THE DUN. Colonel Pembroke had not, at the time his biographer first became acquainted with him, "grown familiar with falsehood;" his conscience was not entirely callous to reproach, nor was his heart insensible to compassion, but he was in a fair way to get rid of all troublesome feelings and principles. He was connected with a set of selfish young men of fashion, whose opinions stood him instead of law, equity, and morality; to them he appealed in all doubtful cases, and his self-complacency being daily and hourly dependent upon their decisions, he had seldom either leisure or inclination to consult his own judgment. His amusements and his expenses were consequently regulated by the example of his companions, not by his own choice. To follow them in every absurd variety of the mode, either in dress or equipage, was his first ambition; and all their factitious wants appeared to him objects of the first necessity. No matter how good the boots, the hat, the coat, the furniture, or the equipage might be, if they had outlived the fashion of the day, or even of the hour, they were absolutely worthless in his eyes. Nobody could be seen in such things; then of what use could they be to anybody? Colonel Pembroke's finances were not exactly equal to the support of such liberal principles, but this was a misfortune which he had in common with several of his companions. It was no check to their spirit-they could live upon credit-credit-"that talisman which realizes everything it imagines, and which can imagine everything." Without staying to reflect upon the immediate or remote consequences of this system, Pembroke in his first attempts found it easy to reduce it to practice: but as he proceeded he experienced some difficulties. Tradesmen's bills accumulated, and applications for payment became every day more frequent and pressing. He defended himself with much address and ingenuity, and practice perfected him in all the Fabian arts of delay. "No faith with duns," became, as he frankly declared, a maxim of his morality. He could now, with the most plausible face, protest to a poor devil, upon the honour of a gentleman, that he should be paid to-morrow, when nothing was further from his intentions or his power than to keep his word. when to-morrow came, he could with the most easy assurance damn the rascal for putting a gentleman in mind of his promises. And But there were persons more difficult to manage than poor devils. Colonel Pembroke's tailor, who had begun by being the most accommodating fellow in the world, and who had in three years run him up a bill of thirteen hundred pounds, at length began to fail in complaisance, and had the impertinence to talk of his large family, and his urgent calls for money, &c. And next the colonel's shoe and boot maker, a man from whom he had been in the habit of taking two hundred pounds worth of shoes and boots every year, for himself and his servants, now pretended to be in distress for ready money, and refused to furnish more goods upon credit. "Ungrateful dog!” Pembroke called him: and he actually believed his creditors to be ungrateful and insolent when they asked for their money; for men frequently learn to believe what they are in the daily habit of asserting, especially if their assertions be not contradicted by their audience. He knew that his tradesmen overcharged him in every article he bought, and therefore he thought it but just to delay payment whilst it suited his convenience. Confound them, they can very well afford to wait." As to their pleas of urgent demands for ready money - large families, &c. -he considered these merely as words of course, tradesmen's cant, which should make no more impression upon a gentleman than the whining of a beggar. One day, when Pembroke was just going out to ride with some of his gay companions, he was stopped at his own door by a pale, thin, miserable-looking boy of eight or nine years old, who presented him with a paper which he took for granted was a petition. He threw the child half-a-crown. "There, take that," said he, "and stand out of the way of my horse's heels, I advise you, my little fellow." The boy, however, pressed closer; and without picking up the half-crown, held the paper to Colonel Pembroke, who had now vaulted into his saddle. "O no! no! That's too much, my lad-I never read petitions-I'd sooner give half-a-crown at any time than read a petition." "But, sir, this is not a petition-indeed, sir, I am not a beggar." "What is it then? Heyday! a bill! Then you're worse than a beggar-a dun! a dun! in the public streets, at your time of life! You little rascal, why, what will you come to before you are your father's age?" The boy sighed. "If," pursued the colonel, "I were to serve you right, I should give you a good horse-whipping. Do you see this whip?" "I do, sir," said the boy, "but-.” "But what? you insolent little dun! but what?" "My father is dying," said the child, bursting into tears, "and we have no money to buy him bread, or anything." Struck by these words, Pembroke snatched the paper from the boy, and looking hastily at the total and title of the bill, read "Twelve pounds, fourteen-John White, Weaver." "I know of no such person; I have no dealings with weavers, child," said the colonel, laughing; "my name is Pembroke, Colonel Pemboke." "Colonel Pembroke; yes, sir, the very person Mr. Close, the tailor, sent me to. 66 a ripe you! but" orange which he had just cut. "Thank God bless you, sir! How good it is, said the child, stopping after he had tasted the sweet juice, "I am sorry I have sucked so much, I might have carried it home to father, who is ill, and what a treat it would be to him! I'll keep the rest.' "No, that you shan't," said the orange-woman. "But I'll tell you what you shall do; take this home to your father, which is a better one by half; I'm sure it will do him good-I never knew a ripe China orange do harm to man, woman, or child.” The boy thanked the good woman and the gardener as only those can thank who have felt what it is to be in absolute want. When he was rested, and able to walk, he pursued his way home. His mother was watching for him at the street - door. "Well, John, my dear, what news? Has he paid us?" The boy shook his head. "Then we must bear it as well as we can," said his mother, wiping the cold dew from her forehead. "But look, mother, I have this half-crown, which the gentleman, thinking me a beggar, threw to me.' "Run Close the tailor! damn the rascal, was it he sent you to dun me? for this trick he shall not see a farthing of my money this twelvemonth. You may tell him so, you little whining hypocrite. And hark you! the next time you come to me, take care to come with a better story-let your father and mother and six brothers and sisters be all lying ill of the fever-do you understand?" He tore the bill into bits as he spoke, and showered it over the boy's head. Pembroke's companions laughed at this operation, and he facetiously called it "powdering a dun." They rode off to the park in high spirits, and the poor boy picked up the half-with it, love, to the baker's. No, stay, you're crown, and returned home. His home was in tired; I'll go myself; and do you step up to a lane in Moorfields, about three miles distant your father and tell him the bread is coming from this gay part of the town. As the child in a minute." "Don't run, for you're not had not eaten anything that morning, he was able, mother; don't hurry so," said the boy, feeble, and grew faint as he was crossing calling after her, and holding up his orange; Covent Garden. He sat down upon the corner "see, I have this for father whilst you are of a stage of flowers. "What are you doing away." He clambered up three flights of dark, there?" cried a surly man, pulling him up by narrow, broken stairs, to the room in which his the arm; "what business have you lounging father lay. The door hung by a single hinge, and loitering here, breaking my best balsam?" and the child had scarcely strength enough to "I did not mean to do any harm; I am not raise it out of the hollow in the decayed floor loitering; indeed, sir, I'm only weak," said into which it had sunk. He pushed it open the boy, "and hungry." 'Oranges! oranges! with as little noise as possible, just far enough fine China oranges!" cried a woman, rolling to creep in. This room was so dark, that upon her barrowful of fine fruit towards him. "If first going into it, after having been in broad you've a twopence in the world, you can't do daylight, you could scarcely distinguish any better than take one of these fine ripe China one object it contained; and no one used to oranges." "I have not twopence of my own breathe a pure atmosphere could probably in the world," said the boy. "What's that I have endured to remain many minutes in this see through the hole in your waistcoat pocket," garret. said the woman; "is not that silver?" "Yes, half-a-crown, which I am carrying home to my father, who is ill, and wants it more than I do." "Pooh! take an orange out of it-it's only twopence; and it will do you good; I'm sure you look as if you wanted it badly enough." "That may be; but father wants it worse: no, I won't change my half-crown," said the boy, turning away from the tempting oranges. The gruff gardener caught him by the hand. "Here, I've moved the balsam a bit, and it is not broke, I see; sit ye down, child, and rest yourself, and eat this," said he, putting into his hand half 66 There were three beds in it-one on which the sick man lay-divided from it by a tattered rug was another for his wife and daughter-and a third for his little boy in the furthest corner. Underneath the window was fixed a loom, at which the poor weaver had worked hard many a day and year-too hard, indeed-even till the very hour he was taken ill. His shuttle now lay idle upon the frame. A girl of about sixteen-his daughter - was sitting at the foot of his bed finishing some plain work. "O Anne! how your face is all flushed!" said her little brother as she looked up when he came into the room. "Have you 66 brought us any money?" whispered she "don't say no loud, for fear father should hear you.' The boy told her in a low voice all that had passed. "Speak out, my dear, I'm not asleep," said his father. "So you are come back as you went." "No, father, not quite; there's bread coming for you." "Give me some more water, Anne, for my mouth is quite parched." The little boy cut his orange in an instant, and gave a piece of it to his father, telling him at the same time how he came by it. The sick man raised his hands to heaven, and blessed the poor woman who gave it to him. "O how I love her! and how I hate that cruel, unjust, rich man, who won't pay father for all the hard work he has done for him!" cried the child; "how I hate him!" "God forgive him," said the weaver. "I don't know what will become of you all when I'm gone, and no one to befriend you, or even to work at the loom. Anne, I think if I was up," said he, raising himself, "I could still contrive to do a little good." 'Dear father, don't think of getting up: the best you can do for us is to lie still and take rest." Rest! I can take no rest, Anne. Rest! there's none for me in this world: and whilst I'm in it, is not it my duty to work for my wife and children? Reach me my clothes, and I'll get up." It was in vain to contend with him when this notion seized him that it was his duty to work till the last. All opposition fretted and made him worse, so that his daughter and his wife, even from affection, were forced to yield, and to let him go to the loom, when his trembling hands were scarcely able to throw the shuttle. He did not know how weak he was till he tried to walk. As he stepped out of bed his wife came in with a loaf of bread in her hand: at the unexpected sight he made an exclamation of joy; sprang forward to meet her, but fell upon the floor in a swoon before he could put one bit of the bread which she broke for him into his mouth. Want of sustenance, the having been overworked, and the constant anxiety which preyed upon his spirits, had reduced him to this deplorable state of weakness. When he recovered his senses his wife showed him his little boy eating a large piece of bread; she also eat, and made Anne eat before him, to relieve his mind from that dread which had seized it-and not without some reason-that he should see his wife and children starve to death. "You find, father, there's no danger for to-day," said Anne, "and to-morrow I shall be paid for my plain work, and then we shall do very well for a few days longer, and I dare say in that time Mr. Close the tailor will receive some money from some of the great many rich gentlemen who owe him so much, and you know he promised that as soon as ever he was able he would pay us." With such hopes, and the remembrance of such promises, the poor man's spirits could not be much raised; he knew, alas! how little dependence was to be placed on them. As soon as he had eaten, and felt his strength revive, he insisted upon going to the loom: his mind was bent upon finishing a pattern, for which he was to receive five guineas in ready money. He worked and worked, then lay down and rested himself, then worked again, and so on during the remainder of the day, and during several hours of the night he continued to throw the shuttle, whilst his little boy and his wife by turns wound spools for him. He completed his work, and threw himself upon his bed quite exhausted, just as the neighbouring clock struck one. At this hour Colonel Pembroke was in the midst of a gay and brilliant assembly at Mrs. York's, in a splendid saloon illuminated with wax-lights in profusion, the floor crayoned with roses and myrtles, which the dancers' feet effaced, the walls hung with the most expensive hot-house flowers: in short, he was surrounded with luxury in all its extravagance. It is said that the peaches alone at this entertainment amounted to six hundred guineas. They cost a guinea a piece; the price of one of them, which Colonel Pembroke threw away because it was not perfectly ripe, would have supported the weaver and his whole family for a week. a Amongst the masks at Mrs. York's were three, who amused the company particularly; the festive mob followed them as they moved, and their bon-mots were applauded and repeated by all the best-that is to say-the most fashionable male and female judges of wit. The three distinguished characters were spendthrift, a bailiff, and a dun. The spendthrift was supported with great spirit and truth by Colonel Pembroke, and two of his companions were great and correct in the parts of the bailiff and the dun. The happy idea of appearing in these characters this night had been suggested by the circumstance that happened in the morning. Colonel Pembroke gave himself great credit, he said, for thus "striking novelty even from difficulty;" and he rejoiced that the rascal of a weaver had sent his boy to dun him, and had thus furnished him with diversion for the evening as well as the morning. We are much concerned that we cannot, for the advantage of posterity, record any of the innumerable good things which undoubtedly were uttered by this trio. Even the newspapers of the day could comprehension, except we believe his own story, speak only in general panegyric. that he has money due to him which he cannot get paid, and that this has been his ruin." Colonel Pembroke cleared his throat two or three times upon hearing this last suggestion, and actually took up the weaver's bill with some intention of paying it; but he recollected that he should want the ready money he had in his pocket for another indispensable occasion; for he was obliged to go to Brooke's that night; so he contented his humanity by recommending it to Mr. Close to pay White and have done with him. "If you will let him have the money, you know, you can put it down to my account, or make a memorandum of it at the back of the bond. In short, settle it as you will, but let me hear no more about it. I have not leisure to think of such trifles. Good morning to you, Mr. Close." Mr. Close was far from having any intentions of complying with the colonel's request. When the weaver's wife called upon him after his return home, he assured her that he had not seen the colour of one guinea, or of one farthing, of Colonel Pembroke's money, and that it was absolutely impossible that he could pay Mr. White till he was paid himself that it could not be expected he should advance money for anybody out of his own pocket-that he begged he might not be pestered and dunned any more, for that he really had not leisure to think of such trifles. Colonel Pembroke, notwithstanding his success at Mrs. York's masquerade in his character of a spendthrift, could not by his utmost wit and address satisfy or silence his impertinent tailor. Mr. Close absolutely refused to give further credit without valuable consideration, and the colonel was compelled to pass his bond for the whole sum which was claimed, which was fifty pounds more than was strictly due, in order to compound with the tailor for the want of ready money. When the bond was fairly signed, sealed, and delivered, Mr. Close produced the poor weaver's bill. "Colonel Pembroke," said he, "I have a trifling bill here; I am really ashamed to speak to you about such a trifle; but as we are settling all accounts, and as this White the weaver is so wretchedly poor that he or some of his family are with me every day of my life dunning me to get me to speak about their little demand "Who is this White?" said Mr. Pembroke. "You recollect the elegant waistcoat pattern, of which you afterwards bought up the whole piece, lest it should become common and vulgar, this White was the weaver from whom we got it." "Bless me! why, that's two years ago: I thought that fellow was paid long ago!" "No, indeed; I wish he had! for he has been the torment of my life this many a month; I never saw people so eager about their money." But why do you employ such miserable greedy creatures? What can you expect but to be dunned every hour of your life?" "Very true, indeed, colonel; it is what I always, on that principle, avoid as far as possibly I can: but I can't blame myself in this particular instance; for this White, at the time I employed him first, was a very decent man, and in a very good way for one of his sort; but I suppose he has taken to drink, for he is worth not a farthing now." "What business has a fellow of his sort to drink? he should leave that for his betters," said Colonel Pembroke, laughing. 'Drinking's too great a pleasure for a weaver. The drunken rascal's money is safer in my hands, tell him, than in his own." The tailor's conscience twinged him a little at this instant, for he had spoken entirely at random, not having the slightest grounds for his insinuation that this poor weaver had ruined himself by drunkenness. Upon my word, sir," said Close, retracting, "the man may not be a drunken fellow for anything I know positively; I purely surmised that might be the case, from his having fallen into such distress, which is no otherwise accountable for, to my 66 For want of this trifle, of which neither the fashionable colonel nor his fashionable tailor had leisure to think, the poor weaver and his whole family were reduced to the last degree of human misery-to absolute famine. The man had exerted himself to the utmost to finish a pattern which had been bespoken for a tradesman who promised upon the delivery of it to pay him five guineas in hand. This money he received; but four guineas of it were due to his landlord for rent of his wretched garret, and the remaining guinea was divided between the baker, to whom an old bill was due, and the apothecary, to whom they were obliged to have recourse, as the weaver was extremely ill. They had literally nothing now to depend upon but what the wife and daughter could earn by needle-work; and they were known to be so miserably poor, that the prudent neighbours did not like to trust them with plain work, lest it should not be returned safely. Besides, in such a dirty place as they lived in, how could it be expected that they should put any work out of their hands decently clean? The woman to whom the house belonged, however, at last procured them work from Mrs. Carver, a widow lady, who, she said, was extremely charitable. | guineas this very day in a fruit-shop, and ten She advised Anne to carry home the work as soon as it was finished, and to wait to see the lady herself, who might perhaps be as charitable to her as she was to many others. Anne resolved to take this advice; but when she carried home her work to the place to which she was directed her heart almost failed her, for she found Mrs. Carver lived in such a handsome house, that there was little chance of a poor girl being admitted by the servants further than the hall-door or the kitchen. The lady, however, happened to be just coming out of her parlour at the moment the hall-door was opened for Anne; and she bid her come in and show her work-approved of it-commended her industry-asked her several questions about her family-seemed to be touched with compassion by Anne's account of their distress -and after paying what she had charged for the work, put half a guinea into her hand, and bid her call the next day, when she hoped that she should be able to do something more for her. This unexpected bounty, and the kindness of voice and look with which it was accompanied, had such an effect upon the poor girl, that if she had not caught hold of a chair to support herself, she would have sunk to the ground. Mrs. Carver immediately made her sit down. "O madam! I'm well, quite well now; it was nothing-only surprise," said she, bursting into tears. "I beg your pardon for this foolishness, but it is only because I'm weaker to-day than usual for want of eating." "For want of eating! my poor child! how she trembles! she is weak indeed, and must not leave my house in this condition." Mrs. Carver rang the bell, and ordered a glass of wine; but Anne was afraid to drink it, as she was not used to wine, and as she knew that it would affect her head if she drank without eating. When the lady found that she refused the wine, she did not press it, but insisted upon her eating something. "O madam!" said the poor girl, "it is long, long indeed, since I have eaten so heartily; and it is almost a shame for me to stay eating such dainties when my father and mother are all the while in the way they times that sum at a jeweller's on seals and baubles for which he had no manner of use. When Anne and her mother called the next morning to thank their benefactress, she was not up; but her servant gave them a parcel from his mistress: it contained a fresh supply of needle-work, a gown, and some other clothes, which were directed for Anne. The servant said that if she would call again about eight in the evening his lady would probably be able to see her, and that she begged to have the work finished by that time. The work was finished, though with some difficulty, by the appointed hour, and Anne, dressed in her new clothes, was at Mrs. Carver's door just as the clock struck eight. The old lady was alone at tea: she seemed to be well pleased by Anne's punetuality; said that she had made inquiries respecting Mr. and Mrs. White, and that she heard an excellent character of them; that therefore she was disposed to do everything she could to serve them. She added, that she "should soon part with her own maid, and that perhaps Anne might supply her place." Nothing could be more agreeable to the poor girl than this proposal; her father and mother were rejoiced at the idea of seeing her so well placed; and they now looked forward impatiently for the day when Mrs. Carver's maid was to be dismissed. In the meantime the old lady continued to employ Anne, and to make her presents, sometimes of clothes, and sometimes of money. The money she always gave to her parents; and she loved her "good old lady," as she always called her, more for putting it in her power thrus to help her father and mother than for all the rest. The weaver's disease had arisen from want of sufficient food, from fatigue of body, and anxiety of mind: and he grew rapidly better, now that he was relieved from want, and inspired with hope. Mrs. Carver bespoke from him two pieces of waistcoating, which she promised to dispose of for him most advantageously by a raffle, for which she had raised subscriptions amongst her numerous acquaintance. She expressed great indignation when Anne told her how Mr. But I'll run home with the half-guinea, White had been ruined by persons who would and tell them how good you have been, and not pay their just debts; and when she knew they will be so joyful and so thankful to you! that the weaver was overcharged for all his My mother will come herself, I'm sure, with working materials, because he took them upon me to-morrow morning-she can thank you so credit, she generously offered to lend them much better than I can." Those only who have whatever ready money might be necessary, known the extreme of want can imagine the which she said Anne might repay, at her leijoy and gratitude with which the half-guinea sure, out of her wages. "O madam!" said was received by this poor family. Half-a- Anne, "you are too good to us, indeed! too guinea! Colonel Pembroke spent six half-good! and if you could but see into our hearts, are. |