<p><SPAN name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></SPAN></p>
<h2> CHAPTER 3 </h2>
<p>A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are generally found
at last to be of our own procuring</p>
<p>The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortunes
might be malicious or premature: but a letter from my agent in town soon
came with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to
myself alone would have been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt was for
my family, who were to be humble without an education to render them
callous to contempt.</p>
<p>Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their
affliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow.
During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of
supporting them; and at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds a year was
offered me in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my
principles without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully closed,
having determined to encrease my salary by managing a little farm.</p>
<p>Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the wrecks
of my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand
pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention therefore was
now to bring down the pride of my family to their circumstances; for I
well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. 'You cannot be
ignorant, my children,' cried I, 'that no prudence of ours could have
prevented our late misfortune; but prudence may do much in disappointing
its effects. We are now poor, my fondlings, and wisdom bids us conform to
our humble situation. Let us then, without repining, give up those
splendours with which numbers are wretched, and seek in humbler
circumstances that peace with which all may be happy. The poor live
pleasantly without our help, why then should not we learn to live without
theirs. No, my children, let us from this moment give up all pretensions
to gentility; we have still enough left for happiness if we are wise, and
let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune.' As my eldest
son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him to town, where his
abilities might contribute to our support and his own. The separation of
friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most distressful
circumstances attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on which we were
to disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave of his mother
and the rest, who mingled their tears with their kisses, came to ask a
blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and which, added to five
guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow. 'You are going, my
boy,' cried I, 'to London on foot, in the manner Hooker, your great
ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me the same horse that was
given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff, and take this book too, it
will be your comfort on the way: these two lines in it are worth a
million, I have been young, and now am old; yet never saw I the righteous
man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread. Let this be your
consolation as you travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be thy fortune let me
see thee once a year; still keep a good heart, and farewell.' As he was
possest of integrity and honour, I was under no apprehensions from
throwing him naked into the amphitheatre of life; for I knew he would act
a good part whether vanquished or victorious. His departure only prepared
the way for our own, which arrived a few days afterwards. The leaving a
neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours of tranquility, was
not without a tear, which scarce fortitude itself could suppress. Besides,
a journey of seventy miles to a family that had hitherto never been above
ten from home, filled us with apprehension, and the cries of the poor, who
followed us for some miles, contributed to encrease it. The first day's
journey brought us in safety within thirty miles of our future retreat,
and we put up for the night at an obscure inn in a village by the way.
When we were shewn a room, I desired the landlord, in my usual way, to let
us have his company, with which he complied, as what he drank would
encrease the bill next morning. He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood
to which I was removing, particularly 'Squire Thornhill, who was to be my
landlord, and who lived within a few miles of the place. This gentleman he
described as one who desired to know little more of the world than its
pleasures, being particularly remarkable for his attachment to the fair
sex. He observed that no virtue was able to resist his arts and assiduity,
and that scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles round but what had
found him successful and faithless. Though this account gave me some pain,
it had a very different effect upon my daughters, whose features seemed to
brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph, nor was my wife
less pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue. While our
thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to inform her
husband, that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in the house,
wanted money, and could not satisfy them for his reckoning. 'Want money!'
replied the host, 'that must be impossible; for it was no later than
yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle to spare an old broken
soldier that was to be whipped through the town for dog-stealing.' The
hostess, however, still persisting in her first assertion, he was
preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would be satisfied one way
or another, when I begged the landlord would introduce me to a stranger of
so much charity as he described. With this he complied, shewing in a
gentleman who seemed to be about thirty, drest in cloaths that once were
laced. His person was well formed, and his face marked with the lines of
thinking. He had something short and dry in his address, and seemed not to
understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon the landlord's leaving the
room, I could not avoid expressing my concern to the stranger at seeing a
gentleman in such circumstances, and offered him my purse to satisfy the
present demand. 'I take it with all my heart, Sir,' replied he, 'and am
glad that a late oversight in giving what money I had about me, has shewn
me that there are still some men like you. I must, however, previously
entreat being informed of the name and residence of my benefactor, in
order to repay him as soon as possible.' In this I satisfied him fully,
not only mentioning my name and late misfortunes, but the place to which I
was going to remove. 'This,' cried he, 'happens still more luckily than I
hoped for, as I am going the same way myself, having been detained here
two days by the floods, which, I hope, by to-morrow will be found
passable.' I testified the pleasure I should have in his company, and my
wife and daughters joining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay
supper. The stranger's conversation, which was at once pleasing and
instructive, induced me to wish for a continuance of it; but it was now
high time to retire and take refreshment against the fatigues of the
following day.</p>
<p>The next morning we all set forward together: my family on horseback,
while Mr Burchell, our new companion, walked along the foot-path by the
road-side, observing, with a smile, that as we were ill mounted, he would
be too generous to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods were not yet
subsided, we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted on before, Mr
Burchell and I bringing up the rear. We lightened the fatigues of the road
with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to understand perfectly. But
what surprised me most was, that though he was a money-borrower, he
defended his opinions with as much obstinacy as if he had been my patron.
He now and then also informed me to whom the different seats belonged that
lay in our view as we travelled the road. 'That,' cried he, pointing to a
very magnificent house which stood at some distance, 'belongs to Mr
Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a large fortune, though entirely
dependent on the will of his uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman,
who content with a little himself, permits his nephew to enjoy the rest,
and chiefly resides in town.' 'What!' cried I, 'is my young landlord then
the nephew of a man whose virtues, generosity, and singularities are so
universally known? I have heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one
of the most generous, yet whimsical, men in the kingdom; a man of
consumate benevolence'—'Something, perhaps, too much so,' replied Mr
Burchell, 'at least he carried benevolence to an excess when young; for
his passions were then strong, and as they all were upon the side of
virtue, they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim at the
qualifications of the soldier and scholar; was soon distinguished in the
army and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation ever follows
the ambitious; for such alone receive most pleasure from flattery. He was
surrounded with crowds, who shewed him only one side of their character;
so that he began to lose a regard for private interest in universal
sympathy. He loved all mankind; for fortune prevented him from knowing
that there were rascals. Physicians tell us of a disorder in which the
whole body is so exquisitely sensible, that the slightest touch gives
pain: what some have thus suffered in their persons, this gentleman felt
in his mind. The slightest distress, whether real or fictitious, touched
him to the quick, and his soul laboured under a sickly sensibility of the
miseries of others. Thus disposed to relieve, it will be easily
conjectured, he found numbers disposed to solicit: his profusions began to
impair his fortune, but not his good-nature; that, indeed, was seen to
encrease as the other seemed to decay: he grew improvident as he grew
poor; and though he talked like a man of sense, his actions were those of
a fool. Still, however, being surrounded with importunity, and no longer
able to satisfy every request that was made him, instead of money he gave
promises. They were all he had to bestow, and he had not resolution enough
to give any man pain by a denial. By this he drew round him crowds of
dependants, whom he was sure to disappoint; yet wished to relieve. These
hung upon him for a time, and left him with merited reproaches and
contempt. But in proportion as he became contemptable to others, he became
despicable to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adulation, and that
support taken away, he could find no pleasure in the applause of his
heart, which he had never learnt to reverence. The world now began to wear
a different aspect; the flattery of his friends began to dwindle into
simple approbation. Approbation soon took the more friendly form of
advice, and advice when rejected produced their reproaches. He now,
therefore found that such friends as benefits had gathered round him, were
little estimable: he now found that a man's own heart must be ever given
to gain that of another. I now found, that—that—I forget what
I was going to observe: in short, sir, he resolved to respect himself, and
laid down a plan of restoring his falling fortune. For this purpose, in
his own whimsical manner he travelled through Europe on foot, and now,
though he has scarce attained the age of thirty, his circumstances are
more affluent than ever. At present, his bounties are more rational and
moderate than before; but still he preserves the character of an
humourist, and finds most pleasure in eccentric virtues.'</p>
<p>My attention was so much taken up by Mr Burchell's account, that I scarce
looked forward as we went along, til we were alarmed by the cries of my
family, when turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in the midst of a
rapid stream, thrown from her horse, and struggling with the torrent. She
had sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage myself in time to
bring her relief. My sensations were even too violent to permit my
attempting her rescue: she must have certainly perished had not my
companion, perceiving her danger, instantly plunged in to her relief, and
with some difficulty, brought her in safety to the opposite shore. By
taking the current a little farther up, the rest of the family got safely
over; where we had an opportunity of joining our acknowledgments to her's.
Her gratitude may be more readily imagined than described: she thanked her
deliverer more with looks than words, and continued to lean upon his arm,
as if still willing to receive assistance. My wife also hoped one day to
have the pleasure of returning his kindness at her own house. Thus, after
we were refreshed at the next inn, and had dined together, as Mr Burchell
was going to a different part of the country, he took leave; and we
pursued our journey. My wife observing as we went, that she liked him
extremely, and protesting, that if he had birth and fortune to entitle him
to match into such a family as our's, she knew no man she would sooner fix
upon. I could not but smile to hear her talk in this lofty strain: but I
was never much displeased with those harmless delusions that tend to make
us more happy.</p>
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