
 sion. It was sufficiently known, that the 
 power was at this time in the hands of his 
 bitterest enemies. But so many negocia* 
 tions had been entered into by all parties 
 in turii;, for his being restored with a limited 
 power, that no one, out of the secret, could 
 prevail upon himself to look upon him as 
 any other than the king. It was therefore 
 with astonishment and terror, that they 
 heard of his being brought to the block ; 
 .and it was with effort, and by dint of medi- 
 tation, so to express myself, that they could 
 be induced to believe the news. Mankind 
 is so weak an animal, that they cannot be 
 prevented from looking upon a king as a 
 species of god ; comets appear in the hea- 
 vens to illustrate his birth, and the world 
 labours with tempests and earthquakes 
 ■when a monarch dies; that violence should 
 be exercised on his person, that he should 
 be imprisoned and put to death, is a thought 
 to which the vulgar imagination can never 
 
MANDEVILLE. S23 
 
 reconcile itself; and when such a profana- 
 tion is actually committed, men feel as if a 
 violation was perpetrated on our general 
 nature, that they were " themselves amiss, 
 and did not know it/' and that the " foun- 
 tain of their blood, *^ the source from which 
 they derived their existence, was "stop- 
 ped." 
 
 There was not I believe one boy in Win- 
 chester school that was not a royalist. By 
 this I mean no more, than that we all felt 
 indignant at the fate of Charles the First, 
 and were friends to the house of Stuart. 
 It was otherwise with public sentiment, 
 even in that class of society to which we 
 for the most part belonged, some few years 
 afterwards. Men are commonly governed, 
 even in the opinions they shall entertain, 
 by feeling and imagination. In this re- 
 spect the fate of King Charles took strong 
 hold on the mind. He was a tyrant ; he 
 had no consideration for any human being, 
 beyond the circle of his own family, and a 
 
^24 MAKDEVILLir. 
 
 few personal connections to whom he was 
 partial. Meanwhile, the decorum of his 
 manners, the equability of his temper, his 
 apparent mildness and resignation, totally 
 free as they seemed from the least imputa- 
 tion of cowardice, were qualities that ex- 
 actly fitted him to be the hero of a cavalier 
 or a woman. But the recollection of the 
 last scenes of the life of this unfortunate 
 monarch gradually faded from the mind ; 
 and the successes of the republic, and stiil 
 more the splendid character of Cromwel, 
 as a statesman, and a firm assertor of the 
 honour of his country, subsequently ba- 
 lanced the feeling I speak of, and seemed 
 hastening to obliterate that popular senti- 
 ment of loyalty, of which a few continued 
 to be proud. Cromwel appeared to be a 
 monarch of Nature's own appointing ; no 
 one that ever wore a crown, knew better 
 how to speak the language, that became the 
 representative of a mighty nation. It was 
 at the time to which I allude, that Cowley 
 
MANDEVILLE. 225 
 
 wrote his celebrated Preface, disclaiming 
 all opposition to the government establish- 
 ed. The death of Cromwel however 
 in the flower of his age, which speedily 
 followed, and perhaps some untoward cir- 
 cumstances that occurred in the conten- 
 tion of the representative system and the 
 protectoral power, overturned to the very 
 foundation that fabric of government which 
 he had so ably begun to erect. 
 
 There was not a boy in Winchester 
 school that was not a royalist. Yet poli- 
 tical party ran very high among us; and 
 the contention between opposite sentiments 
 was animated and fierce. The master was 
 a presbyterian. The civic sentiments of 
 the presbyterians are well known. They 
 were the original stirrers of the war between 
 the king and the parliament. They were 
 indignant against the acts of arbitrary 
 power and cruelty, by which the king and 
 his ministers seemed to intend to break 
 the spirit of their opponents. Their lead- 
 
226 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 ers were deeply studied in the theory of 
 government, and had firmly resolved to 
 place the privileges of parliament, and the 
 rights of the people, on an immoveable 
 basis. In the early part of the war they 
 ran a splendid career. But they were in 
 the sequel outwitted by the independents. 
 Cromwel and his cabal, with infinite dex- 
 terity and address, finally engrossed all 
 power in their own hands. 
 
 From this time the purpose of the cava- 
 liers and the Presbyterians became nomi- 
 nally the same, the restoration of the mo- 
 narchy in the family of Stuart. But the 
 nearer they drew to a seeming agreement, 
 the greater was their fundamental antipa- 
 thy to each other ; at least it was so with- 
 in the walls of our college. The cavaliers 
 devoutly aspired to the object for which 
 they had fought in the beginning, the esta- 
 blishment of the monarchy, unshorn of its 
 beams, and invested with all the preroga- 
 tives of an eastern sultan. They scorned 
 
 4 
 
MANDEVILLE. 227 
 
 to take less than that, for which they had 
 contended in the field, and bled on the 
 scaffold. The Presbyterian on the other 
 hand, true to his original principles, aimed 
 at the establishment of a constitutional 
 monarchy, without any other alteration, 
 than what should consist in clearly defin- 
 ing those public rights, which naturally 
 grew out of the feudal system when ac- 
 commodated to the changes that had arisen 
 in the order of society, which had been 
 with no equivocal voice asserted under 
 the house of Lancaster, and the sentiments 
 of which had been strongly inforced by the 
 event of the Reformation. 
 
 It is astonishing with what abhorrence 
 and contempt the cavaliers at this time 
 regarded their new allies. They charged 
 them with being the first authors of all the 
 calamities that followed, and held them as 
 more criminal than the independents, who 
 had merely stepped into the scene which 
 the others had begun, and conducted it to 
 
228 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 its natural conclusion. They spoke with 
 the utmost asperity of those, who had first 
 drawn their swords against the king, and 
 then pretended to be his hiends. The 
 tears which the Presbyterians affected to 
 shed for the catastrophe of Charles, they 
 compared to the tears of the crocodile, 
 which are said to overflow wnth every 
 demonstration of tenderness, while the heart 
 of the animal is remorselessly bent upon 
 cruelty and blood. The Presbyterians on 
 the other hand, as no party is wanting in 
 common-places for setting their own con- 
 duct in the fairest point of view, regarded 
 the cavaliers, as unnatural children to their 
 mother-country, as men who, when every 
 privilege to the inheritance of which they 
 were born was trampled on, and when the 
 sagest and gravest plans were put forward 
 for preserving their birth-rights, yet abetted 
 the tyrant, and drew their swords to put 
 dowa the cause of freedom. Such men, 
 they held, were a curse to their brethren, 
 
xMANDEVILLE. 5^29 
 
 and by their own admission deserved to be 
 slaves. In addition to this, they were per- 
 suaded that the cause of popery and slavery 
 were intioiately united. The cavaliers 
 therefore were a party, who were willing 
 to barter away that sacred freedonn in mat- 
 ters of religion, for the assertion of which 
 so many of their ancestors had died at the 
 stake, — to return to ihe flesh-pots of Egypt, 
 and tamely to receive " the mark of the 
 beast in their foreheads.*' The Presbyteri- 
 ans, according to tlieir own account, had 
 embraced that middle and temperate course, 
 which best became the character of English- 
 men, steering alike clear of that self-aban- 
 donment and sycophancy which marked 
 the cavaliers, and the extreme, equally 
 worthy to be abhorred, of republicanism. 
 And they would easily have succeeded in 
 their generous plan, had not the senseless 
 and self'destroying measures pu)sued by 
 the cavaliers afforded scope to the artifice 
 and conspiracy of the independents. But 
 
230 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 the wisdom of the measures of the Presby- 
 terians, was not to be judged of by a mo- 
 mentary failure : they had not indeed 
 been crowned with success; but they had 
 merited it. The system upon which they 
 had acted was alone worthy of Englishmen, 
 and must finally prevail. — It will presently 
 be seen in what way these political discus- 
 sions influenced my fate in Winchester 
 College. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 I NO sooner became a personage in this 
 moving and busy scene, than among all 
 my school-fellows one individual instantly 
 fixed my attention and observation. His 
 name was Clifford. To me, who had seen 
 so little of the varieties of human charac- 
 ter, he was an extraordinary creature in- 
 deed. He seemed both to attract all eyes, 
 and to win all hearts. There was some- 
 thing in him perfectly fascinating and ir- 
 resistible. His countenance was beautiful, 
 and his figure was airy. The bloom of 
 health revelled in his cheeks. There was 
 a vivacity in his eye, and an inexpressible 
 
232 MANDEVILLIi:. 
 
 and thrilling charm in the tone of his voice, 
 that appeared more than human. His gaiety 
 was never-ceasing and eternal ; and it was 
 sustained by such lively fancies, such 
 whimsical and unexpected sallies, and so 
 inexhaustible a wit, that 
 
 The air, a chartered libertine, was still ; 
 And the mute wonder lurked in men's ears, 
 To steal his sweet and honied sentences. 
 
 For a short time envy itself was disarm- 
 ed; and I, like the rest, admired a specta- 
 cle, so new to me, and so beautiful in itself j 
 that I was wrapt in self-oblivion, and pos- 
 sessed no faculties, but an eye to remark 
 his graces, and an ear to drink in every 
 sound he uttered. The iihision lasted for 
 days, and I returned to the feast with an 
 appetite that seemed as if it would never 
 be sated. 
 
 But this was a brief intoxication. The 
 solemn tone of my true character speedily 
 
MANDEVILLE. ^33 
 
 retained to me ; and, though for a time I 
 relished the vein of Clifford with a genuine 
 zest, it was in the main too ahen from the 
 settled temper of my mind, for it to be 
 possible i bhould enjoy it long. It held 
 me in an unnatural state of feeling; and 
 my thoughts soon fell back to the train to 
 which they had been accustomed. My 
 rooted habits were those of reflection, 
 silence, and reverie. To follow, as I had 
 done at first, th^ brilliant sparklings of 
 Clifford's wit, had an effect upon me simi- 
 lar to that produced by the rattling pro- 
 gress of a vehicle at full speed. It made my 
 brain giddy, and my head ache, with its vio- 
 lence. And, when I looked back upon the 
 pleasure I had for a time enjoyed, I scorned 
 or imagined I scorned, the cause that pro- 
 duced it. Was man made for no higher a 
 purpose, than to laugh, be amused, and 
 wonder at the jugglings and dexterities of 
 another's wit? — I did Clifford injustice. 
 His wit was rational ; and his most sportive 
 
234 MANDEVILLE, 
 
 sallies were worthy to abide the test of 
 examination, and were pregnant with dis- 
 crimination and good sense. 
 
 I have called the feelings, which thus at 
 second thoughts arose in my mind, by the 
 name of envy. The root of my sentiment 
 however was a sort of moral disapprobation. 
 I considered Clifford as a kind of mounte- 
 bank, debauching the character of his 
 equals, and destroying that sobriety and 
 concentration of soul, without which there 
 can be no considerable virtue. I looked 
 into myself, and was conceited enough to 
 imagine, that I was a better sample of our 
 general nature than he. I felt therefore, 
 that much false judgment was made, and 
 much injustice committed. I sat silent 
 and obscure in my nook, and was silly 
 enough to be angry, that the common route 
 of my schoolfellows crowded round Clif- 
 ford, and neglected me. W any one de- 
 sired to be amused, to whom did he ever 
 think of resorting to gratify that desire. 
 
MANDEVILLE. ^35 
 
 but to ClifFord ? If any one wished to be 
 directed in his choice of amusements, or to 
 obtain a just solution of any of those knotty 
 points that are the subject of a school-boy's 
 noisy controversies, still ClifFord was the 
 only person that was thought of. If the 
 business was to get some crabbed passage 
 in a lesson explained, or even to have an 
 exercise performed for some boy who was 
 too lazy or too dull to achieve it himself, 
 ClifFord was sure to be the resource and 
 the oracle. The talents of Clifford were 
 equally adapted for every thing that was 
 required of him ; and his good-nature and 
 kindness did not fall short of his talents. 
 His wit was sportive and good-humoured ; 
 and it was an unknown thing for him wil- 
 lingly to give pain to a human creature. 
 
 There was another boy in the school, 
 
 whose name was Mallison. He was very 
 
 unlike Clifford, and yet he was perpetual- 
 
 lly found in his train. He was of a dark, 
 
 i sallow complexion. It was Cliftbrd*s foible 
 
9.3G MANDEVILLE. 
 
 to be too fond ofamusiiig others and him- 
 self, and to say things surprising and un- 
 expected, yet always, as 1 have observed, 
 with the most innocent intentions, and 
 without the most distant thought of wound- 
 ing or humbhng another. Mallison, on 
 the other hand, Imd a singular gratification 
 in seeing his fellows writhe with mental 
 pain. His conduct was something like 
 what 1 have heard related of a village-sa- 
 tirist, who in reading the Whole Duty of 
 Man, found means to turn that upright 
 and honourable work into a collection of 
 libels, by writing in the margin of the dif- 
 ferent vices, prodigality, avarice, extortion, 
 cruelty, lying, lewdness, which the author 
 innocently declaims against, the names of 
 different persons, his neighbours and fel- 
 low-parishioners. Just so, Mallison pos- 
 sessed the art to turn the careless and 
 good-humoured effusions of Clifford into 
 lampoons, and the devilish chymistry, from 
 honey itself to extract a poison. — I will 
 give some instances of this, 
 
MANDEVILLE. 237 
 
 Clifford, though desccMided of a noble 
 family, was immediately of a very im- 
 poverished branch of that family. The 
 marriage of his father and mother was entire- 
 ly a mirria^e of love. She had been extreme- 
 ly beautiful ; but she brought no portion 
 to her hus:-and. He had entered a volun- 
 teer into the king's service at tue beginning 
 of ti.e civil wars, and was among the slain 
 in the first batlle, of Kdgehill near Keinton 
 iji Warwickshire. His widow was left 
 with this (>ne son, totally destitute of pro- 
 vision, either for his education, or her own 
 subsistence. Sucli was her affection for 
 her husband, and her tender regard for this 
 his only child, that she could never be pre- 
 vailed upon again to enter into the ties of 
 wedlock. In more prosperous times, no 
 doubt, some stipend would have been as- 
 signed for the widow and child of a gentle- 
 man-adventurer, who had fallen fighting 
 for his king. But amidst the public dis- 
 asters of her country, she had been much 
 
238 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 overlooked ; and almost the only thing 
 done for her, was the obtaining a nomina- 
 tion for her son upon the foundation of 
 Winchester College. 
 
 The situation therefore of this wonder 
 and ornament of our establishment, was 
 what would have been vubarlv lelt as de- 
 pressing. But it was not so to Clifford. 
 He was in the midst of the sons of noble- 
 men, and wealthy knights and franklins. 
 His prospects and his expectations for the 
 years of maturity and manhood, were no- 
 thing. But his soul was elastic; and the 
 spring that kept all his thoughts in activity 
 and motion, was always working, and 
 never went down. How did he maintain 
 this incessant gaiety and carelessness ? 
 Not as a school-boy might be expected to 
 do, by the oblivious draught which the 
 sports of that period so readily supply. 
 No, he looked the enemy in the face, and 
 threw out a bold defiance to his host of 
 terrors. He wantoned with sorrow, and 
 
^MANDEVILLE. 239 
 
 laughed at those things which break the 
 hearts of many. 
 
 ** Well ;'* he would say ; *' I am des- 
 tined to be poor. And what is poverty ? As 
 Jong as my blood flows cheerily in my veins, 
 and a light heart dimples in my cheeks, I 
 shall be the truly enviable man. I know, 
 some vv^ill tell me, riches are the genuine 
 means of independence and liberty. But 
 it is all a cheat. The rich man is the only 
 slave. He cannot move without scores of 
 menials to attend him. He cannot dine 
 without twenty dishes before him. He 
 cannot sleep, but on thrice-driven beds of 
 down, 
 
 Under fringed canopies of costly state. 
 And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody. 
 
 He calls himself the master of all these, 
 and he is the slave of all. He cannot go 
 forth, and take the air, until his servants 
 please. He is at the men^y even of his 
 horses. If one of them meets with an ac- 
 
240 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 cidcnt, or is taken sick, the rich man is im- 
 mediately a prisoner, and at best must 
 wait till a relay of fresh horses is procured. 
 Upon what an accumulatisn of circum- 
 stances does the tranquillity of every day 
 of his life depend ! How is every climate 
 under Heaven searched and put under con- 
 tribution, before his slightest meal can be 
 supplied ! And, if the minutest of these 
 circumstances goes wrong, how is your 
 fancied god immediately turned into a 
 wretch ! How does he fret and frown, 
 and how in his peace of mind puffed away 
 by the weakest breeze ! Take my word 
 for it, the rich man is the veriest slave 
 that lives. 
 
 *' But does nature require all these things ? 
 No : a vvholsome crust of bread, and water 
 from the spring, give the freest health, and 
 the most elastic mind. He is the truly 
 independent man, that has the fewest 
 wants. He fears no change of fortune, 
 has no anxieties about the sufficiency of 
 
MANDFVILLE, 241 
 
 his income, the honesty of his dependents, 
 the strength of his locks and chests, the 
 security of goldsmiths, the uncertainty of 
 the elements, or the revolution of empires. 
 Every state and clime will supply him with 
 what he needs. Nor is he the slave of any 
 habits or indulgencies. What he had to- 
 day, he can dispense with to-morrow. He 
 can wake when others sleep, and eat at 
 whatever hour that the occasion offers to 
 him. He can rest as well in a cabin as a 
 palace, and as soundly, covered with his 
 cloke on the naked earth, as on beds of 
 sattin, and under canopies of velvet. 
 
 " This man is the only free man. He 
 starts from his flinty couch, and dresses 
 himself. No ceremony more ; and he is 
 ready to perform whatever his mind impels 
 him to do. He does not wait, till the train 
 is ready that is to accompany his march. 
 He is not subservient to any man's hu- 
 mour and caprice, and is not obliged to 
 calculate the ability or convenience of his 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
242 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 dependents, two conditions, from neither 
 of which the lordliest despot is exempt. 
 His legs are his footmen ; and his arms are 
 ever ready and prompt to perform all he 
 wishes. His eyes are his avant couriers^ 
 and make plain the road for him wherever 
 he desires to go. Fancy is his charioteer ; 
 and health, the best physician, maintains 
 the evenness of his spirits through every 
 stage of his journey. Appetite is his cook ; 
 and thirst his butler.. Of this miscellaneous 
 houshold he is thoroughly master, and has 
 all his passions under subjection. 
 
 " What a state is that of mortal man in 
 every civilized climate ! The earth sup- 
 plies us freely with her productions, and 
 industry multiplies them. These produc- 
 tions are then divided among the inhabi- 
 tants of the earth. But how divided? One 
 man gets the share of ten thousand, which 
 he wastes and dissipates in thoughtless 
 profusion, as far as he can, and then gives 
 away the remainder with niggard hand, to 
 
MANDEVILLE. 243 
 
 the pining and anxious wretches to whom 
 the whole was indebted for existence. I 
 have heard it said. If the rich man could 
 but know the miseries, the agonies of pain, 
 the anguish of heart, and the dreadful 
 paroxysms of despair, that are going on, 
 perhaps in the next poor street to that which 
 his lordly palace occupies, he would find 
 but little relish in his dainties. But I wish 
 that were the worst of it. He is not only 
 the neighbour of misery; but he is the 
 author of innumerable instances of it. 
 Every costly morsel that he eats, is mixed 
 with the tears and the curses of the poor by 
 whose labours it was procured. What 
 right have you to the share of ten thou- 
 sand ? Would I could muster up and 
 marshal the legion, by whose oppression 
 you are so delicately fed ! 
 
 If every just man, that now pines with want, 
 Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
 Of that which lewdly-pampered luxury 
 Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, 
 
244 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Nature's full blessings would be well dispensed 
 
 In unsuperfluous, even proportion, 
 
 And she no whit incumbered with her store. 
 
 For my part I am determined always to 
 live so, that 
 
 ny^tft No widow's curse cater a dish of mine ; 
 ^ '' I'll drink no tears of orphans in my wine. 
 
 *' And do you think my enjoyments will 
 be the fewer for that ? How senseless a 
 distinction is that which the world has 
 agreed to express by the word, property ! 
 When we go to an inn, do we enjoy our- 
 selves the less, because the walls were not 
 raised by our ancestors, and we are no one 
 of us the landlords of the house? On the 
 contrary, we regard the landlord as a la- 
 borious drudge, overwhelmed with business 
 and fatigue, that we may enjoy ourselves 
 at our ease. The landlord it is true he is ; 
 but 1, his guest, am the master of the house. 
 Can any truth be more self-evident, than 
 
MANDEVILLE. 245 
 
 that he that most perfectly enjoys a thing, 
 is the real possessor? Well then ; if I am 
 the guest of some noble lord, the proprietor, 
 as it is called, of a magnificent mansion, 
 who is the true possessor of the luxuries 
 that offer themselves to my acceptance? 
 Why I, the occupier, or the consumer. His 
 lordship is no more to me, than the land- 
 lord of an inn, the patentee of a play-house, 
 or the tenant on lease of a set of apartments 
 for concerts, balls, and masquerades. His 
 is the labouring oar; his business it is to 
 provide whatever may give me pleasure; 
 his is all the care, theanxiety and foresight; 
 that I may enjoy the whole without 
 troubling myself about the matter. 
 
 But I do not chuse to be his guest. I 
 like simple pleasures, better than luxurious 
 ones ; and I know that the landlord who 
 does not make me out a bill, may put an 
 end to my visit, not when I please, but 
 when he pleases. My lord's house is 
 completely decorated with costly furniture, 
 
246 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 and the galleries are adorned with land- 
 scapes, history-pieces and statues. I Hke 
 a plainer furniture better, and feel more at 
 my ease with it. My taste is so un in- 
 structed, that I have more pleasure from 
 a landscape of Nature's painting, than even 
 from those of Rubens or Claude. Fair 
 weather is the joy of my soul ; when the 
 sun bursts out in all its splendour, and 
 flings its radiance on the neighbouring hills, 
 my mind is tuned to rapture; and my 
 bosom is sweetly soothed, by the rosy 
 dashes of light, which so beautifully streak 
 the clouds in a summer's evening. When 
 I am lost in the leafy maze of trees in the 
 New Forest, I do not envy a minister of 
 state in the midst of his crowded levee. 
 And my heart decisively prefers to all the 
 brilliancy of a ball room, a serene ramble 
 in a fine night, with thousands of stars 
 sparkling over my head, that by my rule I 
 look upon as part of my possessions, not 
 without some indignation at the tasteless- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 24? 
 
 ness of mankind, who run the race of life 
 without once adverting to its real enjoy- 
 ments. * 
 
 " Another cursed thing which rises from 
 this inexhaustible source of evils, called 
 wealth, is that every man thrives by the 
 ruin of another, and that death, which 
 sweeps away all of us in our turn, and is 
 in contemplation one of the main stimu- 
 lants to love, and in approach one of the 
 greatest incitements to sympathy, is chang- 
 ed into an object of aspiration, and an oc- 
 casion of joy. Thank God, I am not the 
 son of a wealthy father ! If I were, I be- 
 lieve I should abhor my own soul every 
 morning that I rose. My father fell in the 
 battles of his king ; but my mother still 
 lives; and long and peaceful may her days 
 be upon earth ! Filial affection is one 
 of the purest of all sentiments ; and my 
 
 ♦ Guardian, No. 
 
248 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 father was one of the noblest creatures, 
 that God ever made to beautify his crea- 
 tion withal. But, if he were living, and 
 possessed ten thousand a-year, how am I 
 sure, that, as I grew up, and became 
 twenty, thirty, forty years of age, I should 
 not wickedly think that he had enjoyed 
 his property long enough, and that it was 
 time my turn was come? For ten thou- 
 sand worlds, I would not connect any 
 source of joy, or find any balance of good 
 with the sacred sorrows of a father's death- 
 bed! Oh, how treacherous is the human 
 soul, and how much selfishness insidiously 
 mingles itself with our kindest and most 
 generous feelings! And, if such were my 
 lot once, I must expect thereafter, that the 
 tables would be turned, and that, when 
 stooping in the vale of years, the lingering 
 of my decay would be looked on askance 
 with an impatient eye ! Though I am a 
 boy^ 1 can put myself forward in fancy into 
 future time, and imagine that I have that 
 
MANrVEVILLEL,/ 249 
 
 solace of human vicissitudes, a child of my 
 love. And shall I mix that solace, with 
 believing that my child grudges me those 
 added years that the bounty of nature gives, 
 and that he is in heart and inclination the 
 murderer of the parent that begot him? 
 Oh, how sacred and how lovelv-are the 
 charities of kindred and blood, to the 
 humble sons of Nature ! 
 
 " But, of ail the evils with which a 
 human being can be afflicted, not being 
 born to wealth, I will not involve myself 
 in the guilt and meanness of pursuing it. 
 What, shall I devote my life to trade, and 
 \arter away rny honesty and my soul for 
 the turning a penny ? Shall I decry the 
 thing I want to buy, and praise the thing 
 I want to sell? Shall my whole soul be 
 devoured with the anxieties of gain, and 
 my precious hours of solitude be devoted 
 to calculation and computing? And for 
 what? That, when all the finer sensibilities 
 of my nature have evaporated, and there is 
 L 2 
 
250 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 nothing left of heart within me, but what is 
 as dry and impenetrable as an Egyptian 
 mummy, then truly I may sit down, and 
 enjoy myself. 
 
 '* But there is another and genteeler re- 
 cipe, I have been told, for turning a poor 
 man into a rich one ; and that is, by worm- 
 ing himself into the affections of the weal- 
 thy and the great. Oh, this is admirable 
 indeed \ The supple expectant at the 
 board of a great man, is the slave of a slave, 
 and is even a much more wretched thing 
 than his master. His eyes, and his very 
 thoughts, are not his own, and are wholly 
 devoted to a gilded, nauseous, ill-odoured 
 idol. How his hopes and fears rise and 
 fall with the insulting good and ill humour 
 of the animal he worships ! How omni- 
 potently he must hate the being he affects 
 to reverence and value ! 
 
 " For, what is this wealth and rank, that 
 the world agrees so obsequiously to bow 
 down to ? Fortune distributes her favours 
 
MANDEVILLET. Q^Sl 
 
 blindly. Most estates have their begin- 
 nings in griping commerce, or, what is in- 
 finitely worse, in the confiscation and ruin 
 of thousands, that their possessions, freight- 
 ed with the curses of those who are stripped 
 of them and turned out to beggary, may be 
 conferred on some courtier, as worthless as 
 he is servile. The king bestows nobility; 
 he is the fountain of honour. And, I take 
 it for granted, he means well : but his fa- 
 vours are dispensed here and there, not as 
 he would choose, but by the breath of cabal 
 and the basest intrigue. There is but one 
 true nobility, and that is bestowed by the 
 Almighty ruler of the universe. It has its 
 seat in the soul. It is that inspiration, 
 that makes the generous man, the inventor 
 of arts, the legislator of the mind, the 
 spirit formed t€ act greatly on the theatre 
 of the world, and the poet who records the 
 deeds of such spirits. Put one of God's 
 nobility by the side of one of the king's : 
 who does not laugh at the comparison? 
 
^52 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 They are not of the same class of beings, 
 scarcely belong to a common nature. 
 Turn the former out naked to the world ! 
 His worth is intrinsic ; his qualities are 
 such as must excite reverence, wherever 
 there is sense to perceive, or discernment 
 to judge of such qualities. The king 
 cannot bestow this : it cannot come down 
 to a man by hereditary succession : it de- 
 scends from Heaven alone/* 
 
 I feel, while I am putting down these 
 discourses of my school-fellow, how much 
 injustice I am doing him. I am aware 
 that, as they stand upon paper, they will 
 read vapid and tedious. I must observe 
 here, as ^Eschines did, when he recited to 
 a circle of auditors the speech of Demos- 
 thenes that had procured his own banish- 
 ment, '* What a piece of work you would 
 have thought it, if you had heard it from 
 his own lips!" So these discourses of 
 Clifford, while he spoke them, appeared 
 almost divine. He charmed, as it were. 
 
MANDETILLE. 253 
 
 our very souls out of our bodies, and might 
 have led us through the world. It was like 
 what is fabled of Orpheus ; mute things 
 seemed to have ears ; and you would have 
 expected the very beasts of prey to lay 
 down their savage natures, and obey him. 
 There was something in the very nature of 
 his sentiments, calculated to waken a re- 
 sponsive chord in every human bosom ; 
 and the melody of his voice, and the 
 sportive gaiety with which he uttered them, 
 made them altogether irresistible. Set down 
 in cold lines and paragraphs, they may 
 appear long-winded and pedantic ; they 
 may be judged beyond the feelings of his 
 age; but, if ever tiiere was a creature void 
 of affectation and the desire to shine, Clif- 
 ford was that creature. He talked like 
 one inspired. He spoke, because he could 
 not help it, and to give vent to his tuli 
 bosom. And his discourses were always 
 so well timed, so aptly rose out of the 
 occasion in hand, and were so animated 
 
^54 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 and pithy, that every one longed for the 
 occasion, and were delighted to listen to 
 the magic of his tongue. 
 
 It was wonderful the effect that this 
 system of thinking wrought upon the 
 scholars of Winchester school. Wealth in 
 their eyes became dross ; and instead of 
 considering it, as others do, as a ground 
 for vanity and arrogance, those who had 
 the greatest pretensions to it became asham- 
 ed of them. I have heard that in other 
 schools wealth and rank are very much 
 overlooked, and that a sort of golden age 
 of levelling and equality prevails. But 
 with us it went one step farther. The 
 captain among us boasted of his poverty^ 
 and was proud that he was born to nothing. 
 And, with that spirit of imitation so re- 
 markable among human creatures, poverty 
 accordingly became the fashion ; and those 
 among us who were born to other expec- 
 tations, pined for this blessed inheritance, 
 and held that they carried about them a 
 
MANDEVILLE. Q55 
 
 brand of slavery. This extraordinary course 
 of sentiment was the more easily introdu- 
 ced among school-boys ; for school-boys 
 have not yet learned the bitter evils which 
 poverty sometimes introduces. 
 
 I, I alone, felt no pleasure, and refused 
 to feel pleasure from the discourses of 
 Clifford. In the first place, I was strongly 
 impressed with the notion of their fallacy. 
 How 1 came in my own mind to reasort 
 differently from my comrades I know not ; 
 but such was the fact. I looked upon 
 Clifford as an enchanter, who hurled 
 
 His dazzling spells into the spungy air. 
 
 Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, 
 
 And give it false presentments. 
 
 I confessed to myself that wealth was preg- 
 nant with mischief, both to the possessor, 
 and to society in general. But 1 did not 
 look upon poverty with the same eyes 
 that Clifford did, I saw that man was 
 
9,56 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 not formed like the animals, to whom un- 
 cultivated nature supplies every want. Man 
 is not, like them, a stationary creature, as 
 perfect in one generation as in all that are 
 to succeed, but is capable of infinite im- 
 provements. He then, that is so adapted 
 to receive and engender arts and sciences, 
 to adorn the earth with the works of his 
 skill, to scan the heavens, and penetrate 
 into the abysses of his own nature, ought 
 not to be exposed to unmiiigable poverty. 
 In the solitudes of Mandeville House, and 
 in my propensity to reveries, I had thought 
 more of the condition of human beings, 
 than school-boys usually do. I saw that 
 in civilized st)ciety, the only state that 
 appeared to me worthy of man, he could 
 not subsist but upon the fruits of others' 
 industry or of his own, and that the very 
 attempt to supply himselfj subjected him 
 in various ways to the caprice of his fellow- 
 creatures, and was in various ways pre- 
 carious. I saw that the poor man was 
 
MANDRVILLE. 25? 
 
 strangely pent up and fettered in his ex- 
 ertions, whether their purpose might be to 
 unfold the treasury of intellect in the soli- 
 tude of his closet, or to collect facts and 
 phenomena by wandering on the face of 
 the earth. I saw that, when he suffered 
 himself to contract the dearer ties of hus- 
 band and father, poverty and an uncertain 
 subsistence might depress his heart, and 
 corrode his vitals. I saw that, if riches 
 made a man a slave, entire poverty did the 
 same, and perhaps more effectually. It is 
 perhaps within the compass of possibility 
 for a rich man to be free (though almost as 
 hardly, as for " a camel to pass through 
 the eye of a needle*') ; but the poor man 
 must always wear the marks of his bolts 
 about him, and drag at every step a heavier 
 and more intolerable chain. 1 saw that 
 poverty was environed on all sides with 
 temptations, urging and impelling a man, 
 to sell his soul, to sacrifice his integrity, 
 to debase the clearness of his spirit, and to 
 
MANDEVILLE, 
 
 become the bond slave of a thousand 
 vices. 
 
 All this I knew : but I was not like 
 Cliftord. I could not put my soul into 
 my tongue, and witch all hearers with my 
 eloquence. Envious nature had denied to 
 me this privilege. But I felt my deficiency 
 with fierce and burning impatience. Why 
 should this youth steal away the souls of 
 his companions with glozing words, and I 
 have no tongue to check his mistakes, and 
 expose his sophistries ? Why should error 
 thus intrepidly boU forth its apophthegms, 
 and I sit timidly in my corner, unable to 
 utter the truths that were fermenting in 
 my bosom ? It appeared to me that the 
 system of the universe was in fault, and 
 that the sacred cause of truth was iniqui- 
 tously and unfairly dealt by. Jealousy 
 thus, day by day, established its empire 
 in my bosom ; and Clifford was the male- 
 ficent wizard by whom I was hag- ridden, and 
 the night-mare, under whose weight I lay 
 at the last gasp of existence. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 259 
 
 Sure I was (no matter how erroneous 
 my opinion), in the secret calculations and 
 combinings of my own thoughts, that my 
 merits fully balanced the merits of Clifford, 
 and that, weighed with the beam of a just 
 estimation, my scale would prove the 
 heavier. He that spends his days in soli- 
 tude, and is seldom corrected in his deter- 
 minations by the collision of another, has 
 almost always an overweening opinion of 
 himself. Clifford and I were two lumi- 
 naries that could never shine in the same 
 sphere ; but I could not bear the idea of 
 being under a perpetual eclipse, and that 
 they who admired my competitor, should 
 never turn a glance of passing approbation 
 upon me. 
 
 This was rendered inexpressibly worse 
 to me by the mischief-making temper of 
 Maliison. The greatest gratification, as I 
 have said, of this seemingly unnatural 
 being lay in giving pain to another. The 
 coruscations of Clifford's wit were a harm- 
 
260 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 less lightning playing in an evening sky ; 
 but Mallison's unremitted aim was to fur- 
 nish the bolt, that should succeed as sure- 
 ly, as the report follows upon the flash. It 
 fell to his office, to turn all Clifford's inno- 
 cent sallies into personal satire. With the 
 acuteness that malice perhaps always gives, 
 he saw that I was the most sensitive lad 
 in the school, upon whom his spurts of ill 
 humour would be least in danger to be 
 wasted. It happened, that the estate to 
 which I was heir, was perhaps larger than 
 that which any other youth in the esta- 
 blishment was entitled to look to. God 
 knows, I thought but little upon this. But 
 there was a gravity in my carriage, a sort 
 of inflexible sadness of gesture and tone, 
 which Mallison wickedly perverted into 
 the crime of being purse-proud. If my 
 manner was somewhat cold, reserved and 
 uncommunicative before, it certainly did 
 not lose any of these defects under the 
 smart of his lashes. There is something in 
 
MAND£VILLE. 261 
 
 the temper of the unreflecting and grosser 
 crowd, that always leads them ambitious- 
 ly to join in a hunting of this sort. Un- 
 der the tutoring of Mallison, they voted 
 me di prig\ 2ifTump, 2ifogram^ and qualified 
 me with all the disparaging epithets, that a 
 familiaracquaintance with the vulgar tongue 
 could supply to the glibness of their eager 
 speech. Mallison barbed all these with 
 the appellation of Presbyterian. To his 
 malicious fancy there was an odd discord- 
 ance, between the multiplied manors that 
 were to descend to me, the remnant of a 
 thousand dazzling exploits and achievements 
 of chivalry, and the melancholy and mourn- 
 ful carriage of the adherents of this cele- 
 brated sect. He would contrast, with im- 
 pressive strokes of description, the advan- 
 tageous air, and frank and commanding 
 language of the preux chevaliers that had 
 gone before me, on the one hand, with the 
 ambitious plainness, the demure and nasal 
 twang, the fixed eye, and the drawling yea 
 
262 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 and nay^ of the persons to the inheritance 
 of whose tenets I was bred. 
 
 It may be imagined with what writhings 
 and contortions of soul I stood all these 
 attacks. Figure to yourself a being, just 
 escaped from the magnificent and moss- 
 grown ruins of Mandeville House, from a 
 life of silence and reverie, and now thrown 
 among all the rude clatter and gabble of 
 these unmannerly assaults ! In the whole 
 course of my former life I had never been 
 spoken to familiarly by any human crea- 
 ture, and certainly had never left pain from 
 the familiarities of any one, except of the 
 venerable Hilkiah. Now I was pointed 
 and sneered at, as I passed. A significant 
 winking of the eye, or a contemptuous 
 shooting of the lip, the various mows and 
 gibes of a school-boy's prolific and wanton 
 malice, pursued me. The consciousness 
 of this withered my heart, and gave an un- 
 graciousness and constraint to all my mo- 
 tions. What was I? Why was I thus 
 
MANDEVILLE. 263 
 
 formed ? And by what perverse and malig- 
 nant destiny was I thrown on so intoler- 
 able a scene ? I had stood out to my own 
 apprehension, as a being choicely gallant 
 and great ; in the elation of my heart I had 
 almost been ready to exclaim like the 
 great Roman orator, " Oh, fortunate gene- 
 ration of Englishmen, whose lot it has been 
 to have me born your contemporary T' 
 And here, within the walls of Winchester 
 College, I was treated as nothing, a flout- 
 ing stock and a make-game, a monstrous 
 and abortive birth, created for no other end 
 than to be the scoff of my fellows, their 
 sport, and their joy, when they stood in 
 need of an object to spend their brutal and 
 unthinking mirth upon. 
 
 Tremendous were the convulsions and 
 earthquakes, which these trials produced 
 in my bosom. Sometimes I shut myself 
 up in the circle of my own thoughts, and 
 scorned to mingle with, or to remark, the 
 empty fools who purposed to humble me 
 
264 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 with their contempt. My brow contracted 
 a scowl ; my soul embosomed a ferocity; 
 and in my own determined spirit I dug a 
 broad and a deep foss, and threw up an 
 intrenchment, to cut me off from creatures 
 wearing the human form, who seemed to 
 me unworthy of my love, beneath my 
 hatred, and to whom it was an error and a 
 weakness to extend even my notice. 
 
 But this was an effort and struggle, per- 
 haps beyond the nature of man, certainly 
 beyond the strength of a school-boy. At 
 other times T came down from my preca- 
 rious elevation. I resolved to assert my- 
 self, and to put my opponents to route. It 
 was in vain that 1 endeavoured to do this 
 by words ; nature, as I have said, denied 
 me this faculty. There is another resource, 
 well understood among the retainers of an 
 academic life. Words, few, but resolule, 
 were to be inforced by all that corporal 
 confutation and rebuke, which the unaid- 
 ed and imperfect strength of a stripling's 
 
 10 
 
MANDliriLLE. 265 
 
 arm can inflict. I was defeated ; I was 
 conqueror by turns. By practice my skill 
 became more useful to its master, more for- 
 midable to the adversary. On such occa- 
 sions I delighted in the sight of blood. 
 Whether it flowed from the person of my 
 competitor or from my own, in the one case 
 no less than the other, it seemed to lighten 
 and dilute the impure and substantial fluid 
 that weighed on my heart. I gained some, 
 but an im})ertect relief to the injustice I 
 felt. Few things in the scholastic circle 
 obtain for their possessor more respect, than 
 courage and power evinced in this species 
 of contention. My equals became more 
 cautious in provoking me to this retalia- 
 tion. Even those of higher standing be- 
 gan to entertain a more tolerable opinion of 
 me, and mechanically to refrain from those 
 aggressions, which they saw I so well knew 
 how to repress and to punish in such as 
 were in any degree my match. 
 
 But what a situation was this for me, for 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
9>6G MANDEVILLE. 
 
 the solitary wanderer of the bleak and ma- 
 jestic domains of Mandeville House ? I 
 disdained the position in which I stood. 
 As I have just said, the subduing of an op- 
 ponent gave relief to the depression under 
 which my spirit laboured. But this was 
 but momentary. I purchased a constrain- 
 ed and half-felt respect. But by what 
 means ? Not by any qualities I had been 
 accustomed to honour : but by the mere 
 force of muscles and sinews, by that in 
 which the most brutal rustic, nay the very 
 beasts of the forest, might overmatch me. 
 When I saw myself and my competitor, 
 with arms and bosom bare, prepared for 
 the disgraceful contest, what feelings of dis- 
 gust and loathsomeness would rise in my 
 soul ! Hot tears, in spite of pride, not tears 
 of cowardice, but of impatient indignation, 
 would sometimes swell to my eyes. But I 
 dashed them away with scorn, and strung 
 myself for the task which I had not the li- 
 berty to avoid. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 26? 
 
 Habits of solitude had given me a pecu- 
 liar turn. I liad no respect for the limbs 
 and members of my body, and viewed them 
 but as an incumbrance upon the activity 
 of my spirit. They were mine, not me. 
 My arm was but an implement and a tool, 
 of the same nature as a hooked stick, and of 
 no value but for the commmission in which 
 it w^as employed. My creed was akin to 
 that of Anaxarchus, of whom it is related 
 that one of the Grecian tyrants having or- 
 dered him to be pounded in a mortar, he 
 cried out under the execution, " Beat on, 
 tyrant ! Thou hast no power but on the 
 case of Anaxarchus ; himself thou canst not 
 hurt:** — though I will not boast that I 
 could have carried the principle of the phi- 
 losopher to the same extent, as my master. 
 Thinking thus, I detested the necessity I 
 lay under, of being the captive of my body, 
 and that by this means the soul of Mande- 
 yille, tuat free spirit that could wander un- 
 fettered from pole to pole, should be liable 
 
Q^6S MANDEVILLE, 
 
 to the dominion of others. The injuries 
 of my body therefore seemed to be but the 
 mark of my slavery ; and its triumphs af- 
 forded me no consolation. 
 
 Guided by these principles, I bitterly 
 felt that the walls of our college were not 
 my home. The scene in which I was 
 placed, was in utter discordance with the 
 character of my spirit : And the conscious- 
 ness of this, daily increased in me that con- 
 centrated and misanthropical spirit, which 
 to a certain degree had subsisted within 
 me from the earliest period of my remem- 
 brance. 
 
 <■ I 
 
MANDEVILLE. £69 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Clifford was a royalist to the core, and 
 would often talk affectingly, yet cheerily, 
 of the unfortunate Charles. Loyalty had 
 been one of the lessons instilled into him 
 from his cradle ; and the tenderness of his 
 heart would have led him to sympathize 
 with the adversities of this victim, if he had 
 not been a king, — and a prince, according 
 to his creed, that from his birthright, and 
 for his virtues, all Englishmen were bound 
 to defend to the last drop of their blood. 
 As he talked, gaily, but eloquently, on this 
 favourite topic, a tear would sometimes start 
 
270 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 into bis eye, which he dashed away, and 
 smiled as he did it, in such a sort, 
 
 As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit, 
 That could be moved to weep at any thing. 
 
 Clifford had been brought up in reveren- 
 tial ideas of kingship and prerogative, and 
 with a haired of republicanism. He ad- 
 mired the principles of chivalry, and those 
 high notions of honour and generous fidelity 
 which grew out of these principles. He 
 was the creature of love and the affections. 
 The splendid descriptions he had met with 
 of tilts and tournaments caught hold of his 
 fancy ; and the various expeditions on re- 
 cord, in which the nobility and gentry of 
 different countries associated themselves, to 
 put down oppression, or to rescue the 
 country and tomb of Christ from the hands 
 of the Infidels, were his amusement and his 
 joy. All this inspired him with a conge- 
 nial relish for whatever was grave, solemn 
 
MANDEVILLE. 271 
 
 and magnificent, either in the rites of re» 
 ligion, or the conduct of civil affairs, and a 
 boundless contempt for the cold and unat- 
 tractive simplicity and nakedness, whi:ch 
 had been patronized and diffused by the 
 adversaries of the late unfortunate monarch. 
 
 His talk of this sort, as I have already ob- 
 served in another case, was without preme- 
 ditation and formality, in starts and effusions 
 of the soul, bursting from liim as the occa- 
 sion prompted. And, when he detected 
 himself in a vein of this sort, he would turn 
 away immediately from the thought, crying 
 out, " But what am I talking of? I, who am 
 but a school-boy ? Older and abler heads 
 than mine have laboured, by day and by 
 night, in season and out of season, to amend 
 these things, and see what it has all come 
 to!" 
 
 At another time he would comment on 
 his own thoughts in a different fashion, and 
 exclaim, " Well, well, the world will have 
 its way J and what can I do? I am born in* 
 
t7^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 deed in an iron age, and have been called 
 on to witness, or to hear of, a multitude of 
 crimes : but for all that I will not play the 
 weeping philosopher. What I cannot alter, 
 I will learn to endure. I have but one life, 
 and that, as far as I can without injury to 
 others, 1 will make a happy one. When a 
 few years have passed over my head, I shall 
 never again be a boy. I shall but once be 
 a man; and when that time comes, I will 
 Wy to play a man's part in the world. I 
 cannot have an universe made on purpose 
 for me • so I will even make the best of 
 that upon which fortune has thrown me. 
 Then, hey, boys for a game at foot-ball 1" 
 
 Such was the state of things among us, 
 when an accident occurred to me, the im- 
 pression of which will never be effaced 
 from my mind. Among the other scholars 
 at Winchester school, we had with us the 
 eldest son of Sir William Waller, the fa- 
 mous parliamentary general. Sir William, 
 wlien he had been dismissed from his com- 
 
MANDEVILLE, 273 
 
 mand by the parliament as a Presbyterian, 
 received as the reward of his services the 
 Castle of Winchester with its appurtenances, 
 upon v^'hich he had some claims on the 
 score of family alliance. This of course 
 rendered him a great man among us : and 
 it is well known that the brilliancy of his 
 services in one period of the war, gained 
 him with his party the familiar appella- 
 tion of William the Conqueror. Nicknames 
 at all times furnish a favourite sport to 
 school-boys ; and as young Waller was in- 
 disputably, as far as the rank and station of 
 his father was concerned, the most eminent 
 of the Presbyterian boys of Winchester Col- 
 lege, his fellow-pupils, by general consent, 
 fastened upon him in raillery and contempt 
 the appellation which his father had earned 
 by his exploits. It somehow happened 
 that I contracted a particular familiarity 
 with this boy. I can'scarcely now account 
 for the selection I made. My native taste, 
 as I have already said, would have led me 
 M 2 
 
274 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 to Clifford. But such are the caprices of 
 human intercourse ! 
 
 Qifford was beautiful and prepossessing. 
 Nothing could exceed the sweetness of his 
 disposition, or the warmth of his heart. 
 Yet I shrunk from Clifford, and attached 
 myself to Waller. The solution of this, lies 
 in what I have already delineated of my 
 character. I was by nature solitary. There- 
 fore Waller suited me, and Clifford did not. 
 Waller was a lad of diminutive stature, 
 and his complexion was a deadly pale. 
 His eye sometimes glistened ; but not with 
 kindness. He knew not what it was to 
 love any creature but himself; the occa- 
 sional, rarely occurring, lighting up of his 
 looks, was from conceit, the triumph, when 
 such triumph fell to his share, of an abor- 
 tive specimen of manhood over his happier 
 fellows. To finish his portrait, he was in 
 some degree, though not violently, deform- 
 ed in his person. Such was the JVilliani 
 the Conqueror of Winchester College ! 
 
MANDEVILLE. 275 
 
 It was disdain, and the unsociableness of 
 my nature, that dictated this choice. I 
 could not unbosom my thoughts ; I could 
 not come into contact with another being 
 of the same species as myself. Once 1 had 
 done so, and yet but imperfectly, with a 
 creature of another sex, my sister. But in 
 the groupes and the busy scenes of Win- 
 chester school I felt that this was impossi- 
 ble. Clifford, as I have said, was the sub- 
 ject of my first and my sincerest admira- 
 tion ; but I could not court him. All beings 
 were to me tools that I was to make use of, 
 or foes whose destiny it seemed to be to 
 thwart my purposes, or to subvert my tran- 
 quillity. Yes ; I could court, and accom- 
 modate myself to the foibles of another, but 
 not as to an equal. At the time that I descend- 
 ed lo him, I must feel that it was the sport 
 of my humour, not a necessity to which my 
 inferiority impelled me. In a word, pride, 
 a self-centred and untameable pride, was 
 the inseparable concomitant of all my ac- 
 tions. 
 
276 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 It was this feature of my nature, that 
 drove me to reject Clifford, and any other 
 of the talented and high-minded pupils of 
 Winchester College, and to chuse Waller. 
 I chose him, because my sullen nature 
 would not admit of a friend. I could 
 have him by my side, when I did not 
 prefer to be alone, and could say to him 
 just what I pleased, and no more. There 
 was no danger in him of any sally of the 
 mind, any spark of an electrical nature be- 
 ing struck out, that should set the whole 
 man in a blaze. My sobriety, and the so- 
 litude of my soul were perfect. I had a 
 figure pacing step by step along with me, 
 with which I could amuse myself as I 
 pleased, without losing the advantage, as 
 to every material point, of being totally 
 alone. I chose this lad, because I could 
 manage him as I pleased. There was no- 
 thing commanding or masculine in his turn 
 of mind. I was not afraid that he should 
 run out of the course, and make me the un- 
 
 5 
 
MANDEVILLE. 277 
 
 willing associate of any freak of his own 
 suggestion. He was of a timid and pusil- 
 lanimous nature, and by no means likely to 
 abound in his own sense, or to prove stub- 
 born and uncontrolable to the mandates of 
 one whose superiority he felt. Such at 
 least was my interpretation of his charac- 
 ter. 
 
 But, to return to the incident I was about 
 to relate. A book of prints was found in 
 my apartment, of the most odious nature, 
 and least of all to be forgiven within the 
 walls of Winchester School. It must have 
 been the collection of some person, a dead- 
 ly foe to monarchy (or, as it was then cal- 
 led) the government of a single persoriy and 
 to the House of Stuart. The first print 
 represented Henry, Prince of Wales, and 
 his brother Charles, yet an urchin ; Prince 
 Henry being in the act of flouting and up- 
 braiding the other, pointing at his crooked 
 legs, with a label from his mouth, " Never 
 mind j that is a good child 1 We will make 
 
278 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 thee a bishop, and thy petticoats shall hide 
 them :" — while Charles was in tears, weep- 
 ing at the bitterness of the taunt. * The 
 next print represented Osbaldiston, the 
 master of Westminster School, at a time 
 when there were above fourscore doctors 
 of the three great faculties in the two uni- 
 versities, who gratefully acknowledged their 
 education under him, f set in the pillory 
 in the front of his own school ; while Laud 
 and the king were seen laughing and ii) 
 triumph at a neighbouring window. [This 
 scene never really took place; as Osbaldis- 
 ton absconded and hid himself from his 
 sentence, till the period of general emanci- 
 pation.] Another print represented Charles 
 with a sword drawn, a dragon with many 
 heads opposite, and Strafford standing near 
 the king, to lend him his aid. The dragon 
 erected its crest with conscious superiority, 
 and thrust out its forked tongue ; while the 
 
 * Osborn : James I. § 45. t Echard. 
 
xMANDEVILLE. 279 
 
 king shrunk frightened at his own temeri- 
 ty, and seenied preparing to seek his safe- 
 ty in flight. Underneath was written, " As 
 for that hydra, the parliament, take good 
 heed I You know I have found it here 
 cunning, as well as malicious." * The next 
 print was of the irresolute and ill-fated 
 prince, immediately before his attempt to 
 seize the f[\e members, the queen stand- 
 ing over him in his closet, in a contemp- 
 tuous and threatening attitude, with these 
 words, " Va-t-en, poltron ! Arrache nio'i ces 
 coqmns-ld par les oreilles^ oii ne me voir 
 plus de tes jours.' ^ f Another represented 
 Charles in the act of finishing his letter to 
 the House of Lords, intreating them to save 
 the life of Strafford ; to which the queen was 
 seen, with her right leg extended, and her 
 left hand clenched and firmly pressed on her 
 
 * Strafford's Letters : Charles to the Lord -Deputy, 
 April 1634. 
 
 f Echard. " Begone, coward : pull me those rogues 
 out hy the ears, or never see my face again." 
 
280 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 hip, compelling him to add the memorable 
 postscript, " If he must die, it were charity 
 to reprieve him till Saturday/* * Another 
 print represented Charles on horseback, in 
 the act of receiving a distasteful petition, 
 the petitioners being on their knees, while 
 the king turns his horse suddenly upon 
 them, with the purpose to throw them pro- 
 strate in the mire, f In another he was 
 represented thrusting his head between the 
 bars of a window in Carisbrook Castle, with 
 a boat and horsemen in the distance to aid 
 his escape, and these words, " Alas ! where 
 my head would go through, who would 
 have thought that my shoulders would stay 
 behind r" The king stuck in this attitude, 
 so as to make a considerable force necessary 
 to extricate him from it» J There were other 
 prints not less satirical than these. 
 
 * Burnet. 
 
 + Traditional, from Mr Thomas Hollis. 
 
 J Firebrace, apud Herbert, 
 
MANDEVILLE. 281 
 
 The book was found by Mallison, and 
 shewn to Clifford. The prefects of the 
 school (a denomination assigned to the boys 
 of the sixth, or head form,) at this time 
 twelve in number, held a concio or assem- 
 bly, on the subject, to deliberate as to the 
 way in which it was proper to proceed 
 respecting so flagrant a delinquency. It 
 was one of the maxims of this senate, that 
 they were in no case to call in the in- 
 terference of the masters respecting any 
 thing that was not a school offence, and 
 that they were a body, perfectly capable of 
 redressing their own wrongs, and admini- 
 stering justice among themselves. Such was 
 the spirit of loyalty at this time in our es- 
 tablishment, that no boy, excepting the 
 two 1 have mentioned, so much as looked 
 on the book. It was enough that it was re- 
 ported to the sitting as infamous, by two 
 credible witnesses. A jury of virgins would 
 as soon have thought of satisfying them- 
 selves by minute inspection, that a set of 
 
S82 MANDEVILLB. 
 
 prints of another sort was obscene. The 
 heart revohed at the thought; and they 
 believed that no patience, where the mind 
 was yet undepraved, could sustain the ex- 
 amination. 
 
 Before this awful body, I was myself 
 summoned, together with Waller, to account 
 for the possession of this book. It was 
 found under such circumstances,- as were 
 thought clearly to prove that it belonged to 
 one of us. The nature of the book was 
 briefly explained. We stood there as two 
 persons, between whom at present the 
 charge equally lay •, but who might very 
 probably, one of us be guilty, and the other 
 innocent. 
 
 I was as ignorant of every thing that re- 
 lated to the affair, as the child unborn. I 
 stood therefore in mute astonishment. I 
 looked upon Waller, and saw that he was 
 extremely distressed; he turned pale, and 
 was scarcely able to support himself. I 
 pitied him from my soul. It was not my 
 
MANDEVILLE. 28S 
 
 business to speak to justify myselj\ and still 
 Jess to cast the charge upon him ; and I left 
 my companion to explain the matter as he 
 could. 
 
 Our judges like me, observed the greater 
 distress of Waller, and therefore applied 
 themselves principally to him. He stam- 
 mered, looked wild, and seemed hardly able 
 to bring out a word. At length he some- 
 what recovered his composure. He in- 
 treated that he might not be urged any 
 further 5 he protested his own innocence; 
 he begged to be excused from speaking. 
 The manner with which he expressed him- 
 self, turned the inquisitive gaze of all upon 
 me. He was told that all false delicacies 
 must be put aside in this case ; the offence 
 was a crying one; and it must be sifted to 
 the bottom. 
 
 Waller now apparently roused himself 
 with an effort. He confessed, that he was 
 not wholly unacquainted with the matter. 
 
284 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 He said, the thing had been introduced to 
 his knowledge by me. 
 
 " By me /" I uttered an interjection of as- 
 tonishment merely. — But what an age of 
 experience and horror was in that moment 
 communicated to me ! 
 
 Our intimacy, or rather the frequency 
 with which we were in each other's society, 
 was known ; and he stated, that in one of 
 our private walks, I had boasted to him 
 with much apparent complacency, that I 
 had such a book in my possession. In 
 proportion as I had explained to him its 
 contents, he had felt shocked, and had con- 
 stantly refused so much as to cast his eye 
 upon it. He remonstrated with me on the 
 indecency and wickedness of giving har- 
 bour to or preserving such an article, which 
 1 had at first appeared inclined to dispute; 
 but afterwards he had succeeded in convin- 
 cing me of my error, and he sincerely be- 
 lieved it was my intention to have destroyed 
 it. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 285 
 
 Waller now seemed frightened at what 
 he had done. He expressed the utmost 
 distress. He appealed to themselves, whe- 
 ther they had not extorted the confession 
 from him ; he trusted that they would not 
 stamp him in the records of the school with 
 the odious character of an informer; and he 
 in treated, that if not for my sake, who he 
 was sure had seen my error, at least for his, 
 and that he might not labour under so base 
 an imputation, they would pass over and 
 dismiss the offence. 
 
 It is impossible to utter the feelings with 
 which I witnessed this detail. That Waller 
 of all creatures should have dared to set 
 himself in opposition to me ! — that 1 should 
 been infatuated enough, to have nursed such 
 a viper in my bosom ! — was to me a thought 
 insupportable. 
 
 I was not eloquent. My nature refused 
 to supply me with the stream of a copious 
 discourse on any occasion. But, had it 
 been otherwise, could I have stooped to 
 
2186 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 make an elaborate defence against an in- 
 famous charge, which I felt within myself 
 to be void of the slightest foundation ? In- 
 experienced as I was, and unknowing in 
 the mazes and perplexities of the human 
 heart, I believed that no one could be de- 
 ceived with regard to the innocence of ano- 
 ther, but he that was wilfully deceived. I 
 therefore simply answered, but with the em- 
 phasis of truth, that the hook was not mine, 
 that I had never seen it, — and I expected 
 my judges instantly to credit my assertion. 
 
 What then was my astonishment, when 
 I plainly saw that the whole assembly lean- 
 ed to the story of Waller? Could any thing 
 indeed have been more unavoidable ? His 
 speciousness, his distress, his fervent inter- 
 cession in my favour, had the greatest 
 weight with them. Add to which, the 
 gentlemen of Winchester school knew no- 
 thing of my family or connections. But 
 the celebrated Sir William Waller, the fa- 
 ther of my antagonist, and who still bore 
 
 4 
 
MANDEVILLE. 287 
 
 liie style of governor of Winchester Castle, 
 had for years been the firm and acknow- 
 ledged leader of the presbyterian royalists, 
 and was at this moment a prisoner for his 
 adherence to the king's party. It was not 
 to be believed therefore, that his son should 
 be in possession of a scurrilous republican 
 libel, and pamper himself with the record 
 of royal imbecility and dishonour. 
 
 But all this I did not at the time under- 
 stand. I could not put myself in the place 
 of my judges, and estimate the various pre- 
 sumptions that guided their decision. I 
 remained in my own place, and saw only 
 the justice of my own cause. Agreeably to 
 the misanthropical and savage character of 
 my mind, I could see nothing in all that 
 v\^as passing but a combination to disgrace 
 and to injure me. I could not conceive, 
 that they should not know my innocence, 
 when I told them of it. The picture there- 
 fore to my mind was, that all that I saw 
 was a trick, that the book had been mali- 
 
288 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 ciously procured for the purpose of fastening 
 the guilt that related to it on me, and that 
 the whole scene of the trial, the accusation, 
 and the impending judgment, was precon- 
 certed, with a view to trample me in the 
 dust. 
 
 In this situation my misanthropy was no 
 shield to preserve the severity of my mind. 
 My nature was ambition personified. All 
 my habits had been those of self-reverence. 
 I felt that ardour and generosity of spirit, 
 which, as I believed, made me capable of 
 great things. I felt that inborn pride of 
 soul, which, like an insurmountable barrier, 
 seemed to cut me off for ever from every 
 thing mean, despicable and little. With all 
 this pride, I could not endure the thought 
 of a slur or an inglorious imputation, and, as 
 is said of the ermine, I could die for very 
 spite and shame at the bare idea, that any 
 thing sordid and vile should pollute the 
 whiteness of my name. And now " the 
 thing which I feared was come upon me !*' 
 
MANDEVILLE. 289 
 
 Was this to continue ? Was this to cramp 
 and control all my future efforts, and put 
 an end to my aspiring thoughts for ever ? 
 1 cannot express the agonies of my soul. 
 
 It is true, that in a certain sense this was 
 no disappointment. Habitually I shut my- 
 self up in the storehouse of my own spirit ; 
 and intuitively I expected no justice from 
 the world, whether a wider or a narrower 
 world, in the midst of which I lived. No 
 matter I For a human creature to find his 
 worst imaginations confirmed — imagina- 
 tions, wantonly formed in all the luxuriance 
 of a gloomy spirit, to which, while bodied 
 forth, the heart refuses its assent, and which 
 seem conjured up in wilful determination to 
 exceed the possibilities of an actual scene-^ 
 — to find these realised, I say, in their 
 utmost extent, — is no lulling and tranquil 
 sensation. On the contrary, the very no- 
 lion of having met with the thing before, 
 amidst the incoherent creations of delirium, 
 or in the fancy- formed route of hell broke 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
290 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 loose, seems to give to its sudden and per- 
 fect existence a more exquisite pang. 
 
 The whole of the evidence having been 
 gone through, Waller and myself v^^ere or- 
 dered to w^ithdraw. We remained alone 
 in an adjoining apartment. I looked upon 
 my accuser ; I could not speak. I ex- 
 amined curiously whether he had the 
 lineaments of a human creature, and even, 
 with a vulgar superstition, looked down at 
 his feet, to see whether the demon did not 
 betray himself by his cloven heel. 
 
 At length I recovered the power of utter- 
 ance. With a haughty and imperious ac- 
 cent I said, *' Waller, am I guilty of the 
 crime with which you have charged me? 
 Or what have I done, that you should fa- 
 bricate so foul an accusation against me?'* 
 
 He replied : " I cannot ask you to for- 
 give me. You have done nothing to me; 
 1 bear you no malice. But — you are en- 
 dowed with courage ; and I am a coward. 
 The guilt is mine. I saw the book in the 
 
MANDfiVILLE. 2i)l 
 
 house of a bloody regicide, whither I had 
 been allowed some time ago to attend some 
 messengers of my father ; and, while they 
 sought grounds of another kind to criminate 
 the owner, I made prize of this. With 
 a boyish love of amusement, I studied it at 
 home, and brought it to the school. I 
 thought the prints well done, and I laughed 
 at the witty malice of the rogue that made 
 it, without suspecting that I was doing any 
 thing wrong. But when I found that the book 
 had fallen into the hands of the prefects, and 
 that they considered it as an affair of so 
 heinous a nature, I could not own it ; and 
 I threw it upon you, because I had no 
 other way of clearing myself." 
 
 " Well, Sir, and now go instantly to the 
 prefects, and repeat all you have just said 
 to me." 
 
 Waller drew back with the greatest ter* 
 ror. 
 
 « Oh, for God's sake !*' said he, « The 
 imputation will do you no harm ^ you are 
 
29S MANDEVILLE. 
 
 accountable to nobody. But my father, if 
 it were known, would resent my fault so 
 much, that he would turn me adrift to the 
 world, and never speak to me again." 
 
 " Take then," answered I, '* the results 
 of your folly. I am innocent ; and I will 
 not submit to the consequences of being 
 pronounced guilty." 
 
 " Oh, Mandeville," replied Waller, " in- 
 deed you must. The original charge of 
 having such a book in my possession I 
 could not support ; and what will become 
 of me now ? If now I am exposed, I shall 
 not only be found to be the real criminal, 
 but shall further labour under the compli- 
 cated dishonour of being a false accuser, of 
 having with cool and unabashed effrontery 
 told a tale, no word of which was true, and 
 that with the fixed purpose of transferring 
 a fault to you, of which I was the real per- 
 petrator. It is all over ! I am ruined for 
 ever ! I shall be hunted out, not from the 
 Wiccamists merely, but out of the world. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 2^3 
 
 My father, my brave and gallant father, 
 will break his heart to think that he had 
 such a son. I shall have a brand upon me 
 like Cain, to mark me out to every creature 
 that lives. I shall have a stain, that no pe^ 
 nitence or penance can ever remove. — Yes, 
 Mandeville, do your pleasure with me ! I 
 have deserved it. I am entitled to no mer- 
 cy. Let me perish in unimagined tor- 
 ments, sa that the least hair of your head 
 may go uninjured 1" 
 
 I know not what came over me at tiiis 
 moment. This was a worthless fellow. His 
 act had been that of a finished scoundrel, 
 and showed that there was no rational hope, 
 that he could ever prove a credit to his 
 species. Yet I determined that I would be 
 his preserver. There is something in the 
 accent of genuine anguish, that a well con- 
 stituted human heart (and yet mine was 
 not such 1) can scarcely resist. Much of 
 the emotion he expressed was allied to vir- 
 tuous feeling, and struck upon a chord that 
 
f9^^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 is unbounded in its potency. Add to this, he 
 was in my power, and therefore 1 could not 
 resolve to use that power against him. 1 
 would not be his destroyer. 1 would not 
 have that to recollect. However small 
 might be his chance to act an honourable 
 part in human society, I would not deprive 
 him of it. 
 
 Beside that, there was something gal- 
 lant, that at this time suited my savage tem- 
 per, in braving the imputation of guilt, 
 when secretly, in the chambers of my own 
 heart. I knew, that I was innocent, and 
 more than innocent. It accorded with the 
 disdain which, without yet knowing why, 
 I entertained fcr my species. I could brave 
 the imputation of guilt, when it was in my 
 choice to do so, though, when the imputa- 
 tion appeared unavoidable, it struck me as 
 the greatest of calamities. 1 could " doff 
 the world, and let it pass." 1 could " make 
 mouths at the invisible event." There ap- 
 peared to me^ while I thought of it, a sort 
 
MANDEVILLE, 295 
 
 of lordly delight in standing the scorns and 
 reproaches of my companions, when all the 
 time in my own reflections I smiled con- 
 temptuously at their error, and rose serene 
 above the clouds in which their miscon- 
 structions sought to envelop me. It will 
 presently be seen that I overestimated my 
 own powers. 
 
 I said, " Waller, be satisfied. You have 
 acted a foul and ignominious part : but I 
 will carry you through."' 
 
 I had scarcely uttered the words, before 
 we were called to appear again before the 
 council of the prefects. 
 
 *« Mandeville," said Clifford, « the act of 
 which you have been tound guilty, is un- 
 worthy of a subject of Great Britain, and 
 still more of a Wintonian ; and the charac- 
 ter of the college requires that it should be 
 expiated." 
 
 " Shame on the wretch !" said Mallison. 
 " To trample upon the ashes of a fallen 
 monarch ! secretly to find delight in con* 
 
29^ MANDEVILLE. 
 
 templating the scandalous lies, that have 
 been invented against the name and repu- 
 tation of a murdered king ! I vote that he 
 be required to eat the book on the spot.'* 
 
 I started. I had been far from anticipat- 
 ing the possibility of such ingenuity of ma- 
 lice and degradation. My countenance 
 sufficiently showed, that to persist in such a 
 sentence would be to no purpose. Even 
 [he generosity of boys of noble and honour- 
 able birth, such as were those that tried us, 
 was alarmed at the idea of awarding against 
 me, of whom they knew no other fault, any 
 thing so brutal and so detestable. I already 
 began to repent of the concession, which in 
 the vehemence of my compassion I had 
 made to tlie wretched Waller. 
 
 *' No,"' said another ; " let his punish* 
 ment be with his own hand to commit it to 
 the flames.'* 
 
 " Prefects !" cried I, with uncontrolable 
 impatience, " it is in vain that I am treated 
 with this ferocity of contempt. How the 
 
MANDEVILLE. 297 
 
 book came here, it is no matter. I am as 
 free from any disloyalty of sentiment as the 
 best of you. I acknowledge nothing un- 
 worthy or mean. My limbs and the mem- 
 bers of my body are my own. One and 
 another of you may dishonour yourselves 
 by such barbarous and uncivil suggestions : 
 but you cannot dishonour me. I cannot 
 truly suffer disgrace and ignominy, unless 
 by my own act." 
 
 While I spoke thus, Clifford caught up 
 the book, the subject of our debate, thrust 
 it in the fire, and in a moment it was m 
 flames. He then turned to me. 
 
 " My lad,'' said he, " you put on here 
 something too much of the brave. You 
 should be conscious of your fault, and ap- 
 pear a little humbled for it. You should 
 remember that you were so sensible of it at 
 first, that at first you denied it. But let 
 this be your punishment; not that with 
 your own hand you commit it to the flames j 
 but that with your own eyes, as is fitting) 
 you see it consumed. 
 n2 
 
^98 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 This to me was a heart-breaking trial. 
 When I found myself pressed by the 
 agonies of the wretched Waller, I had 
 thought, like a boy, only of the thing im- 
 mediately before me, and had yielded to 
 his intreaties. I deemed, as I have said, 
 that there was something gallant, and well 
 suited to my disdainful temper, in suf- 
 fering in silence the imputation of a guilt, 
 from which I secretly knew myself to be 
 free. But my imagination had proved 
 sluggish on the occasion. I had taken the 
 thing only in gross. I had not shaped out 
 to myself the idea of actual punishment, 
 and still less had conceived all the insulting 
 words and things, that might be addressed 
 to me. I flinched and writhed with an- 
 guish at these, as they successively rose 
 before my unanticipating spirit; and, to 
 say the truth, utterly repented the gene- 
 rosity I had practised. I would have given 
 the world, to have published the undisguised 
 truth at once. But it was too late. I had 
 
MANDEVILLE. 299 
 
 returned to the concio with all the rashness, 
 but not with the firrn resolution and deli- 
 berate desperateness, of a martyr. 
 
 That any creature that breathed, should 
 have dared to give words in my hearing to 
 the idea of my being condemned to eat by 
 compulsion the substance of that by which 
 my fellows had been offended, a degrada- 
 tion that at any rate could be awarded only 
 against the most abhorred and recorded 
 coward, was an insult that could only be 
 expiated with blood. That I, descended 
 from one of the first families, and in im- 
 mediate succession to one of the largest 
 estates in England, should have been ad- 
 dressed with this indignity, was a thought 
 that could never be blotted out from the 
 record of my brain ; by day and by night 
 it accompanied me ; in solitude and society 
 it haunted me ; it mixed with all my dreams 
 and all my reveries ; if a moment of festi- 
 vity or peace came over me at unawares, it 
 was presently poisoned by the withering 
 
300 MANDRVILLE. 
 
 recollection — " I am a blasted branch — 
 the tremendous gale of public disgrace has 
 passed over all the buds of my promise, 
 and I am nothing !" 
 
 It will hardly be thought how fierce a 
 havock this event made with my constitu- 
 tion. It was exactly as if an envenomed 
 arrow had entered my flesh. My blood 
 boiled within me. The whole surface of my 
 body burned, so that every one that ap^ 
 proachedme, and touched my flesh, sudden* 
 ly snatched away his hand, as if it had been 
 scorched with fire. I was in a raging fever. 
 Before the close of the day I was conducted 
 to my bed, which I did not leave for weeks. 
 My agonies, and the distress both of my 
 mind and body, were insupportable. And, 
 when at length my disorder subsided, as it 
 seemed, for want of further fuel to feed on, I 
 was totally an altered creature. My colour 
 and my flesh were gone. I seemed like a 
 meagre, unlaid ghost. All my motions 
 were languid, and all my thoughts were 
 spiritless. 
 
MANDEVILLE. 301 
 
 But what was most strange, and will be 
 thought altogether unaccountable and per- 
 verse, the whole force of my resentment 
 fastened upon Clifford. His part in the 
 scene I have just described, was really a 
 generous one. Pie saw how hardly some 
 of his brother-prefects were disponed to 
 bear on me ; he was shocked at the inhu- 
 man suggestion of Mallison ; and by seizing 
 the book, the subject of debate, and thrust- 
 ing it in the fire at once, he was really 
 sparing my feelings, and putting an end to 
 my misery. 
 
 But I could not persuade myself to view 
 it in that light. His act was the crown 
 and finishing of this whole ; and the scene, 
 as it stood in my memory, melted all into 
 one mass, and belonged, without reserve or 
 distinction, to the individual that had con- 
 summated it. Why did Clifford, thus un- 
 reasonable and unjust were my reflections 
 on the subject, join in the cry against me? 
 Was I not already brought low enough? 
 
502 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 Was not the whole school united, as in one 
 faction, against me alone ? How inhuman 
 then, that he should have spoken to me 
 after the same tone, — that he should have 
 acted, what ihey only threatened ! 
 
 My naiure would not permit me to hate 
 the rabble, the mere chaff and refuse of the 
 threshing-floor. AValler and MalHson came 
 not near me. They might deport them- 
 selves as ihey would; what was that to me? 
 It is true, while the scene was actually pass- 
 ing, 1 thought otherwise ; but they flitted 
 away, as fast as the living scene in which 
 they acted a part ; and it must be something 
 of more muscle and substance, that should 
 fasten itself on my memory. CiiflV)rd was 
 a name with which my soul could grapple: 
 he was an obstacle interposed in my path 
 that must be removed ; or else all that I 
 loved to contemplate and dream of for fu- 
 ture time, was lost to me for ever. For 
 these reasons, all the offences I received 
 from inferior opponents, left the figures and 
 
MANDEVILLE. 305 
 
 features to which they properly belonged, 
 and centred in him. 
 
 My pride was unbounded : what stood in 
 the way of that pride ? It was perhaps but 
 an ill regulated and abortive passion. My 
 temper was reserved and sullen ; my speech 
 was slow and sparing ; I hardly communi- 
 cated myself to a human creature : what 
 chance had I for popularity and admira- 
 tion ? If all had been smooth and level be- 
 fore me, if no eminence had interposed it- 
 self through the vast plain of my existence, 
 my hopes would, very likely, not have been 
 the less abortive. No matter : whatever I 
 was compelled to admire, I was compelled 
 to hate. I was a disappointed and discon- 
 tented soul; and all the wholesome juices 
 and circulations of my frame converted 
 themselves into bitterness and gall. 
 
 Clifford was the great luminary of the 
 sphere in which I lived. Every one ad- 
 mired him ; every one hung on his accents. 
 He bewitched all that knew him by the 
 
304 MANDEVILLE. 
 
 nobleness and gallantry of his spirit. He 
 charmed, without a purpose to charm ; the 
 walk of his soul was free and unconstrained 
 and graceful ; his happiest impulses ex- 
 pressed themselves with such tranquillity, 
 and so without an effort, that you wondered 
 in what their happiness consisted. It is 
 like what we hear described of the benig- 
 nity of the Deity, that diffuses life and en- 
 joyment every where, and produces theasto- 
 nishing miracles that even the very " angels 
 desire to look into" and understand, in per- 
 fect repose, and is as one, in doing every 
 thing, that does nothing. What then was 
 I ? A dark and malignant planet, that no 
 eye remarked, that fain would shine, but 
 that, as long as the sun of Clifford was 
 above the horizon, was cut off from every 
 hope of gratification. 
 
 At this distance of time I can sit down, 
 and deliberately calculate my small hopes 
 of success, even if Clifford had been re- 
 moved from the scene. But such were not 
 
MANDEVILLE. 305 
 
 my reasonings at the moment. It seenied 
 to me, that he was my only obstacle ; that 
 he was my evil genius; and that, while my 
 merits were in reality more sterling than 
 his, he always crossed my path, and thwart- 
 ed my success, and drew off all eyes, not 
 only from perceiving my worth, but in a 
 manner from recognising my existence. 
 
 Is it not surprising that all this should 
 have ripened into hatred ? What enormous 
 and unmeasured injustice ! What had I to 
 do to hate him? He never injured me in 
 the minutest article. He nev^r conceived 
 a thought of injury. Yet all my passions 
 seemed to merge in this single passion. I 
 must kill him ; or he must kill me. He 
 was to me, like the poison-tree of Java : the 
 sight of him was death ; and every smallest 
 air that blew from him to me, struck at the 
 very core of my existence. He w^as a mil- 
 stone hanged about my neck, that cramped 
 and bowed down my intellectual frame, 
 worse than all the diseases that can afflict a 
 
306 maKdeville. 
 
 man, and all the debility of the most im- 
 becil and protracted existence. He was 
 an impenetrable wall, that reached up to 
 the heavens, that compassed me in on every 
 side, and on every side hid me from my 
 fellow mortals, and darkened to me the me- 
 ridian day. Let this one obstacle be re- 
 moved (so I fondly thought), and I shall 
 then be elastic, and be free ! Ambition shall 
 once more revisit my bosom ; and compla- 
 cence, that stranger, which, like Astrsea, 
 bad flown up to heaven, and abandoned 
 me for ever, shall again be mine. In a 
 word, no passion ever harboured in a hu- 
 man bosom, that it seemed so entirely to 
 fill, in which it spread so wide, and mount- 
 ed so high, and appeared so utterly to con- 
 vert every other sentiment and idea into its 
 own substance. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 Printed by Geor^^e Ramsay aod Compaiiy> 
 Ediobingti, 1S17.