CHAPTER I.

FROM an opinion that a reci⯑tal of my adventures through life may be uſeful to ſociety, I have been induced to give them to the world; and flatter myſelf that if they have not a tendency to make men philoſophers, they, at leaſt, will teach them worldly knowledge, [10]and ſhew them, that he is the rich⯑eſt and happieſt of mortals, whoſe reſources are within himſelf, and who depends leaſt upon the aſſiſt⯑ance of others.

WHO my parents were, is, in⯑deed, very immaterial, but it may be neceſſary to ſay, that I am the only child of a very reſpectable, though not very opulent couple. My father's name was Wilbraham; he was deſcended from the younger branch of a good family; and though his eſtate in the county of Notting⯑ham did not exceed one hundred pounds a year, pride of blood pre⯑vented his putting me out to any [11]trade, but made him ambitious of bringing me up, as he called it, a Gentleman. One hundred a year was a ſcanty pittance to encourage ſuch notions; but he lived, as half the world does, upon expectation; looked forward to the death of an uncle, mortgaged his little patri⯑mony to keep up appearances, and died, as the common phraſe is, ſome hundreds of pounds worſe than no⯑thing. The only advantage I re⯑ceived from him was a tolerable e⯑ducation, acquired at a grammar-ſchool in the neighbourhood. As he could not afford me a horſe, nor any of thoſe rural indulgencies, which young gentlemen are taught [12]to expect, I was under the neceſſi⯑ty of ſeeking my amuſement at home, and I have bleſſed myſelf ſince a thouſand times, in that ne⯑ceſſity. Being fond of ſtudy, I be⯑came maſter of the Claſſicks, and the vicar of the pariſh, who profeſſ⯑ed to have my intereſt much at heart, furniſhed me with the loan of ſuch books, as he thought would improve my mind, and which our circulating library did not poſſeſs. By the time I was nineteen, I be⯑came, through theſe means, a tole⯑rable proficient in hiſtory, and the belles lettres, and was thought to be a pretty good ſcholar; nor did I want the outward accompliſhments [13]of a gentleman. My father took care I ſhould learn to dance, and the fencing-maſter who attended at the ſchool where I was bred, find⯑ing me, as he was pleaſed to ſay, an active, well-made young man, gave me, voluntarily, a ſufficient number of leſſons on the ſmall ſword, to en⯑able me to defend myſelf, was I ever attacked in that way. This, added to a natural gaiety of temper, led me into the good graces of ma⯑ny; and had he left me his little e⯑ſtate unincumbered, I ſhould have paſſed through life without any dif⯑ficulty. As it is, few men have ex⯑perienced a greater viciſſitude of for⯑tune, or more embarraſſments. My [14]father caught the ſmall pox, and my mother, who loved him too tenderly to quit the houſe, though ſhe had never had that diſorder, im⯑prudently buſied herſelf about him, caught the infection, and I was thus deprived of both my parents at once; ſhe fell a ſacrifice to the diſtemper a few days after my fa⯑ther, and they were both buried in the ſame grave.

WITH the aſſiſtance of my good friend the vicar, I ſoon looked round me, and found I had nothing to depend on but myſelf; the mort⯑gagees ſeized the eſtate, which, ow⯑ing to the decreaſe in value of land, [15]was barely ſufficient to pay the mo⯑ney borrowed; and the caſh into which his furniture, and other things were converted, was divided among his creditors, and did not pay more than twelve ſhillings in the pound; ſo that had not the vi⯑car felt for my ſituation, I ſhould not have known how to have acted. Application was made to my fa⯑ther's uncle, but to no manner of purpoſe. His anſwer was, ‘I had been brought up a Gentleman, and he ſhould now ſee how I could make out upon the profeſſion: he had never been conſulted up⯑on my education, and was deter⯑mined not to give me a ſhilling: [16]I might apply to my mother's relations, (who, by the by, were not in a ſituation to aſſiſt me) he deſired never to hear any thing of me.’ In ſhort, had it not been for the humanity of the vicar, who procured me a collection of fifty pounds among the neighbour⯑ing gentry, and who took me into his houſe, till my father's affairs were adjuſted, I might have been turned out into the ſtreet a vagrant. To him I am indebted for the firſt good office I experienced, and I am ſure it was diſintereſted.—The God of Compaſſion taught him mercy,— and he practiſed it where he could.

[17]THE next ſtep the vicar took, was to find a ſituation to place me in. He had a brother who kept a ſchool in the neighbourhood of London, to him he applied, and prevailed on him to take me in as an aſſiſtant. Part of my money was expended in equiping me with ne⯑ceſſaries, and on the eve of my de⯑parture, which was ſoon after, on counting my wealth, I found my⯑ſelf poſſeſſed of three ten pound bank notes, and five pounds fifteen ſhillings in caſh; more money than I ever was maſter of, and of which I ſimply thought, I never ſhould ſee the end. My good friend adviſed me to huſband it to the utmoſt, and [18]with this view I took a place to London on the roof of the coach; but that no future ſituation of mine might hurt the pride of my father's family, I changed my name, and called, myſelf, Gabriel Outcaſt.

CHAP. II.

THE firſt day's journey paſſed to⯑lerably well. It was fine wea⯑ther, and I had a companion on the roof, an itinerant pedlar. The paſ⯑ſengers within were, a footman and two maid ſervants of a Nottingham⯑ſhire Baronet, an outrider to a tradeſ⯑man in London, and a ſmuggler; ſo that in point of company, I thought [20]myſelf as happy without, as I ſhould have been within. The only know⯑ledge I could gather from the ped⯑lar, was ſome part of the myſteries of his profeſſion: he took a great deal of pains to perſuade me he was a raſcal; ſuch as that, under a tra⯑velling licence, and the idea of ſel⯑ling things cheap, the articles he dealt in were of the worſt kind, and generally damaged, for which he got the beſt price, and very often ſold goods to the ignorant and un⯑wary thirty per cent. dearer than they could be bought for of the fair dealer. However, I had nothing to do with him; as I did not ſet up for a corrector of other men's con⯑duct, [21]I left him in the enjoyment of his iniquity, and we paſſed through the day as ſociable as beg⯑gars generally are; for I determined on my firſt outſet, to bring my mind, if poſſible, to a conformity with the humility of any ſituation I might be thrown into. But, not⯑withſtanding my philoſophy, I found myſelf rather hurt at the cloſe of the day. Though riding on the roof of the coach, I conſidered myſelf, from family, from education, from pro⯑perty, much ſuperior to thoſe with⯑in; but my thinking ſo did not lead the landlord of the inn where we were to ſleep, and his wife, to think the ſame. I found a manifeſt [22]difference between riding without, and riding within. The pedlar, ac⯑cuſtomed to ſuch travelling, took his place, inſtantly on alighting, in the corner of the kitchen chimney; but on my engaging the attention of the chambermaid, to whom I addreſſed myſelf very civilly, ſhe was ſoon routed by her miſtreſs, with a ‘I wiſh to God, Betty, you'd leave that fellow, and attend to the in⯑ſide paſſengers.’ It was in vain for me to plead a head-ache, and a wiſh to be ſhewn to my chamber. She told me, that ſhe had no beds but for the gentlemen and ladies that came in the coach, and that I muſt turn into the loft or the ſtable. [23]In vain did Betty argue in my fa⯑vour, in vain did ſhe ſay, that I and the gentleman in the chimney-corner, meaning the pedlar, might lay to⯑gether in the ſpare garret; nothing would do, till I pulled out my purſe, and aſked her to change me a ten pound note: for one of the notes I had lodged in my purſe, the others were ſafe ſtowed in my trunk. The naming of a ten pound note altered her tone, ſhe ‘begged my pardon for not being able to attend to me in the hurry ſhe was in; but that if I could diſpenſe with lay⯑ing at the top of the houſe with my fellow-traveller, the bed was a good one, and it ſhould be clean [24]ſheeted.’ I was too fatigued, and too much ſhaken with my jour⯑ney, to be very nice about my lodging; I could have ſlept upon the boards. I told her, ‘I would get ſomething warm to drink, ſettle the matter with my fellow-traveller, and when the chamber⯑maid had waited on the coach gentry, I would be ſhewn to my room.’ Finding the benefit I de⯑rived from the naming a bank note, I began again to diſplay my wealth, in order to get conſequence at the fire-ſide,—and I diſcovered, that it not only procured me the warmeſt place, but the attention of the whole kitchen. A butcher in the further [25]corner obſerved to me, that ‘he had known gem'men ride upon the roof of the coach through choice, for his part he never rode any where elſe; it was pleaſanter, and he could nater the country.’ In ſhort, after a few ceremonies a⯑bout place were adjuſted, and a few coals laid on, we preſently became acquainted, and the ſtate of the na⯑tion was debated on. The butcher ſaid, ‘the miniſter was a man of his own kidney, that he handled a knife well, and got to the bot⯑tom of a wound at once; did not ſtand niggling as ſome of our ſtateſmen do, but when he cut, cut at a ſingle ſtroke, and chopped [26]off every unneceſſary part of the conſtitution at a blow:’ ‘Yes, yes,’ ſays an exciſeman, who ſat oppoſite to him, ‘he does cut, with a vengeance; I am ſure I have reaſon to ſay ſo, for he has cut me out of a vote for the county, and now, in all proba⯑bility, I may loſe my place.’ ‘And no harm,’ replies the but⯑cher, ‘if you was. D— me, it would be happy for this country if there wasn't an exciſeman in it. We ſhould then have our beer at half price,’ "Yes, by G-d," re⯑turns the exciſeman, ‘rogues would be then triumphant.’ Finding the converſation grow warm, I con⯑ſulted [27]the pedlar, and we retired to our chamber; we paid our reckon⯑ing, however, firſt; for the land⯑lady told us, it was cuſtomary for all outſide paſſengers to pay for their beds before they ſlept in them, as it ſaved a world of trouble in the morning; and it was lucky for me that this cuſtom was complied with; for my diſplay of my money at the fire-ſide had ſo faſcinated the atten⯑tion of the pedlar, that he thought proper to riſe an hour before the coach ſet off, and make free with my purſe and its contents, which laid in my breeches pocket, on the chair beſide me; but which from the ſound ſleep I was in, I was inſenſi⯑ble [28]of his taking. All I know is, that having paid my reckoning the night before, I had no occaſion for money in the morning, and never miſſed it, till I wanted to pay for my breakfaſt; and that the pedlar had taken it was beyond a doubt, as he was ſeen to leave the inn with his wallet before the coachman was vi⯑ſible, and had not, though he had taken his place for London, paid any part of his fare. As we are apt to make the beſt of misfortunes, like the philoſopher, who having broke his leg, rejoiced that it was not his neck, I conſoled myſelf in not having loſt my trunk, that hav⯑ing been commited to the care of [29]the coachman, in which the remain⯑der of my money was ſtowed, and of which I determined to be more careful.

WE had now no one on the out⯑ſide but the coachman and myſelf whom I addreſſed in his own way, and whom a glaſs of brandy or gin at every village where he ſtopped, had made very eloquent and com⯑municative. ‘This will be a d-mned poor journey for me,’ ſays he, ‘nobody without, and none but beggars within!’—for I found his attention was always engroſſed with what he ſhould get upon the road. I aſked him, if he [30]was not paid by his maſter? ‘Yes, by G-d,’ ſays he, ‘after a man⯑ner,—twelve ſhillings a week,— which will ſcarce find me in gin and tobacco. If it was not now and then for a generous paſſen⯑ger, we coachmen might ſtarve. 'Tis true we get a ſhilling or two occaſionally, by a ſhort paſſen⯑ger, or for the carriage of a par⯑cel that is not booked, but that's a poor pittance in theſe hard times.’ On my obſerving to him, that theſe occaſional ſhillings were, in my opinion, the property of his maſter: "Are they by G-d?" ſays he, ‘then the devil may drive his coach for me.—No, no [31]maſter, we don't ſtand all wea⯑thers, late and early, for twelve ſhillings a week; I have known coachmen get three guineas, and richly deſerve it too.’—‘But not honeſtly?’—‘Yes, honeſtly. My coach carries four, and if I now and then pick up a fifth up⯑on the road, how is he the worſe for it?’ In ſhort, as it is in vain to diſpute with a man againſt his intereſt, I dropped the argument, and contented myſelf with general topics, till we arrived at the inn, where we were to breakfaſt, and where I firſt diſcovered the friendli⯑neſs of my laſt night's bed-fellow, who, finding me embarraſſed, as he [32]thought, with too much money, was kind enough to eaſe me of part of it. However, as I knew not his name, and he was a ſtranger to the houſe where we lodged, I could do no otherwiſe than reconcile myſelf to the loſs, have recourſe to my trunk, and ſupply my pocket afreſh. Nothing of any conſequence happen⯑ed the remainder of the day; I was ſet down at Highgate, five miles ſhort of London, where the vicar's brother reſided; and as I tipped the coachman a ſhilling, I had his bleſſing at parting; ſo eaſy is it to procure the good wiſhes of theſe blades of the whip!

CHAP. III.

DR. SLASHEM, the vicar's brother in law, to whom I was recommended, received me at his door with apparent civility, but ſoon gave me to underſtand that he had reckoned without his hoſt, when he propoſed taking an aſſiſtant. His ſchool was but of late eſtabliſhment, two ſcholars had leſt him the day [34]before, and he had no greater num⯑ber than he could attend to himſelf; however, out of reſpect to his bro⯑ther, he would contrive to give me houſe-room, till I could find a ſitu⯑ation to my liking, and as he under⯑ſtood I was not able to afford great things, provided I would occaſion⯑ally aſſiſt him in ſchool hours, I ſhould not pay for my lodging and board more than fifteen ſhillings a week.—I was not ſo young but I could ſee the drift of this gentle⯑man's civility; inſtead of paying me for my aſſiſtance, as I expected, I was to pay for my board and lodg⯑ing, and give him my labour gratis; however, being a ſtranger in that [35]part of the world, and not knowing where to go, I diſſembled in my turn, told him how much I thought myſelf obliged to him, and accept⯑ed his friendly offer. He introduced me to his family, which conſiſted of a wife, a daughter about ſeven⯑teen, rather pretty than otherwiſe, and ten boys between the ages of nine and fourteen. Mrs. Slaſhem was ſome years younger than the Doctor, and ſeemed to look upon her daughter with a jealous eye, and as one who told her ſhe was growing in years. Miſs, in her turn, was of a forward caſt, and thought ſhe had more right to be noticed than her mother, who was [36]a married woman, and in her time had had her ſhare of admirers: in ſhort, I no ſooner entered, than I diſcovered that both had ſhot their arrows at me at once. "Biddy," ſays Mrs. Slaſhem, ‘I wiſh you'd get down ſtairs, you ſtare at the young man as if you never ſaw a young man before.’ ‘Ah, get down, you young baggage,’ ſays the doctor, ‘and get us ſome⯑thing nice for ſupper.’ Miſs ſlammed the door after her, but not without giving me to underſtand by her looks, that ſhe was angry at being ſent out of the room. Mrs. Slaſhem, primming up her mouth, and adjuſting her features into an [37]affected form of reſerved politeneſs, ‘hoped I would excuſe the awk⯑wardneſs of her girl, who had ſeen but little of the world, and had rather out-grown her age; for though in ſize ſhe reſembled a woman, ſhe was, in fact, little more than a child.’ ‘Indeed, my dear,’ replies the Doctor, ‘you wrong the girl, for you was married at her age.’ ‘If I was,’ retorts the wife angrily, and bridling up, ‘I hope I had more diſcretion, and more of the woman in me.’ "Diſcretion," returns the Doctor, ‘I will ſay nothing about, but as to the wo⯑man, I will admit that you had [38]always enough of that;’ giving me a wink with his left eye. ‘But come, the young man, I dare ſay, will be glad of a little refreſh⯑ment, if you will be kind enough to provide it.’ For, as we had come a long day's journey, I began to wiſh for ſupper, though it was but eight o'clock. Mrs. Slaſhem retired to provide for our repaſt, and get the boys to bed, and of courſe left me and the Doctor together. He then gave me a long detail of the difficulties he had met with in eſtabliſhing his ſchool. I told him, ‘that no doubt his character had recommended him, and that as he came to be better known, his [39]number of ſcholars would in⯑creaſe.’ ‘Character, my good friend,’ ſays he, ‘is the leaſt recommendation; parents, now-a-days, will put their children out where they have the moſt taught for the leaſt money. In order to get a good price, ſchoolmaſters are reduced to artifice.’ ‘Good God!—Artifice;’ exclaimed I, ‘can artifice avail where children ſhould be kept ſtrangers to de⯑ceit?’ ‘You miſunderſtand me, Sir,’ replies the Doctor, ‘I mean artifice in the eſtabliſh⯑ment of a ſchool. I'll explain it to you, it may be of uſe to you in life, if you propoſe to follow [40]the ſame profeſſion.—Parents have an idea, that the fewer ſcholars a man has, the better he can attend to them, and then, of courſe, he can demand a better price. A man taking only four boys, may expect fifty pounds a year for each, whereas if he takes fourteen, he will find it difficult to get more than twenty. After a man has got one or two to be⯑gin with, that he may not be ſuppoſed to want ſcholars, he gives out, that he will take no greater number than four,—then, he has room for two more:—he procures them:—he then finds he can attend to ten, to which num⯑ber [41]he will confine himſelf; but that is only till he can get an⯑other ten; ſo that he never ſtops till in fact he can get no more.’ In ſhort, he gave me to underſtand, that by ſuch means, and by a little extra attention and tenderneſs to thoſe boys as were the children of wealthy parents, who have it fre⯑quently in their power to recom⯑mend others, it is, that men eſtabliſh a ſchool ſooner than by any other method. Indeed, I found it was his invariable practice to wink at the faults of the boys of opulent, parents, and keep up the ſtricteſt diſcipline with others it being ne⯑ceſſary to puniſh ſome as an exam⯑ple [42]to the reſt: when a poor man's ſon, charged, perhaps, with robbing the garden, has endeavoured to ex⯑culpate himſelf, by diſcovering the offender, and laying the blame, juſtly, on his more wealthy, but guilty ſchoolmate, I have known the Doctor exclaim, ‘It is a bare⯑faced lie,—Maſter Goldwire is the ſon of a gentleman, and above a baſe act, and I'll puniſh you for the falſe aſſertion.’—Then, as to the annual price of ſchooling; twenty pounds a year, the Doctor told me, (which, indeed, was the price he had with his ſcholars) was but ſmall pay; however, what with the profits derived from ſelling the [43]children toys, fruit, pens, paper, and other articles, at two hundred per cent. gain, getting from each boy half a guinea or a guinea at Chriſtmas, under the idea of preſents to the ſervants, taking their pocket money on their return from the holidays, under a pretence of keeping it for them, and giving them only part of it again; charg⯑ing in their bills occaſionally a pair of ſhoes, a copy-book, and the like, more than they have had; by ſuch ſundry emoluments he made out pretty well. And on my ſeeming to diſapprove of ſuch conduct by my looks, he told me, there was no doing otherwiſe. It was the annual [44]price of board and ſchooling to which parents chiefly attended. To be aſked thirty pounds a year would frighten them, but under a notion of paying but twenty, the conſider⯑ations he had mentioned, would draw and additional twenty from them without a murmur: then ſays he again, we can get a guinea a quarter for dancing, as much for drawing, and fifteen ſhillings, per⯑haps, for writing, when in fact we pay to the different maſters only half the price we charge. If it was not for theſe arts and contrivances, a ſchool maſter had better be a hackney coachman, and drive mules rather than boys. In ſhort, I found from [45]the doctrine of the pedlar, the ſtage-coachman, and this worthy friend of mine, that to live in the world a man muſt not be too honeſt. On the ſame plan of reaſoning, the doc⯑tor would have kept me for his aſ⯑ſiſtant; for he expected as much of me, as if he had paid me a ſalary of thirty pounds a year. I was de⯑termined, however, to get from this place as ſoon as I could; for my re⯑maining ſtock would not admit of my paying fifteen ſhillings a week for my board. I had been now a fortnight in the family before I thought of removing, and to do juſtice to Mrs. Slaſhem and her daughter, they did every thing in [46]their power to make my time paſs agreeably. The mother, in order to have my company abroad, would frequently deſire the Doctor to ſpare me, as it was proper where ſhe was going to have an eſcort, and miſs would frequently ſteal up into my room when I was alone, play about me, and entertain me with the ſe⯑cret anecdotes of the family; from her I learned that her papa was no doctor, but had aſſumed the title in order to give credit to the ſchool; that her mama had conſtantly a gentleman came to ſee her at ſchool hours, when her papa was at the top of the houſe with the boys: in ſhort, ſhe told me how much her [47]mama hated her papa, and how much ſhe deteſted them both, and that ſhe would give the world if any one would take her out of the houſe; that ſhe did not care where ſhe went, if ſhe was but from home; that her mama treated her as a girl, when ſhe knew ſhe was as much a woman as herſelf, and that ſhe was going in eighteen, and was deter⯑mined not to be a great while long⯑er in leading ſtrings. The aſſidu⯑ous attention of the mother would perhaps have been far from diſagree⯑able to me, if miſs had been out of my reach; but Mrs. Slaſhem had inſiſted, a day or two after my arriv⯑al, that I ſhould be made free of [48]the village we lived in, according to the ancient ceremonial of the place; which was, to be ſworn up⯑on the horns, not to eat brown bread if I could get white, unleſs I liked brown better; not to put up with the maid when I could h [...]e the miſtreſs, unleſs I liked the maid better, and ſo on: and as oaths are not merely confined to the letter, but extend to the ſpirit of them, I conceived I was equally ſworn not to put up with the mother, if I could have the daughter, unleſs I liked the mother better. Indeed, ſuch was the favour I was in with both, that I was ſcarcely left to my choice, and a dread of the chapter [49]of accidents, was one principal mo⯑tive for my wiſhing myſelf away. The cenſorious reader may perhaps ſuppoſe, that, as a young man bor⯑dering upon twenty, I was no an⯑chorite, and that I was not ſuffici⯑ent maſter of philoſophy, to with⯑ſtand a temptation thrown induſtri⯑ouſly in my way; in ſhort, he may ſuppoſe—what he will,—and as I profeſs myſelf a member of the reformed church, and the neceſſity of auricular confeſſion to be no part of my faith, I ſhall take the liberty to leave him to his conjectures, and only ſay, that for more reaſons than one, I wiſhed myſelf in any ſitua⯑tion but where I was. I had an [50]opportunity of ſeeing the newſpa⯑pers, and I looked carefully to the advertiſements, hoping to meet with ſomething that might ſuit me. My circumſtances would not admit of my being very nice in my choice, for though I had near nineteen pounds in my pocket on my arri⯑val at Highgate, after I had paid the coachman and the expences of the laſt day's journey; that nineteen, from a triffling preſent or two to Miſs, a few out-door treats to her mother in our afternoon walks, and what I ſhould have to pay for my board and waſhing, go as ſoon as I would, would be reduced to little more than ten pounds. This, and a wiſh for [51]an eaſy place, determined me, if I could not do better, even to put on a livery, rather than run myſelf in⯑to difficulties, and to wait for a turn of fortune to befriend me. I did not communicate my deſign to the family, as circumſtances had made it neceſſary to conceal myſelf from them, but told them I had a friend in London who promiſed to look out for a ſituation to place me in; and under a pretence of going to this friend, I had an opportunity of applying, as many advertiſements directed me. To a ‘Wanted a ſmart young man to attend in the ſhop of an apothecary,’ I applied, and found it was to open [52]and ſweep the ſhop, pound in the mortar, carry out medicines, and apply gliſters; this would not do; it was a laborious employ, and to labour I had not been accuſtomed. The next advertiſement that ſtruck me was, ‘Wanted a man of good figure, in an eaſy genteel office, with good encouragement:’ here I enquired, and found there had been a variety of applicants, moſt men wiſhing for eaſy places and good pay. This was no other than to ſtand all day at the door of one of thoſe auctioneers, who are conſtant⯑ly ſelling things made up purpoſe⯑ly to take in the ignorant and incautious, and with a vociferous [53]voice to call out to every perſon that paſſes, ‘Walk in, Sir, walk in gentlemen—ſelling by auction.’ The abilities for this office were lit⯑tle more than a good pair of lungs, and the pay was two ſhillings a day; as the ſituation, however, was by no means a concealed one, I readily de⯑clined it. The next was more like⯑ly to anſwer my purpoſe: ‘Want⯑ed a perſon of good addreſs and gentleman-like appearance, to at⯑tend a few hours a day in a reſ⯑pectable employ, for which a good ſalary would be given.’ The read⯑er will naturally ſay, I had no ſmall ſhare of vanity, to attend only to ſuch advertiſements as required ſmartneſs, [54]good-figure, addreſs, and gentleman⯑like appearance; but when he is told that both Mrs. Slaſhem and Miſs had conſtantly given me to under⯑ſtand, that I was poſſeſſed of thoſe qualities, he will not wonder at my believing it. This advertiſement ſucceeded; it was not to ſtand at the door of one of theſe auctions, but to act as a decoy during the time of ſelling, and lead perſons on to bid their money. I was to attend from eleven to three in the week days, and my pay was to be eighteen ſhil⯑lings a week. I accepted the place and was to be initiated into my of⯑fice the week following. Accord⯑ingly, I took a lodging in the neigh⯑bourhood, [55]a two pair of ſtairs room in the ſhop of a tradeſman, for which I was to pay ſix ſhillings a week, and I was determined to make the remaining twelve anſwer every other purpoſe. Happy in this engagement, I acquainted the Doc⯑tor, that I ſhould now be no longer troubleſome to him, that I was go⯑ing to America in a merchan'ts fa⯑mily, as tutor to his ſon, a lad of twelve years of age, for which I was to have a handſome ſalary. Though I had not been ſix weeks with the Doctor, I found it difficult to get away. He had conceived an affection for me, and rather than part with me, would take half a [56]guinea a week. Mrs. Slaſhem uſed all her rhetoric to perſuade me to continue, and Miſs Slaſhem all her charms; but nothing would do. I had my private reaſons for leaving them, and on my promiſe to cor⯑reſpond with Miſs, as occaſion ſhould offer, I was ſuffered to depart in peace. I had been brought up with proper notions of right and wrong, and could ſcarce reconcile this de⯑ception to my way of thinking, but when I conſidered the plea of neceſ⯑ſity, and that ſelf-preſervation was the firſt law of nature, I was eaſily led to juſtify the proceeding. I was maſter of my own actions, and had not by a promiſe, made to any of [57]the parties, forfeited a right of diſ⯑poſing of myſelf as I thought pro⯑per.

CHAP. IV.

MY new employer was not a little pleaſed with my fi⯑gure, he could only have wiſhed I was a few years older;—that was eaſily remedied by my mode of dreſs, and we contrived it between us, that I wore the appearance of forty. As the office I was to enter on required a few inſtructions, the following [59]were the chief maxims he gave me: ‘Always to watch his eyes, and when he looked full in my face, bid ſomething more than the laſt bidder.’ ‘Never to ſee a flaw, or an imperfection in any thing ſelling.’ ‘And to find out beauties, if poſſible, even where there are none.’ ‘To pretend to know the value of every thing, and aſ⯑ſert in a confidential manner to bidders, that the article ſelling was worth double the money bid for it.’ Theſe were the inſtruc⯑tions I was to follow, and I recon⯑ciled them to myſelf under the fol⯑lowing reaſoning: that bidders at an auction buy upon their own judg⯑ment, [60]and if they buy too dear, it is their own faults; that auctioneers are forbidden to bid themſelves, and that, of courſe, if they had not ſome friend to bid for them occaſionally, articles at times would not fetch half their value; that deception runs through trade in general, no tradeſman being condemnable for not pointing out the imperfections of his goods. As to any other arti⯑fices made uſe of in the profeſſion, I was to have no concern with. The auctioneer, as things were not ſold by a catalogue, was at liberty to of⯑fer any article for ſale that he pleaſ⯑ed; ſo that if a countryman came in, we were ſure to have a ſilver [61]watch put up; or if a lady, ſome pieces of china, or a ſet of ſilver-handled knives and forks, and ſo on; the one; I would whiſper was old china, and the other, had town-made blades with the handles of ſo⯑lid ſilver, and no lie neither. In ſhort, I diſcharged my duty ſo well as to give my employer ſatisfaction, and often procured him a better price for his goods than the firſt coſt. Our plan was not a lit⯑tle forwarded by the touter ^* at the door, calling out, ‘Selling by auc⯑tion [62]under a judgment.’ ‘Muſt be ſold, Gentlemen, without re⯑ſerve, to releaſe a man from pri⯑ſon,’ &c. It is unknown the numbers ſuch declarations draw in to buy, under an idea of getting things at half their value; and if they are taken in, by the law of retaliation, they richly deſerve it. Sometimes our ſale, indeed, has been interrupted by a perſon contra⯑dicting the auctioneer flatly, and de⯑claring aloud, that the article was not what he repreſented it; in this caſe, I was immediately directed to [63]bid, and I became the buyer. This done, the company are diſmiſſed with, ‘Gentlemen, I am much o⯑bliged to you, we have done ſel⯑ling for to-day.’ The company of courſe withdraw, the obnoxious perſon gone, the ſtreet door is ſhut for five minutes, and then re-opened with a ‘Walk in, Gentlemen, ſel⯑ling by auction,’ and the room is preſently filled again with freſh com⯑pany; for theſe ſales are always held in ſome very public thoroughfare.

INDEED, there is ſcarce an auc⯑tion of any denomination, without its impoſitions. In ſales of linen and other drapery goods, they will [64]put ſeven or eight yards of ſilk, worth about ſix ſhillings a yard, into the ſame lot with a roll of courſe dowlas worth ſeven-pence, and ſell the two together at ſo much per yard. If you aſk how many yards in the roll, they will tell you about thirty; you make your calculation accordingly, and perhaps buy the whole at one ſhil⯑ling and ſix-pence a yard, thinking thus to give about two pounds five ſhillings for the lot, which, at ſix-pence per yard for the dowlas, would give you the ſilk for four ſhillings; but after having paid down the earneſt, and the lot is to be deliver⯑ed, the roll of linen ſhall contain [65]ſixty yards inſtead of thirty, in which caſe you pay eight ſhillings and ſix-pence a yard for the ſilk, and are encumbered with more dow⯑las than you know what to do with. So again in auctions of furniture: the auctioneer, in order to have his ſales well attended, finds it neceſ⯑ſary, not only to treat the brokers with a dinner, but to give each of them a lot at their own price, ſo that at auctions in and near Lon⯑don, where there are plenty of bro⯑kers, if twenty are preſent, you are ſure to have twenty lots (and per⯑haps the beſt of your furniture) given away. The brokers, on the other hand, have their arts of im⯑poſing, [66]if you appoint one to pur⯑chaſe certain lots for you at certain prices, under an idea, that the will buy them cheaper, you are ſure to be charged pretty near the price you fix⯑ed, though perhaps they purchaſed them for half the money.

I WAS in this employ upwards of two months, when an accident hap⯑pened that loſt me my place. Dur⯑ing the ſelling of a plated cruet-ſtand, worth about thirty ſhillings, who ſhould come in but Dr. Slaſh⯑em? As I was diſguiſed, he could not poſſibly know me, except I had opened my mouth, which I took care not to do. He bid a guinea [67]and a half for it; which my maſter did not think enough; I was called upon by his looks to bid againſt him; I did it by a nod, but as the Doctor did not ſee it, he aſſerted he was the laſt bidder, the auctioneer appealed to me, but I was mute as a fiſh, and Slaſhem was the buyer; the company were diſmiſſed, and I was immediately diſcharged. But his anger did not ceaſe here, whilſt in his ſervice, I had ſold my own watch, and bought rather a better, and had alſo purchaſed a pair of piſtols: the watch, which was a metal one, had been brought to him, requeſting him to ſell it, which he refuſed, I therefore pur⯑chaſed [68]it for fifty ſhillings, and ſold my own for pretty nearly the ſame ſum. This watch was a ſtolen one, and was advertiſed, and my quondam maſter, the auctioneer, carried his re⯑ſentment ſo far, as to lay an informa⯑tion before a magiſtrate, that he had ſeen ſuch a watch in my poſſeſſion: a warrant was accordingly iſſued, and one evening, about ten o'clock, as I was going to bed at my lodging, I heard a great noiſe below, and a fel⯑low with a hoarſe voice inquiring for one Gabriel Outcaſt. Conſcious of having done no wrong, I went down ſtairs, and was immediately taken into cuſtody, charged with a high⯑way robbery. All I could ſay had [69]but little effect. The warrant was to be executed, the watch was taken out of my pocket, my room was ſearched and the piſtols, which lay upon my table, ſeized. The little money I was poſſeſſed of I put in⯑to my pocket, and I was thence hurried to the pariſh round-houſe, where, under lock and key, I paſſed a very uneaſy night. The next morning I was taken before a trad⯑ing magiſtrate, and charged with robbing a man in the Five Fields Chelſea of his watch, the Friday evening before, and though I pro⯑teſted my innocence in the ſtrong⯑eſt terms, and made out a very good ſtory, yet, being confronted with the [70]proſecutor, who ſwore to his pro⯑perty, and the identical watch being found upon me, and the piſtols in my room; circumſtances were too much againſt me to get off: the only thing in my favour was, that the proſecutor could not ſwear to my perſon, as I appeared to be a younger man than the one who robbed him; for I was not now in my auction dreſs; but then, on the other hand, the maſter of the houſe, where I lodged, depoſing, that I went abroad every day in a diſguiſe, which gave me the appearance of an elderly man, corroborated the ſuſ⯑picion. I had ſent to the auctioneer, who could prove that the watch had [71]been offered to him for ſale, and whoſe evidence would, of courſe, have operated in my favour; but he was induſtriouſly out of the way, and as I could not procure bail, I was committed to Bridewell till the next week, when I was to be brought before the juſtice again.

In the courſe of my examination, his worſhip bawled out, ‘hand over that there watch,’ which on looking at, he put into his pocket with a ‘this muſt be produced up⯑on the trial.’—‘Conſtable, ſee what money the priſoner has a⯑bout him.’ I had two guineas and a few ſhillings in my pocket, [72]which he directed to be handed over likewiſe, and on the proſecutor's ſaying he had loſt ſome gold, but could not ſwear to the money.— "I don't know how you ſhould," replies the juſtice, ‘one guinea is too like another for that; it looks however, like money diſ⯑honeſtly come by, and ſo—’ put⯑ting it into his pocket ‘it ſhall go with the watch’ I ‘humbly conceive,’ ſaid I, addreſſing my⯑ſelf to him, ‘that as the money is not ſworn to, it ought to be re⯑turned me.’ ‘Stop that fel⯑low's mouth,’ roared out his worſhip, ‘and give me his mitti⯑mus to ſign,’ and in an accent [73]lower, "damn your humble con⯑ceptions!" —I deemed it fortunate that I had ſecreted a ten pound note, all the money I had left, in my fob; where theſe graſping fangs of the law, had no idea of looking.

Whilſt I was in priſon, I met with a man who had been confined forty ſeven years. He was ſhut up on execution, at the ſuit of the crown, for a heavy fine impoſed on him, for having in his poſſeſſion ſome exciſeable goods that had not paid the duty; of courſe no inſol⯑vent act could diſcharge him. This man, bating his imprudence that brought him there, was not with⯑out [74]his virtues. He was the oracle and chaplain of the jail; and being a man of good ſenſe, was often a real comfort and aſſiſtance to the unhappy. He had outlived all his friends and connections, and had nothing to ſubſiſt on, but the allowance of the priſon, the ſcanty ſparings of his fellow-pri⯑ſoners, almoſt as poor and wretched as himſelf, and the benevolence of a few out-door neighbours, who oc⯑caſionally ſent him a dinner, or an old coat to cover him: ſtockings he wore none, and perhaps, the only uſeleſs part of his dreſs, was a wool⯑len night cap that covered his bald head, being grown grey within the [75]walls. The little hair he had was wiry; for affliction, when it does not kill, proceeds to harden. Though covered with the ruſt of a jail and offenſive through want of cleanli⯑neſs, this old man approached me in ſo modeſt and decent a manner, that I could not but be pleaſed with him. He had acquired a degree of philoſophy ſince his confinement, (for what patience will not a priſon teach?) and ſeemed ſo reconciled to his ſituation, as not to wiſh for li⯑berty. ‘To be abroad again in the world,’ he ſaid, ‘to him, at his time of life, would be irk⯑ſome; he had not a friend alive, and without money, could only [76]fly to the ſhelter of a workhouſe.’ He obſerved. ‘that though a pri⯑ſon affords no comfort, yet, there the priſoners reſt together; they hear not the voice of the oppreſ⯑ſor: and having proportioned his appetite to the quantity of food he could get, and contracted his wants within very ſmall limits, he was far from being wretched. Should it pleaſe God to take him from the world, he was perfectly reſigned; but, to remove him from theſe walls, except in his coffin and to his grave, would be only to haſten his diſſolution, and put an abrupt period to his exiſtence.’ And indeed, ſo much did he ſpeak [77]the ſentiments of his ſoul, that upon an enquiry three or four years after⯑wards, I was informed, that the Chief Juſtice having, from the re⯑preſentation of the keeper, and a miſtaken humanity, ordered him to be releaſed, he became truly miſer⯑able.

He was no ſooner at liberty and without the priſon wicket, than he ſtopped ſhort, wild as it were and loſt. The broad ſun-ſhine was painful to him. His eyes were fix⯑ed, but he could not weep. Stupe⯑fied at his change of ſituation, his legs, in ſpite of him, became as im⯑moveable as his tongue.

[78]CONDUCTED by a charitable hand, he enquired the way to the place where once he lived. His houſe was there no more; a public build⯑ing was erected on the ſpot. He knew neither the ſtreet, the town, nor the objects. The adjoining houſes to his own had taken a new form. He endeavoured to recollect them, but he had lived twenty years to long.

Startled; he ſtopped and ſighed; and for the firſt time felt the comfort of a jail, ‘where the wicked ceaſe from troubling, and where the weary are at reſt.’ Every face was new, and every thing about him [79]ſtrange. The only perſon he could find, of whom he had the leaſt re⯑collection, was a tottering old man, who formerly had been his ſervant; he found him in a garret, living on charity, and from having been con⯑fined to his room eighteen years, had ſtrength only to pull the cord that opened his door.

THIS poor creature could not re⯑collect his maſter, whoſe face, time and afflictions had ſo much fur⯑rowed; and the only comfort his maſter drew, was, by a participa⯑tion of his grief, and from a con⯑viction, that he was not the moſt miſerable of beings. This old do⯑meſtic, [80]entertained him only with his ſorrows; told him that his wife was dead; that he had experienced thirty years of wretchedneſs; that his children were in ſome diſtant parts of the world unknown to him, and that every friend he had was gone.

At this the maſter ſighed, and ſighed alone; for the other was habituated to diſtreſs. Broke down with grief, he returns to his priſon, and ſolicits a re-admiſſion. It was refuſed him. And he experienced the force of woe, now more than ever. To have outlived all his re⯑lations, his friends, nay, a whole [81]generation. To want a ſhelter, or money to procure one,—to be deſ⯑titute of food and cloaths and every neceſſary article.—Theſe were thoughts that racked him; but his greateſt diſquiet was, to be ſenſible, that a whole generation of men was at once loſt to him, which by daily deaths the maſs of mankind do not miſs. ‘Separated as it were, from ſo⯑ciety, I am alive, alone.’ "Death" ſays he, ‘may be terrible, but to die the laſt is more ſo. Glad ſhall I be, when I can find the grave!’

As a bird that has been long con⯑fined, will hover round its cage, un⯑eaſy [82]at its liberty, ſo was this man daily at the priſon wicket, impor⯑tuning for admiſſion; and finding none, he pined gradually away. Grief wore him to the bone, and he fell a martyr to a broken heart. —And all this perhaps, for having in his houſe a few pounds of tea, or a canniſter of unroaſted coffee!

To this man I was not a little ob⯑liged. He gave me the character of Juſtice Fleece'em, for that was the magiſtrate's name by whom I was committed, and told me that ‘he had formerly been and old cloaths man, and knew the value of money too well not to accept [83]a bribe, if offered through the medium of his clerk; that though he had received his education in Rag Fair, he did not want for abilities, and had a wonderful preſence of mind on certain oc⯑caſions, of which the following anecdote is a proof. When buſi⯑neſs at his office is ſlack, he ſends the high conſtable round the pur⯑lieus of Drury, to pick up all the ſtraggling women he can find and bring them before him; at theſe times they have been brought by ſcores. Such as can make a golden intereſt with his clerk, are generally diſmiſſed with a repri⯑mand; but ſuch as cannot com⯑mand [84]half a guinea upon the oc⯑caſion, are ſure to be ſent to Bridewell. It happened that his worſhip had intrigued with one of theſe girls at a time and place when he little expected to have been known, and had probably bilked her of her fee; ſhe, unable, for want of money, to make that prevailing application which ſome others had done, begged, before ſhe was taken away, that his worſhip would permit her to ſpeak to him privately, as ſhe had ſomething of the utmoſt im⯑portance to communicate. Cu⯑rioſity led him to hear her, and ſhe was brought within the bar; [85]ſhe accordingly reminded him in his ear, of a former tete-a-tete that had paſſed between them,’ (which, as his worſhip was rather deaf, was overheard by a perſon next them,) ‘and as he was in her debt, ſhe hoped, it would plead as powerfully for her as any pre⯑ſent ſhe could make to his clerk.’ ‘And ſo woman,’ bawls out his worſhip, ‘that honeſt man was your father?—Well!—You are a graceleſs huſſey; but on his ac⯑count, I will this time forgive you; and I hope it will be a warning to you, to behave bet⯑ter for the future.’

[86]The ſituation of theſe unhappy girls is truly deplorable. Betrayed perhaps, by the man on whom ſhe fondly doated; and giving too much way to the propenſity of nature, the deluded female ſacrifices her honour to her love, and for this indiſcretion, is turned into the ſtreet, moneyleſs and friendleſs; here ſhe becomes a ſlave to diſeaſe and infamy, and a prey to thoſe who are far more de⯑praved than herſelf. Having no⯑thing to ſupport her, ſhe has no al⯑ternative but theft or proſtitution; and of theſe two evils, ſhe thinks it better to injure herſelf than others. But this profeſſion requires dreſs, and there are not wanting women [87]to furniſh it, for which they make theſe girls pay three or four ſhil⯑lings a day; but where a girl has a good face and but little credit, leſt ſhe ſhould decamp with her hired cloaths, a woman is appointed to follow her in her nightly round; who never loſes ſight of her till ſhe is picked up and taken to a public houſe; there ſhe waits her coming out, and takes from her two thirds of her ill gotten pay. One of theſe women was quarrelling with a girl of the town, one evening as I paſſ⯑ed along the Strand, and would have proceeded to blows, had ſhe not been attending upon another. "Bl-ſt your eyes," ſays ſhe, ‘let [88]me put up my whore and I'll box your for a crown.’—It is to be re⯑gretted, gretted, that our police is not better regulated; but whilſt our magiſtrates are ſo indolent and ignorant, there is little expectation of its being done.

ON my expreſſing to this old man my aſtoniſhment at the various ways of getting money in the metropolis, and how ſorry I was to obſerve, that even juſtice was put up to ſale; he gave me to underſtand, that Juſ⯑tice Fleece'em had acquired a fortune by his practice; that he was up al⯑moſt to any villainy; but that, as from his officious induſtry, he was a terror to felons, and brought many [89]ſcoundrels to puniſhment who would otherwiſe eſcape, the law had wink⯑ed at his conduct, and had even countenanced it by a penſion.

"THE ſtate" continued he, ‘having allotted a reward of forty pounds for the apprehending of houſe-breakers, highway robbers, and the like, it is unknown the ſums of money he picks up this way. He has a gang in pay, which is always upon the ſcout, and the half of every forty pounds he this way gets, he generouſly divides among them, keeping the remainder to himſelf. And what is the conſequence?—That none [90]but ſuch villains as the law al⯑lows that ſum for apprehending, are apprehended. An acquaint⯑ance of mine,’ ſays he, ‘told me the other day, that, being on buſineſs, at a night cellar in Cow Lane, whilſt he was ſtanding at the bar, there came in a young fellow returned from tranſporta⯑tion, who addreſſed himſelf to the woman within, with a 'How are you miſtreſs?' 'Aye Jack,' ſays ſhe, 'is it you?' ‘Yes,— it is I,’ replies he, ‘make me a ſneaker of gin punch.’—‘Not a drop ſhall you have here.’—‘Why not?’ ‘I expect,’ ſays ſhe, ‘Juſtice Fleece'em's men here every [91]inſtant, and I would not have you taken in my houſe for the world!’ ‘Pſhaw!’ ſays Jack, ‘they wont meddle O' me.—They'll get nothing by taking of me.’ And hardly had he uttered the words, but Baildock, the juſ⯑tice's man, and two of his mir⯑midons entered. Baildock ſlap⯑ped him on the ſhoulder, with ‘So Jack, you're ſoon returned?— The country, I ſuppoſe was too hot to hold you?’—‘Aye, Maſ⯑ter Baildock,’ replies he, ‘no⯑thing like old England for me.’ Come, will you take a ſup of punch?’ ‘They drank together and parted; for, continued my [92]friend, as government allows but little reward for apprehending ſuch as return from tranſporta⯑tion, this gang of Juſtice Fleece|'em's has it in orders, not to in⯑terrupt ſuch, but keep them in view, waiting till they reſort to their old practices; and then to lay hold of them; by which con⯑duct the apprehenders gain an ample reward.’

WITH theſe, and ſuch like anec⯑dotes, was this man amuſing me on the firſt day of my arrival within the caſtle, for ſo did the priſoners call their place of confinement, when the keeper brought me word [93]that Lawyer Grind wanted to ſpeak to me. "By no means ſee him," ſays he, ‘he is one of thoſe petty⯑fogging raſcals, that prey upon the wretched, and live upon the miſeries of the unfortunate.’ ‘I'll tell you a ſtory of him,’ con⯑tinues he, ‘that fell within my own knowledge, and upon the truth of which you may rely. A man of tolerable good connexions was brought in here for a high⯑way robbery. This fellow ap⯑plied to him, and amuſed him with hopes of eſcape. As a drowning man will, to ſave him⯑ſelf, even catch at ſtraws, ſo this unhappy culprit liſtened to his [94]deceitful adviſer. He gave him to underſtand, that if he could furniſh him with ten guineas, he would procure a copy of the in⯑dictment, and had no doubt of diſcovering ſome error in it, that would inſtantly quaſh it. The ten guineas were given, but on a ſecond viſit he was told, that counſel had examined the indict⯑ment, and not the ſhadow of a flaw could be found: but, that he was convinced, from the ac⯑count he had received of the pro⯑ſecutor, that he might be bought off, and of the evidence, that they might be ſoftened for about twenty pound. He poſſeſſed [95]that twenty pounds. It was given; and a third viſit told him, that the proſecutor had been ap⯑plied to, and was found incor⯑ruptible, and the evidence too reſpectable to be influenced; that the caſh had been expended in bribing thoſe, who were ſuppoſ⯑ed to have ſome weight with the evidence, but they could not ſuc⯑ceed.’ ‘However,’ ſays Grind, ‘as I have always people ready to prove an alibi ^*, if you can raiſe thirty pounds more, there is no doubt of ſucceſs. The poor [96]wretch applies to his friends, and theſe thirty pounds were raiſed; but they turned out as ineffectual as the laſt. The trial came on, the alibi was overthrown, and the poor devil convicted. Could nothing more be done?—Yes, for ten more, he would move an arreſt of judgment, for the pro⯑ceedings had been illegal. Here he was foiled again; counſel had exerted themſelves, but the at⯑tempt was over-ruled.—There was, however, another ſtep, in which he flattered himſelf he ſhould be more ſucceſsful. This was by a proper application of thirty guineas, to bring over the [97]Recorder to make a favourable report.—This ſum was alſo got, but the means equally unſucceſs⯑ful. In this hopeleſs ſituation, the attorney addreſſes him again. ‘If he could any ways contrive, through his friends, to raiſe twen⯑ty pounds more, a petition ſhould be preſented to the throne, and care ſhould be taken to get it well backed at the council board, and he might rely on a pardon. He uſually contrived the matter to end, long before it got ſo far, but your caſe,’ ſays he, ‘is an un⯑common one, which has hitherto baffled all my endeavours, but in this final ſtep, I never fail.’ En⯑couraged [98]by this declaration, e⯑very friend, as for life, was im⯑portuned, and this laſt twenty pounds procured, but all to no purpoſe. The death warrant was ſigned, and an order came down for execution. In a diſtracted ſtate of mind, the poor wretch ſends for his lawyer again, re⯑minds him of the many promiſes he had made, the many great ſums he had received, and aſked him, 'if there were no hopes after all?' 'Hopes,' ſays he, to be ſure there are. The peti⯑tion is ſo ſtrongly worded, and ſo powerfully backed, that take my word for it, they cannot hang [99]you—they dare not hang you,— and there was not the leaſt doubt but he would be left out of the death warrant.’—'Aye, Sir,' re⯑turns the deſpairing criminal, ‘it was on this account I ſent for you. The death warrant is ſign⯑ed,—I am in that warrant, and an order is come down for exe⯑cution on Wedneſday morning.’ ‘This the attorney could not ſtand;’—‘Execution!’ exclaimed he, ‘Exe⯑cution!—Well—let 'em hang you, —let 'em hang you, and d—n me, if it ſhall not be the worſt job they ever did in their lives!’—‘At this, he turned upon his heel, and left his deluded client to his fate.’

[100]THIS ſtory determined me not to ſee Mr. Grind; I ſent him word my caſe was of a nature not to need his aſſiſtance, and therefore I would not trouble him; I thanked my friend for his admonition, and re⯑ſolved to truſt to myſelf. Not knowing the nature of a night-cel⯑lar, which had been dropped in con⯑verſation, I wiſhed for ſome account of one, and requeſted my adviſer to make me acquainted with what he knew of them. He gave me the following account:

‘A NIGHT-CELLAR is an ale⯑houſe under ground, in ſome populous, but ſecret part of the [101]town, which is kept open all night, for the reſort of whores and rogues, and all ſuch perſons, whoſe actions will not bear the teſt of day-light. In ſome of theſe places of rendezvous, vil⯑lains of note are generally to be found, and through the treachery of gangs in general, that of Juſ⯑tice Fleece'em's becomes well-acquainted with their perſons. There is ſeldom a daring robbery or burglary committed, but Bail⯑dock and his crew get ſome in⯑telligence of it; and though they are not able immediately to fix it on any particular man, they will ſoon trace it out, and take [102]the offender into cuſtody. Dar⯑ing as theſe ſcoundrels are, there is an unaccountable infatuation in moſt of them, that will lead them to ſurrender themſelves to Fleec'em's men, without vio⯑lence. Baildock has many a time ſearched theſe night-cellars alone, without fear or danger. As madmen will, in their raving intervals, ceaſe raving at ſight of their keeper, and ſubmit quietly to him, ſo will moſt of theſe villains yield, without reſiſtance, to the mandates of Baildock. Whether they are awed by his undaunted reſolution, or diſmay⯑ed by conſcience, or any other [103]motive, I cannot ſay; but Bail⯑dock has been known to carry off from theſe places, the man he looked for, and without the leaſt oppoſition. ‘Maſter Baildock,’ ſays one of theſe fellows, as he approached him in one of his midnight ſearches, ‘I hope you are not come for I?’ ‘No, Tom,’ ſays he, ‘it is not you I want, but Dick Hounſlow, and I ſee him yonder. Come, Dick, you muſt go with me.’—‘D—n me,’ ſays Dick, ‘if I did not dream as much a day or two ago;’ then addreſſing himſelf to his compa⯑ny, ‘well, gentlemen,’ ſays he, ‘God bleſs you—this ſeſſions will [104]be the end of me—may you outlive many of them!’—and walked off with Baildock, as quietly as if in irons.’

WAS I to relate to the reader, all the information I picked up during the time I was in this priſon, it would fill a volume; and amuſing as it might have been at any other time, I was too much taken up with my own affairs to attend much to it. I was to prepare for a ſecond examination. A magiſtrate has cer⯑tainly no authority to bring up pri⯑ſoners before him to a ſecond, or a third examination; if there is ſuf⯑ficient charge againſt them for com⯑mitment, [105]they are to be committed for trial; if not, he is to diſcharge them; but Juſtice Fleece'em made a trade of his profeſſion, and his houſe was a kind of petty court of judicature, where priſoners went, as it were, through a formal trial. It was ſo far of uſe indeed, that to a villain it was a good preparatory to his arraignment at the Old Bailey, and was frequently a means of his finding methods to get off.

THOUGH appearances were ſtrong againſt me, being wrapt up in con⯑ſcious innocence, I was convinced that the arrows of malevolence could not hurt me. I was not without [106]money, and I ſet about collecting the evidence in my favour. I re⯑collected that a porter at the auc⯑tioneer's was preſent when I bought the watch; and that on the evening when the proſecutor was robbed, I kept my room with a cold, and had at that time a neighbouring apothe⯑cary to attend me; theſe people, I was perſuaded, would juſtify my in⯑nocence, if the auctioneer was ſo relentleſs, as not to appear in my behalf. Indeed, I had little favour to expect from him; for ſuch is the ſtrange conduct of mankind, that whilſt a man, who knows you, has reaſon to think he is well with you, he will do you no open injury, but, [107]if convenience, or any circumſtance has once led him to treat you ill, by his ſacrificing your intereſt to his, ſo that he deſpairs of your ever for⯑giving him, he becomes the moſt inveterate enemy you have; and, though you have never given him the leaſt offence, it is all the fame, he acts and ſpeaks of you in future, as if you had been a thorn in his ſide ever ſince he had any knowledge of you. It was not ſo, however, with this man; though, as I ſince learned from his porter, he was the means of my being apprehended, by a falſe inſinuation; even this man, thinking he had puniſhed me ſuffi⯑ciently, thought proper, on appli⯑cation, [108]to appear in my favour; of courſe, notwithſtanding, on my ſe⯑cond examination, the proſecutor was not preſent; I was acquitted, with the loſs only of the watch I had purchaſed, and the expence of a few pounds in meſſengers, fees and other contingencies. Before, however, I left the Juſtice, I took the liberty to aſk for my watch, which as I had fairly purchaſed, I thought my⯑ſelf entitled to, when all the ſatiſ⯑faction I could get was, ‘The firſt of James the firſt, chapter twen⯑ty-one, ſays, The ſale of goods in London, wrongfully come by, ſhall not alter the property; of courſe it belongs to the proſecu⯑tor.’ [109]And I was afterwards told, upon inquiry, that on the proſecu⯑tor's demanding his watch, he could obtain no other anſwer than, ‘The law ſays, Goods ſold in open market ſhall be the property of the buyer; now, all London is an open market, and every day, except Sunday, market-day in London; therefore, it belongs to the priſoner.’ I thought little, how⯑ever, about the watch, or my mo⯑ney, happy to owe my acquittal to my innocence; indeed, my watch was an expence to me which I could not well afford; for as it was frequently out of order, when⯑ever I carried it to a watchmaker [110]I was ſure to have ſix or ſeven ſhillings to pay. This is one of their modes of getting money; though little or nothing is the mat⯑ter with a watch, they will pre⯑tend it requires repair, which you cannot contradict, and make you pay accordingly.

CHAP. V.

BEING now out of employ, I offered my ſervice to the prin⯑ter of a morning newſpaper, and wiſhed to be engaged in any way he thought I might be uſeful to him. "What is your fort?" ſays he, ‘can you pen a good parliamentary debate, or beſpatter a character?’ I told him, ‘I was bleſſed with a [112]happy memory, and was per⯑ſuaded I could bring away a ſpeech nearly as it was deliver⯑ed.’—‘Delivered! Phu,’—re⯑plies he, ‘we don't want a verba⯑tim and literatim reporter;—can you twiſt an argument ſo as to give it a ſenſe different from the obvious one? Our paper is a party print, and every line in politics muſt carry the ſenſe we wiſh it. If a ſpeech is vehement in oppoſi⯑tion to our principles, where the ſenſe of the ſpeaker's arguments cannot be wreſted to anſwer our purpoſe, they muſt, by pointing the paſſages, and giving certain words in Italics, be made to re⯑ſemble [113]irony; it is our buſineſs to write down an enemy, and to do this, we muſt impute his aſ⯑ſertions to ſiniſter views, and give a falſe colouring to his beſt ac⯑tions and intentions. Next,’ ſays he, ‘as to beſpattering a charac⯑ter; if you are clever at this I can employ you.’ I gave him to underſtand, that I thought I ſhould ſucceed beſt in this depart⯑ment, for that I was ſo determined an enemy to vice and impoſition in general, that I muſt drag it forth, wherever I found it lurking. ‘That wont do, friend,’ ſays he, ‘you miſtake my meaning. Vice and impoſition in general, we have no⯑thing [114]to do with; we do'nt ſet up as correctors of morals; our plan is to write a character into diſrepute that oppoſes our party; for this purpoſe, we muſt hold him forth as the worſt of men, and attribute to him vices that he never was poſſeſſed of.’ ‘But this,’ replied I, ‘is an act of cruelty and wickedneſs.’ ‘It is neither cruelty nor wickedneſs,’ ſays he, ‘any means are juſtifiable to ſtop a fool's mouth, or inter⯑rupt an officious medler; even to put him out of the world would be an act of charity to mankind —and as to wickedneſs, if we now and then make a virtuous man vi⯑cious [115]we as often make a vicious man virtuous; and of courſe, he who does as much good as harm, in the ſcale of morality, cannot be a wicked man. Beſides,’ ſays he, ‘we could not live without ſcan⯑dal; the more we pleaſe the peo⯑ple, the more papers we ſell, and as the virtuous of man⯑kind are but few, our buſineſs is to write for, and gratify the ma⯑ny. A man in a croud will en⯑deavour to lift himſelf above the reſt, though it be on the ſhould⯑ers of another; ſo it is in ſociety, we labour to get on and become conſpicuous, not by any merits of our own, but by depreciating [116]the characters of others, of courſe moſt men like to ſee their ac⯑quaintances traduced; as officers, in time of ſervice, who now and then ſuffer by a random ſhot, are willing to run that hazard, with the hopes of many of their friends dropping, and making way for their promotion; ſo, in civil life, men are not much hurt by an oblique ſtroke thrown out in a newſpaper againſt themſelves, provided they are laid on pretty thick upon others.’

WHILST we were in this conver⯑ſation, a poor wretch of a paragraph collector came into the office, and [117]demanded one ſhilling for the fol⯑lowing paragraphs:

‘A STORY is abroad that one of the E. of S's. footmen was diſ⯑covered ſtealing out of Lady Betty W's bedchamber yeſterday morning, at four o'clock, but that the news has not yet reached her father.’

‘IT is confidentially aſſerted, that the Miniſter holds a ſecret correſpondence with Monſieur de Sartine at Paris.’

"HERE, fellow" ſays the print⯑er, ‘take away your d—n'd inu⯑endo's—do you think we can pay [118]ſix-pence a paragraph for ſuch uncertain intelligence as this?— Make them matters of fact, and we ſhall not grudge the money.’

THIS buſineſs being diſpatched, he reſumed his converſation with me; "You ſee, friend," ſays he, ‘what we want; you may try your hand, and if you can fur⯑niſh us with the private intrigues of reſpectable families, you may be conſtantly employed.’ I told him, ‘I would take care to throw dirt enough, and of courſe ſome of it would ſtick’—and left him.

[119]HAVING been uſed to diſguiſes, I made an engagement with an old cloaths man in Monmouth-ſtreet, to equip me with ſuch as I had oc⯑caſion for; ſometimes I was a foot⯑man, ſometimes an officer, ſome⯑times a clergyman, and ſometimes a blackguard. As a footman, I mix⯑ed with the knights of the rainbow in the lobbies of the Opera-houſe and houſes of Parliament, and by inventing a number of ſtories of fa⯑milies where I had lived, and the participation of a pint or two of por⯑ter, I frequently ſucked their brains, and got acquainted with a number of private and entertaining anecdotes. As an officer, I was at the Bedford, [120]the Smyrna, George's, and other coffee-houſes of repute, and by join⯑ing in converſation with induſtri⯑ous and attentive ears, I picked up a variety of intelligence reſpecting ſtateſmen, general officers, theatres and players. As a clergyman, I got acceſs at St. James's, gave the king, when, talking with certain perſons, a pleaſant countenance or a ſour one, according as I wiſhed,—enter⯑ed into the characters of individuals, according to their looks in the draw⯑ing room; and when I wanted a a little better information than I could pick up at coffee-houſes, I ap⯑peared at court in regimentals; and there I could have filled a newſpa⯑per [121]at any time with the ſcandal I heard. As a blackguard, I made my way into all city, and other meetings of the people, and what I could not collect with my ears, I made up with invention: in ſhort, I became ſo uſeful to a newſpaper, that I was conſtantly employed. But their pay was poor, not more than ſix-pence for a common para⯑graph, a ſhilling for a matter of fact or ſcandal, and half a crown for the death of a king. I was at laſt thought worthy to be admitted into their cabinet of literary men, who met on a Sunday evening, the only leiſure day in the week, where Dreadnought, our editor, preſided; [122]from him we received our inſtruc⯑tions for the ſix days following.— He was a deſperate man, capable of undertaking any thing, and was placed in this department, not for poſſeſſing any literary talents, but for being adequate to fighting his way through any dirty work that was expected of him. A clergy⯑man was once propoſed to fill this office, but as clergymen cannot, or muſt not fight, and, as the argu⯑ment of a proprietor on this propoſal had weight, namely, ‘if you em⯑ploy an eccleſiaſtic—what is to become of your duels?’ Dread⯑nought was appointed; it being found neceſſary, as the editor was [123]the oſtenſible man, that he ſhould be one that was not eaſily to be fright⯑ened. And as the occaſional account of a duel, between the editor and a perſon held forth to the public in an infamous light, generally in⯑creaſed the ſale of the paper for ſome time afterwards, great pains were taken to bring matters to ſuch a fortunate iſſue. But theſe men are generally well paid in the end, for the party they eſpouſe ſeldom fails to reward them.

I CONTINUED in this employ ſome time, but my career was interrupted, through the ungener⯑ouſneſs of my employer. I had, in [124]order to obtain his favour, charged a reſpectable perſon, of great rank, with high-treaſon; a proſecution was commenced againſt the printer, and nothing could atone for the offence but giving up the author; and as Jonathan Wild would, at any time, impeach his whole gang to ſave himſelf, ſo this multiplier of daily ſcandal, thought proper to give in my name to the proſecutor, and I was obliged to ſecrete myſelf.—I lay hid ſome time, and the matter blew over. However, as I obſerved the pay being poor, the ſervice danger⯑ous, and the employ ſuch as did not agree with my feelings, I look⯑ed abroad for ſome other. It gave [125]me, indeed, an inſight into the arca⯑na of a newſpaper, and if I ſuffer⯑ed in reputation, I improved in worldly knowledge. I there found, that, like the generality of man⯑kind, nothing came amiſs to them. They would frequently abuſe a cha⯑racter, and promiſe a continuance of ſuch abuſe, merely to draw from that party huſh money: if any ſum was offered for the non-inſertion of a paragraph, and a greater ſum was tendered for its inſertion, it was ſure to be in, and vice verſa. Far be it from me to include every proprietor of a public print under this general cenſure; there is ſcarce a newſpaper printed, but what has many pro⯑prietors [126]who reſide in different parts of the kingdom, and whoſe opinion, with reſpect to its conduct, is too often over-ruled by the acting part⯑ners; of courſe, they cannot be re⯑ſponſible for its contents; but this does not alter the in caſe general.

CHAP. VI.

THE next place I got, and this through the means of an ac⯑quaintance, was that of an amanu⯑enſis to a clergyman. He was a man of ſome fortune, and like moſt clergy⯑men of fortune, too indolent to write his own ſermons. So he was in poſſeſſion of the church, he cared little what became of the congre⯑gation. [128]He was the younger ſon of a good family, had a chapel in London, a fellowſhip at Cam⯑bridge, and an annuity of 200 l. a year; ſufficient together to enable him to keep a pair of horſes. When in town he wore a large grizzel wig, a pair of ſquare-toed ſhoes, in ſhort dreſſed like, and had all the form⯑ality of, a Preſbyterian; though a young man, he ſcrewed up his face into a primitive form, and would ſcarce ſuffer a ſmile upon his coun⯑tenance; and there was ſuch an af⯑fected ſeverity in his manner, that you would have taken him for a ſaint; but when in the country, he was a buck of the firſt head, [129]wore a ſmart bob wig, leather breeches, and was always in boots: he had but a ſmall ſtock of ſer⯑mons, and I was engaged, for a few months, to provide him with a greater. Having purchaſed a ſet of manuſcripts, which he could not well read, my buſineſs was to tran⯑ſcribe them, and now and then throw in a paſſage or two which he occaſionally penned on a ſlip of paper, as his leiſure moments from hunting, drinking, and the card-table would admit. Indeed, I fre⯑quently helped him out, very often adding ſome paſſages of my own; ſo that he would often ſay I ſhould make a very good parſon. He was [130]once, when at Cambridge, called upon to preach in the morning at St. Mary's, before the univerſity, and not having a proper ſermon upon the occaſion, nor being able to compoſe or to compile one, was under a thouſand anxieties; for he ſtudied appearances more than moſt young men in the church. At laſt a circumſtance happened, that relieved him from his pain. While in Cambridge, we dwelt in college; and it ſo happened, that a fellow of the ſame community who lived in the ad⯑joining rooms, was appointed to preach at the ſame church in the afternoon. This young gentleman, [131]who was a very good writer, and who took a great deal more pains than my maſter, delivered his ſer⯑mon aloud every morning before his glaſs in his own room, in order to acquit himſelf well on the day of exhibition; and as the partition between the two apartments was only a wainſcot, I could diſtinctly hear every word: accordingly, with my maſter's conſent, I took down his ſermon verbatim, and he preach⯑ed it in the morning. This being unknown to the other gentleman, the ſame diſcourſe was delivered in the afternoon. Though he who penned it laboured to have it be⯑lieved that he was the author of it, [132]it did not avail, the myſtery was not unravelled, my maſter had all the credit, and the afternoon preacher was conſidered only as a purloiner of the copy.

HAVING furniſhed my maſter with about four dozen of ſermons, which he called a pretty good ſtock, he propoſed to diſcharge me, and took ſome pains to recommend me to a friend, as a very uſeful hand in the divinity way; but his friend was of another caſt, he always compoſed his ſermons himſelf; perſuaded no one could do them ſo well, though when compoſed, few could underſtand them, from [133]the variety of new words he uſed, and much fewer liked them. He uſed to conſole himſelf however with obſerv⯑ing, that he really pitied his congre⯑gation for the vexation they muſt feel, at hearing ſo many fine things of which they were neither the writer nor the ſpeaker. It is ſaid, that thoſe who are bit by a mad animal par⯑take of its nature and inſanity. If this be the caſe, I am perſuaded this friend of my maſter's had been bit by a bookworm, for he was literally literary mad. See him when you would, he was never without a book, and when at home was almoſt overwhelmed with them. Every new publication he purchaſed, [134]it be in what language it would; for though he was maſter of but one, he fancied himſelf well read in all, and always prided himſelf in having had the firſt copy wet from the preſs. Oft have I ſeen him in his ſtudy, almoſt bu⯑ried in volumes. They lay all round him and his table, piled high upon the floor, and as he would never ſuffer a ſervant to duſt them, for fear of derangement, and was too much occupied in little thoughts to do it himſelf, they were covered with duſt. Here he would ſome⯑times bury himſelf whole days in little more than re-arranging them, and would be almoſt loſt in a cloud [135]of duſt. He ſaid, that in the Eng⯑liſh language there was a paucity of expreſſion that required to be abun⯑dified, and he laboured to repair this defect. He called himſelf a nealogiſt, or a former of new words. Whenever he received a preſent, he returned his civilities and thanked his friend for his prevenient polite⯑neſs; and when he ſent his old black waiſtcoat to be new dipped, he requeſted the dyer to re-nigriſy it. There was not an author abroad with whom he did not court a correſpondence, nor any ſcribbler at home whom he did not peſter with his viſits. He would ſhew a card from Rouſſeau, and a [136]letter from Voltaire, as a medalliſt would exhibit a Cromwell's ſilver penny, or an Otho. As I ſhall have occaſion to ſpeak of this man a⯑gain, I ſhall drop the ſubject now, with ſaying, that, as during my ſtay with my maſter, I found out the art of making ſermons, and as no en⯑quiry is ever made before a man officiates as a clergyman, whether he be really in orders or not; flatter⯑ing myſelf I ſhould make as conſcientious a prieſt as the gene⯑rality of parſons are; and being ſo little of a Roman catholic, as not to conceive, that the laying on of hands by a biſhop, can confer grace, any more than that a few words [137]mumbled over a piece of bread, can make any alteration in its nature, I determined to take no other place, but to ſtart forward in the profeſſion myſelf; and, as this thought ſtruck me ſoon after I commenced an aman⯑uenſis, I wrote two copies of every ſermon I was directed to tranſcribe, and kept one for my own uſe. Theſe amounted in the end to ſome dozens; accordingly, being furniſhed with all the requiſites of a modern parſon, namely, a few ſermons, an iron grey ſuit, and a ſtock of impu⯑dence; as ſoon as I quitted my maſ⯑ter, I applied to Mr. Snuffle, in Pa⯑ternoſter Row, for employ.

[138]THIS gentleman was formerly a pariſh clerk, but growing tired with ſaying amen for twenty pounds a year, he has found out a new me⯑thod of being ſerviceable to himſelf, under the idea of being uſeful to the clergy. As there are regiſter offices for a variety of reſpectable wants, for houſes, ſervants, whores, &c, ſo this is a regiſter office for par⯑ſons, a kind of divinity-ſhop in the city of London for hiring of preach⯑ers, readers, and ſo on, by the day or the week as occaſion requires. For this purpoſe, he keeps a liſt of unemployed clergy, of all ages and characters, to ſuit certain congre⯑gations; ſome for example, attend [139]much to the voice and to the action, and as they never take their eyes from the preacher during the whole ſermon, they wiſh for ſomething tolerable to look at. Theſe he would furniſh with a ſmart prig preacher of twenty-five, who would keep them awake by an exertion of the voice, and a diſplay of the arms; to others, who do not like to be taught by boys, and had rather doze away a heavy hour or two, which the law will not ſuffer them to employ in their reſpective occu⯑pations, and who go to church more to keep up appearances, than from any ſpirit of devotion, he would provide a monotoniſt of ſixty. For [140]ſuch men, like the tale-tellers in Scotland, have a happy knack of compoſing a congregation into a comfortable nap.

FROM this liſt he ſelects his preachers, and lets them out for a ſtipulated ſum, according to the duty they are to perform, taking for himſelf as agent, ten per cent. and one ſhilling extra for thoſe he accommodates with a gown and caſ⯑ſack. The following is a copy of his printed liſt of prices.

I THINK I cannot explain the nature of this undertaking better, [142]than by giving my readers te ſub⯑ſtance of a dialogue between Mr. Snuffle and a very ingenious friend of mine, who once applied to him, and which on his death bed he thought proper to leave to the world.

"MR. Snuffle your ſervant."

"Doctor, your's."

‘I ſuppoſe, Mr. Snuffle, you can gueſs my errand. I am going out of town to-morrow, for a fortnight, and ſhall want a ſup⯑ply, and at the ſame time, Maſ⯑ter [143]Snuffle, I come to inform you, I ſhall from this day com⯑mence agent and patient, and in⯑tend to hire and be hired; ſo, as I am likely to be a pretty conſi⯑derable dealer, and am, beſides, an old acquaintance, hope you will give me the turn of the ſcale. So put me down in your liſt immediately.’

‘IT ſhall be done, Sir. And a moſt reſpectable liſt it is, I aſſure you; I have juſt got a freſh cargo of Scotch divines, piping hot from Edinburgh, beſides the old corps—my collection ends with, —let me ſee—fourteen ſchool-maſters, [144]five doctors of divinity, two of them juſtices of the peace, two reviewers, three political wri⯑ters, two bible-makers, (mind the climax—) and a king's chaplain.’

‘All men of erudition, I ſup⯑poſe?’

‘Excellent ſcholars,—charming preachers, I aſſure you, but—en⯑tre nous, not one of them worth a ſix-pence in the world.—But to your buſineſs—’

‘Aye, Mr Snuffle,—I muſt have a good voice for Wedneſdays and Fri⯑days, and one of your beſt orators [145]for Sunday next: you know my congregation is a little delicate.’

‘Then you muſt have a young man. My young gentlemen, I aſſure you, are all cuſhion-thum⯑pers—none of your dreaming chaps—if there's the leaſt grain of duſt in a pulpit cuſhion, I'll be ſworn they'll beat it out’—

‘here's Par⯑ſon Rawbones, one of my athletic, able-bodied divines; it is not long ſince he knocked down a clerk in the deſk, for interrupt⯑ing him in the middle of a collect (and it was only for telling him he was reading the wrong one) [146]this you know ſhewed him to be a man of ſpirit, and kept up the dignity of the cloth. No parſon, let me tell you, is reſpected now, that is not a boxing one. But I doubt whether he will do for you, for he is a north countryman, and has got a burr in his throat; he'll never paſs at your end of the town: I ſhall ſport him, however, at a day lecture, or an early ſacrament.’

‘You are ſo facetious, Mr. Snuffle. But pray find me ſome⯑body, for I am in haſte.’

‘If you had wanted a whiner or [147]bawler for a charity ſermon, I could help you to the beſt beggar in England, an arrant pickpocket for the middle aiſle. Beats your M—r's, and your H—n's, our of the pit, a doctor of divini⯑ty too, and a juſtice of the peace; but he wont do for you, for the dog's over head and ears in debt, and daren't ſtir out on a week-day for fear of the bailiffs;—but here—I have him for you, Young Gallop, the quickeſt reader in London. He'll give Dr. Drawl to the Te deum, and overtake him before he comes to the thankſgiv⯑ing!—A very proper man for this ſeaſon of the year!—an ex⯑cellent [148]reader for a cold day!— and a rare hand at a collect!— But you muſt tip him more than half a guinea for the morning's duty.—Let me tell you, Sir, I am a good friend to the inferior clergy, and have done more for them (and that's a bold word) than the whole bench of biſhops. I be⯑lieve I may ſafely ſay, I have raiſed the price of lungs at leaſt cent per cent; I knew the time, and ſo did you, when a well-caſ⯑ſocked divine was glad to read prayers on a holliday for a ſhil⯑ling; old C—never had more in his life; now, Sir, I never let a tit go out my ſtable (you [149]will pardon my jocularity) upon ſuch an occaſion, under half a crown.’

IT is to theſe, and ſuch like in⯑dignities, to which the clergy are obliged to ſubmit, that the function owes it's degradation. Having re⯑ceived the beſt of educations, and flattering myſelf I had equal abilities in compiling and delivering a diſ⯑courſe with the beſt of them, I per⯑ſuaded myſelf that, whilſt I kept my own ſecret, I could do no great harm. I could paſs an examination; and of courſe, could have taken orders if I pleaſed, and, as a late Biſhop of Cheſter would never or⯑dain [150]a man till be had officiated as a deacon for three years, to ſee how he took to the profeſſion, I conceiv⯑ed there could be no harm in my putting myſelf upon a ſimilar trial.

HAVING then applied to this ſame Mr Snuffle, he ſoon found me employ, and as I acquitted myſelf to his ſatisfaction, and in a manner that did him credit, I never was idle; but an ill-judged parſimony of mine overturned the bucket pre⯑ſently. I was employed to read prayers on a week-day in a large pariſh, for which I had my ſhilling, but being called, at that time, on more important buſineſs, to the [151]other end of the town, I appointed a deputy, and gave him half my fees, but he was ſo out of ſpirits at being obliged to officiate, at a price ſo degrading to the profeſſion, and ſo derogatory to the honour of the cloth, that he did not exert himſelf ſufficiently to be heard, and on the clerk's hinting to him, after ſer⯑vice, that he feared the congrega⯑tion did not hear him, his anſwer was, ‘How do you think, friend, I am paid?’ ‘I preſume,’ re⯑plies the clerk, ‘the uſual compli⯑ment.’ "Not ſo, Sir," returns the parſon, ‘I am paid but half price, and I therefore only read my half-beſt.’ This ſtory was [152]carried to Mr. Snuffle; and, for at⯑tempting to take the bread out of his mouth, I was immediately ſtruck off his liſt.

I, AT this time, got intelligence, that a certain Viſcount in the weſt, having married a woman of low fa⯑mily, who had a maiden ſiſter, pro⯑poſed to give any clergyman, that would take her to wife, a living in his diſpoſal, then vacant, of five hundred pounds a year. I deter⯑mined to look after this living, for though I was not in orders, as I have obſerved before, being ſuffici⯑ently qualified, I could eaſily have been ordained; the neceſſary teſti⯑monials [153]I made no doubt of procur⯑ing. This lady lived at a market town in the neighbourhood of Ox⯑ford: I accordingly inquired of the man who drove the ſtage-coach be⯑tween that town and London, whe⯑ther there was an aſſembly at that place, he told me there was, and promiſed to bring me word, the next time he came up, on what day the next aſſembly was to be. This information being procured, I hired an elegant poſt-chaiſe for the jour⯑ney, and took a friend with me, for whom I borrowed a ſmart livery, and who followed as my ſervant on horſeback. I let this friend into my ſcheme, and promiſing him a reward [154]if I ſucceeded, gave him his inſtruc⯑tions; which were, to paſs me for a man of good family and fortune. Thus, with two of my beſt ſermons in my pocket, I ſet off for the place I was bound to, and arrived there on a Friday evening, five days, as the coachman told me, before the aſſembly day. Having ſent for the landlord of the houſe where I was, I inquired, who ſerved the church? he told me, ‘a young gentleman from Oxford.’ ‘My reaſon, friend,’ ſays I, ‘for aſking, is, that I am a clergyman, and mean to paſſ a few days here, and, if I thought it would be agreeable to your miniſter, I would eaſe [155]him of his duty on Sunday.’ His reply was: ‘I have no doubt Sir, but he would he very glad of the offer; it is a long way to Oxford, and the roads, from the late rains, very bad. To-morrow is market day there, and as ſeve⯑ral of our farmers will be going, if you think proper to write a letter, I will ſend it.’ This let⯑ter was written, and the anſwer, ſuch as I wiſhed. On Sunday I preached; and, from the great atten⯑tion that was paid me on all ſides, I conceive that I acquitted myſelf with eclat; but the object of my jour⯑ney, however, was, unfortunately for me, not at church. As I came [156]down from the pulpit, an elderly lady, after paying me ſome compli⯑ments on my ſermon, aſked me, if I made nay ſtay in that town? On my anſwering in the affirmative, ſhe told me her name, and requeſted my company to dinner. I waited on her, and found her the goſſip of the place. From her I acquired e⯑very information I wiſhed, and might, if I pleaſed, have learned the hiſtory of every family in the neighbourhood. Among other in⯑formation, however, I found to my mortification, that the aſſembly was not to be ſo ſoon as I expected, by a fortnight.

[157]ON my return to my quarters, I begged the landlord's company, and among other things, aſked him, who was mayor of the town, and what kind of a man he was; he in⯑formed me, that he was a reſpecta⯑ble tradeſman, a perſon of property, and a good-natured well-bred man. This account ſo met my wiſhes, that I called for paper, and wrote the following card, to be diſpatched the next morning.

‘THE gentleman who preached yeſterday, preſents his compli⯑ments to Mr. Mayor, and, if he will give him leave, will do him⯑ſelf [158]the honour to drink tea with him this afternoon.’

THE anſwer returned was:

‘MR. Mayor's compliments to the gentleman who preached, and ſhall be proud of the honour of his company.’

WHEN evening came, I ordered my carriage, (for this, and the ton⯑gue of my ſervant gave me no ſmall credit) waited on the Mayor, and was politely received. His houſe was full of well-dreſſed men and women, collected, no doubt, for the pleaſure of reconnoitering me. [159]Conceiving ſome apology neceſſary for this ſelf-invitation, I addreſſed him thus before all the company: ‘This abrupt introduction of my⯑ſelf, Mr. Mayor, may require ſome apology; I am here upon a little excurſion, and as being at an inn is irkſome, where I have not the happineſs of being ac⯑quainted, I make it a rule to in⯑troduce myſelf, as I have done here, to the politeſt families in the town where I am.’ The gentlemen ſmiled applauſe, the la⯑dies tittered behind their fans; but I had the ſatisfaction to find myſelf very well-received. Indeed, I want⯑ed no further introduction any where; [160]when the company preſent found I came down for the aſſembly, and had an intention of ſtaying ſome little time, invitations paſſed regu⯑larly round; one engaged me to din⯑ner the next day, another the day following, and ſo on, but in all theſe parties I met not with the lady I wiſhed to ſee; ſhe being conſider⯑ed as beneath the company I was then in. The Mayor, I found, was a pleaſant man, and Jack among the maids. He was pleaſed to ſay, that ‘as I had come down to honour their aſſembly, of which he was the founder, he was truly con⯑cerned to think the day was ſo far diſtant, as to fear the loſing [161]me; in order, therefore, that I might not be diſappointed, he would convene the ladies, and have a dance at the inn where I was.’ He returned my viſit, however, the next morning, and with a melancholy countenance, told me, ‘the girls were of late grown ſo ſqueamiſh, that they objected to dancing at a public houſe; and that, as their aſſem⯑bly was in its infancy, he could not permit them the uſe of the town hall, left the neigh⯑bouring gentry ſhould, on hear⯑ing of this dance, be diſpleaſed that they had not notice of it; but that if I would do them the [162]honour to ſtay over the next Sun⯑day, he would advertiſe it in the Oxford Gazette on the enſuing Saturday, and, on my account, would fix the aſſembly on the Thurſday following, which was a week ſooner than the ſtated time.’ I of courſe acknowledged myſelf obliged, and agreed to it. Not having yet met, nor being like⯑ly to meet, in the company I was with, the lady I was in ſearch of, I excuſed myſelf from a party one af⯑ternoon, purpoſely to wait upon her. She lived with her mother, a wi⯑dow; determining, therefore, to introduce myſelf, I wrote a card to the mother, ſimilar to the one I [163]ſent to the Mayor, and ſhe returned he compliments, ſaying, ‘as ſhe preſumed I had ſome buſineſs with her, ſhe ſhould be glad to ſee me.’ I went there in my carriage, and ſaw the old lady, but Miſs was not with her; how⯑ever, ſhe made her appearance with the tea-table, and expreſſed a con⯑cern that ſhe was not at church laſt Sunday, as ſhe ſhould have heard, by all accounts, a very excellent ſermon, and very gracefully deliver⯑ed. I entered into the chit-chat of the town, the propoſed dance, and the politeneſs of the Mayor; told her, the aſſembly was to be the Thurſday following, and hoped ſhe [164]would be there; her reply was, ‘She never had been at the aſſem⯑bly, nor did ſhe know ſhe ſhould be admitted, for the ladies of that place did not think her good e⯑nough to mix with them.’ At this the mother fired, and ſaid, ‘her daughter was as good as the beſt, and ſhe was a fool to keep away;’ I favoured the idea, and encouraged her to go, and told her, ‘that if ſhe would do me the honour to dance with me, I ſhould be proud of her as a partner, and would conduct her there and back. Should I go,’ ſays ſhe, ‘I ſhall have no objections to dance with you, but that is uncertain.’ So [165]far introduced, I improved the ac⯑quaintance; called on her a day or two before the aſſembly; prevailed on her to accompany me there, and danced with her; and, we became ſo familiar before the cloſe of the evening, that I told her I was ena⯑moured with her, and ſolicited per⯑miſſion to pay my addreſſes to her. With a great deal of candour and good-nature, ſhe acknowledged her⯑ſelf obliged to me for the preference I had ſhewn to her before other ladies, but aſſured me, ſhe was engaged, and to a brother clergyman; to whom ſhe is ſince married.

[166]FINDING my plan here abortive, I quitted the place, and returned to London, having been abſent from it near three weeks; and, being in daily apprehenſion of its being found out that I was not in orders, and dreading the demand of the man of whom I had the carriage and horſes, which amounted to near twenty pounds, and which I was unable to pay, I retired from my profeſſion, and concealed myſelf under a differ⯑ent character.

WHEN I reflected upon my con⯑duct, and the deceptions I uſed, I held myſelf in deteſtation; but I ſoon reconciled it to myſelf by the [167]plea of neceſſity, and the collateral one of meaning well; for had I obtained that young lady's conſent, and had a promiſe of the living as a portion, I would have embraced a clerical life, and, I am bold to ſay, would have acted in that life with honour and probity. As it is, I was reſerved for a different ſituation. There is a fatality, I am convinced, in the lives of all men, that work⯑eth wonderfully for their good; and, unleſs it be conſtantly counteract⯑ed, will gain ground gradually to its conſummation.

AS I ſet out with making uſeful remarks on the various paſſages in [168]my life, for the improvement and entertainment of my readers; I can⯑not omit dwelling a little longer on the clerical profeſſion, and obſerving, that though it's followers draw the many indignities they meet with too often upon themſelves, yet their po⯑verty and diſtreſſed ſituation, are fre⯑quently the occaſions of it. The idea of bringing up a ſon a gentle⯑man has ſpoiled many a good tradeſ⯑man, and has thrown many upon the church whom ſhe is unable to maintain. Lectureſhips have been conſidered as a tolerable proviſion for thoſe who are not provided with livings or curacies; but the eſtabliſh⯑ment of lectureſhips, if we believe [169]the ſame ingenious gentleman, who has favoured the world with his conference with Mr. Snuffle, ‘has contributed in a great meaſure to bring upon the whole body of the clergy, that contempt into which they are now fallen. The choice of a lecturer is generally veſted in the pariſhioners at large, as they are paid by a voluntary contribution. Theſe pariſhioners for the moſt part, conſiſt of or⯑dinary tradeſmen, ſometimes ve⯑ry low mechanics, perſons not always of the moſt refined man⯑ners, or moſt delicate ſenſations. I had not been three weeks in London,’ ſays this gentleman, [170] ‘but ſtrolling one Sunday after⯑noon into a church in the city, I heard the clerk, after ſervice, by order of the veſtry, declare the lectureſhip vacant, and invite the clergy, however dignified or diſ⯑tinguiſhed, to be candidates for it, and to give in their names by the enſuing Sunday. Having no clerical proviſion, I no ſooner heard this church-ſerjeant beating up for recruits, than I immedi⯑ately reſolved to enliſt; and ac⯑cordingly waited on the worſhip⯑ful Stentor above-mentioned, who took down my name and place of abode. On my deſiring him, at the ſame time, to acquaint me [171]with the beſt method of proceed⯑ing, which I was an utter ſtranger to, he adviſed me, as a friend, to apply, as ſpeedily as poſſible, to Mr. Bluemould, a cheeſemonger in Rotten Lane, who was then firſt church-warden, a leading man in the veſtry, and a perſon, he aſſured me, on whom the electi⯑on would, in a great meaſure, de⯑pend. I took honeſt Amen's ad⯑vice, and by nine the next morn⯑ing (not, I muſt own, without ſome reluctance), dreſſed myſelf as well as I could, and waited on Mr. Churchwarden. As ſoon as he ſaw me enter the ſhop in my canonicals (for I had hired an ex⯑cellent [172]new gown and caſſock, be⯑hind St. Clement's, on the occa⯑ſion) he made me a low bow, gave me the title of Doctor, and, imagining, no doubt, that I was come to beſpeak cheeſes for the country, begged to know my ho⯑nour's commands; to which I re⯑plied, in an humble tone, and looking extremely diſconcerted, that I came to wait on him on account of the lectureſhip of the pariſh, and begged the favour of his vote and intereſt. You would have ſmiled to have ſeen the ſud⯑den alteration of his features and behaviour: he dropped all the tradeſman's obſequiouſneſs, and [173]in a moment aſſumed the magiſ⯑terial air and dignity of the churchwarden; turned aſide to a woman who was juſt then aſking for a pound of Cheſhire cheeſe, and, without addreſſing himſelf to me, cried out, 'This is the fourth parſon I have had with me to-day upon the ſame errand;' then ſtaring me full in the face, Well, young man,' ſays he, 'you intend to be a candidate for this ſame lecture; you are all to mount the noſtrum I ſuppoſe, and merit will carry it; for my part, I pro⯑miſe nobody; but remember, I tell you before hand, I am for voice and action, ſo mind your hits.' [174]When he had ſaid this, he im⯑mediately turned upon his heel, and went into the counting-houſe. I took my leave in an awkward manner, as you may ſuppoſe, be⯑ing not a little chagrined at his inſolence, and as I went out of the ſhop, overheard his lady ob⯑ſerving, from behind the counter, that I was a pretty ſprig of divini⯑ty, but looked a little ſheepiſh, and had not half the courage of the gentleman that had been recom⯑mended to her huſband by Mr. Squintum.’

THESE are ſome of the morti⯑fications lectures are ſubject to; [175]and then as to their pay, and the manner in which they are paid, it adds ſtill further to the contempt they lie under. The church-ward⯑ens of a pariſh once waited on a quaker, a tin-man within their limits, with the lecturer's book, and ſolicited his contribution towards the ſupport of the afternoon ſer⯑mon. "Thou knoweſt, friend," ſays he, ‘that we give nothing to thy clergy.’ 'I admit that,' returns one of the church-wardens, ‘but he is a worthy gentleman, and a good preacher, and you would ſay ſo if you heard him; I hope, therefore, as our pariſh is ſmall, and we cannot make up [176]any great ſum, that you will add to it for the ſake of your neigh⯑bours.’ The quaker repeated his words as before, and they were leaving his ſhop when he called them back, with ‘Hark'ye, friend; though I told thee we quakers never give any thing towards the ſupport of thy clergy, yet, as mayhap he may want light,—I'll gee'un a lantern.’

"The lecturer's box," continues my friend, ‘generally goes about with the reſt of the pariſh beggars, a little before Chriſtmas, and every body throws in their charity (for it is always conſidered in that light) [177]as they think proper. Were I to mention how many paltry excuſes are made to evade this little annu⯑al tribute, by the mean and ſor⯑did; how very little is given even by the moſt generous, and what an inconſiderable ſum the whole generally amounts to, the recital would not afford my readers much entertainment, and for aught I know, might give them ſome real concern.’ A lecturer, 'tis true, is licenſed by the biſhop, and of courſe cannot be removed; but notwithſtanding this, he is far from independent: if he ſhews any marks of diſpleaſure, or does not pleaſe his congregation, he feels [178]it at the next collection; and when they are tired of him, they with⯑hold their ſubſcriptions, and (as they call it) ſtarve him out.

"You cannot imagine" proceeds my friend, ‘with what an envious eye we poor lecturers have often looked over a waiter's book at a coffee-houſe, where I have ſeen ſuch a collection of guineas and half-guineas, as made my mouth water. To give leſs than a crown would be to the laſt degree un⯑genteel, for the immenſe trouble of handing a diſh of coffee, or a newſpaper; whilſt the poor di⯑vine, who has toiled in the mi⯑niſtry [179]for a twelvemonth, and half worn out a pair of excellent lungs in the unprofitable ſervice, ſhall think himſelf well rewarded with the noble donation of half a crown.’

‘I know a little too much of the world, to expect that a par⯑ſon ſhould be paid like a firſt-rate player, a pimp, or a lord of the treaſury, whoſe incomes I believe are nearly equal, but I cannot help thinking, that a labourer in the vineyard is as well worthy his hire, as a journeyman carpenter or maſon, and has as good a right to two pound two, on a Sunday, [180]as they have on a Saturday night; and yet not one in an hundred is paid in that proportion.’

‘To illuſtrate my ſubject, I will give my readers another ſtory; there is nothing like a little painting from the life on theſe occaſions. Suppoſe yourſelf then an eye-witneſs of the following ſcene, which paſſed not long ſince in the neighbourhood of Covent-Garden.’

‘SUCH is the force of example, the influence of faſhion, that a conſtant church-goer, and one perhaps who fancies himſelf a ve⯑ry good chriſtian, ſhall throw a⯑way one pound one, with all the pleaſure imaginable for an even⯑ing's entertainment at the theatre, and at the ſame time grudge half a crown for two and fifty diſ⯑courſes from the pulpit; which, [184]if he turns to his arithmetic book, he will ſee amounts to about three farthings a ſermon—and a ſober citizen too,—as Lady Town⯑ly ſays,—Fye, Fye!’

IN ſhort, ſuch are the mortifica⯑tions, to which the inferior clergy are expoſed, that if I had a ſon to bring up, and could not give him either a fortune or a good living, I would ſooner make a coal-heaver of him than a parſon.

CHAP. VII.

I WAS now once more maſter of myſelf, and had an employment to ſeek; but was very low in caſh, ſo low, that I could not remain long out of place. I had recourſe again to the newſpapers, and applied as the fol⯑lowing advertiſement directed me: ‘Wanted a ſmart young man as footman to a lady.’ She lived [186]in a well-furniſhed houſe, in a gen⯑teel ſtreet at the weſt end of the town; I went in the morning, and was introduced to her whilſt at her breakfaſt. A [...] I was pretty well dreſſed, and came into the room perhaps in a manner different from what footmen in general do, ſhe roſe from her ſeat, and when I told her I waited on her in conſequence of her advertiſement, ſhe ſeemed ra⯑ther confuſed, and ſaid, ‘She pre⯑ſumed, that either I did not ap⯑ply for myſelf, or that her place would be below my acceptance, for that her ſervant muſt wear a livery.’ I told her, ‘an overthrow in life had humbled [187]my mind, and reconciled it to any ſituation that was not diſho⯑neſt or laborious, and that as to wearing the livery of a lady, it was what my ſuperiors would be proud of.’ She ſeemed to ſmile at my anſwer, and doubt my ſin⯑cerity, and ‘freely acknowledged that my manner and language would do credit to a gentleman.’ She aſked me if I had ever lived in the capacity of a ſervant? I told her, ‘I had, and ſhould be happy to be her's.’ A very few words further paſſed between us, ſhe con⯑deſcended to ſay, ‘She was ſo pleaſed with my appearance that ſhe ſhould inquire no further a⯑bout [188]me, I carried too much ho⯑neſty in my face to need any other recommendation.’ She ſaid, ‘ſhe had engaged a ſervant, but that ſhe would put him off, and take me in his ſtead; that her place was not a fatiguing one, it was little more than to wait upon herſelf, and that if I would accept of it with eighteen guineas a year, and a live⯑ry, I might come as ſoon as I pleaſ⯑ed.’ I bowed an aſſent, and told her, ‘I would attend her the Monday following.’ She gave me a di⯑rection to her taylor, in order to get a new livery, and deſired I would make my firſt appearance in it.— The livery was white, faced and lin⯑ed [189]with pale blue, ſilver buttons and epaulet, with a waiſtcoat of the co⯑lour of the facings, laced with ſil⯑ver, blue pluſh breeches, and ſilver laced hat; and the taylor having made it ſmart, and to fit me exact⯑ly, paid me the compliment to ſay, that ‘I rather graced the livery, than the livery me, and among all the ſervants he had dreſſed, he had never ſeen one that became his cloaths ſo well.’ It is rather an awkward taſk to be under the neceſſity of ſounding one's own praiſe, but as the reader can hear nothing of one who writes his own life, but from the mouth of him who guides the pen, and as he may [190]wiſh to have ſome little deſcription of my perſon, the following is the ſimpleſt account I can give. I was, at the time I am now ſpeaking of, a ſtrait well-made man, five feet nine inches high, of a middling ſize, neither too corpulent nor too thin, juſt turned of twenty, dark hair, and a great deal of it, had a good ſet of teeth, and if glaſſes told truth, a ſpeaking countenance, and a penetrating eye. I was given to underſtand, that I had a graceful fi⯑gure, an inſinuating addreſs, and the manner of a gentleman; with theſe perfections and accompliſh⯑ments, and the education I had re⯑ceived, with a good flow of ſpirits, [191]and ſanguine health, it muſt have been wonderful had I not puſhed on through life as well as I have done. I muſt own that whenever I fell, it was through the impetuoſity of paſ⯑ſions, the heedleſſneſs of youth, or want of worldly knowledge. I ſet out with very few expectations, and fewer friends; but I had philoſophy enough to acquire a certain degree of fortitude, and was determined to be a coſmopolite, and take the world as it goes.

HAVING arranged my little mat⯑ters at the houſe where I lodged, I dreſſed my hair in the moſt faſhion⯑able manner, which from cuſtom I was expert at, put on a ruffled ſhirt, [192]ſilk ſtockings, and a pair of Artois buckles; and when I ſurveyed myſelf in the glaſs, dreſſed as I was in my new cloaths, I thought myſelf a complete coxcomb: however, as I flattered myſelf, from the livery my miſtreſs gave, and her being pleaſed with my appearance, ſhe would not like me the worſe for that; I ſent my trunk to her houſe by a porter on the Monday I had promiſed to go, and followed it ſoon after myſelf.

MY lady was a woman about forty years of age, that ſeemed to have been handſome in her youth; her figure was rather em bon point, [193]and ſhe paſſed for a widow under the name of Duplex. On my coming to her houſe, ſhe ſent for me up ſtairs, and I could perceive, was not a little pleaſed with the fi⯑gure I made. She told me that I became my livery exceedingly well, that ſhe kept a boy to clean ſhoes and knives, and that all ſhe expect⯑ed of me, was to wait at table, and attend upon her. Having in⯑quired my name, "Gabriel," ſays ſhe, ‘you ſeem to be a young man of uncommon good ſenſe, I preſume I need not tell you, that ſervants ſhould carry nothing out of the families they live with, nor ſee any thing they ought [194]not to ſee. If you attend to this, and are induſtrious and civil, you will find me exceedingly good to you.’

I HAD not been a fortnight in this houſe before I diſcovered that my miſtreſs was one of thoſe conve⯑nient obliging women, who admi⯑niſtered to the pleaſures of others. She was not, is the true ſenſe of the word, a procureſs, nor did ſhe keep ladies of eaſy virtue under the roof with her; but her houſe was rather in the ſtile of a private bag⯑nio, where men of fortune might find an aſylum with their ladies, for an hour, a night, or a week, as it [195]ſuited them. She had not the leaſt conception of my finding this out, the parties that came, having always paſſed for her friends, and my fel⯑low-ſervants, who had not my pe⯑netration, were kept in the dark. I might, if I pleaſed, have conti⯑nued long in the ſervice of this wo⯑man, had not an event taken place which gave birth to a variety of fu⯑ture embarraſſments in the courſe of my life. My miſtreſs was particular⯑ly kind to me, and would familiarly converſe with me all the time I was waiting on her. She took ſome pains to draw me aſide from the narrow path of rectitude, and gave me many broad hints of the favours [196]ſhe had in ſtore for me. She would frequently ring the bell and call me to her toilet, even before ſhe had well adjuſted her dreſs; aſk my opinion of female beauty, and often deſire me to tell her, whether her hand⯑kerchief was put on to advantage. "Gabriel," ſays ſhe one day to me, leering under her hat,— ‘You can⯑not have been in many places; pretty young fellows like you, are ſoon taken out of ſervitude. You ſhan't wear a livery long, but ſhall be groom of my bed⯑chamber.’—‘What ſay you Ga⯑briel? Should you like ſuch an office?’—I plainly ſaw at what ſhe directed her artillery; but ſhe [197]was a woman that did not pleaſe me, and I will be honeſt enough to own, that averſion had more weight with me than principle. She was at all times very inquiſitive about my family and connexions, and was very importunate to know where I acquired thoſe accompliſhments, ſhe was pleaſed to ſay I poſſeſſed; but, as I did not mean to continue lon⯑ger with her than I could help, I was reſerved in my anſwers, and reſpectful, though very diſtant, in my replies. ‘She told me, ſhe ex⯑pected a young lady from the country in a day or two, to be with her ſome time; that a fami⯑ly difference would oblige her to [198]leave home, and that her being with her was to be a ſecret; of courſe, if I could keep a cloſe mouth, I ſhould be amply re⯑warded; and that I was by no means to communicate to my fel⯑low-ſervants, any thing I might hear or ſee above ſtairs.’ I re⯑plied, ‘that ſhe might rely on my fidelity,’ with which ſhe ſeemed ſatisfied. I was the more diſpleaſed with my miſtreſs, as I conceived her to be of a profeſſion, the moſt de⯑ſtructive to female virtue, and the greateſt bane to domeſtic happineſs of any exiſting. The pride of many an honeſt family had been over⯑thrown, I underſtood, by her; and [199]many a virtuous girl had owed her ruin to her officiouſneſs. That there are many of her ſtamp in the great metropolis is too evident to be doubted, and that they are not made public examples of, is very much to be lamented! The young lady my miſtreſs mentioned, was brought to our houſe one morning, by a gentleman in a hackney coach. She appeared to be about ſeventeen, and was one of the prettieſt young women, I think, I ever beheld; with ſuch a ſweetneſs of expreſſion and ſuch a virgin modeſty about her, as attracted all my attention, and made me inſtantly conceive ſomething treacherous in her ſtory. The gen⯑tleman [200]that accompanied her, ſeem⯑ed to be a man of faſhion about thirty years of age, and I could ſee, that on his introducing her to my miſtreſs, ſhe had never ſeen her be⯑fore. The affair appeared to me myſterious, I felt myſelf, ſome how or other intereſted in her cauſe, and was determined, if ſhe was incauti⯑ouſly ſeduced into this houſe, to watch her virtue with as much care and aſſiduity, as if ſhe had been my ſiſter. The gentleman dined with her, ſtaid the greateſt part of the day, but left her in the evening. He continued his viſits, in like man⯑ner, the next day and the day after, and during the times I was waiting [201]on them, I could diſcover nothing more than that induſtrious atten⯑tion, which polite men generally pay to the object of their affections. She ſeemed to take a more than common notice of me, and obſerved to my miſtreſs, which I overheard, when in the next room, that ſhe was perſuaded from my manner, that I muſt have been brought up a gentleman. Things went on pret⯑ty ſmooth for two or three days, when my miſtreſs took an oppor⯑tunity to go out, and left them to themſelves. They drank tea alone, and I waited at tea, and nothing happened to increaſe my ſuſpicions till about nine in the evening, when [202]I heard a clattering of the chairs, and their voices rather louder than ordinary. This put me upon the watch, and preſently I heard her ſcream with all her powers. I in⯑ſtantly flew up ſtairs, darted into the room, and found her fainting on the ſopha, and he in a ſituation better conceived than deſcribed, but very declaratory of his wicked in⯑tentions. On ſeeing me enter the room, he ſeized me by the collar, with ‘Raſcal, who ſent for you? Get out of the room this inſtant or I'll be the death of you;’ catching hold of his ſword, which he drew. ‘I told him the lady ſeemed to need protection, and I [203]would defend her with my life.’ The poor young creature, that mo⯑ment recovering her ſenſes, begged of me, ‘for God's ſake, to continue with her, and ſave her from ruin.’ The gentleman, on the other hand, in the utmoſt rage and puſhing me from him, inſiſted on my leaving the room or he'd run me through the body; and finding me determin⯑ed not to obey his injunctions, un⯑armed as I was, he made a lunge at me, which having parried with my hand, I cloſed in upon him and diſarmed him. The young lady ſcreamed and fainted again, and her raviſher took up his hat, hurried down ſtairs, and made the beſt of [204]his way out of the houſe. He was no ſooner gone, than I aſſiſted her with ſome hartſhorn, which I found on the mantle-piece, and brought her to her ſpeech. Seeing herſelf free from her violator, ſhe called me, her deliverer, thanked me, in the warmeſt terms, for ſtanding forth in her defence, and hoped I was not hurt; for when ſhe ſaw him draw his ſword, ſhe expected no⯑thing leſs than my murder. I told her I was no way hurt but to ſee her ſo ill-treated, that he had en⯑deavoured to run his ſword through me, but, that from ſome know⯑ledge I had of the uſe of that weapon, I had eſcaped the threat⯑ened [205]miſchief, and had diſarmed him; that he had left me in poſſeſ⯑ſion of his ſword and was gone, and that I eſteemed myſelf ſingularly happy in having been her protector. She roſe from the ſopha, walked acroſs the room to a chair, and beg⯑ged me by no means to leave her, but to ſit down and concert ſome means with her, of getting her out of that houſe, which, from many circumſtances ſhe ſuſpected to be of no reputation. ‘She told me, that ſhe was the daughter of a private gentleman of good family and for⯑tune, that her name was Wildman, that the perſon who had ſo treated her, was a man of rank who had ſo⯑licited [206]her hand in marriage; but his father being alive, and he not being able to make a ſufficient ſet⯑tlement on her, her father had op⯑poſed the match; that this gentle⯑man, however, having gained her affections, ſhe had been ſo impru⯑dent as to leave her home, and come here with him, as into the houſe of a friend; where they were privately to be married and wait the reconciliation of her father; that under a variety of frivolous pretences he had delayed the cere⯑mony and ſhe now ſaw the drift of his baſe intentions; that his conduct had at once obliterated every ſpark of her attachment, and that, if [207]poſſible, ſhe now hated him more than ever ſhe loved him.’ This be⯑ing her ſtory, ‘ſhe aſked me what I thought ſhe had beſt do?’ ‘I told her frankly, that I thought the ſooner ſhe was out of this houſe the better, for reaſons, if ſhe pleaſed, I would hereafter give her; that as ſhe ſeemed deter⯑mined not to purſue the motives that led her to leave her father's houſe, namely, that of giving her hand to a man who had ſuch deſigning views upon her honour, I would by all means adviſe her to return, acknowledge her in⯑diſcretion to her father, and as he would now, from what had [208]paſſed, have no reaſon to dread her elopement with the ſame perſon in future, I flattered myſelf he would readily forgive her.’ This ad⯑vice ſhe immediately cloſed with, and was anxious to leave the houſe before my miſtreſs return⯑ed; I encouraged the ſtep, told her, ‘if ſhe thought proper, I would fetch a coach from the ſtand, at the end of the ſtreet, and attend her home.’ She a⯑greed to this; I called a coach, handed her into it, in the preſence of two of the maid-ſervants who were ſtanding in the paſſage, and hav⯑ing privately told the coachman, to drive to Berkley-ſquare where her [209]father lived; I got up behind and the coach drove from the door.

WHEN we were got two or three ſtreets length from the houſe, ſhe ſtopped the coach, and begged to ſpeak to me. It was to direct me to knock but a ſingle rap at the door, and to tell the ſervant that opened it, that ſhe wiſhed her fa⯑ther not to know of her return, till ſhe had ſeen her mother. When we reached the houſe, I obeyed her directions; ſhe parted with me at the door, but deſired me not to ſay who ſhe was, nor where I had left her; and if I could get out in the morning, that I would be with her [210]between eleven and twelve. On my return home I found my miſ⯑treſs was above, and that ſhe was extremely angry with the ſteps I had taken. As ſoon as ſhe heard I was in the houſe, the bell was rung, and I appeared before her. "Gabriel," ſays ſhe, with warmth, ‘what is this you have done?— Where have you left Miſs?’ I gave her a particular account of every thing that I knew had happened in her abſence; and as I had determined to quit her ſervice, I gave her to underſtand, that ſhe had a great deal to an⯑ſwer for; that from the ſtory ſhe had told me, prior to the young [211]lady's coming to her houſe, I was convinced that ſhe was privy to the ſcheme laid for her deſtruction, and that I eſteemed myſelf particularly fortunate in being the cauſe of its prevention. ‘Where have you carried her to?’ ſays ſhe.—‘That Ma'am,’ replied I, ‘I am not at liberty to divulge; ſhe is, I truſt, in ſafe hands, and out of the way of any ſimilar danger.’ ‘Harkye, Gabriel,’ ſays ſhe, ‘you may poſſibly think yourſelf ex⯑ceedingly clever, but I muſt tell you that you are a very impudent fellow, to take any ſuch liberties in a houſe where you are only a ſervant. But I deſerve it, in tak⯑ing [212]you without a character; the only thing that vexes me is, that I ſhould have been at any ex⯑pence for ſo worthleſs a ſcoun⯑drel. However, ſtrip and turn out, you ſhall not lay another night under my roof.’ ‘Ma⯑dam,’ replied I, ‘was you to reflect a moment, you would be careful not to irritate one that has you ſo much in his power; if it was not for the means it has afforded me of reſcuing a deluded young lady from the violence of a raviſher, I ſhould regret the hour of coming with⯑in your doors; as it is, Madam, I eſteem myſelf happy in hav⯑ing [213]entered your ſervice, and ſhall think myſelf equally ſo, in quitting it. I am directed to aſk you for the ſmall trunk be⯑longing to the lady, which if you think proper to deliver, it may ſave a further enquiry into your conduct, and I ſhall then leave your cloaths and take my own.’ ‘Oh! I might have it,’ ſhe ſaid, ‘She wanted nothing belonging to the minx, nor ever deſired to hear of either of us again!’ Accordingly having got her trunk, I called a coach, put off her finery, dreſſed myſelf in my own cloaths, took leave of my fellow-ſervants and made the beſt of my way to my [214]former lodging, where, though late at night, I found an admiſſion.

THE next morning I waited on Miſs Wildman, at the appointed time, who, appearing in a morning dreſs, ſeemed lovely in the extreme; and I had the pleaſure to receive, from her angelic tongue, her grateful thanks, for her miraculous preſerva⯑tion. She told me, ſhe was ‘ſtill more obliged to me for the advice I had given her, which had re⯑conciled her to the beſt of pa⯑rents, and without which ſhe ſhould have forfeited that love ſhe never was ſo ſenſible of till now. She aſked me "what re⯑ception [215]I had met with from my miſtreſs on my return?"’ I re⯑lated every particular, and told her ‘I had brought away her trunk: and though I had loſt my place, I did not fear getting another, having done no otherwiſe than as juſtice and duty had compelled me.’ She gave me to underſtand that ‘her father wiſhed to ſee me, and begged I would ſtay in the ſer⯑vants hall, till he had an opportu⯑ity of ſpeaking with me.’ I was no ſooner at liberty, but the ſer⯑vants flocked about me, and thanked me by their looks, as well as words, for reſtoring to them their loſt young lady; they told me how much ſhe [216]was beloved by the whole family and how much they feared their maſter would never more have received her; but they were joyfully diſap⯑pointed; that her contrition for her conduct, had wrought her recon⯑ciliation ſo effectually, that they believed her father and mother loved her now more affectionately than ever.

Mr. Wildman ſoon ſent for me up, and with tears in his eyes, thanked me for having been the deliverer of his child; he ſaid, ‘ſhe had ſeen, he believed, her indiſ⯑cretion, had repented of her con⯑duct, and of courſe, was more [217]endeared to him than ever:’ he told me, ‘ſhe had acquainted him with ſo much of the ſtory, as her ſenſes permitted her to be witneſs of; and he would be glad to hear the remainder from me.’ I relat⯑ed it to him in the manner it hap⯑pened, and when I had finiſhed the tale, he, with a degree of enraptur⯑ed enthuſiaſm, flew to me and em⯑braced me; blubbered out the ſen⯑timents of a grateful heart for the kindneſs I had done both him and her, and aſſured me he would be a friend to me for ever. ‘There was a gallantry,’ he ſaid, ‘and greatneſs in my conduct, that would do honour to the firſt of [218]characters, and as he heard I had loſt my place in the cauſe, he would take me into his ſervice, and I ſhould be immediately about his perſon.’ He put into my hand a fifty pound bank-note and told me he would give me one every year, whilſt I thought proper to continue with him. Poor as I was, I modeſtly refuſed the note, ſaying, ‘I was amply gratified in having merited his good wiſhes and his daughter's:’ but he replied, ‘fifty pounds he hoped would not hurt me,’ and inſiſted on my taking it. He then told me, he could employ his preſent va⯑let, at an eſtate he had in the [219]country, and I might come to him when I thought proper; I accepted his propoſal, and repli⯑ed, that, ‘if agreeable to him, I would attend him the next day.’ Matters being thus adjuſted, I re⯑turned to my lodging, and prepared to removemy little baggage the next morning; but curioſity leading me to enquire at Mrs. Duplex's, whether the gentleman had called or ſent for his ſword, or whether my fel⯑low-ſervants had heard their miſ⯑treſs ſay any thing concerning me, I called there in the evening, under a pretence of returning a cork-ſcrew I had inadvertently taken away in my pocket, and was admitted privately into the kitchen; where I was ſoon [220]told, that the gentleman had been there for his ſword, and that both he and my miſtreſs had vowed ven⯑geance againſt me, whenever they could find me. I ſmiled at their me⯑naces and left the houſe as ſecretly as I entered it.

CHAP VIII.

THE next day put me in poſſeſ⯑ſion of my new place, to which I was the more eager to go, as it would give me an opportunity of occaſionally ſeeing Miſs Wildman, an attachment to whom, I found, maugre the great diſtance between us, grew inſenſibly upon me; and dangerous and fruitleſs as the thought might be, I could not but [222]indulge it. I called to my remem⯑brance, that, in the courſe of my reading, far more unlikely things had come to paſs than what I coveted. She had now no penchant for any man; the late object of her affecti⯑ons, from his villainous conduct, was become odious to her; ſhe had no⯑ticed me, even before the late ac⯑cident happened, in a very favour⯑able light;—ſhe ſeemed endowed with an uncommon ſhare of ſenſibi⯑lity:—ſhe owed me attention—ſhe owed me gratitude;—and ſhe called me her pròtector and deliverer.— On the other hand,—I was conſci⯑ous in having been bred up a gen⯑tleman—of having had a liberal edu⯑cation [223]—of having good connexions and being allied to a good family and fortune; for my father's uncle, though he would do nothing for me, was poſſeſſed of an eſtate of four thouſand pounds a year, and there were only two perſons, the children of my father's elder brother, between me and that eſtate, and theſe per⯑ſons unmarried.—With ſuch chi⯑merical, ſuch fugitive notions, did I now and then amuſe myſelf. I was determined, however, not to offend the family I was in; but to watch and wait patiently for that critical moment, if ever it ſhould arrive, that might give a more favourable turn to my pretenſions. Our family [224]conſiſted of my maſter, my miſtreſs, and their daughter, who were Ro⯑man Catholics, and of a great num-of ſervants; and it ſeemed a very happy one, when I firſt became a part of it; but, as I was a favour⯑ite up ſtairs, I ſoon became obnoxi⯑ous below. I ſtudied, all I could, to conciliate the affections of my fellow-ſervants, but that demon Jea⯑louſy, which ſeldom takes poſſeſſion of the human mind, but it makes it ſee things through a falſe medi⯑um, and gives a different colour to tranſactions, than what they natur⯑ally bear; this jealouſy poiſoned all their tempers, and every thing they did for me was more than I deſerv⯑ed: [225]my ſhoes and buckles were not half cleaned; the knife I was to eat with did not cut; the bread I was helped to, was dry; the bear flat, and as I was generally attending upon my maſter, at the uſual time of breakfaſt, in the houſe-keeper's room; when I came down to eat mine, the muffins were gone, the water was cold, and the cream was ſlopped. In ſhort, there ſeemed to be a conſpir⯑acy againſt me, and for no fault of mine that I was conſcious of; I was too much of a gentleman for a ſer⯑vant; I wanted two or three to wait upon me, and I ſtudied nothing but dreſs, affected airs and fine language. —I bore all this very patiently, for [226]what will not a perſon bear with a favourite object in view? I imput⯑ed their conduct to ignorance and low-breeding, and prided myſelf in returning good for evil. My maſter, who ufed always to converſe with me, when I was dreſſing, would treat me more as a friend than as a ſer⯑vant, and with a degree of concern, would often complain to me of the conduct of his people below; at which times I always took pains to excuſe their faults, and explain away their errors; but this availed me but little, they were not ſenſible of my good wiſhes towards them; and hated, me merely becauſe I was beloved by their maſter and miſtreſs. [227]All I could do, in the preſent ſitu⯑ation of things, was to make a friend of Miſs Wildman's maid, and which I aimed at for more reaſons than one; as it would facilitate my intercourſe with her miſtreſs, and ſhe was diſpoſed to get me my break⯑faſt, which was my beſt meal, in her own room. She was a good-na⯑tured woman, about thirty years of age, and greatly in her young lady's favour. Through her, I learned that Miſs Wildman had expreſſed the higheſt regard for me, and wiſhed for an opportunity of being of uſe to me: ſhe had frequently obſerved to her maid, as ſhe had done to Mrs. Duplex, that I had the manner of a [228]gentleman, and was ſure, though in the ſituation of a ſervant, I had received a gentleman's educati⯑on, and that her father and mother were of the ſame opinion; for that they had never remarked in any ſer⯑vant they had men with, that good ſenſe, that gallantry, that reſpect⯑ful attention, and that inſinuating addreſs that marked my character; and that ſhe was anxious to know my hiſtory. Through this ſame channel I made her acquainted with every thing concerning me; of which the reader is too well inform⯑ed to need a repetition here; and as far as I dared to do, I made Char⯑lotte underſtand, which was the [229]name of Miſs Wildman's maid, that though I ventured my life in the de⯑fence of her miſtreſs, and was too much her friend, to wiſh her in any perilous ſituation again, yet I ſhould rejoice in a ſecond opportunity of convincing her how much I had her ſafety at heart. This I foreſaw would be carried to Miſs Wildman, for Charlotte had too much of the waiting-maid about her, not to take pleaſure in carrying tales backwards and forwards. Had I been butler in the family, I ſhould have had frequent opportunities of being in her preſence; but, in the capacity of her father's valet, I ſeldom could ſee her. Now and then ſhe would [230]come into her maid's room, whilſt we were at breakfaſt, and ſit and chat with us. The firſt time I ſaw her upon this occaſion, I roſe re⯑ſpectfully from my ſeat, at which ſhe ſeemed hurt. "Gabriel," ſays ſhe, ‘I am much obliged to Char⯑lotte for her Attention to you; any reſpect ſhe ſhews you will be gratefully acknowledged by me; for to you I am indebted for every thing.’ I humbly told her ‘ſhe rated my ſervices too high; for, independent of any protection due to ſuffering innocence, ſuch me⯑rits as Miſs Wildman could boaſt of, laid the ſtrongeſt claim to every neceſſary interference.’ She [231]told me, ‘that ſhe frequently came into her maid's room to ſpeak with her; but, if it diſturbed me, or put me the leaſt out of my way, ſhe would never enter it again: and it was her requeſt in future, that I ſhould not notice her coming in.’ I replied, that ‘as a command of her's, I ſhould obey it.’ At theſe occaſional in⯑terviews, ſhe would be affable and familiar, and once ſhe condeſcended to tell me, ‘that Lord B. who was the ſon of the Earl of A. and who had treated her ſo ill, had made ſeveral applications for leave to renew his addreſſes to her; but ſhe was determined never to [232]liſten to him more. Her heart,’ ſhe ſaid, ‘was her own again, and ſhe hoped, ſhe ſhould have ſuffi⯑cient diſcernment and reſolution never to beſtow it more upon a worthleſs objects.’ ‘Charlotte,’ ſays ſhe, ‘one day, to her maid,’ (for Charlotte told it me again) ‘was I miſtreſs of my own fortune, I don't know but I would beſtow it upon Gabriel: he appears to be a young man of ſuch nice ho⯑nour, and ſuch virtuous ſentiments, as would be an ornament to any line of life, he may be thrown into.’ ‘I aſſure you, Miſs, ſays, Charlotte, it would not be ill be⯑ſtowed, for Gabriel is the ſon of [233]a gentleman, has had the beſt of educations, and, though now in the capacity of a ſervant, has an eſtate of four thouſand pounds a year in expectation.’ In ſhort, ſhe made her miſtreſs acquainted with many parts of my hiſtory, ſuch as I had let her into.

IT was a practice with me in every ſcene of life into which I was thrown, to acquire all the information I could, reſpecting that ſcene; here then I learned the fatigue and abſurdity of a faſhionable life, and the tireſome round of diſſipation attending it. My maſter, in one of his converſable mo⯑ments, told me, there was no ſatiſ⯑faction [234]in the viſits men of faſhi⯑on paid to each other, and that he had cut ^* it long ſince. ‘Viſits among the great,’ he ſaid, ‘were merely ceremonial, and rather troubleſome than otherwiſe; he had viſited a man for ſeven years together, and never once had ſeen him.’ Indeed, I heard myſelf, a gentleman once ſay to a lady, who rated him for not calling oftener to ſee her, ‘It is your ladyſhip's fault entirely.—I would come oftener, if you would not let me in.’ Nay, vi⯑ſiting is allowed to be ſo much a cere⯑mony, that I have been told of a lady, who, having omitted to tell her por⯑ter, that ſhe did not chuſe to be ſeen, [235]put her head out of window, and call⯑ed out to her viſitant, on knocking at the door, "I am not at home." Frequently has my maſter told me, that in the younger part of his life, he and his lady received ſo many in⯑vitations on the ſame day, that they have been obliged to divide them⯑ſelves, and go from one houſe to an⯑other, ſhewing themſelves each at two or three places on the ſame even⯑ing; and on my aſking whether it would not have been better to have omitted going to more places than one? He replied, ‘No, nothing but illneſs (if in town) is an excuſe for non-attendance; if an invit⯑ation is once or twice unaccepted, [236]party will be aſked no more,’ John, our porter, has entertained me, frequently for a long time together, with viſiting relations. He told me, when ladies have ſo many viſits to return, that they cannot perſonally pay them, it is not an unuſual thing to ſend the empty chair, which ſtop⯑ping at the end of the ſtreet, the footman ſteps forward to the houſe, knocks gently at the door, and aſks the porter confidentially, if his lady ſees company; if anſwered in the negative, he knocks hard, beckons to the chairmen to come up and leaves a card; if anſwered in the affirmative, no notice is taken, but they proceed to another houſe. To [237]avoid, however, this troubleſome piece of buſineſs; gentlemen will now leave their names at the door, with⯑out enquiring for the maſter, or attempting to go in; and ladies will ſend their ſervants to do the ſame; and the delivery of ſuch card ſhall be conſtrued as a viſit made and re⯑turned. And what is all this but farce and tireſome ceremony? the end of viſiting is ſocial intercourſe and friendly converſe; but this mode of viſiting, deſtroys that end. A mo⯑dern viſitant ſeems to dread the meeting of a private friend, as if he was fearful his conduct ſhould be en⯑quired into and cenſured; and, as if he abhorred the neceſſity of ſaying a [238]civil thing to his acquaintance. Whatever theſe people may think, ſuch conduct is diſgraceful, and muſt ariſe from want of abilities to join in general topics, or from fearing re⯑flection, as owls fear the day-light.