While he was in these agitations of mind the good apprentice, who had used the utmost expedition, brought his children to him.  He embraced them with the most passionate fondness, and imprinted numberless kisses on their little lips.  The little girl flew to him with almost as much eagerness as he himself exprest at her sight, and cryed out, “O papa, why did you not come home to poor mamma all this while?  I thought you would not have left your little Nancy so long.”  After which he asked her for her mother, and was told she had kissed them both in the morning, and cried very much for his absence.  All which brought a flood of tears into the eyes of this weak, silly man, who had not greatness sufficient to conquer these low efforts of tenderness and humanity.

He then proceeded to enquire of the maid-servant, who acquainted him that she knew no more than that her mistress had taken leave of her children in the morning with many tears and kisses, and had recommended them in the most earnest manner to her care; she said she had promised faithfully to take care of them, and would, while they were entrusted to her, fulfil her promise.  For which profession Heartfree expressed much gratitude to her, and, after indulging himself with some little fondnesses which we shall not relate, he delivered his children into the good woman’s hands, and dismissed her.

CHAPTER TWO

A soliloquy of Heartfree’s, full of low and base ideas, without A syllable of greatness.

Being now alone, he sat some short time silent, and then burst forth into the following soliloquy:—­

“What shall I do?  Shall I abandon myself to a dispirited despair, or fly in the face of the Almighty?  Surely both are unworthy of a wise man; for what can be more vain than weakly to lament my fortune if irretrievable, or, if hope remains, to offend that Being who can most strongly support it? but are my passions then voluntary?  Am I so absolutely their master that I can resolve with myself, so far only will I grieve?  Certainly no.  Reason, however we flatter ourselves, hath not such despotic empire in our minds, that it can, with imperial voice, hush all our sorrow in a moment.  Where then is its use?  For either it is an empty sound, and we are deceived in thinking we have reason, or it is given us to some end, and hath a part assigned it by the all-wise Creator.  Why, what can its office be other than justly to weigh the worth of all things, and to direct us to that perfection of human wisdom which proportions our esteem of every object by its real merit, and prevents us from over or undervaluing whatever we hope for, we enjoy, or we lose.  It doth not foolishly say to us, Be not glad, or, Be not sorry, which would be as vain and idle as to bid the purling river cease to run, or the raging wind to blow.  It prevents us only from exulting, like