13. CHAPTER XIII.
In which the foregoing story is farther continued
"My fellow-collegiate had now entered me in a scene of life. I
soon became acquainted with the whole fraternity of sharpers, and
was let into their secrets; I mean, into the knowledge of those
gross cheats which are proper to impose upon the raw and
unexperienced; for there are some tricks of a finer kind, which are
known only to a few of the gang, who are at the head of their
profession; a degree of honour beyond my expectation; for drink, to
which I was immoderately addicted, and the natural warmth of my
passions, prevented me from arriving at any great success in an art
which requires as much coolness as the most austere school of
philosophy.
"Mr. Watson, with whom I now lived in the closest amity, had
unluckily the former failing to a very great excess; so that instead
of making a fortune by his profession, as some others did, he was
alternately rich and poor, and was often obliged to surrender to his
cooler friends, over a bottle which they never tasted, that plunder
that he had taken from culls at the public table.
"However, we both made a shift to pick up an uncomfortable
livelihood; and for two years I continued of the calling; during which
time I tasted all the varieties of fortune, sometimes flourishing in
affluence, and at others being obliged to struggle with almost
incredible difficulties. To-day wallowing in luxury, and to-morrow
reduced to the coarsest and most homely fare. My fine clothes being
often on my back in the evening, and at the pawn-shop the next
morning.
"One night, as I was returning pennyless from the gaming-table, I
observed a very great disturbance, and a large mob gathered together
in the street. As I was in no danger from pickpockets, I ventured into
the croud, where upon enquiry I found that a man had been robbed and
very ill used by some ruffians. The wounded man appeared very
bloody, and seemed scarce able to support himself on his legs. As I
had not therefore been deprived of my humanity by my present life
and conversation, though they had left me very little of either
honesty or shame, I immediately offered my assistance to the unhappy
person, who thankfully accepted it, and, putting himself under my
conduct, begged me to convey him to some tavern, where he might send
for a surgeon, being, as he said, faint with loss of blood. He
seemed indeed highly pleased at finding one who appeared in the
dress of a gentleman; for as to all the rest of the company present,
their outside was such that he could not wisely place any confidence
in them.
"I took the poor man by the arm, and led him to the tavern where
we kept our rendezvous, as it happened to be the nearest at hand. A
surgeon happening luckily to be in the house, immediately attended,
and applied himself to dressing his wounds, which I had the pleasure
to hear were not likely to be mortal.
"The surgeon having very expeditiously and dextrously finished his
business, began to enquire in what part of the town the wounded man
lodged; who answered, 'That he was come to town that very morning;
that his horse was at an inn in Piccadilly, and that he had no other
lodging, and very little or no acquaintance in town.'
"This surgeon, whose name I have forgot, though I remember it
began with an R, had the first character in his profession, and was
serjeant-surgeon to the king. He had moreover many good qualities, and
was a very generous good-natured man, and ready to do any service to
his fellow-creatures. He offered his patient the use of his chariot to
carry him to his inn, and at the same time whispered in his ear, 'That
if he wanted any money, he would furnish him.'
"The poor man was not now capable of returning thanks for this
generous offer; for having had his eyes for some time stedfastly on
me, he threw himself back in his chair, crying, 'Oh, my son! my
son!' and then fainted away.
"Many of the people present imagined this accident had happened
through his loss of blood; but I, who at the same time began to
recollect the features of my father, was now confirmed in my
suspicion, and satisfied that it was he himself who appeared before
me. I presently ran to him, raised him in my arms, and kissed his cold
lips with the utmost eagerness. Here I must draw a curtain over a
scene which I cannot describe; for though I did not lose my being,
as my father for a while did, my senses were however so overpowered
with affright and surprize, that I am a stranger to what passed during
some minutes, and indeed till my father had again recovered from his
swoon, and I found myself in his arms, both tenderly embracing each
other, while the tears trickled a-pace down the cheeks of each of us.
"Most of those present seemed affected by this scene, which we,
who might be considered as the actors in it, were desirous of removing
from the eyes of all spectators as fast as we could; my father
therefore accepted the kind offer of the surgeon's chariot, and I
attended him in it to his inn.
"When we were alone together, he gently upbraided me with having
neglected to write to him during so long a time, but entirely
omitted the mention of that crime which had occasioned it. He then
informed me of my mother's death, and insisted on my returning home
with him, saying, 'That he had long suffered the greatest anxiety on
my account; that he knew not whether he had most feared my death or
wished it, since he had so many more dreadful apprehensions for me. At
last, he said, a neighbouring gentleman, who had just recovered a
son from the same place, informed him where I was; and that to reclaim
me from this course of life was the sole cause of his journey to
London.' He thanked Heaven he had succeeded so far as to find me out
by means of an accident which had like to have proved fatal to him;
and had the pleasure to think he partly owed his preservation to my
humanity, with which he profest himself to be more delighted than he
should have been with my filial piety, if I had known that the
object of all my care was my own father.
"Vice had not so depraved my heart as to excite in it an
insensibility of so much paternal affection, though so unworthily
bestowed. I presently promised to obey his commands in my return
home with him, as soon as he was able to travel, which indeed he was
in a very few days, by the assistance of that excellent surgeon who
had undertaken his cure.
"The day preceding my father's journey (before which time I scarce
ever left him), I went to take my leave of some of my most intimate
acquaintance, particularly of Mr. Watson, who dissuaded me from
burying myself, as he called it, out of a simple compliance with the
fond desires of a foolish old fellow. Such sollicitations, however,
had no effect, and I once more saw my own home. My father now
greatly sollicited me to think of marriage; but my inclinations were
utterly averse to any such thoughts. I had tasted of love already, and
perhaps you know the extravagant excesses of that most tender and most
violent passion."-- Here the old gentleman paused, and looked
earnestly at Jones; whose countenance, within a minute's space,
displayed the extremities of both red and white. Upon which the old
man, without making any observations, renewed his narrative.
"Being now provided with all the necessaries of life, I betook
myself once again to study, and that with a more inordinate
application than I had ever done formerly. The books which now
employed my time solely were those, as well antient as modern, which
treat of true philosophy, a word which is by many thought to be the
subject only of farce and ridicule. I now read over the works of
Aristotle and Plato, with the rest of those inestimable treasures
which antient Greece had bequeathed to the world.
"These authors, though they instructed me in no science by which men
may promise to themselves to acquire the least riches or worldly
power, taught me, however, the art of despising the highest
acquisitions of both. They elevate the mind, and steel and harden it
against the capricious invasions of fortune. They not only instruct in
the knowledge of Wisdom, but confirm men in her habits, and
demonstrate plainly, that this must be our guide, if we propose ever
to arrive at the greatest worldly happiness, or to defend ourselves,
with any tolerable security, against the misery which everywhere
surrounds and invests us.
"To this I added another study, compared to which, all the
philosophy taught by the wisest heathens is little better than a
dream, and is indeed as full of vanity as the silliest jester ever
pleased to represent it. This is that Divine wisdom which is alone
to be found in the Holy Scriptures; for they impart to us the
knowledge and assurance of things much more worthy our attention
than all which this world can offer to our acceptance; of things which
Heaven itself hath condescended to reveal to us, and to the smallest
knowledge of which the highest human wit unassisted could never
ascend. I began now to think all the time I had spent with the best
heathen writers was little more than labour lost: for, however
pleasant and delightful their lessons may be, or however adequate to
the right regulation of our conduct with respect to this world only;
yet, when compared with the glory revealed in Scripture, their highest
documents will appear as trifling, and of as little consequence, as
the rules by which children regulate their childish little games and
pastime. True it is, that philosophy makes us wiser, but
Christianity makes us better men. Philosophy elevates and steels the
mind, Christianity softens and sweetens it. The former makes us the
objects of human admiration, the latter of Divine love. That insures
us a temporal, but this an eternal happiness.- But I am afraid I tire
you with my rhapsody."
"Not at all," cries Partridge; "Lud forbid we should be tired with
good things!"
"I had spent," continued the stranger, "about four years in the most
delightful manner to myself, totally given up to contemplation, and
entirely unembarrassed with the affairs of the world, when I lost
the best of fathers, and one whom I so entirely loved, that my grief
at his loss exceeds all description. I now abandoned my books, and
gave myself up for a whole month to the effects of melancholy and
despair. Time, however, the best physician of the mind, at length
brought me relief."- "Ay, ay; Tempus edax rerum," said Partridge.-
"I then," continued the stranger, "betook myself again to my former
studies, which I may say perfected my cure, for philosophy and
religion may be called the exercises of the mind, and when this is
disordered, they are as wholesome as exercise can be to a
distempered body. They do indeed produce similar effects with
exercise; for they strengthen and confirm the mind, till man
becomes, in the noble strain of Horace-
Fortis, et in seipso totus teres atque rotundus,
Externi ne quid valeat per laeve morari;
In quem manca ruit semper Fortuna'[10]
Here Jones smiled at some conceit which intruded itself into his
imagination; but the stranger, I believe, perceived it not, and
proceeded thus:-
"My circumstances were now greatly altered by the death of that best
of men; for my brother, who was now become master of the house,
differed so widely from me in his inclinations, and our pursuits in
life had been so very various, that we were the worst of company to
each other: but what made our living together still more disagreeable,
was the little harmony which could subsist between the few who
resorted to me, and the numerous train of sportsmen who often attended
my brother from the field to the table; for such fellows, besides
the noise and nonsense with which they persecute the ears of sober
men, endeavour always to attack them with affront and contempt. This
was so much the case, that neither I myself, nor my friends, could
ever sit down to a meal with them without being treated with derision,
because we were unacquainted with the phrases of sportsmen. For men of
true learning, and almost universal knowledge, always compassionate
the ignorance of others; but fellows who excel in some little, low,
contemptible art, are always certain to despise those who are
unacquainted with that art.
"In short, we soon separated, and I went, by the advice of a
physician, to drink the Bath waters; for my violent affliction,
added to a sedentary life, had thrown me into a kind of paralytic
disorder, for which those waters are accounted an almost certain cure.
The second day after my arrival, as I was walking by the river, the
sun shone so intensely hot (though it was early in the year), that I
retired to the shelter of some willows, and sat down by the river
side. Here I had not been seated long before I heard a person on the
other side of the willows sighing and bemoaning himself bitterly. On a
sudden, having uttered a most impious oath, he cried, 'I am resolved
to bear it no longer,' directly threw himself into the water. I
immediately started, and ran towards the place, calling at the same
time as loudly as I could for assistance. An angler happened luckily
to be a-fishing a little below though some very high sedge had hid him
from my sight. He immediately came up, and both of us together, not
without some hazard of our lives, drew the body to the shore. At first
we perceived no sign of life remaining; but having held the body up by
the heels (for we soon had assistance enough), it discharged a vast
quantity of water at the mouth, and at length began to discover some
symptoms of breathing, and a little afterwards to move both its
hands and its legs.
"An apothecary, who happened to be present among others, advised
that the body, which seemed now to have pretty well emptied itself
of water, and which began to have many convulsive motions, should be
directly taken up, and carried into a warm bed. This was accordingly
performed, the apothecary and myself attending.
"As we were going towards an inn, for we knew not the man's
lodgings, luckily a woman met us, who, after some violent screaming,
told us that the gentleman lodged at her house.
"When I had seen the man safely deposited there, I left him to the
care of the apothecary; who, I suppose, used all the right methods
with him, for the next morning I heard he had perfectly recovered
his senses.
"I then went to visit him, intending to search out, as well as I
could, the cause of his having attempted so desperate an act, and to
prevent, as far as I was able, his pursuing such wicked intentions for
the future. I was no sooner admitted into his chamber, than we both
instantly knew each other; for who should this person be but my good
friend Mr. Watson! Here I will not trouble you with what past at our
first interview; for I would avoid prolixity as much as
possible."- "Pray let us hear all," cries Partridge; "I want mightily
to know what brought him to Bath."
"You shall hear everything material," answered the stranger; and
then proceeded to relate what we shall proceed to write, after we have
given a short breathing time to both ourselves and the reader.
[[10]]
Firm in himself, who on himself relies,
Polish'd and round, who runs his proper course
And breaks misfortunes with superior force.-MR FRANCIS.