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<h1> THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD </h1>
<h2> A TALE </h2>
<h3> Supposed to be written by Himself </h3>
<h3> By Oliver Goldsmith </h3>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<h4>
Sperate miseri, cavete faelices
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<h2> ADVERTISEMENT </h2>
<p>There are an hundred faults in this Thing, and an hundred things might be
said to prove them beauties. But it is needless. A book may be amusing
with numerous errors, or it may be very dull without a single absurdity.
The hero of this piece unites in himself the three greatest characters
upon earth; he is a priest, an husbandman, and the father of a family. He
is drawn as ready to teach, and ready to obey, as simple in affluence, and
majestic in adversity. In this age of opulence and refinement whom can
such a character please? Such as are fond of high life, will turn with
disdain from the simplicity of his country fire-side. Such as mistake
ribaldry for humour, will find no wit in his harmless conversation; and
such as have been taught to deride religion, will laugh at one whose chief
stores of comfort are drawn from futurity.</p>
<p>OLIVER GOLDSMITH <br/> <br/></p>
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<h2> CHAPTER 1 </h2>
<p>The description of the family of Wakefield; in which a kindred likeness
prevails as well of minds as of persons</p>
<p>I was ever of opinion, that the honest man who married and brought up a
large family, did more service than he who continued single, and only
talked of population. From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year
before I began to think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife as she
did her wedding gown, not for a fine glossy surfaces but such qualities as
would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable woman;
and as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could shew more.
She could read any English book without much spelling, but for pickling,
preserving, and cookery, none could excel her. She prided herself also
upon being an excellent contriver in house-keeping; tho' I could never
find that we grew richer with all her contrivances. However, we loved each
other tenderly, and our fondness encreased as we grew old. There was in
fact nothing that could make us angry with the world or each other. We had
an elegant house, situated in a fine country, and a good neighbourhood.
The year was spent in moral or rural amusements; in visiting our rich
neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no revolutions to
fear, nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by the fire-side,
and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown.</p>
<p>As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger visit us
to taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great reputation; and I
profess with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of them
find fault with it. Our cousins too, even to the fortieth remove, all
remembered their affinity, without any help from the Herald's office, and
came very frequently to see us. Some of them did us no great honour by
these claims of kindred; as we had the blind, the maimed, and the halt
amongst the number. However, my wife always insisted that as they were the
same flesh and blood, they should sit with us at the same table. So that
if we had not, very rich, we generally had very happy friends about us;
for this remark will hold good thro' life, that the poorer the guest, the
better pleased he ever is with being treated: and as some men gaze with
admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wing of a butterfly, so I was
by nature an admirer of happy human faces. However, when any one of our
relations was found to be a person of very bad character, a troublesome
guest, or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house, I ever
took care to lend him a riding coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes an
horse of small value, and I always had the satisfaction of finding he
never came back to return them. By this the house was cleared of such as
we did not like; but never was the family of Wakefield known to turn the
traveller or the poor dependent out of doors.</p>
<p>Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness, not but that we
sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the
value of its favours. My orchard was often robbed by school-boys, and my
wife's custards plundered by the cats or the children. The 'Squire would
sometimes fall asleep in the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady
return my wife's civilities at church with a mutilated curtesy. But we
soon got over the uneasiness caused by such accidents, and usually in
three or four days began to wonder how they vext us.</p>
<p>My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without
softness, so they were at once well formed and healthy; my sons hardy and
active, my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in the midst of
the little circle, which promised to be the supports of my declining age,
I could not avoid repeating the famous story of Count Abensberg, who, in
Henry II's progress through Germany, while other courtiers came with their
treasures, brought his thirty-two children, and presented them to his
sovereign as the most valuable offering he had to bestow. In this manner,
though I had but six, I considered them as a very valuable present made to
my country, and consequently looked upon it as my debtor. Our eldest son
was named George, after his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our
second child, a girl, I intended to call after her aunt Grissel; but my
wife, who during her pregnancy had been reading romances, insisted upon
her being called Olivia. In less than another year we had another
daughter, and now I was determined that Grissel should be her name; but a
rich relation taking a fancy to stand godmother, the girl was, by her
directions, called Sophia; so that we had two romantic names in the
family; but I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next,
and after an interval of twelve years, we had two sons more.</p>
<p>It would be fruitless to deny my exultation when I saw my little ones
about me; but the vanity and the satisfaction of my wife were even greater
than mine. When our visitors would say, 'Well, upon my word, Mrs Primrose,
you have the finest children in the whole country.'—'Ay, neighbour,'
she would answer, 'they are as heaven made them, handsome enough, if they
be good enough; for handsome is that handsome does.' And then she would
bid the girls hold up their heads; who, to conceal nothing, were certainly
very handsome. Mere outside is so very trifling a circumstance with me,
that I should scarce have remembered to mention it, had it not been a
general topic of conversation in the country. Olivia, now about eighteen,
had that luxuriancy of beauty with which painters generally draw Hebe;
open, sprightly, and commanding. Sophia's features were not so striking at
first; but often did more certain execution; for they were soft, modest,
and alluring. The one vanquished by a single blow, the other by efforts
successfully repeated.</p>
<p>The temper of a woman is generally formed from the turn of her features,
at least it was so with my daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers,
Sophia to secure one. Olivia was often affected from too great a desire to
please. Sophia even represt excellence from her fears to offend. The one
entertained me with her vivacity when I was gay, the other with her sense
when I was serious. But these qualities were never carried to excess in
either, and I have often seen them exchange characters for a whole day
together. A suit of mourning has transformed my coquet into a prude, and a
new set of ribbands has given her younger sister more than natural
vivacity. My eldest son George was bred at Oxford, as I intended him for
one of the learned professions. My second boy Moses, whom I designed for
business, received a sort of a miscellaneous education at home. But it is
needless to attempt describing the particular characters of young people
that had seen but very little of the world. In short, a family likeness
prevailed through all, and properly speaking, they had but one character,
that of being all equally generous, credulous, simple, and inoffensive.</p>
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