My wife slept very sound after her journey; but my hurry of spirits denying me that refreshment, I never so much as now lamented the want of the graundee.—"For," thinks I, "now I have once again tasted the sweets of society, how shall I ever relish a total desertion of it, which in a few days must be the case, when all this company are fled, and myself am reduced to my old jacket and water-cart again! Now, if I was as others here are, I might make a better figure than they by my superior knowledge of things, and have the world my own; nay, I would fly to my own country, or to some other part of the world, where even the strangeness of my appearance would procure me a good subsistence. But," says I, "if with my graundee I should lose my sight, or only be able to live in the dark in England, why, I should be full as bad as I am here! for nobody would be able to keep me company abroad, as my hours for the air would be theirs of retirement; and then, at home, it would be much the same; no one would prefer my company in a dark room in the daytime, when they could enjoy others in the light of the sun; then how should I be the better for the graundee, unless I fixed a resolution of living here, or hereabouts? and then to get into company, I must retire to still darker regions, which my eyes are no ways adapted to: in short, I must be quite new moulded, new made, and new born too, before I can attain my desires. Therefore, Peter," says I, "be content; you have been happy here in your wife and children without these things; then never make yourself so wretched as to hope for a change which can never possibly happen, and which, perhaps, if obtained, might undo you; but intend only what you can compass, by weighing all circumstances, and your felicity will lie in very narrow bounds, free from two of the greatest evils a man can be beset by, hopes and fears; two inseparable companions, and deadly enemies to peace; for a man is destroyed by hope through fear of disappointment."—This brought me a show of peace again.—"Surely," says I, "I am one of the most unaccountable amongst mankind! I never can reflect till I am worn down with vexation. O Glanlepze! Glanlepze!" says I, "I shall never forget thy speech after engaging the crocodile, that everything was to be attained by resolution by him that takes both ends of a thing in his view at once, and fairly deliberates what may be given and taken from end to end. Surely," says I, "this ought to be engraven on brass, as I wish it was on my heart; it would prevent me many painful hours, help me with more ease to compass attainable ends, and to rest contented under difficulties insuperable: and if I live to rise again, I will place it where it shall never be more out of my sight, and will enforce it not only more and more on myself, but on my children."
With this thought I dropped to sleep, and with this I awaked again, and the first thing I did was to find a proper place to write it, which, having fixed for the door of my cupboard, I took a burnt stick for my pencil, and wrote as follows:—"He that is resolved to overcome, must have both ends of an object in view at once, and fairly deliberate what may be given and taken from end to end; and then pursue the dictates of cool reason." This I wrote in English, and then in the Doorpt Swangeantine tongue; and having read it twice or thrice over, I went for water and fish, and returned before the family were up.
I took care to-day also that the officers should be as well served as possible, and where an accommodation must be wanting, I rather chose to let it fall on my father than on them; for I had ever observed it to be an easier thing to satisfy the master than the man; as the master weighs circumstances, and from a natural complacency in himself, puts a humane construction upon that error or omission which the servant wholly attributes to slight and neglect.
My company being abroad, about the time I expected their return I dressed myself as the day before, only without my cloak, and in a black bob-wig, and took a turn to meet them.
Pendlehamby spying me first among the trees, "Daughter Youwarkee," says he, "you have a husband, I think, for every day in the week. Who's this? my son Peter! Why, he is not the same man he was yesterday." She told him she had heard me say we changed our apparel almost every day in England; nay, sometimes twice or thrice the same day.—"What!" says Pendlehamby, "are they so mischievous there they are fearful of being known in the latter by those who saw them in the former part of the day?"
By this time I was come up, and after paying due compliments, says Youwarkee—"My father did not know you, my dear, you are so altered in your other wig; and I told him in your country they not only change wigs, but their whole clothing, two or three times a day sometimes."—"Son," says my father, "if it be so, I cannot guess at the design of a man's making himself unlike himself."—"Oh, sir," says I, "it is owing to the different functions he is to perform that day: as, suppose, in the morning he is to pursue business with his inferiors, or meet at our coffee-houses to hear and chat over the news of the day, he appears in a light easy habit proper for despatch, and comes home dirty; then, perhaps, he is to dine with a friend at mid-day, before whom, for respect's sake, not choosing to be seen in his dirty dress, he puts on something handsomer; and after spending some time there, he has, it may be, an appointment at court, at play, or with his mistress, in all which last cases, if he has anything better than ordinary, it is a part of good breeding to appear in that; but if the very best was to be used in common, it might soon become the worst, and not fit for a nice man to stir abroad in."—"The different custom of countries you have told me of," says my father, "is surprising: here are we born with our clothes on, which always fit, be we ever so small or large; nay, are never the worse for constant wearing; and you must be eternally altering and changing colour, shape, and habit. But," says he, "where do they get all these things? Does every man make just what he likes?"—"No," says I, "there are a particular set of men whose business it is to make for all the rest."—"What!" says he, "I suppose their lasks make them?"—"No, sir, they are filgays," says I. "It is their trade, they do it for a livelihood, being paid by them they work for. A suit of their clothes," says I, taking up the flap of my coat, "will cost what we call twelve or fourteen pounds in money."—"I don't understand you," says he.—"Why, sir," says I, "that is as much as will provide one moderate man with all the necessary things of life for two months."—"Then," says he, "these nice men must be very rich."—"No, sir," said I, "there you are under a mistake; for if a man, very rich, and who is known to be so, neglects his habit, it is taken to be his choice; but one who is not known to be rich, and is really not so, is, by appearing gay sometimes, thought to be so; for he comes little abroad, and pinches miserably at home, first to get that gay suit, and then acts on the same part to preserve it, till some lucky hit may help him to the means of getting another, as it frequently happens, by a good marriage; for though he is but seldom seen in public, yet always appearing so fine when he is, the ladies, whose fancies are frequently more tickled with show than sense, admitting him only at first as a companion, are at last, if worth anything, taken in the toils he is ever spreading for them; and, becoming his wife, produce a standing fund to make him a rich man in reality, which he but personated before."
Pendlehamby could not well understand all I said; and I found by him that all the riches they possessed were only food and slaves; and as I found afterwards when amongst them, they know the want of nothing else; but I am afraid I have put them upon another way of thinking, though I aimed at what we call civilising of them.
