Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.




  THE
  ADVENTURES
  OF A
  BLACK COAT.

  CONTAINING

  A SERIES of Remarkable Occurrences
  and entertaining Incidents,

  That it was a Witness to in its Peregrinations
  through the Cities of London and
  Westminster, in Company with Variety of
  Characters.

  As related by ITSELF.

  Qui mores hominum multorum vidit.      HOR.

  DUBLIN:

  Printed for ROBERT BELL, Bookseller
  and Auctioneer, at his great Auction-Rooms
  on _Cork-Hill_, opposite to _Lucas’s
  Coffee-House_. M DCC LXII.

  [Price sewed 1s. 1d. bound 1s. 8d.]




[Illustration]

THE

[Illustration: PREFACE.]


The necessity which custom has intailed upon authors, of prefixing
an apology to their performances, makes it requisite for me to say
something on introducing the following sheets to the public; and as
long prefaces are in general of little estimation amongst the readers
of books of entertainment, I will trespass as little upon their
patience as possible.

To excite virtue, depress vice, and ridicule folly, is as much the
business of the Novelist, as it is the design of the Drama; and though
the former cannot, like the dramatic-writer, represent his scenes to
the _Senses_, yet it is in his power to set his characters in such a
light, as to strike the _Minds_ of his readers, in a very forcible
manner, with the virtues he would have them imitate, or the errors he
would wish them to amend.—But our present novel-writers seem to have
little else in view than to amuse their readers; or, if they have any
design to instruct them, they _gild_ the pill so very thick, that all
its latent good qualities are destroyed, or its effects prevented. To
mix pleasure with instruction, is certainly the most efficacious method
a writer can take, to render his labours agreeable to his readers.
All I shall say of the following _petit_ performance is, that I have
endeavoured to make the _Author_ less conspicuous than the _moral_.

If a blush should arise on the cheek of conscious vice, or a sense
of shame be awakened in the bosom of folly, on perusing any of the
characters exhibited in this performance, my intentions will be
answered, and there are hopes that such are not incurable. In this
age of _Magazines_ and _Chronicles_, the _Cacoethes Scribendi_ hath
infected the town so much, that almost every _shop_, or _work-room_,
harbours an author; and _gentlemen_ of the _file_, now leave their
more useful labour at the _vice_, and toil to _polish periods_. When
such _gentlemen_ assume the pen, I hope it will not be deemed vanity,
if I decline standing as candidate for literary fame, and declare
myself not desirous of sharing with them the _honours_ that may be
bestowed on their labours: but though I profess myself careless of
fame, I am not callous to contempt; and should be pleased to hear
critics say, that though the _performance_ claims no panegyric, yet
the _design_ of it merits some praise.

Politicians will find nothing in this little work that will gratify
their malevolence, nor has my pen been employed to paragon the wisdom
of the present ministry.—In short, state affairs is not the subject
of the following pages; neither have I drawn upon myself the enmity of
so large and respectable a body as the clergy, by invading the rich
province of religion.

But not to detain my readers any longer, nor awaken their entertainment
by anticipating their expectations, I now refer them to the performance
itself, if they should not be prejudiced against it, by deeming what
they have here read as _blossoms of weeds_.




[Illustration]

  THE
  ADVENTURES
  OF A
  BLACK COAT.


A Sable coat, whose venerable rents confest a life of business, and
a length of years, long had hung sole tenant of a wardrobe; till a
gay white coat with care was ushered in, and laid at decent length:
when lo! with mortal voice, and sounds articulate, Sable was thus
heard to address the stranger: “Thy presence, spark, warns me of my
approaching dissolution; but when I cast a retrospect over my former
life, and behold thy native purity and unblemished form, I cannot but
pity the many and various misfortunes thou art, in all probability
heir to.”—To whom, White, “And when I behold thy queer shape and
rustic aspect, I cannot but return thy pity, and offer up my prayers
against longevity.”—Sable replied, “Boy, know that the depredations of
time, and the unseemly appearance of industry, are not proper subjects
of ridicule: were it possible thou couldst foresee the train of
misfortunes, which in the course of thy existence, and revolutions of
thy fortune, thou will be subject to, that gay and happy mien would be
changed to a gloomy and melancholy aspect.” Here White bowed humility,
craved the sages pardon, and supplicated his advice in the conduct of
his life. Sable, finding it a coat of manners, and pleased with the
deference paid to his importance, thus answered, “To give advice is
easy, but to profit by it is difficult; I will therefore (if thou hast
patience to listen) rehearse to thee the vicissitudes of my fortune,
from my first formation to this time, so that thou may’st profit by
my misfortunes, and learn to bear thy lot, (whate’re it may be) with
patience and resignation; and believe me thou wilt have occasion for
philosophy.” White politely expressing his desire to be informed of
the sage’s life, he thus proceeded: When I contemplate the scenes I
have experienced, and meditate on the vile schemes I have been obliged
to countenance in those whose sole merit and reputation on arose from
my close attachment to them, my very threads blush at the indignity.
Here Sable was heard to sigh most piteously, and White, ’tis thought,
laughed in his sleeve. After a pause of some minutes—Sable thus opened
the relation of his adventures.

The death of a late Princess was the æra of my formation, at which
time I was called to this state as a symbol of sorrow, (formed by
R ——’s skillful hand) for the use of a commoner of distinguished
abilities. With him, in the senate-house, have I seen the best heads
have the worst hearts, and fallacious eloquence silence truth, when
delivered in simplicity of language: but being naturally of a volatile
disposition, this life of idleness, for it was seldom I appeared in
public, grew irksome to me, and I languished to see the world. My
wishes were at length gratified; the limited time of mourning being
expired, I was disposed of to a favorite domestic, who soon after, for
a small consideration, consigned me over to Mr. ——, a merchant in
Monmouth-Street.

Here properly I may say I began to exist; my heart dilated with joy
at the prospect of seeing life, and associating with the various
characters that visit this place.

I was soon introduced by my new owner to the class of _occasional
gentleman_, each of whom I had the mortification to see frequently
depart from our prison of dust and moths, and enjoy liberty and fresh
air; many objecting to me on account of my size, which was then far
above the common, though now, as you may see, below it, having lately
been curtailed by the degrading scissars of a botcher, and refused
by more from my colour. At length an Irish footman, after being
disappointed by the whole class of _Beaus_, who were not equal to his
Herculean breadth of shoulders, determined to appear in a character of
gravity, and sallied forth with me on his back.

Various were my conjectures where this enterprizing genius was carrying
me, nor was I quite free from fear of receiving stripes, from the
temerity of my adventurer; for I concluded it was not an expedition
squared by the rules of right altogether; especially as many of our
community frequently brought home with them marks of various disasters,
sometimes being dragged through a horse-pond, at other times rolled in
a kennel, besides numberless canings and kickings, and were generally
afterwards delivered over to the inhumanity of a scowerer, who
impaired us more, with the variety of brushes he tormented us with,
than a whole year of service.

But I was surprized, and not a little pleased, when I found this bold
spark knock at the door of one of the managers of the theatres; the
door being opened, this worthy member of the party-coloured society,
was introduced to the manager, and my fears of a drubbing subsided.
The ceremony of salutation being ended, my conductor was desired to
open his business, which he did, with a genuine Munster accent, in
the following words, as near as I can remember;—“Sir, finding myself
_capacitated_ to appear upon the stage from my _internal_ figure, and
other qualifications, I am come to offer you the _refusal_ of me, in
_deference_ to the other house.” The manager expressed his thanks for
the favour he intended him, and requested him to name the characters
he thought he was the most capable to perform. “Look you, Mr. ——,”
says this Hibernian Roscius, “let us first settle the sallary you are
willing to give me, for ’tis not my way to take a _certainty_ for an
_uncertainty_.” The manager remonstrated that it was impossible to
offer any sallary before he was acquainted with his merit.—Our hero
replied, “Why there is Mr. ——, I think I am not _superior_ to him in
any thing, and he has, I am told, 1000l. a year; therefore I would not
ask more for the first year.”—1000l. a year, (replied the manager)
may not be equal to your merit; Mr. —— is a favourite of the town,
and that is one reason of his being paid so much.—“By the almighty
heavens! exclaimed the Munster hero, I shall be as great a favourite as
he, with all the ladies soon, for I am as well proportioned a man as
he is, and I don’t care a fig for him.”—Upon my word, Sir, says the
manager, I believe you wou’d beat him; but Sir, I believe you have made
a small mistake.—As how?—replied the Hibernian genius,—Why Sir,
you have mistaken the house, Mr. Broughton lives in the Hay-market,
where, if you will give yourself the trouble to call upon him, you may
perhaps meet with encouragement on his amphitheatre,—“Why you little
_Crature_, replied Teague, I have a great mind to take satisfaction
upon your small bones.—But here the manager prudently made his exit,
and left the enraged footman to his soliloquy, who, after venting many
execrations and threatnings, left the house, and marched with me to my
old habitation, where being arrived, he sullenly disrobed himself, and
with a curse threw me on the floor, then put on his accustomed garb,
adorned with the _insignia_ of his profession, and issued forth with
hasty strides, to attend the humble duties of his station.

This my first adventure was not over-pleasing to me; however, I
consoled myself with reflecting, that I was seeing characters and life,
for which I had a longing desire that seemed implanted in my nature;
and though I am sensible no coat of prudence ought to cherish such a
desire, yet, at the same time, I am certain, much useful knowledge may
be drawn from observing the various characters that are to be met with
in this metropolis. But to proceed:

Three months I lingered in dull apathy and close imprisonment; (which
to a coat of such a volatile spirit as I was then, was worse than
total dissolution, or the tormenting needle of a botcher, than which
nothing was half so dreadful to me) thrice a week indeed a general
review was made of our company, and every one cleansed with cane
and brush from moths and dust. But now a young gentleman of a most
graceful appearance, ordered me to be tried upon him. I was fearful
of being something too large, but the desire I had to accompany this
agreeable youth, made me contract every thread to clasp him; and I so
far succeeded, that he seemed equally pleased with me as I with him. In
short, we soon left the neighbourhood of St. Giles’s, and with genteel
deportment he conducted me towards the court-end of the town, each, if
I may be allowed to say so much in my own praise, lending grace to the
other.

Being arrived near St. James’s (after traversing the park once or
twice, during which I could discover great anxiety of mind in my
conductor; and feel his heart throb with great force) he stopt at a
house that bespoke the owner to be a man of distinction, and being
entered the hall, he enquired if his lordship was to be spoke with;
being answered in the affirmative, he was immediately waited upon up
stairs, and introduced into a spacious room, which was almost filled
with gentlemen who were waiting for his lordship: from the time of his
entering the house I found his heart beat with stronger emotions,
from whence I concluded he was near some important period; I soon
discovered the _major domo_ was a minister in a certain department,
and that this was his lordship’s levee;—It was near an hour before
his lordship appeared; during this time, I employed myself in an
endeavour to discover, from the physiognomy of the persons present,
the various expectations that might be traced in each countenance;
doubt of success seemed to be predominant in the assembly, and so much
was every one engaged in a tacit conversation betwixt himself and
his lordship, that for the greatest part of the time a total silence
prevailed. At length the doors flew open, and the minister’s coming
was announced.—The peer entered, and with great dignity bowed to his
dependants, who returned the salute with humble reverence. His lordship
spoke to each with a mild affability, as they stood in rotation,
and procrastinating the desires of his dependants, seemed to be the
general benefit conferred upon the company. At last it came to be my
conductor’s turn to address the peer, which he did in the following
words, but something inarticulate from his extreme modesty—I beg
permission to acquaint your lordship that it is this day two years
since I had the honour to be put upon your lordship’s list, to be
employed in an office your lordship should appoint, in the embassy to
the court of Spain, in consequence of an application to your lordship
from the honourable Mr. ——. Why Sir, replied the minister, I do
remember something of Mr. —— applying to me in your favour, and ’tis
probable I might then put you upon my list, but I can never think it
is two years since.—I would not, return’d the youth, impose upon your
lordship, nor assert a falsity. Pray Sir, rejoined the peer, did you
ever apply to me since the first application? My lord, answered the
young gentleman, I have attended your lordship’s levee constantly once
a month since, and should oftener, but was fearful of being troublesome
to your lordship—Do you understand Spanish and the other requisites
for such a station, Sir? says the peer—My lord, urged my companion,
permit me to say, it is now more than a twelvemonth since your lordship
pointed out to me the necessary qualifications, and permit me also to
add, my lord, that I have dissipated my small fortune, in attaining
those qualifications, and rendering myself equal to the service, so
that I might not disgrace your lordship’s choice.—I am sorry, returned
his lordship, that it is not in my power to serve you, for all the
employments have been disposed of some time ago.—I hope your lordship,
replied the astonished youth, will serve me some other way, as a
recompence for my loss of time and the injury my fortune has suffered,
by your lordship’s unhappily forgetting me.—I don’t remember, says,
the absent peer, that I recommended you to lay out your money in any
thing about this affair; but if I did, I suppose I then intended to
appoint you, but it is now too late Sir, and I wou’d advise you to
think of something else.—I should presume, says the unfortunate youth,
on your lordship’s knowledge that it has cost me upwards of 200l. in
qualifying myself, agreeable to your lordship’s order, your lordship,
out of humanity, wou’d favour me with something that might retrieve
my shattered fortune—What you understand the Spanish language, Sir?
says his lordship.—Perfectly, replied the alarmed youth. Why then,
returned the peer, you have the advantage of me, and may receive ample
satisfaction, in reading the history of Don Quixote in the original
language, and with that piece of wit, he politely took his leave of
our thunderstruck youth, who on recollecting himself exclaimed, Æsop’s
fable of the boys and frogs is here fatally exemplified, what is sport
to him, is death to me—and instantly departed, bending his steps
towards the Bird-Cage walk in the Park, where sitting upon a bench
he passed two hours in silent meditation, but at length rousing from
his melancholy reverie, with a start that put every thread of me to
the proof, he took the resolution of entering as a private soldier
in the guards, and hoped that while he might be upon duty under the
cruel minister’s window, the reflection that he had drove him to that
course of life for bread, might if his soul was not callous to every
sensation, make him feel the pangs of wantonly ruining a man who
had never injured him. Thus resolved, he hastened with me to my old
habitation, where leaving me, he fled, as I suppose, to execute his
ill-fated purpose.

After undergoing the press for some hours, on my return, (a custom we
were all subject to, the frequency of which I may say was the chief
cause of my early decay) I indulged myself in reflecting on the days
adventure, which led me naturally to contemplate on the many young
people who quit a life of industry and competence, and pursue the
phantom of hope, through the various mazes of misery she wantonly
leads them; stimulated at first perhaps by choice, but at length are
forced to persevere through necessity, and how oft does she lead these
unhappy men to total destruction; seating herself in the mid ocean
and beckoning to her followers, who seldom have the power to see
the distance she is from the shore, or perceive the whirlpools that
intervene, but keeping their eye fixed upon her, plunge in and are
lost! But, continued the sage, I fear I am rather troublesome, than
entertaining to you. I beg returned the gay spark, you will make no
apology, for I am very far from thinking your observations will be
the least entertaining part of your narration—Sable replied, young
gentleman, I believe you speak ingenuously, and am pleased I have an
opportunity, before I leave this miserable state, of communicating any
thing that may hereafter be of service to one who appears so deserving
of it.—White politely thanked him for the compliment, and Sable thus
proceeded in the relation of his adventures.

It was not long ere I was again summoned to the duties of my station,
by a tall _genteelish_ kind of a person, who ordered me to be tryed
upon him, and I was engaged by him for the day. Notwithstanding I
thought myself a tolerable good physiognomist, yet the appearance
and deportment of this stranger caused my fancy (that weathercock of
judgment) to vary so often, that it was impossible for me to fix any
criterion: he had much the air of a gentleman, but his gentility seemed
a kind of a habit, that he had acquired since he came to years of
maturity, and appeared to be only superficial, from the effect of close
observation, rather than the air and grace which naturally results
from the manners being property cultivated and corrected in youth.—In
short he was altogether a contradiction, and intirely conquered my
sagacity, which greatly added to the natural desire I had of proving
the adventure.

It was in the morning that my unknown conductor took me through the
busy streets into the city, and entering a coffee-house, near the
Exchange, almost filled with company, he spent some time before he
could resolve where to seat himself; at length he determined on a
place, which, to me, appeared the most inconvenient one in the room, it
being in a box that was already almost full; here he breakfasted and
read the papers, but seemed more intent upon remarking the company,
than on the news of the day. We stayed here about an hour, when my
conductor rose up, and taking a gentleman’s hat instead of his own,
was leaving the room. As soon as the owner observed the mistake, on
acquainting him with it, he asked the gentleman pardon, and at the
same time informed him, that he was so extremely near-sighted, that
without the help of his glass, (which he had unfortunately left at
home) he was continually mistaking; the gentleman begged he would make
no apology, as every man was liable to mistake; shortly after he took
an opportunity to go away without paying for his breakfast, which made
me conclude he had likewise unfortunately left his memory at home. This
caused me to reflect that I was very indifferently situated in being
obliged to accompany a man that went into company without either eyes
or memory, and I must own I began not to half like the prospect of this
adventure.—Soon after leaving this coffee-room, he went into another,
where seating himself as before, he drank a dish of chocolate, and on
his leaving the place, his eyesight again failed him, and he mistook
another gentleman’s hat for his own again, and went off with it without
interruption or paying for his chocolate: this second mistake alarmed
me greatly, fearing lest the owner of the hat should be in pursuit of
us, who possibly might not shew so much regard for the infirmity of my
conductor as the other gentleman had, or not entertain so favourable
an opinion of his veracity, especially as the difference in value
of the hat, was greatly in favour of this near-sighted spark, which
circumstance I observed in the preceding mistake likewise; but my
fears ceased, when coming into Corn-hill I heard him call a coach,
and stepping in, ordered the coachman to drive to Covent Garden, but
in Fleet-street he ordered him to stop in middle Temple-lane, and
to set him down at a certain door there, on the coach stopping at
the place appointed, he ordered the coachman to wait, and I imagined
that he was calling upon his lawyer, but found he only went through
a public office, which opened into two different places and was used
as a thoroughfare. Having passed the other door, he very leisurely
walk’d across the court, and so into Fleet-street, and from thence,
without stopping, he conducted me to the piazza’s, Covent Garden.
This extraordinary absence of thought in leaving the coachman to wait
for him, when it appeared evident he did not intend to return to him,
created some reflections in me that did not end greatly in his favour;
nor did they leave me in great tranquillity, for my mind run now upon
nothing but horseponds, duckings, and kickings, which I had heard my
companions speak of suffering, and which I knew I must chiefly sustain,
should any instance of his infirmities terminate unfavourable—But
to return, being arrived in the piazza’s in Covent Garden, as I
mentioned before, from thence we ascended a pair of stairs, and I
found myself in a room amidst a great number of very genteel people,
some of whom were of the first fashion; I soon perceived it was an
auction-room; then my fears began to operate upon me least some of my
gentleman’s faculties should again fail him, and the ill consequence
I dreaded would fall upon me; but every thing remained quiet for a
considerable time; at length a chaised-watch, by Tompion, was put up,
which I found had a very strong effect upon my adventurer, though I
could not devise the cause, for as I knew he had not sixpence about
him, I could not conceive he intended to bid for it; as the bidders
advanced he became more anxious, marking every one who bid, very
strictly.—In the conclusion a certain nobleman, who is observed to
attend these kind of sales with great punctuality, bid 80 guineas, and
was knocked down the best bidder, and the watch set down to Lord ——.
My adventurous spark now seemed calm and determined, and instantly
quitting the room, went into a tavern near; where ordering a bottle
of Madeira, and pen and ink, he took from his pocket a message-card
and wrote as follows—“The earl of —— seeing lord ——’s equipage
standing at ——’s auction-room door, begs the favour of his lordship’s
company at —— for a moment.—Having just received an accident upon
my right hand ——s writes this to you, and promises to take it to
your lordship himself.”—Having wrote this he orders the master of
the tavern to attend him, who being come, our spark, after splitting
the card, and securing the writing by a wafer, told him he should be
much obliged to him if he would take that card to lord —— at ——’s
auction: the landlord assured him he would, but, adds, this cautious
genius, deliver it to —— the auctioneer, and he will hand it to his
lordship: —— promised to obey his orders punctually; the landlord
being gone, my companion, after recruiting his spirits with a glass
of wine, immediately decamps, leaving orders to acquaint lord ——
he would return before his lordship could be seated, and immediately
goes and posts himself in a place where he could see his lordship
come from the auction-room: very short was his stay before he saw his
lordship, attended by the landlord, step into the chariot, and drive to
the tavern; our bold youth was as good as his word, and followed his
lordship into the room before he was well seated, and told him that the
earl of —— was “just drove into the next street, and had ordered him
to wait upon his lordship with an apology for leaving the room, but
that he would be with him in an instant.” This excuse delivered with a
good grace by a seeming gentleman, satisfied his lordship, and seating
himself, our hero took his leave of his lordship, and going to the bar,
told —— the landlord, that he must go to —— the auctioneer, and
tell him, “that lord —— desired him to send the watch he had lately
purchased by him, as he just wanted to shew it to the earl of ——”.
Away goes the landlord and acquaints the auctioneer with his lordship’s
desire; the auctioneer knowing the landlord, and seeing the lord ——
go out with him just before, made no hesitation, but delivers him the
watch, who on meeting my gentleman at the door, put it into his hand,
and he flipping it into his coat-pocket, again goes into his lordship,
and telling him “the earl of —— begged his patience a few minutes
longer, as he had now just finished the affair he was upon, and hoped
he would stay, as he had something to acquaint him with that would
surprise him very much”. His lordship answered it was very well; upon
which our sharper left his lordship to wonder what it could be that
would surprize him so much, and I make no doubt but in a short time he
was greatly surprized.

The planning of this artifice continued Sable, gave me a high opinion
of our sharper’s ingenuity, and the dexterity with which he conducted
it, entirely removed all my fears of any accident happening to us.
After this successful exploit, he walked through a few streets and
then took a coach, ordering the coachman to drive to a tavern near
the Exchange in the city; by this method he eluded the vigilance of
a pursuit, which he imagined must succeed his lordship’s discovering
the imposition, and which no doubt was in a very short time after sent
forth.

Being arrived at the tavern he ordered the coachman to take his money
at the bar, and was shewn into a very handsome room; he immediately
ordered a genteel dinner consisting of five dishes, and ordered two
courses, saying he expected a gentleman to dine with him, and ordered
if any one enquired for Sir —— to shew him in; but I should have
mentioned to you that as the coach was passing by the Temple, he
ordered one of the porters who ply there, to take a card which he had
been writing upon in the coach, to the very tavern he had ordered the
coachman to drive to, with strict orders for the porter to be there
with it by 5 o’clock; this card was directed to the knight whose name
and title he had now assumed.—By the time he imagined dinner was
ready, he rang and ordered the cook not to spoil the dinner, but when
it was ready to bring it in, saying he would not wait a minute for
the king in prejudice to the skill of the cook,—whom he ordered to
take a pint of wine at the bar. Dinner being ended, and the cloath
removed, champain and burgundy were ordered, and he sat very composedly
entertaining himself in mediating on the labour of the great Tompion,
and from thence took occasion to descant on his own ingenuity, which
he justly boasted was not inferior to that famous artist, though it
run in a different channel: at the hour of five the waiter entered
with a card for Sir —— on which was wrote these words “Lord ——’s
compliments to Sir ——, asks ten thousand pardons for not attending
him at dinner as appointed; begs Sir ——, will not go till he comes,
which will not exceed half an hour.” The card was purposely wrote upon
to the view of every one, which added dignity to our new-made knight’s
former consequence, and ordering the porter to be discharged at the
bar, he sat a few minutes; when ringing the bell he ordered the waiter
to tell his master to come to him, who soon appearing, he desired
him to sit and fill a glass of wine, and entering into a familiar
conversation with him, in a short time enquired if there was ever a
shop near where he could purchase a gold chain to his watch, and at the
same time produced the property of lord ——, which being in a neat
shagreen box, looked at a distance like a shagreen case; the vintner
being willing to oblige a neighbour, told him he could recommend a
dealer in those things, who had great choice, and lived only in the
next street.—Our knight begg’d he would send for him, with orders to
bring some watch chains with him: the vintner immediately dispatched a
waiter to the person who soon arrived with a box, and producing some
very curious watch chains, my gentleman at last fixed upon one, which
came to 5l. 1s. The spark offered him four for it, but the tradesman
being a quaker, told him he never asked more than he intended to take,
but however he was still offered 4l. 1s. and the tradesman refusing
was dismissed.—In five minutes the sharper rang for the master of the
tavern, and told him what had passed, adding he greatly liked the
chain, and would purchase it, but should take it as a favour if he
would go to the man, and see if he could not get it for the money, but
if not to bring it with him, and at the same time desired he would tell
the tradesman to bring a cornelian seal with a Homer’s head for the
impression; away went the landlord, and soon after brought the chain
with him, but told our genius he could not prevail upon him to take
any thing less than he had asked; that he had never a cornelian with a
Homer, but had sent to a friend in the next street who he believed had
one, and he would bring him word in ten minutes: during the landlord’s
absence, this ingenious gentleman had taken out the watch and left
the shagreen box upon the shelf over the fire-place, in full view of
the landlord, who might suppose it was the real watch. Upon looking
at the chain, the spark pretended it was not the same he had shewn
him before, the landlord told him it was possible he might mistake by
candle-light, and offered to go and change it—but the sharper said he
would go himself, as he had some suspicion the quaker had a mind to
impose upon him, and saying the watch he supposed would be safe upon
the shelf, went out of the room, and the landlord shutting the door,
told him he would take care no body should come in during his absence.
Our successful sharper now bent his course to Cheapside with all
speed, leaving the shagreen box to pay the vintner his reckoning, and
the quaker for his watch chain.

The luxuriancy of my ingenious conductor’s invention in the progress of
this adventure astonished me greatly, but I’ll forbear to trouble you
with my reflections now, and hasten with him to the play-house.

Being arrived in Cheapside, he takes a coach and orders himself to
be drove to the Rose in Bridges-street Covent Garden, and the coach
stopping at the door the coachman descended to let him out, but was
ordered to go into the tavern and enquire if Mr. —— was in the
house; the enquiry through every room he knew must take up some
minutes, and give him time to let himself out at the other side of
the coach, which he effected with great privacy and expedition, and
immediately set forward for Covent Garden play-house, taking his way
up Bow-street, purposely avoiding, as I apprehended, the scene of his
morning adventure.—Here Sable was interrupted in his narrative, by the
arrival of his owner, who brought in with Him an old cloaths-man, and
handing the black narrator down delivered him to this new vamper of old
commodities; who after perusing him with great attention and sagacity,
shaking his head declared he could not give any thing for it, adding,
“it had been so much used, it would not hold together for a single
day’s wear”; and as for repairing it, he said it was impossible from
the rottenness of it, nor could it be converted into patches, as in
fact, he said, it consisted of nothing else but patches; and returning
it to the owner, desired him to keep it as a curiosity, swearing he
never saw such a thing in his life: upon this Sable was once more
conducted to the wardrobe, and hung on the peg he had been removed from.

Sable (half recovered from his fright) soon was heard to utter
these words.—My loved companion, and adopted son, indulge me a few
minutes to recover my breath.—White with great tenderness, begged
he would make no apology, for though he was exceeding anxious to know
what had caused the fright he was in, he would not think of being
gratified till he was perfectly recovered—after a few minutes pause
the frighted veteran thus broke forth.—Where is the philosophy, the
calm resignation, I fancied I could meet my last hour with? alas! I
find I have learned nothing that is worth retaining, since I have
not learned to bear the near approach of my dissolution without
trembling; why should I wish to exist, or linger in this decayed and
miserable state, when the momentary shock of death is succeeded by a
total annihilation?—Here White interrupting him, begged to know the
cause of such sad reflections. My son, returned Sable, bear with the
infirmities of age; the frequency of contemplating on death, believe
me, greatly lessens its terrors:—the danger is now over, and my fears
are subsided—. Here Sable recounted his late adventure with the dealer
in old cloaths,—which having concluded, he proceeded in the relation
of the many and surprizing changes of fortune—(But here, reader, lest
thou should imagine this digression from the chain of adventures as
related by our Black Hero, is an artifice calculated to extend this
work, and that no such interruption ever happened, but what was made
by ourselves, on purpose to eke out this part of our performance, we
do assure thee, that nothing but sacred truth obliged us to relate it,
and which we shall at all times think ourselves bound in justice to
do; therefore, courteous reader, if thou shouldst meet in the progress
of this entertaining history, with instances of a similar nature, we
advise thee not to pronounce them fiction; for were we inclined to
enlarge this performance, the bare recital of numberless minutes,
which we have and shall suppress, would extend it to volumes; and if
thou will favour us with thy company to the end of this work, thou
wilt find such little arts were needless, the sage’s narrative alone
affording us ample matter for thy entertainment, and which thou may’st
find faithfully recorded in the following pages—The sharper, resumed
Sable, being arrived at the play-house, and going to the box-door,
he overtook a company of ladies and gentlemen, who were going into
the house, and stepping before them, ordered the box-keeper to open
the door, saying the servant belonging to the company would pay for
all—the box-keeper seeing the company behind, imagined our spark of
the party, therefore without hesitation lets him in: as soon as he
was within he posts himself in such a manner as to hear what passed
at the box-door without being seen, the company being come up were
surprized to find themselves charged with one more than they knew of,
and disowning acquaintance with my adventurer, refused to pay for him;
the box-keeper not having time to go in search of him then, ordered
an under box-keeper to look sharp for him as he came out; our spark
hearing this seemed very well satisfied—which was much more than I
was—and after going from box to box, he at length seated himself in
one of the corner green boxes, in which was only an old gentleman; but
on the latter account our number was encreased by the addition of two
ladies of the town, and two gentlemen—the sharper prudently sat as far
back in the box as he could, to avoid being seen, I concluded.—The
entertainment being ended, and the company preparing to depart, to
my amazement, this bold adventurer seizes a red rocqueleau that was
hung in the box, and was going to put it on—when the old gentleman
told him, with great politeness, he fancied he had made a mistake,
for the rocqueleau belonged to him.—The sharper, with astonishing
effrontery, replyed, by your leave, Sir, ’tis you that mistake, for
the rocqueleau is mine.—Your rocqueleau? returned the gentleman,
indeed it is, replied this son of impudence. Sir, says the stranger,
as you have the appearance of a gentleman, I cannot think you mean any
thing more than a jest; but let me tell you, Sir, added he, I am not
used to be treated so with impunity.—Sir, returned the sharper, it
is not my custom to jest with men of your appearance, nor do I expect
such treatment from you.—Why sure, says the gentleman, you will not
pretend to persuade me seriously that this is not my rocqueleau? That
this rocqueleau is mine, Sir, says my companion, I do aver, and will
maintain my property,—adding this is the strangest piece of impudence
that ever was practised.—Indeed, says the gentleman, so it is, if
you pretend to say this is your rocqueleau, when I brought it in, and
hung it up before you came.—The sharper alledged he brought it in,
and hung it up on his coming in.—This strange dispute whose property
the rocqueleau was, created much mirth in the ladies and gentlemen
in the box, but created far different sensations in me, who saw no
possibility of our hero’s maintaining his assertion with any credit,
consequently there was little probability of my escaping a horse-pond,
or some such dire mishap, especially as I saw the old gentleman begin
to wax warm.—But to proceed,—the owner of the rocqueleau persisted in
claiming it, and the sharper as strongly insisted on its being his—in
conclusion, my ingenious companion asked him, if he could point out any
mark or any thing whereby it might be determined by the company that
it was his.—The gentleman replied, he knew of no mark upon it, for
that it was never on his back before that afternoon, being quite new;
upon that my gentleman exclaimed Amazement! that a man of your years
should undertake to play the sharper with no other abilities than bare
impudence.—Zounds, returned the strange gentleman, you are a sharper,
and since you talk of marks, by what mark do you know it—let us see
how you will prove it to be yours—make that appear, Sir, exulting
and appealing to the company, who yet could not tell what to make of
the affair, sometimes inclining one way, and sometimes another.—Why,
Sir, says the impostor, I would have come to that at first, but that
I was willing to see what ingenious device you would make use of to
support your unjust pretensions; but as I see you take advantage of
the coolness of my temper, and confidently think to bully me out
of my property, I will submit to the company to determine whom the
rocqueleau belongs to, and, continues he, I believe I shall put an end
to the dispute very shortly to your confusion; and then turning to
the company, told them if the rocqueleau was his there were two X’s
marked in the inside near the bottom: the gentlemen looked and found
two X’s mark’d in the place our ingenious sharper had directed.—The
old gentleman stood petrified with amazement—but recovering himself,
swore still the rocqueleau was his, but how those damned X’s came there
he could not tell.—The rocqueleau being adjudged the property of our
hero, he now put it on, telling the old gentleman, his age should
protect him from punishment, and advised him to leave off a profession
he seemed unable to succeed in. The gentleman knowing the rocqueleau
was his, still urged strongly he brought it in with him, and that it
was his.—The ladies now began to revile him,—whom he treated in very
free terms; the gentlemen stood up for their doxies, and the loser of
the rocqueleau had no friends, but abused every one in the box with
being accomplices in robbing him; upon which the ladies fell upon him,
and seizing his large powered wig, boxed him about the face with it
till he was almost blind, and then flinging it into the pit, among the
people who were gathered under the box with the noise that began to
be made, the old gentleman’s full-bottom was soon disposed of as well
as his rocqueleau.—Our adventurer took this opportunity to quit the
box, and with the addition of the rocqueleau, and by timely using his
handkerchief as he passed the box-keeper, went away without suspicion
of being the person who bilked him on his coming in.—You will, no
doubt wonder, says Sable, how this genius could come by the knowledge
of the private marks upon the rocqueleau, and your wonder will be no
less when I tell you that he himself put them there, whilst the old
gentleman was engaged with the performance on the stage: for he, whose
study it was to refine upon sharping, never wanted materials, in the
various adventures he might meet with, consequently he was as expert
with his needle in sewing the two X’s upon the rocqueleau, as a surgeon
would be in using his lancet on a sudden emergency.—But to finish with
this gentleman.—This last exploit being ended, he takes me through
many alleys and dark passages; at length ascending a mean stair-case as
high as he could, he gave the signal of admittance, and the door was
opened, when there appeared to my sight, sitting round a table, four
persons, one in the habit of a clergyman, another in the character of
a farmer; a third was a laced beau, and the fourth an honest looking
tradesman, and I observed every one had before him watches, rings,
swords, snuff-boxes, purses with money, and other things of value,
which I afterwards found were the several labours of the day, which had
been gained by these honest looking gentlemen in the same capacity as
my adventurer—but our ingenious spark producing the watch by Tompion,
gold chain, rocqueleau, and an exceeding good hat instead of a bad
one, he was deemed the most meritorious of the whole fraternity for
that day. A division being made, and the several characters fixed for
the succeeding day (when my companion was to assume the appearance of
a country farmer) they all adjourned to a tavern, where they spent
the evening in recounting the methods they had taken in acquiring the
valuable collection I had seen upon the table; on leaving the tavern
each took a separate road, my adventurer taking me to the place from
whence we last came, and I understood the rendezvous of the next
day was to be at the parson’s lodging, which I found they changed
nightly.—In the morning early this industrious gentleman conducted me
to my old habitation in Monmouth-Street, unhurt, after all the perils
of the preceding day, to my great satisfaction, where after suffering
the corroding brush, and racking press as usual, I was at liberty to
indulge my reflections, and the last day’s expedition afforded me
ample matter. Gods! exclaimed Sable, could I have credited that such
things were really practised, had I not been a witness to them!

Is it not, says the sage adventurer to his gay companion, greatly to be
lamented, that men of such excellent talents, should prostitute them
to such hurtful purposes to the community, and reversing morality,
industriously pursue evil, that they may boast of blemishes they should
rather blush for; as he amongst these pillagers of society, is esteemed
the most worthy who is the most wicked. But I will not, continued
Sable, spend the precarious minutes in making reflections which your
own perspicuity will furnish you with, but proceed in the detail of my
next adventure.

I was next, continued Sable, ordered by a tall long visaged person to
be tried upon him, and the Monmouth-Street merchant pronounced that
if I had been cut out on purpose for him, I could not have fitted him
better; on this I was engaged by him for the day. I soon discovered by
some detached pieces of poetry in blank verse, and other papers of the
like nature put into my pocket, that I was accompanying an author.—His
wan and dead complexion made me at first imagine him to be a person
confined to a sedentary life, but notwithstanding his unfavourable
aspect, I could conceive strong marks of the gentleman, and likewise
imagined him to be a scholar, though the rays of learning which beamed
from his countenance, seemed to be clouded by misfortune and care.—But
to proceed, three times did this son of Apollo attend the door of a
certain great man, before he could gain admittance: the first time the
servant said his master was dressing, the second time he was busy, and
the third we were so fortunate as to be shewn into a small antechamber,
with directions to sit down, and my comrade should be informed when
he could speak with this very great man, whom, but for the situation
of the house, I should have imagined was a prime minister: at last,
after waiting above an hour, my companion was desired to walk into
a parlour, where was sitting by the fire side, surrounded by half a
dozen little kittens, an old man (gentleman I cannot with propriety
term him). Without asking the gentleman to sit, he began,—Well, sir,
what do you want with me? I wait upon you, sir, replied the author,
in relation to a play I some time ago left in your hands.—How long
since? says this well mannered gentleman. Fifteen months, Sir, replied
the author—O, is that all, says he,—well, and pray, what is this
extraordinary play of yours, continues he; a tragedy, I suppose? It
is a tragedy, Sir, answered the author, still standing, (which gave me
an opportunity of remarking a letter that lay upon the table directed
to the manager of one of the theatres). What do you call it? says this
important gentleman. It is called ——, replied the author,—and hope
it has met with your approbation, continued he.—O, to be sure, says
the sneering manager, without reading it.—I imagined, says the author,
you would have been kind enough to have indulged me with a couple of
hours out of fifteen months to have perused it, or if you did not
intend to peruse it, you would have returned it me again. Ay, ay, says
the manager; you shall have it again, take it away with you in God’s
name—(looking among a parcel of papers) I don’t mean, Sir, returned
the author, to take it from you unless you should reject it, after you
have read it.—Why, Sir, says the manager, did not you this moment
ask me to return it? If you had no intention to peruse it, says the
author. Peruse it! replies the manager—why, Sir, do you think I have
nothing else to do than as soon as ever people of your way of living
have wrote a thing, to play it immediately? what, I suppose, continues
he, you think I should read it, alter it, expunge, and add to it, then
rehearse it and so perform it, that you might receive the benefit all
in ten days or a fortnight?—No, no, Sir you are too quick for me;
let’s see where is this thing (looking over a bundle of manuscript
plays)—what is the _procession_ in your play, continued the manager?
I shall best find it by that, for they are all marked.—There is no
procession at all in mine, Sir, says the author. No procession! Sir,
says the amazed manager, what do you mean?—perhaps you call it—a
_solemn dirge_—a _triumph_—or an—_ovation_—or—There is nothing at
all of the kind Sir, says the author, in my play, nor did I apprehend,
says he, it was absolutely necessary to.—Necessary? interrupted the
manager,—pray, Sir, what would nine out of ten of the tragedies that
have come out within these 20 years have been good for, if it had not
been for the processions; but if yours has no procession, adds he, I am
sure it is not amongst these; (laying the papers he had been looking
over down)—but we shall find it presently somewhere, I warrant you—a
procession not necessary!—(looking for the play).—By this time the
author began to entertain a most sovereign contempt for him, as I
judged from his countenance.—At length the manager produced the play,
but in such a condition! some part wanting half a leaf, some a quarter,
others three quarters, and what remained was in tatters, and strangely
smeared and stained, having been frequently used no doubt in taking the
tea-kettle off the fire, and other such worthy employments, as I saw
him take it from _under a coffee pot_ that stood in the window.—The
author at first was astonished when he saw it, but recovering himself,
calmly said, he believed it had been perused, for by the appearance
of it, it seemed to have been often in his _hands_; and opening
it.—Really, Sir, says the author, you have been in a mistake, for it
is evident you have read it over, and have _expunged_ several pages of
it, (shewing him the dismembered play)—and, continues he, dare say you
will be able to get through it in a short time, therefore will continue
it in your hands, and hope you will be so obliging as to _add to
it_—No, no, Sir, replied the manager, I shall give myself no farther
trouble about it; as for the leaves being torn, some of the servants
can give you the best account of them.—If, continued he, there had
been a _procession_ in it.—Here he was interrupted, by the arrival of
a person with a Harlequin’s dress, and the author laying the mangled
play upon the table, took his leave, giving place to _Harlequin_—a
circumstance that ought not to give him much pain, as it is no more
than what the best dramatic authors both ancient and modern, have
frequently done.

This tragic gentleman having conducted me home, continued Sable, I was
again deposited among my old acquaintance, the _occasional gentlemen_,
from whose conversation I received much useful knowledge and rational
entertainment. But to proceed—.

My next excursion, resumed Sable, was with a person who conducted me
from my habitation in Monmouth-Street, to an indifferent apartment in
an alley near Chancery-Lane where he adorned himself with the military
ensigns, a cockade and sword, and marched with me to a tavern in the
city, where being shewn into a room, he left word if any body enquired
for an officer, to shew them in to him, and seating himself he drew
from his pocket a letter, in which were these words in an excellent
woman’s hand.—“Dear cap. —— my papa has received your letter, and tells
me he shall meet you at the time and place you have appointed—I shall
be impatient to know the result of this interesting conversation, and
hope it will prove favourable to you—”. This letter was directed to be
left at a coffee-house in the Strand for my companion. He did not wait
long before a plain decent looking tradesman was introduced to him—My
comrade received him with an affected politeness, which was returned by
the stranger, with an aukward civility: being both seated, the coldness
of the weather was the first topic of conversation, the tradesman
making a sorrowful observation on the dearness of provisions, and
that coals were risen that day; the military gentleman joined in
lamenting the hardness of the times, and concluded the subject by
pitying the poor; the stranger then filled a bumper, and knocking
his glass against the captain’s drank to their better acquaintance,
which having taken off, Mr. Sirloin, (that being the stranger’s name)
after a few minutes silence on both sides, began the discourse, by
saying to my companion, that he believed he had received, a letter
from him in relation to his daughter Susan. The captain answered, he
should make no ceremony in telling him that he professed a regard for
the young lady.—Young lady, says Mr. Sirloin, I beg, Sir, you’ll
not young lady my daughter.—Susan is a good likely girl for that
matter, but as for being a young lady, I don’t know what title she
has to that. Indeed her mother, who has had the whole management of
her, has always filled the girls head with a parcel of nonsense. Your
plain way of thinking, returned the captain, I highly approve, but
her education entitles her to.—Ay, interrupted Mr. Sirloin, that was
against my will too, but my wife would have it so, and so she was
sent to a boarding school; to be sure, continued he, as she was but
a half boarder, I came into it for peace and quietness, but if it
was to do again—for added he, she has learned nothing but to talk
of gentility and fashions, and dancings, and plays, and I don’t know
what.—These things, Sir, answered the captain, are accomplishments
which are necessary in every woman who has any pretensions to marry
genteelly.—Therefore, Sir, returned Mr. Sirloin, unnecessary for my
daughter; for I am sure—I don’t know what pretensions she has to
think of marrying genteelly, or out of her sphere.—I am a plain man,
Sir, as you see, continues he, and to be sure would do every thing for
the best for my daughter, and no doubt should like very well to see
my daughter made a gentle-woman of; but then, adds he, how it that
to be? that’s the question—for my part I don’t see now a days that
gentlemen let ’em have ever so good a fortune, are willing to take a
girl for love alone—no offence I hope to you, Sir,—By no means Sir,
replied the captain, I assure you, Sir, I esteem your sentiments; and
though love is the chief ingredient in a happy marriage, yet to make
it quite compleat, a little fortune is necessary.—Now I rather think,
says Mr. Sirloin, as times go, that _fortune_ is looked upon as the
_chief ingredient_—you’ll excuse me, Sir, I am a blunt man—Pray, Sir,
make no apology, replied the captain.—Well, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin,
let us now enter upon the business we met upon.—You say you have a
regard for my daughter, I suppose you mean love. I do, Sir, answered
the captain.—You are an officer, Sir, my daughter tells me.—Yes,
Sir, returned the captain, but, to deal ingenuously with you, I am
only a younger brother, therefore I can’t boast of any great fortune,
a thousand pounds or so, besides my commission,—with which, continues
he, I am capable of appearing as a gentleman, and hope I have always
acted as such.—A thousand pound, says Mr. Sirloin, is a great deal
of money in my opinion; I don’t know what you may think of it: as for
your commission, says he, that’s quite out of my way, and therefore I
know nothing of it; and now, Sir, continues he, as you have told me who
you are, it is but fair that I should tell you who I am.—I am, adds
he, a butcher by trade, and by industry and frugality, I make shift
to maintain myself and family with what I call credit, for I make it a
rule, never to bespeak any thing for myself or any of my family, but
what I know I can afford, nor let any thing be wore, or made use of,
till I have paid for it.—I pay my landlord his rent every quarter
day, and I don’t owe any man a shilling in the world, and so now, Sir,
if you like me for a father-in-law, without farther ceremony here’s
my hand,—and done’s the word. This close way of doing business, says
Sable, I found disconcerted my martial conductor, who evaded closing
with the proposal, saying such a thing as marriage, required a little
more consideration than a bet at a cock-match or a horse-race.—Why
look you, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, this is my way of doing business; if
I see a bullock in the market, which I think is for my purpose, I go
and examine him, and if I find that he’ll do, I enquire his price,
and if its about the mark, I bid money for him, and if my money is
accepted, I have the beast; but if not, we part, and there’s no harm
done, you know; now apply that, Sir.—Well, Sir, returned the captain,
to make a matter of trade of this affair, as I profess a regard for
your daughter, if you will give me a fortune with her I will marry her,
notwithstanding the disgrace it will be to my family.—Fortune, Sir!
says Mr. Sirloin, what fortune do you expect me to give? I suppose,
Sir, says the captain, you intend to give her a fortune equal to her
education and appearance in the world.—As for her education and
appearance in the world, says Mr. Sirloin, I have told you how that
came about, and that it was not my fault, and now I’ll tell you what
I’ll give you with her: I’ll spend a few guineas in a wedding dinner
with all my heart; but as for fortune, I assure you I have none to
give.—You certainly are in jest, Sir, says the captain, as you have
educated and drest your daughter in the character of a lady of fortune.
Zounds, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, I tell you my wife has had the whole
management of her, and that it is not my fault.—This very thing, adds
he, have I told my wife over and over: for, says I, what tradesman
do you think will have her, as she will to be sure expect to live in
the manner she has been brought up, and if she does not, says I, then
she will be unhappy; and what tradesman is there, says I, that can
afford, or if he could, wou’d think it proper, to keep her like a lady?
and what gentleman, says I, will take a butcher’s daughter without a
farthing, only because the girl, says I, has a notion of dress and
politeness, as they call it? so that, says I, the girl will be brought
up to be fit for nothing, and in the end, says I, turn whore; but it
signified nothing; for my wife said her daughter should be brought up
and drest as well as Mr. Spigot, the ale-house-man’s daughter, who was
no better than she was, and that something might happen.

Here Mr. Sirloin was interrupted by the sudden entrance of the wife
of his bosom, who was followed by Miss Sirloin, as I soon found her
to be.—The slayer of oxen was at once astonished and intimidated on
seeing his wife; Mr. Sirloin, says the lady, on her entrance, I am
surprized at your impolitic behaviour. I have heard every word you
have said, and any one would imagine you had no more sense that the
_beasts_ you kill, to tell a gentleman the circumstances of your family
in the manner you have, Mr. Sirloin is a monstrous thing.—Mr. Sirloin
declared he had said nothing but the truth, and added that listeners
seldom heard any good of themselves. Mrs. Sirloin returned, that he
was a poor mean spirited wretch, and had not a grain of ambition in
him. Mr. Sirloin replied, he believed it might be better, if some folks
had less, and for his part he did not see what business people in
his sphere had to do with ambition; for, says he, they are generally
getting into some scrape or another.

Miss, during the altercation betwixt her _Papa and Mama_, had drawn
near the captain, who took very little notice of her: Mrs. Sirloin
now addressed herself to the captain, and told him, she hoped he would
excuse Mr. Sirloin’s want of politeness, and assured him, that though
it was true, her daughter was not the largest fortune in the parish,
neither was she the least, adding, that as Suky was their only child,
she would be entitled to every farthing that would be left on their
deaths, and which she durst say would _amount to near a hundred pound_.
To be sure, continues she, if Mr. Sirloin was but a pushing man, he
might be able to leave her many hundreds.

Mr. Sirloin said, he understood the captain was in love with Susan,
and said he should think with that and the thousand pound he had,
they might live very happy. The captain replied, that it was true, he
had a great regard for Miss Sirloin, and that his fortune was about
a thousand pound; but that as he was of one of the best families in
Dorsetshire, it wou’d be a disgrace to it to marry into Mr. Sirloin’s
family, unless it was made up by a fortune; and that he had been told
Miss Sirloin wou’d be worth a thousand pound, and which by her dress,
and the company she kept, he thought could be no less. Mr. Sirloin
declared, that whoever said he cou’d give his daughter a thousand
pound was a _scandalous person_; as for her dress and company, do you,
speaking to his wife, answer for that.

The waiter now told Mr. Sirloin, a person would be glad to speak to
him, and on his going out, Mrs. Sirloin told the captain, that she
presumed his intentions had been honourable, and that his addresses
had not been made to her daughter altogether for the _lucre of gain_,
the captain protested his love was intirely disinterested; but that
he could not on account of his family, think of entering into an
alliance with Mr. Sirloin without a fortune.—Mr. Sirloin was now
returned, and rubbing his hands, asked if the captain was willing to
accept of his daughter or not; the captain strongly urged, that the
disgrace it would be to his family would not permit him to engage any
farther. Pray, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, what is this great family you
talk so much of?—I am, answered the captain, of the family of the
_Fortune-hunters_, which is as ancient a one as any in the kingdom. Mr.
Sirloin asked him if he did not know one _John Trott_.—The captain
upon this appeared extremely confounded, but, stammer’d out he knew no
such person; upon this Mr. Sirloin rang the bell, and asked the waiter
if he knew that gentleman, pointing to the captain,—yes, replied the
waiter, very well, his name is John Trott; he was a footman to ’squire
——, and was discharged for some misdemeanors about half a year ago;
and speaking to the new-made captain, said; you know me very well,
Mr. Trott, don’t you? the captain replied, he never saw him before
to his knowledge.—Come, come, Mr. Trott, says the waiter don’t wink
at me, I’ll not see any body imposed upon, I know you very well. Mr.
Sirloin’s choler being now raised to the highest degree, he could not
contain himself any longer; but pulling off his wig and coat, told my
unfortunate companion, that though he had imposed upon him, he would
take no advantages of him but wou’d box him fairly; but the martial
hero declined the combat; upon which Mr. Sirloin, giving a loose
to his hands and feet together, employed them both so fast upon my
unluky comrade, that it was hard to determine which of them went the
fastest, and my passive conductor seemed resolved to see whether his
patience, or Mr. Sirloin’s strength would hold out the longest; and
Mr. Sirloin being a corpulent man, was at length obliged to give over
his labour for want of breath, and thereby the captain’s principle of
non-resistance, obtained a complete victory over the active vigour of
the enraged butcher.

Mr. Sirloin, having a little recovered himself from the fatigue the
violent exertion of his strength had occasioned, now turned to his
wife and daughter, and told the latter, that for the future she should
be under his direction, and bid her see that to-morrow, she appeared
in the shop as his daughter, with a coloured apron before her, and
dispose of those dangling things at her elbows or he’d burn ’em: the
two ladies having seen such manifest proofs of Mr. Sirloin’s prowess
were intimidated into silence, not even daring to exercise those
dreadful weapons their tongues, which were now for the first time, I
believed, subdued.

The captain during this had employed himself in wiping the dirt which
had been left by Mr. Sirloin’s shoes off him, every now and then saying
this was fine treatment for a _Gentleman_.

Mr. Sirloin now opened the door, and ordered the martial captain
to leave the room, who seemed very glad to obey him, Mr. Sirloin
complimenting him with two or three very handsome kicks at his
departure.

The fruits of this adventure, continued Sable, were pretty equally
divided betwixt me and my unfortunate associate, though I believe
the _marks_ of Mr. Sirloin’s favours, continued a considerable time
longer upon the unsuccessful captain than upon me, a circumstance which
instead of creating envy in me, proved rather a matter of consolation.

The address and deportment of this assumed military gentleman,
continued Sable, did not at first discover to me any thing that
resembled the gentility of an officer in the army, nor did his lodging
correspond with such a character, therefore I imagined he was only in
reality, like me a gentleman _pro tempore_.

The descendant of the ancient family of _Fortune-Hunters_,
continued Sable, having conducted me again to my former lodging in
Monmouth-Street, and a variety of brushes having been used upon me,
like a Hackney-horse after a day’s journey, I remained some time
without any remarkable adventure happening to me; at length, continued
Sable, a member of Comus’s court, but better known by the significant
appellation of a _Choice Spirit_, conducted me to a tavern in the
Strand, where I found a number of gentlemen, and the better sort of
tradesmen, assembled together, whom I soon learned were the members of
a society that met once a week, and that this was their anniversary
feast-day. It being in the morning, they were now met together to take
a walk, or to spend the time in some amusement, that might best conduce
to create an appetite, to enable them to do honour to the approaching
entertainment. My companion singled out one, who from his broad sleek
face, and rotundity of belly, seemed to have signalized himself at the
destruction of many a feast, and by the jocular speeches of several
of the members, together with his own expressions, boasting of his
excellence in the masticating way, I was fully confirmed that his being
so uncommonly well larded, was owing to his superior merit in the
science of eating.

My conductor proposed a walk to this gentleman, but he objected to
it, on account of the fatigue it would be to him, and that it might
disorder his stomach, which he declared was in excellent order, but
said he had no objection to take a little air up the river, and which
he fancied, with now and then a glass of wine and bitters, they might
carry with them, would strengthen his appetite; this proposal was
accepted by my comrade, and two other gentlemen agreed to accompany
them; accordingly at Somerset-stairs a boat was hired, and the watermen
ordered to row them up to Putney.

During our voyage this son of Comus regaled the worthy disciples of
Epicurus, with some gingerbread nuts he had brought with him, at first
he refused to eat any, fearing he said they would damp his appetite,
but my spark telling him, they were an excellent stomachic, and that
there was a particular ingredient in them that was an enemy to every
thing that clogged the stomach, he was prevailed upon to beguile the
time with feeding on the appetite-creating gingerbread, which he did
very plentifully, ever and anon diluting with a glass of wine and
bitters. The last speech of my companion, together with his taking the
nuts he himself ate, and those he gave the other two gentlemen, from
a different pocket than that out of which he regaled the well-larded
gentleman with, made me conclude the gingerbread _teemed_ with some
_jest_.

By the time we arrived at Putney, continued Sable, our fat companion
had emptied the pocket of my humorous conductor, of all the stomachic
gingerbread, declaring it was the best he had ever tasted. We landed
at Putney, where we staid only to get a fresh cargo of wine, and
them returned to the general rendezvous, where being arrived, and the
champion come within sight of the table, that was by this time prepared
ready for the guests, he said he believed he should make a very hearty
dinner, for that though he had eat a large quantity of some excellent
gingerbread nuts, yet he felt a kind of a gnawing in his stomach. Soon
the feast was ushered in, and my companion guessing that it would not
be long before the _mine sprung_, prudently retired to another part of
the table to avoid the _explosion_.

The company being all seated, each helped himself to what he chose,
and presently casting my eyes upon our companion and gingerbread-eater,
I saw him labouring most furiously to bring down a pyramid of turbot
he had raised upon his plate, at every other mouthful drinking a small
glass of wine, saying, by that means he should be able to eat as much
again; having accomplished the destruction of the first plate full, he
had again heaped it to its former size, and by a vigorous attack, again
threatened its downfall; but now the gingerbread I suppose, began to
operate, for before he had destroyed one quarter of the plate full, he
began to make strange faces, and twined his body about, as if he sat
upon something that made him uneasy, which he continued for several
minutes, at length a noise was heard to issue from his bowels, like
the sound of distant thunder, and immediately starting from his chair,
with great haste left the room, and so precipitate was his flight,
that by his hasty rising, he overthrew one of his next neighbours,
who endeavouring to save himself, pulled down a large bason of oyster
sauce, that stood before him, which first falling upon his face, from
thence had formed a rivulet down a crimson sattin waistcoat he had on.

By the time this unfortunate gentleman had wiped himself, Mr. Feastlove
(that being the fat gentleman’s name) was returned, and having asked
pardon of the company in general for his abrupt departure, and the
gentleman whom he had thrown down in particular, for the damage done
to him, he again sat down, declaring he was never taken so in all his
life.—A clean plate being brought him, he once more fill’d it with
turbot, and having drank two glasses of wine, began to give evident
tokens of a perfect recovery, but by the time he had disposed of half
of it, his countenance began to wax pale, and the contortions of his
body declared he sat very uneasy, and the rumbling noise in his bowels
soon after alarmed the company, and seemed to be the signal for a
second flight, upon which the gentlemen who sat on each side of him
moved as far from him as they could, lest in his retreat, he might
again overturn one of them; however, he yet continued upon his chair
frowning and eating; after drinking a glass of wine, the noise in his
bowels increased, but yet he was loath to leave the feast, though he
had laid down his knife and fork and sat grinning horridly upon his
chair, with his hands upon each knee, as if he had really been in an
action not decent to be mentioned; but fearing, I suppose, that worse
would ensue, he angrily rose from his chair, and once more hasted out
of the room, cursing and wondering as he went what could be the matter
with him.

This second unwilling departure, created much mirth in the company, and
gave birth to many jokes at the expence of the ill-fated champion. It
was not long before he returned, and fixing his eyes upon my companion,
swore he believed he had given him a dose of physic in the gingerbread,
and with a stern countenance declared, if it really was so, he would
resent it severely. My companion told him he had no reason to attribute
his disorder to the nuts he had given him, for that he himself and two
gentlemen then present had eat of them, and found no such effects;
upon this the company was unanimous in opinion, that it must be owing
to something else he had eat in the morning. Mr. Feastlove vowed that
he had refrained from eating any thing that morning on account of the
feast; every one then concluded the turbot did not agree with him, and
Mr. Feastlove began to imagine that was the cause, therefore determined
to try something else, and again sitting down, he filled a plate with
ham and fowl, seeming determined to make up the time and loss he had
suffered by the turbot, on those dishes. The quick dispatch he made
with the legs and wings of a fowl and a slice of ham, now, assured the
company that he was again restored to his usual health and vigour, and
they congratulated him on his recovery. Mr. Feastlove said it was very
surprising that turbot, which was a fish that he was extravagantly
fond of, should serve him so now, particularly, and that he believed he
should be able to make a tolerable dinner, but he had scarce devoured
two thirds of the ham and fowl he had helped himself to, before he very
gravely laid down his knife and fork, and with a mixture of sorrow and
anger, protested he found the disorder was again coming upon him,—and
in a few minutes the former convulsions of his face returned, which
caused much mirth in the company, though they endeavoured to conceal
it as much as possible.—He was now advised to drink a glass of wine
made hot, which he did, and again seized his knife and fork, and was
dissecting a fowl, but the hot wine, like a bason of water gruel,
aiding the physic that was lodged in the gingerbread, caused such a
ferment within him, that he seemed at a loss to tell which way it would
operate upon him; sometimes it appeared as if he had a fit of the
cholick, and by and by, as if he had taken a vomit, and just as two
fine haunches of venison appeared smoaking before him, he rose from his
chair, and cursing his guts, speeded down stairs.

This third retreat surprized the company much, though they did not
seem to be very sorry, it being observed he could very well afford to
lose what he did. The unhappy eater, of the appetite-creating nuts,
continued Sable, being returned, he again vented his rage against the
gingerbread, swearing nothing else could have affected him so, but
my companion, and the two gentlemen who had likewise eat gingerbread
(though indeed not out of the same pocket) being in good health, it
was determined by the company, that it could not possibly be the
cause.—Mr. Feastlove said he could not tell how it was, but he was
sure he had taken physick that day, and swore it was a strong dose
too;—and again sat down and swore a great oath, he would not leave the
room again till he had fully dined, and though he had been forced from
the turbot, and the ham and fowls, yet nothing should make him leave
the venison, while he had power to force a bit down.—Thus resolved
he fell most voraciously upon the haunches of venison, depriving them
of two full pounds at least, which after heating over a lamp with
currant jelly and other sauce, he began to send down to keep peace in
his _Corporation_, and for a considerable time I concluded the venison
would prevent any farther tumult;—but before one third had been
dispatched to keep the rebellious powers in awe, an alarm was begun,
and the noise of contention was heard again to rumble from within the
globose belly of the afflicted hero, and in a few minutes the noise
encreasing, declared the battle raged with great violence, but true to
the cause, he scorned to be subdued.

A gentleman now recommended a glass of brandy to Mr. Feastlove, which
he approving, he for a minute refrained from eating, and took off
a large glass, and then fell too again, being determined, he said,
to weather the storm, and the horrid faces he frequently made, and
extraordinary motions of his body, declared he was very strongly
summoned to depart the room again;—but soon the brandy, instead of
putting an end to the intestine broil, made it ten times worse,—and
just as he was opening his mouth to receive a small slice of venison,
not larger than a moderate sized mutton chop, the gingerbread proved
victorious, and drove fish, flesh and fowl, with other auxiliaries,
out of the field of battle, and they lay in great disorder, scattered
over the table, and endangered the eyes of the opposite gentlemen; nor
was this all, for during this disaster, another party had forced open
the _Sally-port_, and sought refuge in the breeches of the persevering
hero.—The company now rose in great confusion, and a quantity of snuff
was destroyed; those taking it now who perhaps never took any before.
To conclude this terrible affair, the gingerbread-eater, after being
pretty well recovered from this last unfortunate affair, was sent home
some pounds lighter than he usually came from a feast.

The tragic-comic scene being ended, continued Sable, this worthy
member of Comus’s court, repaired to the rendezvous of the Choice
Spirits, where he was heartily received, and recounting to them his
day’s exploit, set them in a roar of laughter, at the expence of Mr.
Feastlove, who little dreamt, I believe, of taking a dose of physic on
the feast-day of the society, though ’tis probable this Choice Spirit
conferred a benefit on him instead of a punishment; in the morning this
frolicksome spark conducted me to my old lodgings.

I began now, continued Sable, to wish for a little respite, the
pleasing novelty of my situation in Monmouth-street, gradually
subsiding as the succession of my adventures encreased; and my
curiosity abating, in proportion as my excursions became less pleasing.
The desire I had of a little relaxation from business was gratified,
the expedition I had with the _choice spirit_, being the last time I
was called to aid the schemes of any of the sons of invention, who
might have occasion to appear in disguise, or assist the struggles of
the unfortunate in their endeavours to overcome an adverse fate, during
my stay in Monmouth-street, where I remained a considerable time
without any further employment.

During this recess from business continued Sable, I past much time
in contemplating on the various modes of happiness which mankind
sought after, and the different means they pursued to attain their
adopted wishes; the labours of my fellow adventurers in their diurnal
expeditions, which were always communicated to the society together
with my own experience, affording me variety of instances. The power
of reasoning, and of assimilating their ideas, with which men are
indued, to enable them to distinguish the true road to happiness,
I found was of little or no service to them in their pursuit, the
present gratification of the passions and senses, seems to be the chief
consideration and stimulater in all their actions; but when the vigour
of youth begins to relax, and the heat of blood to cool, the passions
and senses necessarily decay, and they then perceive their error, and
lament that they did not in their youth, furnish the storehouse of
wisdom, with useful knowledge, to enable them to pass with satisfaction
and tranquillity, through age and infirmity, and for want of which they
become fretful and peevish, disagreeable to themselves, and to every
one else.

The youthful auditor here thanked the sage adviser, for the lesson
he so gently insinuated, and assured him that he would endeavour to
regulate his conduct agreeably to the dictates of reason, and that his
study should be to acquire a fund of knowledge, so that the faculties
of his mind, might afford him pleasure when his passions and senses
should deny it. The wise narrator replyed, he hoped the alluring bates
of pleasure would not have power to check his resolution, or destroy
those blossoms of virtue whose fruit was happiness.

I next, continued Sable, became the property of a very ingenious
gentleman, who has entertained the town in a variety of characters, but
in none more singular, or more to his emolument, during the time it
lasted, than that in which I had the honour to serve him in, and though
he has never been remarkable for concealing his follies, yet this is
a secret which he has carefully preserved.—To keep you no longer in
suspence, I was purchased by this genius, to countenance him in the
character of a _Fortune-teller_, a scheme which his thorough knowledge
of the town, together with a great variety of anecdotes of a number
of people, which he had treasured up, made him the best qualified to
act of any man in London; and he was a very _Proteus_, in varying his
appearance, for he would be in your company two or three times a day,
if he had occasion, in the same number of characters, without your
being able to discover him.—It was this gentleman, continued Sable,
who removed me from Monmouth-street, to a lodging near Charing-cross,
this being the place he had chose to deliver his oracles from, a spot
which, time out of mind has been remarkable for the residence of all
the extraordinary things and phenomena, which have been deemed worthy
the attention of this metropolis.

Here White, begged to know why that place was so particularly fixt upon
by the industrious providers of strange sights and rarities. Sable
declared it was not in his power to resolve him, with certainty in
that point, but said, that as these itinerant raree-show gentlemen,
dealt in nothing but what is most properly adapted to the meanest
capacity, (as some book-sellers inform the world what they publish is)
so this neighbourhood may be looked upon, by these gentlemen, as the
meridian best calculated for their purpose.

Every thing being settled by this foreteller of events, continued
Sable, advertisements were put in the newspapers, and bills dispersed,
acquainting the nobility and gentry, that a sage Ægyptian, who was
making the tour of Europe, was arrived in London, and that his stay
would be only one month, during which time they might be informed of
any particular they were desirous of knowing, either past, present, or
to come; attendance at —— Charing-cross, every evening, from six to
nine, price five shillings each person.

The first who came to search the register of fate, continued Sable,
were two ladies, one tall and the other short, the tall lady desired
to know, as a specimen of the doctor’s art, (for so he stiled himself)
where she was on such a day, a considerable time past; the doctor
having been informed of the day of her nativity, and looking over
his book told her she was on the day she mentioned, in _Newgate_;
the lady started in great surprise,—and asked how she came to be
there,—the doctor told her, she went to see a _Highwayman_,—the other
lady then asked where she was on that day,—the Doctor, after going
through the ceremony of calculating her nativity, told her she was
also in _Newgate_, with the other lady on the same occasion.—These
answers were thought proof enough of the doctor’s knowledge of things
past,—and the tall lady next desired, he would tell her the most
remarkable place she had been at that day,—to which the doctor, after
making a calculation by some very extraordinary figures with pen and
ink, answered she had been to see the _tall man_,—where she had seen
_something_ that greatly _surprised_ her.—Here the lady blushed,
and said she was now sure he was the Devil; but the doctor declared
he was only a distant relation of the infernal’s.—Well where shall
I go to-morrow, says the lady, why, madam, says the doctor, you have
resolved to pay a visit to the _tall man_ again to-morrow evening
_alone_, but whether you will really keep to your resolution or not,
is more than the arch-fiend himself can tell.—The lady said she must
confess there was more truth than manners in his answers, and that she
should have expected such an answer to have been whispered when there
was a third person in company.—The doctor humbly asked pardon, but
said as the lady her companion was privy to her design, and intended
to visit the _tall man_ herself another time, he did not apprehend any
harm could arise in speaking of it at that time.—Well, Sir, says the
lady, since I find you do know more than I imagined, I hope you are
a man of honour, and at the same time put a guinea into the doctor’s
hand.—The doctor assured the ladies they might rely upon on his
secrecy, and waited upon them down a private pair of stairs which led
into a street that lay behind the house.

The first trial of my genius’s knowledge of the influence of the stars,
continued Sable, succeeded to admiration.—White here desired to
know what book it was the doctor extracted his knowledge from.—Sable
replied, it was a common place book in which his owner entered down
his anecdotes, and which he was every day encreasing, being employed
all day in going from place to place where he could best gain
intelligence—you will, no doubt, wonder, says Sable, how he could
come by the knowledge of the lady’s secret intention, that, adds
Sable, he guessed—which indeed from these ladies known character and
disposition was no difficult matter to do; for he knew who the ladies
were perfectly well, and, I assure you, they were both people of great
distinction.

The next remarkable person, continued Sable, who was desirous of
consulting the stars, was an officer in the guards, who on his entrance
told the doctor he had heard he was acquainted with things _above_
and _below_ stairs.—You understand me—continues he, and so let me
have five shillings worth of information.—From which quarter, Sir,
says the doctor—which quarter, replies the familiar gentleman,—why
faith, adds he, I believe it is from _below stairs_.—The doctor then
desired to know the day of his nativity, and that he would propose his
question,—why you must know, says the gay spark, that I have a d—’d
inclination to lie with the wife of a particular friend of mine, but I
want to know whether it will be attended with any bad consequences.—I
mean, continues he, whether I should be obliged to fight in this case
or not? for though I would not have you think me a coward, yet I should
not chuse to draw my sword upon my friend.—The doctor, after looking
over his book, and making a number of hieroglyphicks as usual, told
him, that though the husband would know his dishonour, yet he might be
assured no bad consequences would ensue to him, for that it would only
_make his friend unhappy during his life_; the son of Mars, continued
Sable, was extremely well satisfyed with this answer, and departed, in
all probability, to confer upon his friend this new mark of his esteem.

A young lady, continued Sable, of a fine figure, next entered, and
after answering the doctor the necessary questions, told him she
wanted to know when she should be married—what sort of a man she
should have—and how many children?—The doctor, after consulting the
book of knowledge, told her, that it would be some time before she
was married—and that she would marry an old baronet, whose title and
estate she would deem a sufficient compensation, for the sacrifice of
her youth and beauty, to age and infirmity;—and that she would have
two daughters by him, both which would be born _within a month_ after
her marriage; and yet, adds he, your virtue will be unblemished.—Sir,
says the lady, this is the most inconsistent piece of intelligence that
I ever heard; I hope you don’t mean to affront me, adds the lady.—The
doctor replied, that what he had related to her, was but the effect
of his art; what is meant he declared was yet beyond his knowledge,
but, pray Sir, says the lady, does your art inform you that I shall
really have two daughters within a month after my marriage, and yet
my virtue be unblemished.—Madam, says the doctor, it is really as I
have related, but I will take some pains to unravel the mystery—upon
which he began to make a number of strange figures, and the result of
his enquiry, he told the lady, was, that she would certainly have two
daughters within the time he had mentioned, the eldest of whom, he
said, would be born very soon after her marriage, and the other within
a month after;—you will be very happy, madam, says he, in the first,
for your husband will spare nothing that his estate, which will not be
very small, can administer for its gratification; nor will you, madam,
set any bounds to your inclinations to support and cherish it.—But you
will not be so happy, says he, in your other daughter, for she will
be of an insatiable disposition, and your husband will do all in his
power to satisfy it, but all his endeavours will only serve to increase
its desires.—The lady declared she could not possibly understand him,
and desired if he could explain himself that he would.—The doctor
answered, what he had told her he was convinced would come to pass,
and that her first daughter’s name would be _Pride_, and the other
_Lust_.—Upon this the lady flew out of the room, saying,—he might
repent this treatment.

A little old gentleman with a white wig and rosy face, next entered
our temple, and addressing himself to the doctor, told him, that
though he had never placed any confidence in oracles, yet the fame
of his great skill in astrology, made him resolve to throw away five
shillings and half an hour, in consulting him in a thing he should be
glad to know.—The doctor told him he would resolve him in the best
manner his art would admit. The old gentleman said, that he had for
many years been saving every thing he could, scarce allowing himself
the necessaries of life, that he might leave a fortune to his son,
sufficient to raise a name; and though he had been stigmatised by many
people, with not having acquired the fortune he had by the fairest
means, yet he believed he had always kept _within_ the _letter_ of the
_law_; but, Sir, continues he, if I live six months longer, I shall be
able to leave my son fifty thousand pounds; therefore, I should be glad
to know what course he will take, and whether he will be much on the
Exchange, as I have been.—The doctor told him, his son would follow
_Newmarket course_, where, says he, he will _exchange_ the greatest
part of his fortune, for the qualities of a jockey, and by the time he
is five and twenty, will _exchange_ his liberty for a prison, where,
continues he, he will _exchange_ this life for another.—The old
gentleman was preparing to remonstrate against the decree of the stars,
but was prevented by the knocking of another visiter at the door,
and he was conducted down the back stairs, complaining all the way of
the partiality of fate in the unjust distribution of his fortune, and
in preventing him from being the _first stone_ in the foundation of a
family.

The violent knocking at the door which occasioned the sudden dismission
of the old gentleman, continued Sable, was the impatience of a lady,
whose dress and appearance bespoke she was of quality; she was a tall
fine figure, and her face exquisitely beautiful; her eyes were full
of levity, and declared the looseness of her soul:—On her entrance
she told the doctor, one of his _shop bills_ had been left at her
house, and that she had heard many people speak of his great knowledge,
which induced her to wait upon him.—The doctor politely acknowledged
the honour she did him, and ushered her to a seat.—Mr. what’s your
name—says this lady, I have been almost frighted to death these two
days, by the loss of a pocket book, which I am afraid has been found by
a certain person, therefore I desire you will tell me where it is, and
how I may recover it.—The doctor, after having calculated the lady’s
nativity, and applied to his book, told her, a servant to a gentleman
she had visited, had found it in his master’s _bed-chamber_, and that
he and several of his companions were at that time sat down to examine
the contents of it.—The lady said she was glad it had not fallen into
the hands of the person she was apprehensive of, but desired to know
if he could tell her whether there was a small book of ivory leaves
in it or not? The doctor told her, he would let her know the whole
contents in a few minutes.—Upon which he began to make a great variety
of incomprehensible figures, and in the conclusion told the lady, in
one of the pockets there was a paper of _carmine_, and several sorts
of powders, in the second, there was a small lock of _flaxen-coloured
hair_ inclosed in a letter, which was dated from the _Temple_, and
contained passionate expressions of the most tender love and eternal
constancy, with an acknowledgement of favours in the most delicate
terms.—The lady told the doctor there was no necessity for his being
very particular, the doctor proceeding said, there was a picture in
miniature of an officer, concealed under a pocket looking-glass, with
several tender billet-doux addressed to Amaryllis, which had been slipt
into her ladyship’s hand; in the same pocket, continues he, there is a
miniature of a certain nobleman which was given to your ladyship upon
your marriage; well, hang the picture and the original too, says the
lady, is the book with the ivory leaves there? I shall inform your
ladyship presently, replies the doctor:—In another pocket, there is
a collection of _curious pictures_ in _India paper_, given to your
ladyship by the gentleman who gave your ladyship the lock of hair, and
artfully concealed in a small almanack book:—Here the lady blushed and
told the doctor, she desired only to know if the book she mentioned was
there.—The doctor begged a moment’s patience;—in a private pocket,
continues he, there is a small viol of red liquor, and in another
private pocket, there is a number of appointments to meet in a wood
in Kensington gardens, and various other places, and a small book of
ivory leaves, containing a short account of the art of intriguing, with
a select number of extraordinary good _excuses_ in case of _suspicion_,
and some excellent _salvos_ for _palpable discoveries_, wrote by your
ladyship’s own hand, and which is the book, I presume, says the doctor,
your ladyship enquired so particularly for.—It is, answered the lady,
and now pray, says she, inform me how I can get it back again.—The
doctor answered, he believed if her ladyship would advertise it with a
handsome reward she might recover it; the lady declared she would give
any thing for it, and putting two guineas into the doctor’s hand, said
she hoped she might rely upon his secrecy; the doctor assured her she
might, and then conducted her to a hackney coach waiting at the door
for her.

The next who came to consult the keeper of the book of knowledge,
continued Sable, was a young lady of a most engaging countenance, her
natural air and the taste of her dress, seemed to vie with each other,
in rendering her an object of love,—if it was possible for envy to
have fixed upon any thing that seemed imperfect, it must have been
rather too much levity, which her eyes expressed. This young lady
having informed the doctor, what he required to know, she told him she
had three lovers, who made their addresses to her; one, she said, was
a gentleman of the law, another was a lieutenant in the army, and the
third a gentleman of no profession, and desired to know which of them
she should have; the doctor having consulted his book, told her she
should marry neither of them; the young lady was a good deal surprized,
and desired if she should have neither of them,—to know who else would
be her lot.—I find, miss, says the doctor, you will have several
offers from tradesmen, whom you will reject; for though you have no
fortune, yet you will adhere to your darling hopes of marrying a
gentleman, but you will be deceived in your expectations. I have always
been told, says the lady, by people of your profession, and that by
more than one, that I should be marryed to a gentleman.—Those who have
told you so, replies the doctor, deceived you; they have injured many
young people, adds he, by flattering the passions of the credulous,
which has influenced the conduct of weak people, and laid the
foundation of their ruin.—Sir, says the lady, I believe it is a maxim
amongst _Fortune-tellers_, to speak ill of every one in the profession
besides themselves, but Sir, adds she, you have not told me who I am
to marry.—It is out of my power, madam, says the doctor, for though I
can frequently see you a _Votress_ at the _altar of Love_, yet I cannot
find that you will ever enter the _Hymeneal Temple_.—I must confess,
says the lady, you are the most discouraging foreteller of events
that I ever met with, and I have had my fortune told me by _Cards_,
_Coffee-grounds_, by inspecting the _lines_ of my _hand_, and by the
_Man in the Old Bailey_, and have always been told that I should marry
a _handsome black gentleman_, nay, how many children I should have, and
that I should be very prosperous, and end my days in a _large handsome
house_. My art deceives me greatly, replies the doctor, if there is
any truth in any of these things, except indeed, that you will end your
days in a large handsome house. What, you do agree with him in that!
says the lady, I should be vastly glad if you can tell me whereabout it
is situated; the doctor, after having taken some time in ascertaining
the Geography, told her, he could not tell her any other way, than by
sketching out the appearance of it; and in a few minutes told her, if
she would look upon a paper he shewed her, she might probably know
it;—the young lady was very eager to behold the plan of the mansion
that she was to conclude her life in, and perusing it attentively, I
saw her cheeks glow with indignation, and throwing the paper down, left
the room, pronouncing as she went—an _Hospital_ indeed!

The first appearance of this young lady, says Sable, revived in me
the sensations of my youth, and I must confess my heart was greatly
interested in her fate; but the information of the doctor filled me
with great anxiety, though I hope his presages will prove his knowledge
not infallible.

A lady far declined in the vale of years, next entered to consult the
stars: The fame of your great knowledge in the mysteries of fate,
says this antiquated lady, hath made me resolve to wait upon you in
an affair that concerns me very nearly: The doctor assured her, that
as far as his knowledge extended, he would answer any thing she was
desirous of knowing: Sir, says the lady, I have a fortune of twenty
thousand pounds, and am yet a virgin; but, adds she, I have thoroughly
considered the design and end of marriage, and am now convinced that
it is an institution calculated for the mutual benefit of both sexes.
The scripture too, continues she, instructs us to associate together
for the procreation of our species, and therefore I am now resolved
to comply with the dictates of the divine law and the _call of
nature_—(I must confess, says Sable, I was a good deal surprized to
hear a woman, who seemed to be not far distant from what is called the
grand climacterick of her age, talk of the procreation of her species
in this manner, and of her resolution to follow the call of nature)
Your sentiments, madam, says the doctor, are certainly right, and I
have chosen, says this wrinkled old lady _a proper young Gentleman_
to partake of conjugal felicity with me, and by whom I may fulfil the
divine command: Undoubtedly, madam, says the doctor, a young man is
more proper for such cases than a man of your own years: I think so
indeed, Sir, says the lady, though I believe I should have children
by almost any man; for I am of a very _fruitful_ family, nor am
I, continued she, so old as perhaps you may imagine me;—but, Sir,
says she, my business with you, is to know whether I shall receive any
ill treatment from him, how many children I shall have, and whether
my _intentions_ will be _thoroughly answered_ by marrying this young
gentleman, for I am resolved upon that, and the marriage writings are
bespoke. Madam, says the doctor, I will resolve you presently; upon
which he turned to his book, and after casting the necessary figures
for information, told the lady, she might depend upon receiving no
_male-treatment_ from her intended spouse: that all her _reasonable_
expectations would be answered, such as having the credit of one of the
handsomest men in town for her husband, keep what company she pleased,
go where she pleased; and in short, do what she pleased, as she did
before marriage, for that her husband would never trouble her about any
thing:—But, Sir, says the lady, you don’t speak of the other comforts
I should expect, and which was my chief design in marriage.—All the
other comforts of marriage, Madam, says the doctor; you will receive
by _Proxy_.—_Proxy_, Sir! says the lady, what do you mean? Why,
madam, replies the doctor, you will enjoy your husband’s company, at
bed and board by _Proxy_, bear children by _Proxy_: Don’t tell me,
Sir, interrupted this ancient virgin, of bearing children by _Proxy_,
I look upon myself as capable of bearing Children as any young girl
whatever, and assure you, Sir, I shall not desire any one to bear them
for me, and so, Sir, your servant, and immediately hobbled down stairs
repeating frequently as she went, the word _Proxy_.

And now, my son, continues Sable, to his gay companion, I believe
I have related to you all the occurrences, that are worthy your
attention, during my stay with this fortune-teller; were I to give
you a detail of every particular person’s desire, whose simplicity
or curiosity brought them to our nocturnal temple, it would take
up more time than I fear I have to continue with you, nor would it
be either entertaining or instructive to you, but rather the vast
numbers of people, of all ranks, who came to enquire how far they and
their trivial concerns were the peculiar care of the stars, would
create in you a mean opinion of the wisdom of the inhabitants of this
town.—The truth is, continued Sable, the particular disposition of the
people of this metropolis, to credit the most absurd and impossible
performances, when undertaken by _Foreigners_, is one of their
chief characteristicks; and the preference and encouragement given
to Foreigners of all denominations, who come here, as to the Land of
Promise, to seek their fortunes, enables them to return and purchase
estates in their own country, whose produce is equal to the revenue of
many Princes; and I have heard it said, that there is at this day, a
most superb and magnificent house, or rather palace, in Italy, which
was built by a famous eunuch, who resided here some time; on which
he has wrote on several conspicuous places, _ENGLISH_ FOLLY.—You
will naturally ask, says Sable, what the excellence of these strollers
consists in;—in an exceeding acute taste, continues he, in the choice
of the most debilitating pleasures, that can render the mind mean and
contemptible; and as there are always people who make a business of
pleasure, these panders are at hand, ready to administer to them, the
fruits of their knowledge; so that, continues Sable, those who for half
a score of years, have been under tutors, beginning to restrain the
power of their passions, are in a few months deprived of the benefits
they have paid so dearly for, both in time and money; and by listening
to these purveyors of pleasure, give themselves up to every ignoble
gratification, that can debase the mind, or corrupt their sentiments.

Sable having indulged himself in exposing the ill consequences that
result from the extraordinary encouragement Foreigners receive to
export themselves among us, thus continued his narration.

The retailer of the events of fortune, resumed Sable, having exhausted
all his stock of knowledge, and the limited time of his continuance in
this metropolis being expired, he disposed of the utensils belonging to
his profession, such as a beard of a most reverend length, a pair of
globes, magic wand, &c. &c. &c. to the manager of a strolling company,
to equip serjeant Kite for an Ægyptian astrologer; but I was disposed
of to an old cloaths-man, the manager refusing me, saying he had
already in his wardrobe, a Black Coat for an _Undertaker_, _Apothecary_
or _Parson_.

The dealer in left-off cloaths, resumed Sable, having deposited the
consideration which was exchanged for me, shifted me into his green
bag, and marched with me again to my old neighbourhood of St. Giles;
where I was no sooner arrived, than I began to experience the torment
of the brushes, and remained twenty-four hours, stretched upon the
rack, and then was delivered over to a botcher, to repair the fractured
fibres which the press had forced asunder. My old preservative the
nap, having like a faithless friend, abandoned me, when I stood
most in need of assistance. My owner having thus furbished me up,
I was conducted into the shop, and hung among the _better sort_ of
_second-hand gentlemen_.

The third day, continued Sable, I was summoned into the parlour, and
was ordered to be tried upon a middle-aged gentleman, and met with his
approbation; so leaving his former attendant, which was in a very bad
condition, and paying a small fee more to the salesman, he conducted me
to a street, near Red-Lion-Square, where he ascended into a garret.
It being evening, continued Sable, I had not an opportunity of forming
any judgment of the profession of my new owner, though I imagined
he was either a great œconomist, or that poverty and he were joint
tenants of the apartment; for upon the candle’s going out (which from
a seeming affection to my unknown master, had long laboured to support
life) he retired to rest, though very early in the evening;—as soon
as day-light would permit me, continued Sable, I began to take an
inventory of the furniture; which I found consisted of an old miserable
bed and bedstead, with a coverlet and an old blue curtain, which
was fixed to the side of the bedstead; adjoining to the casement,
a whitewashed wall served to keep the wind from intruding upon the
privacy of the reposed gentleman on the other side, and also to receive
that which some people of a phlegmatick constitution, carry with them
in their pockets. A table next presented itself, which seemed to lament
the loss of a flap, that either time, or something else, had amputated
from it, and which was laid across a chair, the cane-bottom having
given way; two other maimed chairs supported themselves by leaning
against the wall, one of which sustained me; the next were two deal
boxes, which occupied a fourth part of the room, one of which wanting a
lid disclosed a confused heap of papers, amongst which I saw the cover
of a letter directed to Mr. Stanza; and lastly a shelf that ran the
length of the room, on which lay one black pudding.

From the letter and papers in the box, continued Sable, I concluded, I
was now the property of an author. Early in the morning, Mr. _Stanza_
(that being my owner’s name) got up, and taking down the blue curtain,
wrapt it about him, tying it round with a garter; so that it made a
tolerable good morning gown, wanting nothing but sleeves, and sitting
down to the table, he put the finishing stroke to the poem, and then
read it over with great satisfaction. He next prepared to equip himself
to go out, which took up the best part of two hours; (including the
cleaning of his shoes,) and performing some very dexterous operations
on his stockings) however, at length, he was drest, and carefully
folding up his poem put it into his pocket, and after reconnoitring
the street door through the casement, sallied forth. Near Gray’s-Inn,
in Holborn, two men stept up to him, and one of them whispering him
in the ear, informed him of a piece of news, that I found by his
“rueful length of face” was rather disagreeable to him, and these two
gentlemen conducting him to a house in Gray’s-Inn-Lane, I found the
bard was under an arrest, though I did not imagine a poet was within
the jurisdiction of any court, but the court of criticism, or that he
was liable to answer any plaint but what arose within the province of
_Parnassus_. However Mr. Stanza was left by his two companions under
lock and key; but as he soon began to recover his spirits, I imagined
he intended to remove the plaint, and have his cause tried before
_Apollo_, but he was the next day, for want of bail, removed to the
_Fleet-Prison_.

This prison, continued Sable, tho’ it is said to be the best in the
kingdom, is a most shocking place, the generality of the inhabitants
being those who have brought themselves here, either by idleness or
extravagance, and very few of those bring in with them any principle
of honesty or sense of shame, or if they do, they generally get rid of
such troublesome companions in a very short time; most of them divert
reflection by amusement, or drown it by debauchery, which weakens the
mind to such a degree, that they scarce ever after are capable of
reflection, as some colds take away the voice, which is never to be
recovered again; those who are forced thither by misfortunes, find it
difficult to maintain their principles; so naturally and imperceptibly
do we imbibe the sentiments and manners of those with whom we are
accustomed to converse.

One day being at the billiard table, which is permitted to be set up
here for the recreation of _Gentlemen_, I recognized the person of my
ingenious companion the sharper, who it seems, had been excelled in
his own way, and outwitted by a bailiff; I must confess, says Sable,
if it should have happened, that I should ever have had occasion to
have enquired for this genius, I should have applied to this place, if
I had not found him in the _printed Register of Deaths_ published by
the _Ordinary of Newgate_: And it is more than probable the latter will
be yet honoured with his name.—But to return to my fellow prisoner
Mr. Stanza, who had, I learned, been in his youth a man of gaiety, and
had with great facility run through a pretty fortune, and afterwards
run through the several characters of gamester, fortunehunter, and
sharper, but with very indifferent success, and had now taken up
the _lucrative_ calling of a poet. The bard, continued Sable, whose
happy disposition was superior to fate, in two or three days, began
to be reconciled to his situation, and applied very closely to his
profession, consuming much ink and paper; and in three months, that I
continued with him there, he had written three acts of a tragedy, two
acts of a comedy, almost finished a dramatic pastoral entertainment,
and drawn many characters for farces, besides several poetical
essays, which from the want of taste in the publishers, had been
rejected and lay dead upon his hands; but the publick will have the
pleasure of perusing them in his works, which he intends to publish by
subscription, having already written thirty pages of a preface: add
to these, continued Sable, he was an excellent _Handycraftsman_, and
three times a week, furnished the carpenters and joiners of a certain
periodical work with _easy chairs, wooden spoons, &c. &c. &c._[A]
the materials for which, he pilfered from the storehouses of several
eminent Parnassian merchants, and sold as _new cut_ from the _Forest
of Parnassus_, daubing it over by way of disguise, with a nasty
composition of his own making.—You will think, continued Sable, from
what I have related to you concerning Mr. Stanza, that he was a man of
great erudition and genius, as well as industry and perseverance. It
must be confessed, says Sable, that if he could not boast so much of
the former, as some authors, it is certain that he excelled most of
them in the latter, so that what was deficient in quality, was amply
made up by the quantity; and though it might be alledged against him,
that his labours did not any way contribute to the improvement of his
readers; yet, should he be arraigned by some ill-natured critick,
for not having answered the intention of his profession, he might,
with great propriety, plead his _head_, as women at the Old Bailey,
sometimes in arrest of judgment plead their _belly_; and if the court
should direct a jury of criticks to enquire, if he had neither _wit_ or
_learning_, they would, if it was an impartial jury, certainly return
_non est inventus_, and consequently, he would be discharged.

During my abode, continued Sable, with Mr. Stanza in this repository
of vice and folly, the bard had contracted an acquaintance with a
certain quack, who from the length of time he had been here, and
the visible decay of his drapery, was become worthy observation, as
ancient coins become valuable by rust and antiquity. The bills of
mortality too had long mourned his absence, the number of deaths being
sensibly diminished during the doctor’s seclusion from the world.
This gentleman, continued Sable, had tried many schemes to regain
his liberty, but hitherto without effect: at length he fell upon an
expedient, that indeed promised no better success than any of the
former; but the doctor being of a disposition not easily discouraged
by difficulty, he resolved to put the trial of it into execution;
accordingly, he drew up an advertisement, _addressed to unmarried_
ladies, which he put in one of the daily newspapers, setting forth,
that a single gentleman of a good family, was confined in the Fleet
for an inconsiderable sum, and that if any lady who had a fortune
sufficient to enable her to live genteelly, with the addition of the
advertiser’s practice in his profession, was willing to accept of a
husband, who would make it his study to evince his gratitude, he was
willing to _change his state_, and might be spoke with by any lady at
the lodge of the Fleet-Prison.—This scheme was looked upon (should
it prove successful) by some people, as exchanging a temporary
confinement for a perpetual slavery;—but the doctor was one of those,
who were certain that locks and bolts were more difficult to burst
asunder than the bonds of matrimony, and indeed, in the doctor’s
opinion, there was no tie, either divine or human, that was half so
binding as that which was made of iron: he likewise knew that his
profession would enable him at any time, to get rid of a disagreeable
wife, as well as a troublesome patient. The doctor, as I hinted before,
continued Sable, had received much damage in his wardrobe, and now
constantly made his appearance in a long morning gown, which served
instead of coat and waistcoat, and some people scrupled not to say,
for breeches too; but that I had some reason to believe was not true;
for, in order to aid the son of Æsculapius in his matrimonial scheme,
Mr. Stanza, at the doctor’s request, consigned me over to him, in lieu
of the morning gown, that the doctor might be able to receive any
ladies who might apply to him, in conference of the advertisement,
and I luckily fitted the doctor extremely well.—The second day after
advertising, the doctor was called down to the lodge, and immediately
obeying the summons: he was introduced to two young ladies, who I
soon recollected to be the same who sat in the box with me at the
play-house, when the sharper so ingeniously carried off the old
gentleman’s rocqueleau; these ladies diverted themselves for some time
at the expence of the doctor, and then left him, not a little chagrined
at the first disappointment; however, he was in the dusk of the evening
again summoned to the lodge, where he found an old lady waiting for
him, whom he politely addressed: The compact shoulders and promising
legs of the doctor, continued Sable, drew a more than ordinary
attention from this ancient lady, and influenced her so much in his
favour, that in a very short time the match was concluded, and every
thing was settled for the doctor’s departure the succeeding morning,
for which purpose the lady gave him a bank note; and left him overjoyed
with his good fortune. The doctor immediately went to Mr. Stanza,
acquainted him with his success, and begged the bard would let him keep
me, and set his own price upon me.—This matter was soon settled, and
I remained with the doctor, who generously made a present of the gown
to Mr. Stanza. In the morning, continued Sable, the lady came to her
appointment; and the doctor after having taken leave of his fellow
prisoners, handed the lady into a hackney coach, and immediately
drove to the temple of Hymen, and from thence they went a few miles
out of town to celebrate the nuptials, and in the evening came to the
lady’s house in Southwark, where the marriage, was consummated. The
facility with which this marriage was conducted, continued Sable,
did not, however, outstrip the eager wishes of the parties to have
it concluded; the lady was perhaps stimulated by charity, and could
not sleep, till she had released a man of the doctor’s figure from
misery; and the doctor, I suppose, was no less uneasy, till he had
once more an opportunity of circulating his medicines, to the great
emolument of his good friends the _Undertakers_; whose trade had
languished very much during his long confinement. The next morning,
continued Sable, the doctor determined to shew himself amongst his
brethren of the faculty, and accordingly conducted me to St. Thomas’s
Hospital: here he was congratulated by his acquaintance upon recovering
his liberty, which the doctor received with an extraordinary good
countenance. During our stay in the womens ward at the hospital,
continued Sable, I recollected, amongst the unhappy creatures, the
features of the daughter of Mr. Sirloin, who was so well recovered
from a _Salivation_, as to convince me by her behaviour, that she was
an abandoned prostitute: I was struck with surprize and pity, continued
Sable, to see what a wretched condition she was reduced to, and my
censure was involuntarily fixed upon the ill conduct of her parents,
but chiefly, upon her mother’s ill-placed pride and silly expectations,
_that something might happen_: a vain hope, says Sable, frequently
indulged by weak people, and indeed what has happened to this young
woman, is too often the consequence of encouraging pride and folly in
those who have nothing to support it. The doctor, continued Sable
having perambulated through all the hospitals the morning would admit,
returned home to his spouse, and in the afternoon, made his appearance,
at all the coffee houses within the circle of his knowledge. The
next morning, continued Sable, the taylor brought home a new suit of
cloaths, upon which I was deposited in the wardrobe. And now, my son,
says Sable, to his youthful companion, I think, I have performed.—Here
Sable, was unluckily prevented from concluding his adventures by the
entrance of a person, who took away White, the companion and auditor
of the sage narrator; but ’tis _presumed_, he had only a few words
more to have entirely ended; and as truth has presided over our pen,
throughout the relation of these uncommon adventures, we are not at
liberty to set down words that were really never uttered; therefore we
chose to leave Sable’s last sentence broken, rather than put down any
thing we have not authority for, as some historians do. And now, gentle
reader, we take our leave of thee, hoping thou hast received as much
pleasure in the perusal of this delectable history, as the relation of
it from the sage’s mouth afforded us.

=Footnote.= [A] Vide titles to several _wooden_ pieces, inserted in
Lloyd’s papers.


FINIS.


Transcriber’s Notes.

 1. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

 2. The original book was printed using the ‘long s’. This edition
    uses the modern ‘short s’.