be beloved by his fellow servants. No one is so well received who solicits a favour for himself, as when he asks it for another; so that whoever has any thing to request, endeavours to engage another to intercede for him; and this they do with greater readiness, since, whether their master grants or refuses the favour requested, he never fails to acknowledge the merit of the person interceding. On the contrary, both he and Mrs. Wolmar always reject the solicitations of those who only regard themselves. Why, say they, should I grant, what is desired in your favour, who have never made me any request in favour of another? Is it reasonable, that you should be more favoured than your companions, because they are more obliging than you? They do more; they engage them to serve each other in private, without any ostentation, and without assuming any merit. This is the more easily accomplished, as they know that their master, who is witness of their discretion, will esteem them the more, thus self-interest is a gainer, and self-love no loser. They are so convinced of this general disposition to oblige, and they have such confidence in each other, that when they have any favour to ask, they frequently mention it at table by way of conversation; very often, without farther trouble, they find that the thing has been requested and granted, and as they do not know whom to thank, their obligation is to all.
It is by this, and such like methods, that they beget an attachment among them, resulting from, and subordinate to, the zeal they have for their master. Thus, far from leaguing together to his prejudice, they are only united for his service. However it may be their interest to love each other, they have still stronger motives for pleasing him; their zeal for his service gets the better of their mutual good will, and each considering himself as injured by losses which may make their master less able to recompense a faithful servant, they are all equally incapable of suffering any individual to do him wrong unnoticed. This principle of policy which is established in this family, seems to have somewhat sublime in it; and I cannot sufficiently admire how Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar have been able to transform the vile function of an informer into an office of zeal, integrity, and courage, as noble, or at least as praise-worthy, as it was among the Romans.
They began by subverting, or rather by preventing, in a plain and perspicuous manner, and by affecting instances, that servile and criminal practice, that mutual toleration at the master’s cost, which a worthless servant never fails to inculcate to a good one, under the mask of a charitable maxim. They made them understand, that the precept which enjoins us to hide our neighbour’s faults, relates to those only which do injury to no one; that if they are witness to any injustice which injures a third person, and do not discover it, they are guilty of it themselves; and that as nothing can oblige us to conceal such faults in others, but a consciousness of our own defects, therefore no one would chuse to countenance knaves, if he was not a knave himself. Upon these principles, which are just in general, as between man and man, but more strictly so with respect to the close connection between master and servant, they hold it here as an incontestable truth, that whoever sees their master wronged, without making a discovery, is more guilty than he who did the wrong; for he suffers himself to be misled by the prospect of advantage, but the other in cool blood and without any view of interest, can be induced to secrecy by no other motive than a thorough disregard of justice, an indifference towards the welfare of the family he serves, and a hidden desire of copying the example he conceals. Therefore even where the fault is considerable, the guilty party may nevertheless sometimes hope for pardon, but the witness who conceals the fact, is infallibly dismissed as a man of a bad disposition.
In return, they receive no accusation which may be suspected to proceed from injustice and calumny; that is to say, they admit of none in the absence of the accused. If any one comes to make a report against his fellow servant, or to prefer a personal complaint against him, they ask him whether he is sufficiently informed, that is to say, whether he has entered into any previous inquiry with the person whom he is going to accuse. If he answers in the negative, they ask him how he can judge of an action, when he is not acquainted with the motives to it? The fact, say they, may depend on some circumstance to which you are a stranger; there may be some particulars which may serve to justify or excuse it, and which you know nothing of. How can you presume to condemn any one’s conduct, before you know by what motives it is directed? One word of explanation would probably have rendered it justifiable in your eyes. Why then do you run the risk of condemning an action wrongfully, and of exposing me to participate of your injustice? If he assures them, that he has entered into a previous explanation with the accused; why then, say they, do you come without him, as if you was afraid that he would falsify what you are going to relate? By what right do you neglect taking the same precaution with respect to me, which you think proper to use with regard to yourself? Is it reasonable to desire me to judge of a fact from your report, of which you refuse to judge yourself by the testimony of your own eyes; and would not you be answerable for the partial judgment I might form, if I was to remain satisfied with your bare deposition? In the end, they direct them to summon the party accused; if they consent, the matter is soon decided; if they refuse, they dismiss them with a severe reprimand, but they keep the secret, and watch them both so narrowly, that they are not long at a loss to know which is in fault.
This rule is so well known and so well established, that you never hear a servant in this family speak ill of his absent comrade, for they are all sensible that it is the way to pass for a liar and a coward. When any one of them accuses another, it is openly, frankly, and not only to his face, but in the presence of all his fellow servants, that they who are witnesses to their accusation, may be vouchers of their integrity. In case of any personal disputes among them, the difference is generally made up by mediators without troubling Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar; but when the interest of the master is at stake, the matter cannot remain a secret; the guilty party must either accuse himself or be accused. These little pleadings happen very seldom, and never but at table, in the rounds which Eloisa makes every day while her people are at dinner or supper, which Mr. Wolmar pleasantly calls her general sessions. After having patiently attended to the accusation and the defence, if the affair regards her interest, she thanks the accuser for his zeal. I am sensible, says she, that you have a regard for your fellow servant, you have always spoken well of him, and I commend you because the love of your duty and of justice has prevailed over your private affections; it is thus that a faithful servant and an honest man ought to behave. If the party accused is not in fault, she always subjoins some compliment to her justification of his innocence. But if he is really guilty, she in some measure spares his shame before the rest. She supposes that he has something to communicate in his defence, which he does not chuse to declare in public; she appoints an hour to hear him in private, and it is then that she or her husband talk to him as they think proper. What is very remarkable is, that the most severe of the two is not most dreaded, and that they are less afraid of Mr. Wolmar’s solemn reprimand, than of Eloisa’s affecting reproaches. The former, speaking the language of truth and justice, humbles and confounds the guilty; the latter strikes them with the most cruel remorse, by convincing them with what regret she is forced to withdraw her kindness from them. She sometimes extorts tears of grief and shame from them, and it is not uncommon for her to be moved herself when she sees them repent, in hopes that she may not be obliged to abide by her word.
They who judge of these concerns by what passes in their own families, or among their neighbours, would probably deem them frivolous or tiresome. But you, my Lord, who have such high notions of the duties and enjoyments of a master of a family, and who are sensible what an ascendency natural disposition and virtue have over the human heart, you perceive the importance of these minutiae, and know on what circumstances their success depends. Riches do not make a man rich, as is well observed in some romance. The wealth of a man is not in his coffers, but in the use he makes of what he draws out of them; for our possessions do not become our own, but by the uses to which we allot them, and abuses are always more inexhaustible than riches; whence it happens that our enjoyments are not in proportion to our expenses, but depend on the just regulation of them. An idiot may toss ingots of gold into the sea, and say he has enjoyed them: but what comparison is there between such an extravagant enjoyment, and that which a wise man would have derived from the least part of their value? Order and regularity, which multiply and perpetuate the use of riches, are alone capable of converting the enjoyment of them into felicity. But if real property arises from the relation which our possessions bear to us, if it is rather the use than the acquisition of riches which confers it, what can be more proper subjects of attention for a master of a family than domestic economy, and the prudent regulation of his houshold, in which the most perfect correspondences more immediately concern him, and where the happiness of every individual is an addition to the felicity of the head?
Are the most wealthy the most happy? No: how then does wealth contribute to felicity? But every well regulated family is emblematic of the master’s mind. Gilded ceilings, luxury and magnificence, only serve to shew the vanity of those who display such parade; whereas, whenever you see order without melancholy, peace without slavery, plenty without profusion, you may say with confidence, the master of this house is a happy being.
For my own part, I think the most certain sign of true content is a domestic and retired life, and that they who are continually resorting to others in quest of happiness, do not enjoy it at home. A father of a family who amuses himself at home, is rewarded for his continual attention to domestic concerns, by the constant enjoyment of the most agreeable sensations of nature. He is the only one who can be properly said to be master of his own happiness, because, like heaven itself, he is happy in desiring nothing more than he enjoys. Like the Supreme Being, he does not wish to enlarge his possessions, but to make them really his own, under proper directions, and by using them conformably to the just relations of things: if he does not enrich himself by new acquisitions, he enriches himself by the true enjoyment of what he possesses. He once only enjoyed the income of his lands, he now enjoys the lands themselves, by over-looking their culture, and surveying them from time to time. His servant was a stranger to him: he is now part of his enjoyment; his child; he makes him his own. Formerly, he had only power over his servant’s actions, now he has authority over his inclinations. He was his master only by paying him wages, now he rules by the sacred dominion of benevolence and esteem. Though fortune spoils him of his wealth, she can never rob him of those affections which are attached to him; she cannot deprive a father of his children; all the difference is, that he maintained them yesterday, and that they will support him tomorrow. It is thus that we may learn the true enjoyment of our riches, of our family, and of ourselves; it is thus that the minutiae of a family become agreeable to a worthy man who knows the value of them; it is thus that, far from considering these little duties as troublesome, he makes them a part of his happiness, and derives the glory and pleasure of human nature from these noble and affecting offices.
If these precious advantages are despised or little known, and if the few who endeavour to acquire them seldom obtain them, the reason, in both cases, is the same. There are many simple and sublime duties, which few people can relish and fulfil. Such are those of the master of a family, for which the air and bustle of the world gives him a disgust, and which he never discharges properly when he is only inflamed by motives of avarice and interest. Some think themselves excellent masters, and are only careful economists; their income may thrive, and their family nevertheless be in a bad condition. They ought to have more enlarged views to direct an administration of such importance, so as to give it a happy issue. The first thing to be attended to in the due regulation of a family, is to admit none but honest people, who will not have any secret intention to disturb that regularity. But are honesty and servitude so compatible, that we may hope to find servants who are honest men? No, my Lord, if we would have them, we must not inquire for them, but we must make them; and none who are not men of integrity themselves are capable of making others honest. It is to no purpose for a hypocrite to affect an air of virtue, he will never inspire any one with an affection for it; and if he knew how to make virtue amiable, he would be in love with it himself. What do formal lessons avail, when daily example contradicts them, unless to make us suspect that the moralist means to sport with our credulity? What an absurdity are they guilty of who exhort us to do as they say, and not as they act themselves! He who does not act up to what he says, never speaks to any effect; for the language of the heart is wanting, which alone is persuasive and affecting. I have sometimes heard conversations of this kind held, in a gross manner, before servants, in order to read them lectures, as they do to children sometimes, in an indirect way. Far from having any reason to imagine that they were the dupes of such artifice, I have always observed them smile in secret at their master’s folly, who must have taken them for blockheads, by making an awkward display of sentiments before them, which they knew were none of his own.
All these idle subtleties are unknown in this family, and the grand art by which the master and mistress make their servants what they would desire them to be, is to appear themselves before them what they really are. Their behaviour is always frank and open, because they are not in any fear lest their actions should bely their processions. As they themselves do not entertain principles of morality different from those which they inculcate to others, they have no occasion for any extraordinary circumspection in their discourse; a word blundered out unseasonably does not overthrow the principles they have laboured to establish. They do not indiscreetly tell all their affairs, but they openly proclaim all their maxims.
Whether at table, or abroad, _tete a tete_, or in public, their sentiments are still the same; they ingenuously deliver their opinions on every subject, and without their having any individual in view, every one is instructed by their conversation. As their servants never see them do any thing but what is just, reasonable and equitable, they do not consider justice as a tax on the poor, as a yoke on the unhappy, and as one of the evils of their condition. The care they take never to let the labourers come in vain, and lose their day’s work in seeking after their wages, teaches their servants to set a just value on time. When they see their master so careful of other men’s time, each concludes that his own time must be of consequence, and therefore deems idleness the greatest crime he can be guilty of.
The confidence which their servants have in their integrity, gives that force to their regulations which makes them observed, and prevents abuses. They are not afraid, when they come to receive their weekly gratuities, that their mistress should partially determine the youngest and most active to have been the most diligent. An old servant is not apprehensive lest they should start some quibble, to save the promised augmentation to their wages. They can never hope to take advantage of any division between their master and mistress, in order to make themselves of consequence, and to obtain from one what the other has refused. They who are unmarried, are not afraid lest they should oppose their settlement, in order to detain them longer; and by that means make their service a prejudice to them. If a strange servant was to tell the domestics of this family, that master and servants are in a state of war with each other, that when the latter do the former all the injury they can, they only make lawful reprisals, that masters being usurpers, liars and knaves, there can consequently be no harm in using them as they use their prince, the people, or individuals, and in returning those injuries with dexterity, which they offer openly----one who should talk in this manner would not be attended to; they would not give themselves the trouble to controvert or obviate such sentiments; they who give rise to them, are the only persons whose business it is to refute them.
You never perceive any sullenness or mutiny in the discharge of their duty, because there is never any haughtiness or capriciousness in the orders they receive; nothing is required of them but what is reasonable and expedient, and their master and mistress have too much respect for the dignity of human nature, even in a state of servitude, to put them upon any employment which may debase them. Moreover, nothing here is reckoned mean but vice, and whatever is reasonable and necessary, is deemed honourable and becoming.
They do not allow of any intrigues abroad, neither has any one any inclinations of that kind. They are sensible that their fortune is most firmly attached to their masters, and that they shall never want any thing while his family prospers. Therefore in serving him, they take care of their own patrimony, and increase it by making their service agreeable; this above all things is their interest. But this word is somewhat misapplied here, for I never knew any system of policy by which self-interest was so skilfully directed, and where at the same time it had less influence than in this family. They all act from a principle of attachment, and one would think that venal souls were purified as soon as they entered into this dwelling of wisdom and union. He would imagine that part of the master’s intelligence, and of the mistress’s sensibility, was conveyed to each of their servants; they seem so judicious, benevolent, honest, and so much above their station. Their greatest ambition is to do well, to be valued and esteemed; and they consider an obliging expression from their master or mistress, in the light of a present.
These, my Lord, are the most material observations I have made on that part of the economy of this family, which regards the servants and labourers. As to Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar’s manner of living, and the education of their children, each of these articles very well deserves a separate letter. You know with what view I began these remarks; but in truth the whole forms such an agreeable representation, that we need only meditate upon it to advance it, and we require no other inducement, than the pleasure it affords us.
Letter CXXX. To Lord B----.
No, my Lord, I do not retract what I have said; in this family, the useful and agreeable are united throughout; but occupations of use are not confined to those pursuits which yield profit: they comprehend farther every innocent and harmless amusement which may serve to improve a relish for retirement, labour, and temperance, which may contribute to preserve the mind in a vigorous state, and to keep the heart free from the agitation of tumultuous passions. If inactive indolence begets nothing but melancholy and irksomeness, the delights of an agreeable leisure are the fruits of a laborious life. We only work to enjoy ourselves; this alternative of labour and recreation is our natural state. The repose which serves to refresh us after past labours, and encourage us to renew them, is not less necessary for us than labour itself.
After having admired the good consequences attending the vigilance and attention of the prudent Eloisa in the conduct of her family, I was witness of the good effects of the recreation she uses in a retired place, where she takes her favourite walk, and which she calls her elysium.
I had often heard them talk of this elysium, of which they made a mystery before me. Yesterday however the excessive heat being almost equally intolerable both within doors and without, Mr. Wolmar proposed to his wife to make holiday that afternoon, and instead of going into the nursery towards evening as usual, to come and breathe the fresh air with us in the orchard; she consented, and thither we went.
This place, though just close to the house, is hidden in such a manner by a shady walk which parts it from the house, that it is not visible from any point. The thick foliage with which it is environed renders it impervious to the eye, and it is always carefully locked up. I was scarce got within-side, but, the door being covered with alder and hazel trees, I could not find out which way I came in, when I turned back, and seeing no door, it seemed as if I had dropped from the clouds.
On my entrance into this disguised orchard, I was seized with an agreeable sensation; the freshness of the thick foliage, the beautiful and lively verdure, the flowers scattered on each side, the murmuring of the purling stream, and the warbling of a thousand birds, struck my imagination as powerfully as my senses; but at the same time I thought myself in the most wild and solitary place in nature, and I appeared as if I had been the first mortal who had ever penetrated into this desert spot. Being seized with astonishment, and transported at so unexpected a sight, I remained motionless for some time, and cried out, in an involuntary fit of enthusiasm, O Tinian! O Juan Fernandez!
[55] Eloisa, the world’s end is at your threshold! Many people, said she, with a smile, think in the same manner; but twenty paces at most presently brings them back to Clarens: let us see whether the charm will work longer upon you. This is the same orchard where you have walked formerly, and where you have played at romps with my cousin.
You may remember that the grass was almost burned up, the trees thinly planted, affording very little umbrage, and that there was no water.
You find that now it is fresh, verdant, cultivated, embellished with flowers, and well watered; what do you imagine it may have cost me to put it in the condition you see? For you must know that I am the superintendent, and that my husband leaves the entire management of it to me. In truth, said I, it has cost you nothing but inattention. It is indeed a delightful spot, but wild and rustic; and I can discover no marks of human industry. You have concealed the door; the water springs I know not whence; nature alone has done all the rest, and even you could not have mended her work. It is true, said she, that nature has done every thing, but under my direction, and you see nothing but what has been done under my orders. Guess once more.
First, I replied, I cannot conceive how labour and expense can be made to supply the effects of time. The trees...As to them, said Mr.
Wolmar, you may observe that there are none very large, and they were here before. Besides, Eloisa began this work a long while before her marriage, and presently after her mother’s death, when she used to come here with her father in quest of solitude. Well, said I, since you will have these large and massy bowers, these sloping tufts, these umbrageous thickets to be the growth of seven or eight years, and to be partly the work of art, I think you have been a good economist if you have done all within this vast circumference for two thousand crowns. You have only guessed two thousand crowns too much, says she, for it cost me nothing. How, nothing? No, nothing; unless you place a dozen days work in the year to my gardener’s account, as many to two or three of my people, and some to Mr. Wolmar, who has sometimes condescended to officiate, in my service, as a gardener. I could not comprehend this riddle; but Eloisa, who had hitherto held me, said to me, letting me loose, Go, and you will understand it. Farewell Tinian, farewell Juan Fernandez, farewell all enchantment! In a few minutes you will find your way back from the end of the world.
I began to wander over the orchard thus metamorphosed with a kind of extasy; and if I found no exotic plants, nor any of the products of the Indies, I found all those which were natural to the soil disposed and blended in such a manner, as to produce the most chearful and lively effect. The verdant turf, thick but short and close, was intermixed with wild thyme, balm, sweet marjoram, and other fragrant herbs. You might perceive a thousand wild flowers dazzle your eyes, among which you would be surprized to discover some garden flowers, which seemed to grow natural with the rest. I now and then met with shady tufts as impervious to the rays of the sun, as if they had been in a thick forest. These tufts were composed of trees of a very flexible nature, the branches of which they bend, till they hang on the ground, and take root, as I have seen some trees naturally do in America. In the more open spots, I saw here and there bushes of roses, raspberries, and gooseberries, little plantations of lilac, hazel trees, alders, feringa, broom, and trifolium, dispersed without any order or symmetry, and which embellished the ground, at the same time that it gave it the appearance of being overgrown with weeds. I followed the track through irregular and serpentine walks, bordered by these flowery thickets, and covered with a thousand garlands composed of vines, hops, rose-weed, snake-weed, and other plants of that kind, with which honey-suckles and jessamine deigned to inter-twine. These garlands seemed as if they were scattered carefully from one tree to another, and formed a kind of drapery over our heads which sheltered us from the sun; while under foot we had smooth, agreeable, and dry walking upon a fine moss, without sand or grass or any rugged shoots.
Then it was I first discovered, not without astonishment, that this verdant and bushy umbrage, which had deceived me so much at a distance, was composed of these luxuriant and creeping plants, which running all along the trees, formed a thick foliage over head, and afforded shade and freshness underfoot. I observed likewise, that by means of common industry, they had made several of these plants take root in the trunks of the trees, so that they spread more, being nearer the top. You will readily conceive that the fruit is not the better for these additions; but this is the only spot where they have sacrificed the useful to the agreeable, and in the rest of their grounds they have taken such care of the trees that, without the orchard, the return of fruit is greater than it was formerly. If you do but consider how delightful it is to meet with wild fruit in the midst of a wood, and to refresh one’s self with it, you will easily conceive what a pleasure it must be to meet with excellent and ripe fruit in this artificial desert, though it grows but here and there, and has not the best appearance; which gives one the pleasure of searching and selecting the best.
All these little walks were bordered and crossed by a clear and limpid rivulet, which one while winded through the grass and flowers in streams scarce perceptible; at another, rushed in more copious floods upon a clear and speckled gravel, which rendered the water more transparent. You might perceive the springs rise and bubble out of the earth, and sometimes you might observe deep canals, in which the calm and gentle fluid served as a mirror to reflect the objects around.
Now, said I to Eloisa, I comprehend all the rest: but these waters which I see on every side?...They come from thence she replied, pointing to that side where the terrass lies. It is the same stream which, at a vast expense, supplied the fountain, in the flower garden, for which nobody cares. Mr. Wolmar will not destroy it, out of respect to my father who had it made; but with what pleasure we come here everyday to see this water run through the orchard, which we never look at in the garden! The fountain plays for the entertainment of strangers; this little rivulet flows for our amusement. It is true that I have likewise brought hither the water from the public fountain, which emptied itself into the lake, through the highway, to the detriment of passengers, besides its running to waste without profit to any one. It formed an elbow at the foot of the orchard between two rows of willows; I have taken them within my inclosure, and I bring the same water hither through different channels.
I perceived then that all the contrivance consisted in managing these streams, so as to make them flow in meanders, by separating and uniting them at proper places, by making them run as little upon the slope as possible, in order to lengthen their course, and make the most of a few little murmuring cascades. A lay of earth, covered with some gravel from the lake, and strewed over with shells, forms a bed for these waters. The same streams running at proper distances under some large tiles covered with earth and turf, on a level with the ground, forms a kind of artificial springs where they issue forth.
Some small streams spout through pipes on some rugged places, and bubble as they fall. The ground thus refreshed and watered, continually yields fresh flowers, and keeps the grass always verdant and beautiful.
The more I wandered over this delightful asylum, the more I found the agreeable sensation improve which I experienced at my first entrance: nevertheless my curiosity kept me in exercise; I was more eager to view the objects around me, than to inquire into the cause of the impressions they made on me, and I chose to resign myself to that delightful contemplation, without taking the trouble of reflection; but Mrs. Wolmar drew me out of my reverie, by taking me under the arm; All that you see, said she, is nothing but vegetable and inanimate nature, which in spite of us, always leaves behind it a melancholy idea of solitude. Come and view nature animated and more affecting.
There you will discover some new charm every minute in the day. You anticipate me, said I, I hear a confused chirping noise, and I see but few birds; I suppose you have an aviary. True, said she, let us go to it. I durst not as yet declare what I thought of this aviary; but there was something in the idea of it which disgusted me, and did not seem to correspond with the rest.
We went down, through a thousand turnings, to the bottom of the orchard, where I found all the water collected in a fine rivulet, flowing gently between two rows of old willows, which had been frequently lopped. Their tops being hollow and half bare, formed a kind of vessel, from whence, by the contrivance I just now mentioned, grew several tufts of honey-suckles, of which one part intertwined among the branches, and the other dropped carelessly along the side of the rivulet. Near the extremity of the inclosure, was a little bason, bordered with grass, bulrushes, and weeds, which served as a watering place to the aviary, and was the last use made of this water, so precious and so well husbanded.
Somewhat beyond this bason was a platform, which was terminated, in an angle of the inclosure, by a hillock planted with a number of little trees of all kinds; the smallest stood towards the summit, and their size increased, in proportion as the ground grew lower, which made their tops appear to be horizontal, or at least shewed that they were one day intended to be so. In the front stood a dozen of trees, which were young as yet, but of a nature to grow very large, such as the beech, the elm, the ash, and the acacia. The groves on this side, served as an asylum to that vast number of birds which I had heard chirping at a distance, and it was under the shade of this foliage, as under a large umbrella, that you might see them hop about, run, frisk, provoke each other, and fight, as if they had not perceived us. They were so far from flying at our approach, that, according to the notion with which I was prepossessed, I imagined them to have been inclosed within a wire; but when we came to the border of the bason, I saw several of them alight, and come towards us through a short walk which parted the platform in two, and made a communication between the bason and the aviary. Mr. Wolmar then going round the bason, scattered two or three handfuls of mixed grain, which he had in his pocket, along the walk, and when he retired, the birds flocked together and began to seed like so many chickens, with such an air of familiarity, that I plainly perceived they had been trained up to it. This is charming, said I: your using the word aviary, surprized me at first, but I now see what it is; I perceive that you invite them as your guests, instead of confining them as your prisoners. What do you mean by our guests? replied Eloisa; it is we who are theirs. They are masters here, and we pay them for being admitted some times. Very well, said I, but how did these masters get possession of this spot? How did you collect together so many voluntary inhabitants? I never heard of any attempt of this kind, and I could not have believed that such a design could have succeeded, if I had not evidence of it before my eyes.
Time and patience, said Mr. Wolmar, have worked this miracle. These are expedients which the rich scarce ever think of in their pleasures.
Always in haste for enjoyment, force and money are the only instruments they know how to employ; they have birds in cage, and friends at so much a mouth. If the servants ever came near this place, you would soon see the birds disappear, and if you perceive vast numbers of them at present, the reason is that this spot has always, in some degree, been a refuge for them. There is no bringing them together where there are none to invite them, but where there are some already, it is easy to increase their numbers by anticipating all their wants, by not frightening them, by suffering them to hatch with security, and by never disturbing the young ones in their nest; for by these means, such as are there, abide there, and those which come