["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I was ever of opinion, that the honest man who married and brought up\na large family, did more service than he who continued single, and only\ntalked of population. From this motive, I had scarce taken orders a year\nbefore I began to think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife as she\ndid her wedding gown, not for a fine glossy surfaces but such qualities\nas would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable\nwoman; and as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could shew\nmore. She could read any English book without much spelling, but for\npickling, preserving, and cookery, none could excel her. She prided\nherself also upon being an excellent contriver in house-keeping; tho' I\ncould never find that we grew richer with all her contrivances. However,\nwe 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\neach other. We had an elegant house, situated in a fine country, and a\ngood neighbourhood. The year was spent in moral or rural amusements; in\nvisiting our rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no\nrevolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by\nthe fire-side, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown. As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger visit\nus to taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great reputation; and\nI profess with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of\nthem find fault with it. Our cousins too, even to the fortieth remove,\nall remembered their affinity, without any help from the Herald's\noffice, and came very frequently to see us. Some of them did us no great\nhonour by these claims of kindred; as we had the blind, the maimed, and\nthe halt amongst the number. However, my wife always insisted that as\nthey were the same flesh and blood, they should sit with us at the same\ntable. So that if we had not, very rich, we generally had very happy\nfriends about us; for this remark will hold good thro' life, that the\npoorer the guest, the better pleased he ever is with being treated: and\nas some men gaze with admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wing\nof 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\nbad character, a troublesome guest, or one we desired to get rid of,\nupon his leaving my house, I ever took care to lend him a riding coat,\nor a pair of boots, or sometimes an horse of small value, and I always\nhad the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return them. By\nthis the house was cleared of such as we did not like; but never was the\nfamily of Wakefield known to turn the traveller or the poor dependent\nout of doors. Thus we lived several years in a state of much happiness, not but that\nwe sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the\nvalue of its favours. My orchard was often robbed by school-boys, and my\nwife's custards plundered by the cats or the children. The 'Squire would\nsometimes fall asleep in the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his\nlady return my wife's civilities at church with a mutilated curtesy. But\nwe soon got over the uneasiness caused by such accidents, and usually in\nthree or four days began to wonder how they vext us. My children, the offspring of temperance, as they were educated without\nsoftness, so they were at once well formed and healthy; my sons hardy\nand active, my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I stood in the\nmidst of the little circle, which promised to be the supports of my\ndeclining age, I could not avoid repeating the famous story of Count\nAbensberg, who, in Henry II's progress through Germany, while other\ncourtiers came with their treasures, brought his thirty-two children,\nand presented them to his sovereign as the most valuable offering he had\nto bestow. In this manner, though I had but six, I considered them as a\nvery valuable present made to my country, and consequently looked upon\nit as my debtor. Our eldest son was named George, after his uncle, who\nleft us ten thousand pounds. Our second child, a girl, I intended to\ncall after her aunt Grissel; but my wife, who during her pregnancy had\nbeen reading romances, insisted upon her being called Olivia. In less\nthan another year we had another daughter, and now I was determined that\nGrissel should be her name; but a rich relation taking a fancy to stand\ngodmother, the girl was, by her directions, called Sophia; so that we\nhad two romantic names in the family; but I solemnly protest I had no\nhand in it. Moses was our next, and after an interval of twelve years,\nwe had two sons more. It would be fruitless to deny my exultation when I saw my little ones\nabout me; but the vanity and the satisfaction of my wife were even\ngreater than mine. When our visitors would say, 'Well, upon my word,\nMrs Primrose, you have the finest children in the whole country.' --'Ay,\nneighbour,' she would answer, 'they are as heaven made them, handsome\nenough, 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\nnothing, were certainly very handsome. Mere outside is so very trifling\na circumstance with me, that I should scarce have remembered to mention\nit, had it not been a general topic of conversation in the country. Olivia, now about eighteen, had that luxuriancy of beauty with which\npainters generally draw Hebe; open, sprightly, and commanding. Sophia's\nfeatures were not so striking at first; but often did more certain\nexecution; for they were soft, modest, and alluring. The one vanquished\nby a single blow, the other by efforts successfully repeated. The temper of a woman is generally formed from the turn of her features,\nat least it was so with my daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers,\nSophia to secure one. Olivia was often affected from too great a desire\nto please. Sophia even represt excellence from her fears to offend. The\none entertained me with her vivacity when I was gay, the other with\nher sense when I was serious. But these qualities were never carried to\nexcess in either, and I have often seen them exchange characters for a\nwhole day together. A suit of mourning has transformed my coquet into a\nprude, and a new set of ribbands has given her younger sister more than\nnatural vivacity. My eldest son George was bred at Oxford, as I intended\nhim for one of the learned professions. My second boy Moses, whom I\ndesigned for business, received a sort of a miscellaneous education at\nhome. But it is needless to attempt describing the particular characters\nof young people that had seen but very little of the world. In short, a\nfamily likeness prevailed through all, and properly speaking, they\nhad but one character, that of being all equally generous, credulous,\nsimple, and inoffensive. The temporal concerns of our family were chiefly committed to my wife's\nmanagement, as to the spiritual I took them entirely under my own\ndirection. The profits of my living, which amounted to but thirty-five\npounds a year, I made over to the orphans and widows of the clergy of\nour diocese; for having a sufficient fortune of my own, I was careless\nof temporalities, and felt a secret pleasure in doing my duty without\nreward. I also set a resolution of keeping no curate, and of being\nacquainted with every man in the parish, exhorting the married men to\ntemperance and the bachelors to matrimony; so that in a few years it\nwas a common saying, that there were three strange wants at Wakefield,\na parson wanting pride, young men wanting wives, and ale-houses wanting\ncustomers. Matrimony was always one of my favourite topics, and I wrote\nseveral sermons to prove its happiness: but there was a peculiar tenet\nwhich I made a point of supporting; for I maintained with Whiston, that\nit was unlawful for a priest of the church of England, after the death\nof his first wife, to take a second, or to express it in one word, I\nvalued myself upon being a strict monogamist. I was early innitiated\ninto this important dispute, on which so many laborious volumes have\nbeen written. I published some tracts upon the subject myself, which, as\nthey never sold, I have the consolation of thinking are read only by the\nhappy Few. Some of my friends called this my weak side; but alas! they\nhad not like me made it the subject of long contemplation. The more I\nreflected upon it, the more important it appeared.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I even went a step\nbeyond Whiston in displaying my principles: as he had engraven upon his\nwife's tomb that she was the only wife of William Whiston; so I wrote\na similar epitaph for my wife, though still living, in which I extolled\nher prudence, oeconomy, and obedience till death; and having got\nit copied fair, with an elegant frame, it was placed over the\nchimney-piece, where it answered several very useful purposes. It\nadmonished my wife of her duty to me, and my fidelity to her; it\ninspired her with a passion for fame, and constantly put her in mind of\nher end. It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so often recommended, that\nmy eldest son, just upon leaving college, fixed his affections upon the\ndaughter of a neighbouring clergyman, who was a dignitary in the church,\nand in circumstances to give her a large fortune: but fortune was her\nsmallest accomplishment. Miss Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all,\nexcept my two daughters, to be completely pretty. Her youth, health,\nand innocence, were still heightened by a complexion so transparent, and\nsuch an happy sensibility of look, as even age could not gaze on with\nindifference. As Mr Wilmot knew that I could make a very handsome\nsettlement on my son, he was not averse to the match; so both families\nlived together in all that harmony which generally precedes an expected\nalliance. Being convinced by experience that the days of courtship\nare the most happy of our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen the\nperiod; and the various amusements which the young couple every day\nshared in each other's company, seemed to encrease their passion. We\nwere generally awaked in the morning by music, and on fine days rode a\nhunting. The hours between breakfast and dinner the ladies devoted to\ndress and study: they usually read a page, and then gazed at themselves\nin the glass, which even philosophers might own often presented the page\nof greatest beauty. At dinner my wife took the lead; for as she always\ninsisted upon carving every thing herself, it being her mother's way,\nshe gave us upon these occasions the history of every dish. When we had\ndined, to prevent the ladies leaving us, I generally ordered the table\nto be removed; and sometimes, with the music master's assistance, the\ngirls would give us a very agreeable concert. Walking out, drinking tea,\ncountry dances, and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without the\nassistance of cards, as I hated all manner of gaming, except backgammon,\nat which my old friend and I sometimes took a two-penny hit. Nor can I\nhere pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the last time we\nplayed together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce\nace five times running. Some months were elapsed in this manner, till\nat last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of the\nyoung couple, who seemed earnestly to desire it. During the preparations\nfor the wedding, I need not describe the busy importance of my wife,\nnor the sly looks of my daughters: in fact, my attention was fixed\non another object, the completing a tract which I intended shortly to\npublish in defence of my favourite principle. As I looked upon this as a\nmaster-piece both for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my\nheart avoid shewing it to my old friend Mr Wilmot, as I made no doubt\nof receiving his approbation; but not till too late I discovered that\nhe was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with good\nreason; for he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife. This,\nas may be expected, produced a dispute attended with some acrimony,\nwhich threatened to interrupt our intended alliance: but on the day\nbefore that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the subject\nat large. It was managed with proper spirit on both sides: he asserted\nthat I was heterodox, I retorted the charge: he replied, and I rejoined. In the mean time, while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by\none of my relations, who, with a face of concern, advised me to give up\nthe dispute, at least till my son's wedding was over. 'How,' cried\nI, 'relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be an husband, already\ndriven to the very verge of absurdity. You might as well advise me to\ngive up my fortune as my argument.' 'Your fortune,' returned my friend,\n'I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in town,\nin whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute\nof bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound. I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till\nafter the wedding: but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the\nargument; for, I suppose, your own prudence will enforce the necessity\nof dissembling at least till your son has the young lady's fortune\nsecure.' --'Well,' returned I, 'if what you tell me be true, and if I am\nto be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or induce me to\ndisavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the company of my\ncircumstances; and as for the argument, I even here retract my former\nconcessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to\nbe an husband in any sense of the expression.' It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both\nfamilies when I divulged the news of our misfortune; but what others\nfelt was slight to what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr Wilmot, who\nseemed before sufficiently inclined to break off the match, was by\nthis blow soon determined: one virtue he had in perfection, which was\nprudence, too often the only one that is left us at seventy-two. The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortunes\nmight be malicious or premature: but a letter from my agent in town soon\ncame with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to\nmyself alone would have been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt was\nfor my family, who were to be humble without an education to render them\ncallous to contempt. Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their\naffliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow. During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of\nsupporting them; and at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds a year was\noffered me in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my\nprinciples without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully closed,\nhaving determined to encrease my salary by managing a little farm. Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the\nwrecks of my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen\nthousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention\ntherefore was now to bring down the pride of my family to their\ncircumstances; for I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness\nitself. 'You cannot be ignorant, my children,' cried I, 'that no\nprudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but prudence\nmay do much in disappointing its effects. We are now poor, my fondlings,\nand wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us then, without\nrepining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and\nseek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy. The poor live pleasantly without our help, why then should not we learn\nto live without theirs. No, my children, let us from this moment give up\nall pretensions to gentility; we have still enough left for happiness\nif we are wise, and let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of\nfortune.' As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him\nto town, where his abilities might contribute to our support and his\nown. The separation of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most\ndistressful circumstances attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on\nwhich we were to disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave\nof his mother and the rest, who mingled their tears with their kisses,\ncame to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and\nwhich, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow. 'You are going, my boy,' cried I, 'to London on foot, in the manner\nHooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me\nthe same horse that was given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff,\nand take this book too, it will be your comfort on the way: these two\nlines in it are worth a million, I have been young, and now am old; yet\nnever saw I the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread. Let this be your consolation as you travel on.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Go, my boy, whatever be\nthy fortune let me see thee once a year; still keep a good heart, and\nfarewell.' As he was possest of integrity and honour, I was under no\napprehensions from throwing him naked into the amphitheatre of life; for\nI knew he would act a good part whether vanquished or victorious. His\ndeparture only prepared the way for our own, which arrived a few days\nafterwards. The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many\nhours of tranquility, was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude\nitself could suppress. Besides, a journey of seventy miles to a family\nthat had hitherto never been above ten from home, filled us with\napprehension, and the cries of the poor, who followed us for some miles,\ncontributed to encrease it. The first day's journey brought us in safety\nwithin thirty miles of our future retreat, and we put up for the night\nat an obscure inn in a village by the way. When we were shewn a room, I\ndesired the landlord, in my usual way, to let us have his company,\nwith which he complied, as what he drank would encrease the bill next\nmorning. He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood to which I was\nremoving, particularly 'Squire Thornhill, who was to be my landlord, and\nwho lived within a few miles of the place. This gentleman he described\nas one who desired to know little more of the world than its pleasures,\nbeing particularly remarkable for his attachment to the fair sex. He\nobserved that no virtue was able to resist his arts and assiduity, and\nthat scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles round but what had\nfound him successful and faithless. Though this account gave me some\npain, it had a very different effect upon my daughters, whose features\nseemed to brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph, nor\nwas my wife less pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue. While our thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to\ninform her husband, that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in\nthe house, wanted money, and could not satisfy them for his reckoning. 'Want money!' replied the host, 'that must be impossible; for it was no\nlater than yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle to spare an\nold broken soldier that was to be whipped through the town for\ndog-stealing.' The hostess, however, still persisting in her first\nassertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would be\nsatisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord would introduce\nme to a stranger of so much charity as he described. With this he\ncomplied, shewing in a gentleman who seemed to be about thirty, drest in\ncloaths that once were laced. His person was well formed, and his face\nmarked with the lines of thinking. He had something short and dry in his\naddress, and seemed not to understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon\nthe landlord's leaving the room, I could not avoid expressing my concern\nto the stranger at seeing a gentleman in such circumstances, and offered\nhim my purse to satisfy the present demand. 'I take it with all my\nheart, Sir,' replied he, 'and am glad that a late oversight in giving\nwhat money I had about me, has shewn me that there are still some men\nlike you. I must, however, previously entreat being informed of the\nname and residence of my benefactor, in order to repay him as soon as\npossible.' In this I satisfied him fully, not only mentioning my name\nand late misfortunes, but the place to which I was going to remove. 'This,' cried he, 'happens still more luckily than I hoped for, as I\nam going the same way myself, having been detained here two days by the\nfloods, which, I hope, by to-morrow will be found passable.' I testified\nthe pleasure I should have in his company, and my wife and daughters\njoining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay supper. The\nstranger's conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive,\ninduced me to wish for a continuance of it; but it was now high time to\nretire and take refreshment against the fatigues of the following day. The next morning we all set forward together: my family on horseback,\nwhile Mr Burchell, our new companion, walked along the foot-path by\nthe road-side, observing, with a smile, that as we were ill mounted, he\nwould be too generous to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods\nwere not yet subsided, we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted\non before, Mr Burchell and I bringing up the rear. We lightened the\nfatigues of the road with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to\nunderstand perfectly. But what surprised me most was, that though he was\na money-borrower, he defended his opinions with as much obstinacy as\nif he had been my patron. He now and then also informed me to whom the\ndifferent seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the road. 'That,' cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which stood at\nsome distance, 'belongs to Mr Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a\nlarge fortune, though entirely dependent on the will of his uncle,\nSir William Thornhill, a gentleman, who content with a little himself,\npermits his nephew to enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in town.' 'What!' cried I, 'is my young landlord then the nephew of a man whose\nvirtues, generosity, and singularities are so universally known? I have\nheard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of the most generous,\nyet whimsical, men in the kingdom; a man of consumate\nbenevolence'--'Something, perhaps, too much so,' replied Mr Burchell,\n'at least he carried benevolence to an excess when young; for his\npassions were then strong, and as they all were upon the side of virtue,\nthey led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim at the\nqualifications of the soldier and scholar; was soon distinguished in\nthe army and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation\never follows the ambitious; for such alone receive most pleasure from\nflattery. He was surrounded with crowds, who shewed him only one side of\ntheir character; so that he began to lose a regard for private interest\nin universal sympathy. He loved all mankind; for fortune prevented him\nfrom knowing that there were rascals. Physicians tell us of a disorder\nin which the whole body is so exquisitely sensible, that the slightest\ntouch gives pain: what some have thus suffered in their persons, this\ngentleman felt in his mind. The slightest distress, whether real or\nfictitious, touched him to the quick, and his soul laboured under a\nsickly sensibility of the miseries of others. Thus disposed to relieve,\nit will be easily conjectured, he found numbers disposed to solicit: his\nprofusions began to impair his fortune, but not his good-nature; that,\nindeed, was seen to encrease as the other seemed to decay: he grew\nimprovident as he grew poor; and though he talked like a man of sense,\nhis actions were those of a fool. Still, however, being surrounded with\nimportunity, and no longer able to satisfy every request that was made\nhim, instead of money he gave promises. They were all he had to bestow,\nand he had not resolution enough to give any man pain by a denial. By this he drew round him crowds of dependants, whom he was sure to\ndisappoint; yet wished to relieve. These hung upon him for a time, and\nleft him with merited reproaches and contempt. But in proportion as he\nbecame contemptable to others, he became despicable to himself. His mind\nhad leaned upon their adulation, and that support taken away, he could\nfind no pleasure in the applause of his heart, which he had never\nlearnt to reverence. The world now began to wear a different aspect;\nthe flattery of his friends began to dwindle into simple approbation. Approbation soon took the more friendly form of advice, and advice when\nrejected produced their reproaches. He now, therefore found that such\nfriends as benefits had gathered round him, were little estimable: he\nnow found that a man's own heart must be ever given to gain that of\nanother. I now found, that--that--I forget what I was going to observe:\nin short, sir, he resolved to respect himself, and laid down a plan of\nrestoring his falling fortune. For this purpose, in his own whimsical\nmanner he travelled through Europe on foot, and now, though he has\nscarce attained the age of thirty, his circumstances are more affluent\nthan ever. At present, his bounties are more rational and moderate than\nbefore; but still he preserves the character of an humourist, and finds\nmost pleasure in eccentric virtues.'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> My attention was so much taken up by Mr Burchell's account, that I\nscarce looked forward as we went along, til we were alarmed by the cries\nof my family, when turning, I perceived my youngest daughter in the\nmidst of a rapid stream, thrown from her horse, and struggling with the\ntorrent. She had sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage myself\nin time to bring her relief. My sensations were even too violent to\npermit my attempting her rescue: she must have certainly perished had\nnot my companion, perceiving her danger, instantly plunged in to her\nrelief, and with some difficulty, brought her in safety to the opposite\nshore. By taking the current a little farther up, the rest of the\nfamily got safely over; where we had an opportunity of joining our\nacknowledgments to her's. Her gratitude may be more readily imagined\nthan described: she thanked her deliverer more with looks than words,\nand continued to lean upon his arm, as if still willing to receive\nassistance. My wife also hoped one day to have the pleasure of returning\nhis kindness at her own house. Thus, after we were refreshed at the next\ninn, and had dined together, as Mr Burchell was going to a different\npart of the country, he took leave; and we pursued our journey. My wife\nobserving as we went, that she liked him extremely, and protesting, that\nif he had birth and fortune to entitle him to match into such a family\nas our's, she knew no man she would sooner fix upon. I could not but\nsmile to hear her talk in this lofty strain: but I was never much\ndispleased with those harmless delusions that tend to make us more\nhappy. The place of our retreat was in a little neighbourhood, consisting\nof farmers, who tilled their own grounds, and were equal strangers to\nopulence and poverty. As they had almost all the conveniencies of life\nwithin themselves, they seldom visited towns or cities in search of\nsuperfluity. Remote from the polite, they still retained the primaeval\nsimplicity of manners, and frugal by habit, they scarce knew that\ntemperance was a virtue. They wrought with cheerfulness on days of\nlabour; but observed festivals as intervals of idleness and pleasure. They kept up the Christmas carol, sent true love-knots on Valentine\nmorning, eat pancakes on Shrove-tide, shewed their wit on the first of\nApril, and religiously cracked nuts on Michaelmas eve. Being apprized of\nour approach, the whole neighbourhood came out to meet their minister,\ndrest in their finest cloaths, and preceded by a pipe and tabor: A feast\nalso was provided for our reception, at which we sat cheerfully down;\nand what the conversation wanted in wit, was made up in laughter. Our little habitation was situated at the foot of a sloping hill,\nsheltered with a beautiful underwood behind, and a pratling river\nbefore; on one side a meadow, on the other a green. My farm consisted of\nabout twenty acres of excellent land, having given an hundred pound\nfor my predecessor's good-will. Nothing could exceed the neatness of my\nlittle enclosures: the elms and hedge rows appearing with inexpressible\nbeauty. My house consisted of but one story, and was covered with\nthatch, which gave it an air of great snugness; the walls on the inside\nwere nicely white-washed, and my daughters undertook to adorn them with\npictures of their own designing. Though the same room served us for\nparlour and kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it was\nkept with the utmost neatness, the dishes, plates, and coppers, being\nwell scoured, and all disposed in bright rows on the shelves, the eye\nwas agreeably relieved, and did not want richer furniture. There were\nthree other apartments, one for my wife and me, another for our two\ndaughters, within our own, and the third, with two beds, for the rest of\nthe children. The little republic to which I gave laws, was regulated in the following\nmanner: by sun-rise we all assembled in our common appartment; the fire\nbeing previously kindled by the servant. After we had saluted each\nother with proper ceremony, for I always thought fit to keep up some\nmechanical forms of good breeding, without which freedom ever destroys\nfriendship, we all bent in gratitude to that Being who gave us another\nday. This duty being performed, my son and I went to pursue our usual\nindustry abroad, while my wife and daughters employed themselves in\nproviding breakfast, which was always ready at a certain time. I allowed\nhalf an hour for this meal, and an hour for dinner; which time was taken\nup in innocent mirth between my wife and daughters, and in philosophical\narguments between my son and me. As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our labours after it was\ngone down, but returned home to the expecting family; where smiling\nlooks, a treat hearth, and pleasant fire, were prepared for our\nreception. Nor were we without guests: sometimes farmer Flamborough, our\ntalkative neighbour, and often the blind piper, would pay us a visit,\nand taste our gooseberry wine; for the making of which we had lost\nneither the receipt nor the reputation. These harmless people had\nseveral ways of being good company, while one played, the other would\nsing some soothing ballad, Johnny Armstrong's last good night, or the\ncruelty of Barbara Allen. The night was concluded in the manner we began\nthe morning, my youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of\nthe day, and he that read loudest, distinctest, and best, was to have an\nhalf-penny on Sunday to put in the poor's box. When Sunday came, it was indeed a day of finery, which all my sumptuary\nedicts could not restrain. How well so ever I fancied my lectures\nagainst pride had conquered the vanity of my daughters; yet I still\nfound them secretly attached to all their former finery: they still\nloved laces, ribbands, bugles and catgut; my wife herself retained a\npassion for her crimson paduasoy, because I formerly happened to say it\nbecame her. The first Sunday in particular their behaviour served to mortify me: I\nhad desired my girls the preceding night to be drest early the next day;\nfor I always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of the\ncongregation. They punctually obeyed my directions; but when we were to\nassemble in the morning at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters,\ndrest out in all their former splendour: their hair plaistered up with\npomatum, their faces patched to taste, their trains bundled up into an\nheap behind, and rustling at every motion. I could not help smiling at\ntheir vanity, particularly that of my wife, from whom I expected more\ndiscretion. In this exigence, therefore, my only resource was to order\nmy son, with an important air, to call our coach. The girls were\namazed at the command; but I repeated it with more solemnity than\nbefore.--'Surely, my dear, you jest,' cried my wife, 'we can walk it\nperfectly well: we want no coach to carry us now.' 'You mistake, child,'\nreturned I, 'we do want a coach; for if we walk to church in this trim,\nthe very children in the parish will hoot after us.' --'Indeed,' replied\nmy wife, 'I always imagined that my Charles was fond of seeing his\nchildren neat and handsome about him.' --'You may be as neat as you\nplease,' interrupted I, 'and I shall love you the better for it, but all\nthis is not neatness, but frippery. These rufflings, and pinkings,\nand patchings, will only make us hated by all the wives of all our\nneighbours. No, my children,' continued I, more gravely, 'those gowns\nmay be altered into something of a plainer cut; for finery is very\nunbecoming in us, who want the means of decency. I do not know whether\nsuch flouncing and shredding is becoming even in the rich, if we\nconsider, upon a moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the\nindigent world may be cloathed from the trimmings of the vain.' This remonstrance had the proper effect; they went with great composure,\nthat very instant, to change their dress; and the next day I had the\nsatisfaction of finding my daughters, at their own request employed in\ncutting up their trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, the\ntwo little ones, and what was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed\nimproved by this curtailing. At a small distance from the house my predecessor had made a seat,\novershaded by an hedge of hawthorn and honeysuckle. Here, when the\nweather was fine, and our labour soon finished, we usually sate\ntogether, to enjoy an extensive landscape, in the calm of the evening.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Here too we drank tea, which now was become an occasional banquet; and\nas we had it but seldom, it diffused a new joy, the preparations for\nit being made with no small share of bustle and ceremony. On these\noccasions, our two little ones always read for us, and they were\nregularly served after we had done. Sometimes, to give a variety to our\namusements, the girls sung to the guitar; and while they thus formed a\nlittle concert, my wife and I would stroll down the sloping field, that\nwas embellished with blue bells and centaury, talk of our children with\nrapture, and enjoy the breeze that wafted both health and harmony. In this manner we began to find that every situation in life might bring\nits own peculiar pleasures: every morning waked us to a repetition of\ntoil; but the evening repaid it with vacant hilarity. It was about the beginning of autumn, on a holiday, for I kept such as\nintervals of relaxation from labour, that I had drawn out my family to\nour usual place of amusement, and our young musicians began their usual\nconcert. As we were thus engaged, we saw a stag bound nimbly by, within\nabout twenty paces of where we were sitting, and by its panting, it\nseemed prest by the hunters. We had not much time to reflect upon the\npoor animal's distress, when we perceived the dogs and horsemen come\nsweeping along at some distance behind, and making the very path it\nhad taken. I was instantly for returning in with my family; but either\ncuriosity or surprize, or some more hidden motive, held my wife and\ndaughters to their seats. The huntsman, who rode foremost, past us with\ngreat swiftness, followed by four or five persons more, who seemed in\nequal haste. At last, a young gentleman of a more genteel appearance\nthan the rest, came forward, and for a while regarding us, instead of\npursuing the chace, stopt short, and giving his horse to a servant who\nattended, approached us with a careless superior air. He seemed to want\nno introduction, but was going to salute my daughters as one certain\nof a kind reception; but they had early learnt the lesson of looking\npresumption out of countenance. Upon which he let us know that his name\nwas Thornhill, and that he was owner of the estate that lay for some\nextent round us. He again, therefore, offered to salute the female part\nof the family, and such was the power of fortune and fine cloaths, that\nhe found no second repulse. As his address, though confident, was easy,\nwe soon became more familiar; and perceiving musical instruments lying\nnear, he begged to be favoured with a song. As I did not approve of such\ndisproportioned acquaintances, I winked upon my daughters in order to\nprevent their compliance; but my hint was counteracted by one from their\nmother; so that with a chearful air they gave us, a favourite song of\nDryden's. Mr Thornhill seemed highly delighted with their performance\nand choice, and then took up the guitar himself. He played but very\nindifferently; however, my eldest daughter repaid his former applause\nwith interest, and assured him that his tones were louder than even\nthose of her master. At this compliment he bowed, which she\nreturned with a curtesy. He praised her taste, and she commended his\nunderstanding: an age could not have made them better acquainted. While the fond mother too, equally happy, insisted upon her landlord's\nstepping in, and tasting a glass of her gooseberry. The whole family\nseemed earnest to please him: my girls attempted to entertain him with\ntopics they thought most modern, while Moses, on the contrary, gave him\na question or two from the ancients, for which he had the satisfaction\nof being laughed at: my little ones were no less busy, and fondly stuck\nclose to the stranger. All my endeavours could scarce keep their dirty\nfingers from handling and tarnishing the lace on his cloaths, and\nlifting up the flaps of his pocket holes, to see what was there. At\nthe approach of evening he took leave; but not till he had requested\npermission to renew his visit, which, as he was our landlord, we most\nreadily agreed to. As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council on the conduct of the\nday. She was of opinion, that it was a most fortunate hit; for that she\nhad known even stranger things at last brought to bear. She hoped again\nto see the day in which we might hold up our heads with the best of\nthem; and concluded, she protested she could see no reason why the two\nMiss Wrinklers should marry great fortunes, and her children get none. As this last argument was directed to me, I protested I could see no\nreason for it neither, nor why Mr Simpkins got the ten thousand pound\nprize in the lottery, and we sate down with a blank. 'I protest,\nCharles,' cried my wife, 'this is the way you always damp my girls and\nme when we are in Spirits. Tell me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think\nof our new visitor? Don't you think he seemed to be\ngood-natured?' --'Immensely so, indeed, Mamma,' replied she. 'I think he\nhas a great deal to say upon every thing, and is never at a loss; and\nthe more trifling the subject, the more he has to say.' --'Yes,' cried\nOlivia, 'he is well enough for a man; but for my part, I don't much like\nhim, he is so extremely impudent and familiar; but on the guitar he is\nshocking.' These two last speeches I interpreted by contraries. I found\nby this, that Sophia internally despised, as much as Olivia secretly\nadmired him.--'Whatever may be your opinions of him, my children,'\ncried I, 'to confess a truth, he has not prepossest me in his favour. Disproportioned friendships ever terminate in disgust; and I thought,\nnotwithstanding all his ease, that he seemed perfectly sensible of the\ndistance between us. Let us keep to companions of our own rank. There is\nno character more contemptible than a man that is a fortune-hunter, and\nI can see no reason why fortune-hunting women should not be contemptible\ntoo. Thus, at best, we shall be contemptible if his views be honourable;\nbut if they be otherwise! I should shudder but to think of that! It\nis true I have no apprehensions from the conduct of my children, but I\nthink there are some from his character.' --I would have proceeded,\nbut for the interruption of a servant from the 'Squire, who, with his\ncompliments, sent us a side of venison, and a promise to dine with us\nsome days after. This well-timed present pleaded more powerfully in his\nfavour, than any thing I had to say could obviate. I therefore continued\nsilent, satisfied with just having pointed out danger, and leaving it to\ntheir own discretion to avoid it. That virtue which requires to be ever\nguarded, is scarce worth the centinel. As we carried on the former dispute with some degree of warmth, in order\nto accommodate matters, it was universally agreed, that we should have\na part of the venison for supper, and the girls undertook the task with\nalacrity. 'I am sorry,' cried I, 'that we have no neighbour or stranger\nto take a part in this good cheer: feasts of this kind acquire a double\nrelish from hospitality.' --'Bless me,' cried my wife, 'here comes our\ngood friend Mr Burchell, that saved our Sophia, and that run you down\nfairly in the argument'--'Confute me in argument, child!' cried I. 'You\nmistake there, my dear. I believe there are but few that can do that:\nI never dispute your abilities at making a goose-pye, and I beg you'll\nleave argument to me.' --As I spoke, poor Mr Burchell entered the house,\nand was welcomed by the family, who shook him heartily by the hand,\nwhile little Dick officiously reached him a chair. I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for two reasons; because I\nknew that he wanted mine, and I knew him to be friendly as far as he\nwas able. He was known in our neighbourhood by the character of the poor\nGentleman that would do no good when he was young, though he was not yet\nthirty. He would at intervals talk with great good sense; but in general\nhe was fondest of the company of children, whom he used to call harmless\nlittle men. He was famous, I found, for singing them ballads, and\ntelling them stories; and seldom went out without something in his\npockets for them, a piece of gingerbread, or an halfpenny whistle. He\ngenerally came for a few days into our neighbourhood once a year, and\nlived upon the neighbours hospitality.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-12 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He sate down to supper among us,\nand my wife was not sparing of her gooseberry wine. The tale went round;\nhe sung us old songs, and gave the children the story of the Buck\nof Beverland, with the history of Patient Grissel, the adventures of\nCatskin, and then Fair Rosamond's bower. Our cock, which always crew at\neleven, now told us it was time for repose; but an unforeseen difficulty\nstarted about lodging the stranger: all our beds were already taken up,\nand it was too late to send him to the next alehouse. In this dilemma,\nlittle Dick offered him his part of the bed, if his brother Moses would\nlet him lie with him; 'And I,' cried Bill, 'will give Mr Burchell\nmy part, if my sisters will take me to theirs.' --'Well done, my good\nchildren,' cried I, 'hospitality is one of the first Christian duties. The beast retires to its shelter, and the bird flies to its nest; but\nhelpless man can only find refuge from his fellow creature. The greatest\nstranger in this world, was he that came to save it. He never had an\nhouse, as if willing to see what hospitality was left remaining amongst\nus. Deborah, my dear,' cried I, to my wife, 'give those boys a lump of\nsugar each, and let Dick's be the largest, because he spoke first.' In the morning early I called out my whole family to help at saving\nan after-growth of hay, and, our guest offering his assistance, he was\naccepted among the number. Our labours went on lightly, we turned\nthe swath to the wind, I went foremost, and the rest followed in due\nsuccession. I could not avoid, however, observing the assiduity of Mr\nBurchell in assisting my daughter Sophia in her part of the task. When\nhe had finished his own, he would join in her's, and enter into a close\nconversation: but I had too good an opinion of Sophia's understanding,\nand was too well convinced of her ambition, to be under any uneasiness\nfrom a man of broken fortune. When we were finished for the day, Mr\nBurchell was invited as on the night before; but he refused, as he was\nto lie that night at a neighbour's, to whose child he was carrying a\nwhistle. When gone, our conversation at supper turned upon our late\nunfortunate guest. 'What a strong instance,' said I, 'is that poor man\nof the miseries attending a youth of levity and extravagance. He by no\nmeans wants sense, which only serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor\nforlorn creature, where are now the revellers, the flatterers, that\nhe could once inspire and command! Gone, perhaps, to attend the bagnio\npander, grown rich by his extravagance. They once praised him, and\nnow they applaud the pander: their former raptures at his wit, are now\nconverted into sarcasms at his folly: he is poor, and perhaps deserves\npoverty; for he has neither the ambition to be independent, nor the\nskill to be useful.' Prompted, perhaps, by some secret reasons, I\ndelivered this observation with too much acrimony, which my Sophia\ngently reproved. 'Whatsoever his former conduct may be, pappa, his\ncircumstances should exempt him from censure now. His present indigence\nis a sufficient punishment for former folly; and I have heard my pappa\nhimself say, that we should never strike our unnecessary blow at a\nvictim over whom providence holds the scourge of its resentment.' --'You\nare right, Sophy,' cried my son Moses, 'and one of the ancients finely\nrepresents so malicious a conduct, by the attempts of a rustic to flay\nMarsyas, whose skin, the fable tells us, had been wholly stript off by\nanother.' Besides, I don't know if this poor man's situation be so bad\nas my father would represent it. We are not to judge of the feelings\nof others by what we might feel if in their place. However dark the\nhabitation of the mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds the\napartment sufficiently lightsome. And to confess a truth, this man's\nmind seems fitted to his station; for I never heard any one more\nsprightly than he was to-day, when he conversed with you.' --This was\nsaid without the least design, however it excited a blush, which she\nstrove to cover by an affected laugh, assuring him, that she scarce took\nany notice of what he said to her; but that she believed he might once\nhave been a very fine gentleman. The readiness with which she undertook\nto vindicate herself, and her blushing, were symptoms I did not\ninternally approve; but I represt my suspicions. As we expected our landlord the next day, my wife went to make the\nvenison pasty; Moses sate reading, while I taught the little ones: my\ndaughters seemed equally busy with the rest; and I observed them for\na good while cooking something over the fire. I at first supposed they\nwere assisting their mother; but little Dick informed me in a whisper,\nthat they were making a wash for the face. Washes of all kinds I had a\nnatural antipathy to; for I knew that instead of mending the complexion\nthey spoiled it. I therefore approached my chair by sly degrees to the\nfire, and grasping the poker, as if it wanted mending, seemingly by\naccident, overturned the whole composition, and it was too late to begin\nanother. When the morning arrived on which we were to entertain our young\nlandlord, it may be easily supposed what provisions were exhausted\nto make an appearance. It may also be conjectured that my wife and\ndaughters expanded their gayest plumage upon this occasion. Mr Thornhill\ncame with a couple of friends, his chaplain, and feeder. The servants,\nwho were numerous, he politely ordered to the next ale-house: but my\nwife, in the triumph of her heart, insisted on entertaining them all;\nfor which, by the bye, our family was pinched for three weeks after. As Mr Burchell had hinted to us the day before, that he was making some\nproposals of marriage, to Miss Wilmot, my son George's former mistress,\nthis a good deal damped the heartiness of his reception: but accident,\nin some measure, relieved our embarrasment; for one of the company\nhappening to mention her name, Mr Thornhill observed with an oath, that\nhe never knew any thing more absurd than calling such a fright a beauty:\n'For strike me ugly,' continued he, 'if I should not find as much\npleasure in choosing my mistress by the information of a lamp under the\nclock at St Dunstan's.' At this he laughed, and so did we:--the jests\nof the rich are ever successful. Olivia too could not avoid whispering,\nloud enough to be heard, that he had an infinite fund of humour. After\ndinner, I began with my usual toast, the Church; for this I was thanked\nby the chaplain, as he said the church was the only mistress of his\naffections.--'Come tell us honestly, Frank,' said the 'Squire, with his\nusual archness, 'suppose the church, your present mistress, drest in\nlawnsleeves, on one hand, and Miss Sophia, with no lawn about her, on\nthe other, which would you be for?' 'For both, to be sure,' cried\nthe chaplain.--'Right Frank,' cried the 'Squire; 'for may this glass\nsuffocate me but a fine girl is worth all the priestcraft in the\ncreation. For what are tythes and tricks but an imposition, all a\nconfounded imposture, and I can prove it.' --'I wish you would,' cried my\nson Moses, 'and I think,' continued he, 'that I should be able to answer\nyou.' --'Very well, Sir,' cried the 'Squire, who immediately smoaked\nhim,' and winking on the rest of the company, to prepare us for the\nsport, if you are for a cool argument upon that subject, I am ready\nto accept the challenge. And first, whether are you for managing it\nanalogically, or dialogically?' 'I am for managing it rationally,' cried\nMoses, quite happy at being permitted to dispute. 'Good again,' cried\nthe 'Squire, 'and firstly, of the first. I hope you'll not deny\nthat whatever is is. If you don't grant me that, I can go no\nfurther.' --'Why,' returned Moses, 'I think I may grant that, and make\nthe best of it.' --'I hope too,' returned the other, 'you'll grant that\na part is less than the whole.' 'I grant that too,' cried Moses, 'it is\nbut just and reasonable.' --'I hope,' cried the 'Squire, 'you will\nnot deny, that the two angles of a triangle are equal to two right\nones.'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-12, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-14 The user is reading a book]\n<User> --'Nothing can be plainer,' returned t'other, and looked round\nwith his usual importance.--'Very well,' cried the 'Squire, speaking\nvery quick, 'the premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe,\nthat the concatenation of self existences, proceeding in a reciprocal\nduplicate ratio, naturally produce a problematical dialogism, which in\nsome measure proves that the essence of spirituality may be referred to\nthe second predicable'--'Hold, hold,' cried the other, 'I deny that:\nDo you think I can thus tamely submit to such heterodox\ndoctrines?' --'What,' replied the 'Squire, as if in a passion, 'not\nsubmit! Answer me one plain question: Do you think Aristotle right\nwhen he says, that relatives are related?' 'Undoubtedly,' replied the\nother.--'If so then,' cried the 'Squire, 'answer me directly to what I\npropose: Whether do you judge the analytical investigation of the first\npart of my enthymem deficient secundum quoad, or quoad minus, and give\nme your reasons: give me your reasons, I say, directly.' --'I protest,'\ncried Moses, 'I don't rightly comprehend the force of your reasoning;\nbut if it be reduced to one simple proposition, I fancy it may then have\nan answer.' --'O sir,' cried the 'Squire, 'I am your most humble servant,\nI find you want me to furnish you with argument and intellects too. No,\nsir, there I protest you are too hard for me.' This effectually raised\nthe laugh against poor Moses, who sate the only dismal figure in a\ngroupe of merry faces: nor, did he offer a single syllable more during\nthe whole entertainment. But though all this gave me no pleasure, it had a very different effect\nupon Olivia, who mistook it for humour, though but a mere act of the\nmemory. She thought him therefore a very fine gentleman; and such as\nconsider what powerful ingredients a good figure, fine cloaths, and\nfortune, are in that character, will easily forgive her. Mr Thornhill,\nnotwithstanding his real ignorance, talked with ease, and could\nexpatiate upon the common topics of conversation with fluency. It is not\nsurprising then that such talents should win the affections of a girl,\nwho by education was taught to value an appearance in herself, and\nconsequently to set a value upon it in another. Upon his departure, we again entered into a debate upon the merits of\nour young landlord. As he directed his looks and conversation to Olivia,\nit was no longer doubted but that she was the object that induced him to\nbe our visitor. Nor did she seem to be much displeased at the innocent\nraillery of her brother and sister upon this occasion. Even Deborah\nherself seemed to share the glory of the day, and exulted in her\ndaughter's victory as if it were her own. 'And now, my dear,' cried\nshe to me, 'I'll fairly own, that it was I that instructed my girls to\nencourage our landlord's addresses. I had always some ambition, and\nyou now see that I was right; for who knows how this may end?' 'Ay, who\nknows that indeed,' answered I, with a groan: 'for my part I don't much\nlike it; and I could have been better pleased with one that was poor and\nhonest, than this fine gentleman with his fortune and infidelity; for\ndepend on't, if he be what I suspect him, no free-thinker shall ever\nhave a child of mine.' 'Sure, father,' cried Moses, 'you are too severe\nin this; for heaven will never arraign him for what he thinks, but for\nwhat he does. Every man has a thousand vicious thoughts, which arise\nwithout his power to suppress. Thinking freely of religion, may be\ninvoluntary with this gentleman: so that allowing his sentiments to be\nwrong, yet as he is purely passive in his assent, he is no more to be\nblamed for his errors than the governor of a city without walls for the\nshelter he is obliged to afford an invading enemy.' 'True, my son,' cried I; 'but if the governor invites the enemy, there\nhe is justly culpable. And such is always the case with those who\nembrace error. The vice does not lie in assenting to the proofs they\nsee; but in being blind to many of the proofs that offer. So that,\nthough our erroneous opinions be involuntary when formed, yet as we have\nbeen wilfully corrupt, or very negligent in forming them, we deserve\npunishment for our vice, or contempt for our folly.' My wife now kept\nup the conversation, though not the argument: she observed, that several\nvery prudent men of our acquaintance were free-thinkers, and made very\ngood husbands; and she knew some sensible girls that had skill enough to\nmake converts of their spouses: 'And who knows, my dear,' continued she,\n'what Olivia may be able to do. The girl has a great deal to say upon\nevery subject, and to my knowledge is very well skilled in controversy.' 'Why, my dear, what controversy can she have read?' cried I. 'It does\nnot occur to me that I ever put such books into her hands: you certainly\nover-rate her merit.' 'Indeed, pappa,' replied Olivia, 'she does not: I\nhave read a great deal of controversy. I have read the disputes between\nThwackum and Square; the controversy between Robinson Crusoe and\nFriday the savage, and I am now employed in reading the controversy in\nReligious courtship'--'Very well,' cried I, 'that's a good girl, I find\nyou are perfectly qualified for making converts, and so go help your\nmother to make the gooseberry-pye.' The next morning we were again visited by Mr Burchell, though I began,\nfor certain reasons, to be displeased with the frequency of his return;\nbut I could not refuse him my company and fire-side. It is true his\nlabour more than requited his entertainment; for he wrought among us\nwith vigour, and either in the meadow or at the hay-rick put himself\nforemost. Besides, he had always something amusing to say that lessened\nour toil, and was at once so out of the way, and yet so sensible, that\nI loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only dislike arose from an\nattachment he discovered to my daughter: he would, in a jesting manner,\ncall her his little mistress, and when he bought each of the girls a\nset of ribbands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day\nseemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to\nassume the superior airs of wisdom. Our family dined in the field, and we sate, or rather reclined, round a\ntemperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr Burchell gave\ncheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction two blackbirds\nanswered each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came\nand pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the\necho of tranquillity. 'I never sit thus,' says Sophia, 'but I think of\nthe two lovers, so sweetly described by Mr Gay, who were struck dead in\neach other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the description,\nthat I have read it an hundred times with new rapture.' --'In my\nopinion,' cried my son, 'the finest strokes in that description are much\nbelow those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands\nthe use of contrast better, and upon that figure artfully managed\nall strength in the pathetic depends.' --'It is remarkable,' cried Mr\nBurchell, 'that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to\nintroduce a false taste into their respective countries, by loading all\ntheir lines with epithet. Men of little genius found them most easily\nimitated in their defects, and English poetry, like that in the latter\nempire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination of luxuriant\nimages, without plot or connexion; a string of epithets that improve the\nsound, without carrying on the sense. But perhaps, madam, while I\nthus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an\nopportunity to retaliate, and indeed I have made this remark only to\nhave an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which,\nwhatever be its other defects, is I think at least free from those I\nhave mentioned.' A BALLAD. 'Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon\ntaper cheers the vale, With hospitable ray. 'For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where\nwilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go.' 'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'To tempt the dangerous gloom; For\nyonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-14, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Here to the houseless child of want, My door is open still; And tho' my\nportion is but scant, I give it with good will. 'Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy\ncouch, and frugal fare, My blessing and repose. 'No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn: Taught by\nthat power that pities me, I learn to pity them. 'But from the mountain's grassy side, A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip\nwith herbs and fruits supply'd, And water from the spring. 'Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong:\nMan wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.' Soft as the dew from heav'n descends, His gentle accents fell: The\nmodest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the\nneighbouring poor, And strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch Requir'd a master's care; The wicket\nopening with a latch, Receiv'd the harmless pair. And now when busy crowds retire To take their evening rest, The hermit\ntrimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest:\n\nAnd spread his vegetable store, And gayly prest, and smil'd; And skill'd\nin legendary lore, The lingering hours beguil'd. Around in sympathetic mirth Its tricks the kitten tries, The cricket\nchirrups in the hearth; The crackling faggot flies. But nothing could a charm impart To sooth the stranger's woe; For grief\nwas heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. His rising cares the hermit spy'd, With answering care opprest: 'And\nwhence, unhappy youth,' he cry'd, 'The sorrows of thy breast? 'From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove; Or grieve\nfor friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love? 'Alas! the joys that fortune brings, Are trifling and decay; And those\nwho prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. 'And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep; A shade\nthat follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep? 'And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair one's jest: On\nearth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest. 'For shame fond youth thy sorrows hush And spurn the sex,' he said: But\nwhile he spoke a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd. Surpriz'd he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view; Like\ncolours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too. The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms: The lovely\nstranger stands confest A maid in all her charms. 'And, ah,'forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn,' she cry'd; 'Whose\nfeet unhallowed thus intrude Where heaven and you reside. 'But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks\nfor rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. 'My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy Lord was he; And all his\nwealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me. 'To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came; Who prais'd me\nfor imputed charms, And felt or feign'd a flame. 'Each hour a mercenary crowd, With richest proffers strove: Among the\nrest young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love. 'In humble simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and\nworth were all he had, But these were all to me. 'The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refin'd, Could\nnought of purity display, To emulate his mind. 'The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their\ncharms were his, but woe to me, Their constancy was mine. 'For still I try'd each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his\npassion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain. 'Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a\nsolitude forlorn, In secret where he died. 'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll\nseek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. 'And there forlorn despairing hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so\nfor me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.' 'Forbid it heaven!' the hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast: The\nwondering fair one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 'Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see, Thy own, thy\nlong-lost Edwin here, Restor'd to love and thee. 'Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And ev'ry care resign: And shall we\nnever, never part, My life,--my all that's mine. 'No, never, from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The\nsigh that tends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.' While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness\nwith her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by\nthe report of a gun just by us, and immediately after a man was seen\nbursting through the hedge, to take up the game he had killed. This\nsportsman was the 'Squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the blackbirds\nthat so agreeably entertained us. So loud a report, and so near,\nstartled my daughters; and I could perceive that Sophia in the fright\nhad thrown herself into Mr Burchell's arms for protection. The gentleman\ncame up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he\nwas ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sate down by my youngest\ndaughter, and, sportsman like, offered her what he had killed that\nmorning. She was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother\nsoon induced her to correct the mistake, and accept his present, though\nwith some reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a\nwhisper, observing, that Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain, as\nwell as her sister had of the 'Squire. I suspected, however, with more\nprobability, that her affections were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr Thornhill had provided\nmusic and refreshments, and intended that night giving the young ladies\na ball by moon-light, on the grass-plot before our door. 'Nor can I\ndeny,' continued he, 'but I have an interest in being first to deliver\nthis message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with miss Sophy's\nhand as a partner.' To this my girl replied, that she should have no\nobjection, if she could do it with honour: 'But here,' continued she,\n'is a gentleman,' looking at Mr Burchell, 'who has been my companion in\nthe task for the day, and it is fit he should share in its amusements.' Mr Burchell returned her a compliment for her intentions; but resigned\nher up to the chaplain, adding that he was to go that night five miles,\nbeing invited to an harvest supper. His refusal appeared to me a\nlittle extraordinary, nor could I conceive how so sensible a girl as\nmy youngest, could thus prefer a man of broken fortunes to one\nwhose expectations were much greater. But as men are most capable of\ndistinguishing merit in women, so the ladies often form the truest\njudgments of us. The two sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and\nare furnished with different abilities, adapted for mutual inspection.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-15", "answer": "Dr. Primrose, Deborah, George, Olivia, Sophia, Moses, Dick, Bill, Miss Arabella Wilmot, Mr. Wilmot, Mr. Burchell, Squire Thornhill, Sir William Thornhill, chaplain, feeder, Oxford, vicar's fortune, embezzlement, marriage agreement, new vicar job, distant neighborhood, inn, Squire Thornhill's home, sloping hill, twenty acres, Sunday waistcoats, venison gift, ballad of Edwin and hermit, blackbird, gunshot, ball invitation, matrimony tracts, clergyman's salary donation, orphans and widows, social class, family pride, generosity, chastity, benevolence, penance, vivacious and serious girls, learned profession, party for landlord, debate on religion, free-thinker, conquest, first dance, rejection of ball invitation, Sophia rescued from stream, George's engagement, loss of fortune, move to new home, family relationships, Olivia's attraction to Squire Thornhill, Sophia's attachment to Mr. Burchell, Moses debates Squire Thornhill, Deborah's ambitions for daughters, vicar's disapproval of Squire Thornhill, Mr. Burchell's wisdom, poetry discussion, Edwin and lost traveler, chaplain flirts with Sophia, class differences, adaptation to poverty, family unity, reputation, rural neighborhood, elegant home, pleasant neighborhood, innkeeper, farmland, honeysuckle and hawthorn"}]