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<h2> CHAPTER 6 </h2>
<h3> The happiness of a country fire-side </h3>
<p>As we carried on the former dispute with some degree of warmth, in order
to accommodate matters, it was universally agreed, that we should have a
part of the venison for supper, and the girls undertook the task with
alacrity. 'I am sorry,' cried I, 'that we have no neighbour or stranger to
take a part in this good cheer: feasts of this kind acquire a double
relish from hospitality.'—'Bless me,' cried my wife, 'here comes our
good friend Mr Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run you down
fairly in the argument'—'Confute me in argument, child!' cried I.
'You mistake there, my dear. I believe there are but few that can do that:
I never dispute your abilities at making a goose-pye, and I beg you'll
leave argument to me.'—As I spoke, poor Mr Burchell entered the
house, and was welcomed by the family, who shook him heartily by the hand,
while little Dick officiously reached him a chair.</p>
<p>I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for two reasons; because I
knew that he wanted mine, and I knew him to be friendly as far as he was
able. He was known in our neighbourhood by the character of the poor
Gentleman that would do no good when he was young, though he was not yet
thirty. He would at intervals talk with great good sense; but in general
he was fondest of the company of children, whom he used to call harmless
little men. He was famous, I found, for singing them ballads, and telling
them stories; and seldom went out without something in his pockets for
them, a piece of gingerbread, or an halfpenny whistle. He generally came
for a few days into our neighbourhood once a year, and lived upon the
neighbours hospitality. He sate down to supper among us, and my wife was
not sparing of her gooseberry wine. The tale went round; he sung us old
songs, and gave the children the story of the Buck of Beverland, with the
history of Patient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin, and then Fair
Rosamond's bower. Our cock, which always crew at eleven, now told us it
was time for repose; but an unforeseen difficulty started about lodging
the stranger: all our beds were already taken up, and it was too late to
send him to the next alehouse. In this dilemma, little Dick offered him
his part of the bed, if his brother Moses would let him lie with him; 'And
I,' cried Bill, 'will give Mr Burchell my part, if my sisters will take me
to theirs.'—'Well done, my good children,' cried I, 'hospitality is
one of the first Christian duties. The beast retires to its shelter, and
the bird flies to its nest; but helpless man can only find refuge from his
fellow creature. The greatest stranger in this world, was he that came to
save it. He never had an house, as if willing to see what hospitality was
left remaining amongst us. Deborah, my dear,' cried I, to my wife, 'give
those boys a lump of sugar each, and let Dick's be the largest, because he
spoke first.'</p>
<p>In the morning early I called out my whole family to help at saving an
after-growth of hay, and, our guest offering his assistance, he was
accepted among the number. Our labours went on lightly, we turned the
swath to the wind, I went foremost, and the rest followed in due
succession. I could not avoid, however, observing the assiduity of Mr
Burchell in assisting my daughter Sophia in her part of the task. When he
had finished his own, he would join in her's, and enter into a close
conversation: but I had too good an opinion of Sophia's understanding, and
was too well convinced of her ambition, to be under any uneasiness from a
man of broken fortune. When we were finished for the day, Mr Burchell was
invited as on the night before; but he refused, as he was to lie that
night at a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a whistle. When
gone, our conversation at supper turned upon our late unfortunate guest.
'What a strong instance,' said I, 'is that poor man of the miseries
attending a youth of levity and extravagance. He by no means wants sense,
which only serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor forlorn creature,
where are now the revellers, the flatterers, that he could once inspire
and command! Gone, perhaps, to attend the bagnio pander, grown rich by his
extravagance. They once praised him, and now they applaud the pander:
their former raptures at his wit, are now converted into sarcasms at his
folly: he is poor, and perhaps deserves poverty; for he has neither the
ambition to be independent, nor the skill to be useful.' Prompted,
perhaps, by some secret reasons, I delivered this observation with too
much acrimony, which my Sophia gently reproved. 'Whatsoever his former
conduct may be, pappa, his circumstances should exempt him from censure
now. His present indigence is a sufficient punishment for former folly;
and I have heard my pappa himself say, that we should never strike our
unnecessary blow at a victim over whom providence holds the scourge of its
resentment.'—'You are right, Sophy,' cried my son Moses, 'and one of
the ancients finely represents so malicious a conduct, by the attempts of
a rustic to flay Marsyas, whose skin, the fable tells us, had been wholly
stript off by another.' Besides, I don't know if this poor man's situation
be so bad as my father would represent it. We are not to judge of the
feelings of others by what we might feel if in their place. However dark
the habitation of the mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the
apartment sufficiently lightsome. And to confess a truth, this man's mind
seems fitted to his station; for I never heard any one more sprightly than
he was to-day, when he conversed with you.'—This was said without
the least design, however it excited a blush, which she strove to cover by
an affected laugh, assuring him, that she scarce took any notice of what
he said to her; but that she believed he might once have been a very fine
gentleman. The readiness with which she undertook to vindicate herself,
and her blushing, were symptoms I did not internally approve; but I
represt my suspicions.</p>
<p>As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife went to make the venison
pasty; Moses sate reading, while I taught the little ones: my daughters
seemed equally busy with the rest; and I observed them for a good while
cooking something over the fire. I at first supposed they were assisting
their mother; but little Dick informed me in a whisper, that they were
making a wash for the face. Washes of all kinds I had a natural antipathy
to; for I knew that instead of mending the complexion they spoiled it. I
therefore approached my chair by sly degrees to the fire, and grasping the
poker, as if it wanted mending, seemingly by accident, overturned the
whole composition, and it was too late to begin another.</p>
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