THE Mortgager and Mortgagee differ the one from the
other, not more in length of purse, than the Jester and
Jesteé do, in that of memory. But in this the comparison
between them runs, as the scholiasts call it, upon all-four;
which, by the bye, is upon one or two legs more than some
of the best of Homer's can pretend to;-namely, That the
one raises a sum and the other a laugh at your expence,
and think no more about it. Interest, however, still runs on
in both cases;-the periodical or accidental payments of it,
just serving to keep the memory of the affair alive; till, at
length, in some evil hour,-pop comes the creditor upon
each, and by demanding principal upon the spot, together
with full interest to the very day, makes them both feel the
full extent of their obligations.
As the reader (for I hate your ifs) has a thorough know-
ledge of human nature, I need not say more to satisfy him,
that my Hero could not go on at this rate without some
slight experience of these incidental mementos. To speak
the truth, he had wantonly involved himself in a multitude
of small book-debts of this stamp, which, notwithstanding
Eugenius's frequent advice, he too much disregarded;
thinking, that as not one of them was contracted through
any malignancy;-but, on the contrary, from an honesty
of mind, and a mere jocundity of humour, they would all
of them be crossed out in course.
Eugenius would never admit this; and would often tell
him, that one day or other he would certainly be reckoned
with; and he would often add, in an accent of sorrowful
apprehension,-to the uttermost mite. To which Yorick,
with his usual carelessness of heart, would as often answer
with a pshaw I-and if the subject was started in the fields,
-with a hop, skip, and a jump at the end of it; bat if close
pent up in the social chimney corner, where the culprit was
barricadoed in, with a table and a couple of arm-chairs, and
could not so readily fly off in a tangent,-Eugenius would
then go on with his lecture upon discretion, in words to this
purpose, though somewhat better put together.
Trust me, dear
Yorick, this unwary pleasantry of thine
will sooner or later bring three into scrapes and difficulties,
which no after-wit can extricate thee out of.-In these
sallies, too oft, I see, it happens, that a person laughed at,
considers himself in the light of a person injured, with all
the rights of such a situation belonging to him; and when
thou viewest him in that light too, and reckons up his
friends, his family, his kindred and allies and musters
up with them the many recruits which will list under him
from a sense of common danger; 'tis no extravagant
arithmetic to say, that for every ten jokes,--thou hast got a
,hundred enemies; and till thou hast gone on, and raised a
'swarm of wasps about thy ears, and art half stung to death
by them, thou wilt never be convinced it is so.
I cannot suspect it in the man whom I esteem, that there
is the least spur from spleen or malevolence of intent in
these sallies.-I believe and know them to be truly honest
and sportive: -But consider, my dear lad, that fools cannot
distinguish this,-and that knaves will not; and thou know-
est not what it is, either to provoke the one, or to make
merry with the other whenever they associate for
mutual defence, depend upon it, they will carry on the war
in such a manner against thee, my dear friend, as to make
thee heartily sick of it, and of thy life too.
REVENGE from some baneful comer shall level a tale of
dishonour at thee, which no innocence of heart or integrity
of conduct shall set right.-The fortunes of thy house
shall totter,-thy character, which led the way to them,
shall bleed on every side of it,-thy faith questioned,-thy
works belied,-thy wit forgotten,-thy learning trampled
on. To wind up the last scene of thy tragedy, CRUELTY and
COWARDICE, twin ruffians, hired and set on by MALICE
in the dark, shall strike together at all thy infirmities and
mistakes: -the best of us, my dear lad, lie open there..
and trust me,-trust me,
Yorick, When to gratify a private
appetite, it is once resolved upon, that an innocent and an
helpless creature shall be sacrificed ', 'tis an easy matter to
pick up sticks enew from any thicket where it has strayed,
to make a fire to offer it up with.
Yorick scarce ever heard
this sad vaticination of his des-
tiny read over to him, but with a tear stealing from his eye,
and a promissory look attending it, that he was resolved,
for the time to come, to ride his tit with more sobriety.-
But, alas, too late!-a grand confederacy, with ***** and
***** at the head of it, was formed before the first prediction
of it.-The whole plan of the attack, just as Eugenius had
foreboded, was put in execution all at once, with so little
mercy on the side of the allies,-and so little suspicion in
Yorick, of what was carrying on against him,-that when
he thought, good easy man! full surely preferment was o'
ripening,-they had smote his root, and then he fell, as
many a worthy man had fallen before him.
Yorick, however, fought
it out with all imaginable gallan-
try for some time; till, overpowered by numbers, and worn
out at length by the calamities of the war,-but more so,
by the ungenerous manner in which it was carried on,-he
threw down the sword; and though he kept up his spirits in
appearance to the last he died, nevertheless, as was
generally thought, quite broken hearted.
What inclined Eugenius to the same opinion, was as
follows:
A few hours before
Yorick breathed his last, Eugenius
stept in with an intent to take his last sight and last farewell
of him: Upon his drawing
Yorick's curtain, and asking how
he felt himself, Yorick
looking up in his face took hold of his
hand,-and, after thanking him for the many tokens of his
friendship to him, for which, he said, if it was their fate to
meet hereafter,-he would thank him again and again,--he
told him, he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the
slip for ever.-I hope not, answered Eugenius, with tears
trickling down his cheeks, and with the tenderest tone that
ever man spoke,-I hope not, Yorick, said he.- Yorick
replied, with a look up, and a gentle squeeze of Eugenius's
hand, and that was all,-but it cut Eugenius to his heart.-
Come, -come,- Yorick,
quoth Eugenius, wiping his eyes,
and summoning up the man within him-my dear lad, be
comforted,-let not all thy spirits and fortitude forsake thee
at this crisis when thou most wants them;-who knows what
resources are in store, and what the power of God may yet
do for thee?- Yorick laid his hand upon his heart, and
gently shook his head;-for my part, continued Eugenius,
crying bitterly as he uttered the words, declare I know
not, Yorick, how to
part with thee.-and would gladly
flatter my hopes, added Eugenius, cheering up his voice,
that there is still enough left of thee to make a bishop, and
that I may live to see it.-I beseech thee, Eugenius, quoth
Yorick, taking off his night-cap as well as he could with his
left hand,-his right being still grasped close in that of
Eugenius,-I beseech thee to take a view of my head.-I
see nothing that ails it, replied Eugenius. Then, alas I my
friend, said Yorick, let me
tell you, that 'tis so bruised and
mis-shapened with the blows which '**** and *****, and
some others have so unhandsomely given me in the dark,
that I might say with Sancho Panca, that should I recover,
and 'Mitres thereupon be suffered to rain down from heaven
as thick as hail, not one of 'em would fit it.'- Yorick's last
breath was hanging upon his trembling lips ready to depart
as he uttered this;-yet still it was uttered with something
of a Cervantic tone;-and as he spoke it, Eugenius could
perceive a stream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment
in his eyes;-faint picture of those flashes of his spirit, which
(as Shakespeare said of his ancestor) were wont to set the
table in a roar I
Eugenius was convinced from this, that the heart of his
friend was broke; he squeezed his hand and then walked
softly out of the room, weeping as he walked. Yorick followed
Eugenius with his eyes to the door,-he then closed them,-
and never opened them more.
He lies buried in the corner of his church-yard, in the
parish of , under a plain marble slab, which his friend
Eugenius, by leave of his executors, laid upon his grave,
with no more than these three words of inscription, serving
both for his epitaph and elegy,
Alas, poor YORICK I
Ten times a day has Yorick's
ghost the consolation to hear
his monumental inscription read over with such a variety
of plaintive tones, as denote a general pity and esteem for
him;-a foot-way crossing the church-yard close by the
side of his grave,-not a passenger goes by without stopping
to cast a look upon it,-and sighing as he walks on,
Alm, poor
YORICK !
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