Chapter xiii.

In which the foregoing story is farther continued.

“My fellow-collegiate had now entered me in a new 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._“[*]

[*] Firm in himself, who on himself relies,

Polish'd and round, who runs his proper course

And breaks misfortunes with superior force.--MR FRANCIS.

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,' and 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 me, 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.