CHAPTER LXIX.
Ah! Sir, had I but bestowed half the pains in learning a trade, that Ihave in learning to be a scoundrel, I might have been a rich man at thisday; but, rogue as I am, still I may be your friend, and that, perhaps,when you least expect it.--Vicar of Wakefield.
What with the anxiety and uncertainty of my political prospects, thecontinued dissipation in which I lived, and, above all, the unpropitiousstate of my belle passion, my health gave way; my appetite forsookme--my sleep failed me--a wrinkle settled itself under my left eye, andmy mother declared, that I should have no chance with an heiress: allthese circumstances together, were not without their weight. So I setout one morning to Hampton Court, (with a volume of Bishop Berkely, anda bottle of wrinkle water,) for the benefit of the country air.
It is by no means an unpleasant thing to turn one's back upon thegreat city, in the height of its festivities. Misanthropy is a charmingfeeling for a short time, and one inhales the country, and animadvertson the town, with the most melancholy satisfaction in the world. I satmyself down at a pretty little cottage, a mile out of the town. From thewindow of my drawing-room I revelled in the luxurious contemplation ofthree pigs, one cow, and a straw-yard; and I could get to the Thamesin a walk of five minutes, by a short cut through a lime-kiln. Suchpleasing opportunities of enjoying the beauties of nature, are not oftento be met with: you may be sure, therefore, that I made the most ofthem. I rose early, walked before breakfast, pour ma sante, and cameback with a most satisfactory head-ache, pour mes peines. I readfor just three hours, walked for two more, thought over Abernethy,dyspepsia, and blue pills, till dinner; and absolutely forgot LordDawton, ambition, Guloseton, epicurism--aye, all but--of course, reader,you know whom I am about to except--the ladye of my love.
One bright, laughing day, I threw down my book an hour sooner thanusual, and sallied out with a lightness of foot and exhilaration ofspirit, to which I had long been a stranger. I had just sprung over astile that led into one of those green shady lanes, which make us feelthe old poets who loved, and lived for, Nature, were right in callingour island "the merry England"--when I was startled by a short, quickbark, on one side of the hedge. I turned sharply round; and, seated uponthe sward, was a man, apparently of the pedlar profession; a largedeal box was lying open before him; a few articles of linen, and femaledress, were scattered round, and the man himself appeared earnestlyoccupied in examining the deeper recesses of his itinerant warehouse. Asmall black terrier flew towards me with no friendly growl. "Down," saidI: "all strangers are not foes, though the English generally think so."
The man hastily looked up; perhaps he was struck with the quaintness ofmy remonstrance to his canine companion; for, touching his hat, civilly,he said--"The dog, Sir, is very quiet; he only means to give me thealarm by giving it to you; for dogs seem to have no despicable insightinto human nature, and know well that the best of us may be taken bysurprise."
"You are a moralist," said I, not a little astonished in my turn by suchan address from such a person. "I could not have expected to stumbleupon a philosopher so easily. Have you any wares in your box likely tosuit me? if so, I should like to purchase of so moralizing a vendor?"
"No, Sir," said the seeming pedlar, smiling, and yet at the same timehurrying his goods into his box, and carefully turning the key--"no,Sir, I am only a bearer of other men's goods; my morals are all that Ican call my own, and those I will sell you at your own price."
"You are candid, my friend," said I, "and your frankness, alone, wouldbe inestimable in this age of deceit, and country of hypocrisy."
"Ah, Sir!" said my new acquaintance, "I see already that you are one ofthose persons who look to the dark side of things; for my part, I thinkthe present age the best that ever existed, and our own country the mostvirtuous in Europe."
"I congratulate you, Mr. Optimist, on your opinions," quoth I, "but yourobservation leads me to suppose, that you are both an historian and atraveller: am I right?"
"Why," answered the box-bearer, "I have dabbled a little in books, andwandered not a little among men. I am just returned from Germany, and amnow going to my friends in London. I am charged with this box of goods;God send me the luck to deliver it safe."
"Amen," said I; "and with that prayer and this trifle, I wish you a goodmorning."
"Thank you a thousand times, Sir, for both," replied the man--"but doadd to your favours by informing me of the right road to the town of--
"I am going in that direction myself; if you choose to accompany me partof the way, I can ensure your not missing the rest."
"Your honour is too good!" returned he of the box, rising, and slinginghis fardel across him--"it is but seldom that a gentleman of your rankwill condescend to walk three paces with one of mine. You smile, Sir;perhaps you think I should not class myself among gentlemen; and yetI have as good a right to the name as most of the set. I belong tono trade--I follow no calling: I rove where I list, and rest where Iplease: in short, I know no occupation but my indolence, and no law butmy will. Now, Sir, may I not call myself a gentleman?"
"Of a surety!" quoth I; "you seem to me to hold a middle rank between ahalf-pay captain and the king of the gipsies."
"You have hit it, Sir," rejoined my companion, with a slight laugh. Hewas now by my side, and as we walked on, I had leisure more minutely toexamine him. He was a middle-sized, and rather athletic man, apparentlyabout the age of thirty-eight. He was attired in a dark blue frock coat,which was neither shabby nor new, but ill made, and much too largeand long for its present possessor; beneath this was a faded velvetwaistcoat, that had formerly, like the Persian ambassador's tunic,"blushed with crimson, and blazed with gold;" but which might now havebeen advantageously exchanged in Monmouth-street for the lawful sumof two shillings and nine-pence; under this was an inner vest of thecashmere shawl pattern, which seemed much too new for the rest of thedress. Though his shirt was of a very unwashed hue, I remarked, withsome suspicion, that it was of a very respectable fineness; and a pin,which might be paste, or could be diamond, peeped below a tattered anddingy black kid stock, like a gipsey's eye beneath her hair.
His trowsers were of a light grey, and Providence, or the tailor,avenged itself upon them, for the prodigal length bestowed upon theirill-sorted companion, the coat; for they were much too tight for themuscular limbs they concealed, and rising far above the ankle, exhibitedthe whole of a thick Wellington boot, which was the very picture ofItaly upon the map.
The face of the man was common-place and ordinary; one sees a hundredsuch, every day, in Fleet-street or the 'Change; the features weresmall, irregular, and somewhat flat: yet, when you looked twice upon thecountenance, there was something marked and singular in the expression,which fully atoned for the commonness of the features. The righteye turned away from the left, in that watchful squint which seemsconstructed on the same considerate plan as those Irish guns, madefor shooting round a corner; his eye-brows were large and shaggy, andgreatly resembled bramble bushes, in which his fox-like eyes had takenrefuge. Round these vulpine retreats were a labyrinthean maze ofthose wrinkles, vulgarly called crow's-feet;--deep, intricate, andintersected, they seemed for all the world like the web of a chancerysuit. Singular enough, the rest of the countenance was perfectly smoothand unindented; even the lines from the nostril to the corners of themouth, usually so deeply traced in men of his age, were scarcely moreapparent than in a boy of eighteen.
His smile was frank--his voice clear and hearty--his address open,and much superior to his apparent rank of life, claiming somewhat ofequality, yet conceding a great deal of respect; but, notwithstandingall these certainly favourable points, there was a sly and cunningexpression in his perverse and vigilant eye and all the wrinkleddemesnes in its vicinity, that made me mistrust even while I liked mycompanion; perhaps, indeed, he was too frank, too familiar, too degage,to be quite natural. Your honest men soon buy reserve by experience.Rogues are communicative and open, because confidence and openness costthem nothing. To finish the des
cription of my new acquaintance, I shouldobserve, that there was something in his countenance, which struck meas not wholly unfamiliar; it was one of those which we have not, in allhuman probability, seen before, and yet, which (perhaps from their verycommonness) we imagine we have encountered a hundred times.
We walked on briskly, notwithstanding the warmth of the day; in fact,the air was so pure, the grass so green, the laughing noonday so fullof the hum, the motion, and the life of creation, that the sensationproduced was rather that of freshness and invigoration, than of languorand heat.
"We have a beautiful country, Sir," said my hero of the box. "It is likewalking through a garden, after the more sterile and sullen features ofthe Continent--a pure mind, Sir, loves the country; for my part, I amalways disposed to burst out in thanksgiving to Providence when I beholdits works, and, like the vallies in the psalm, I am ready to laugh andsing."
"An enthusiast," said I, "as well as a philosopher!--perhaps (and Ibelieved it likely), I have the honour of addressing a poet also."
"Why, Sir," replied the man, "I have made verses in my life; in short,there is little I have not done, for I was always a lover of variety;but, perhaps, your honour will let me return the suspicion, Are you nota favourite of the muse?"
"I cannot say that I am," said I. "I value myself only on my commonsense--the very antipodes to genius, you know, according to the orthodoxbelief."
"Common sense!" repeated my companion, with a singular and meaningsmile, and a twinkle with his left eye. "Common sense. Ah, that is notmy forte, Sir. You, I dare say, are one of those gentlemen whom it isvery difficult to take in, either passively or actively, by appearance,or in act? For my part, I have been a dupe all my life--a child mightcheat me! I am the most unsuspicious person in the world."
"Too candid by half," thought I; "the man is certainly a rascal; butwhat's that to me? I shall never see him again;" and true to my loveof never losing an opportunity of ascertaining individual character, Iobserved, that I thought such an acquaintance very valuable, especiallyif he were in trade; it was a pity, therefore, for my sake, that mycompanion had informed me that he followed no calling.
"Why, Sir," said he, "I am occasionally in employment; my nominalprofession is that of a broker. I buy shawls and handkerchiefs of poorcountesses, and retail them to rich plebeians. I fit up new marriedcouples with linen, at a more moderate rate than the shops, and procurethe bridegroom his present of jewels, at forty per cent. less than thejewellers; nay, I am as friendly to an intrigue as a marriage; and whenI cannot sell my jewels, I will my good offices, A gentleman so handsomeas your honour, may have an affair upon your hands: if so, you mayrely upon my secrecy and zeal. In short, I am an innocent, good-naturedfellow, who does harm to no one for nothing, and good to every one forsomething."
"I admire your code," quoth I, "and whenever I want a mediator betweenVenus and myself, will employ you. Have you always followed your presentidle profession, or were you brought up to any other?"
"I was intended for a silversmith," answered my friend; "but Providencewilled it otherwise; they taught me from childhood to repeat the Lord'sprayer; Heaven heard me, and delivered me from temptation--there is,indeed, something terribly seducing in the face of a silver spoon!"
"Well," said I, "you are the honestest knave I ever met, and one wouldtrust you with one's purse for the ingenuousness with which you own youwould steal it. Pray, think you it is probable that I have ever had thehappiness to meet you before? I cannot help fancying so--yet as I havenever been in the watch-house, or the Old Bailey, my reason tells methat I must be mistaken."
"Not at all, Sir," returned my worthy; "I remember you well, for Inever saw a face like yours that I did not remember. I had the honourof sipping some British liquors, in the same room with yourself oneevening; you were then in company with my friend Mr. Gordon."
"Ha!" said I, "I thank ye for the hint; I now remember well, by the sametoken, that he told me you were the most ingenious gentleman inEngland; and that you had a happy propensity of mistaking other people'spossessions for your own; I congratulate myself upon so desirable anacquaintance." [Note: See Vol. II, p. 127.]
My friend, who was indeed no other than Mr. Job Jonson, smiled withhis usual blandness, and made me a low bow of acknowledgment before heresumed:
"No doubt, Sir, Mr. Gordon informed you right. I flatter myself fewgentlemen understand better than myself, the art of appropriation;though I say it who should not say it, I deserve the reputation I haveacquired. Sir, I have always had ill fortune to struggle against, andhave always remedied it by two virtues--perseverance and ingenuity.To give you an idea of my ill fortune, know that I have been takenup twenty-three times, on suspicion; of my perseverance, know thattwenty-three times I have been taken up justly; and of my ingenuity,know that I have been twenty-three times let off, because there was nota tittle of legal evidence against me."
"I venerate your talents, Mr. Jonson," replied I, "if by the name ofJonson it pleaseth you to be called, although, like the heathen deities,I presume that you have many other titles, whereof some are moregrateful to your ears than others."
"Nay," answered the man of two virtues--"I am never ashamed of myname; indeed, I have never done any thing to disgrace me. I have neverindulged in low company, nor profligate debauchery: whatever Ihave executed by way of profession, has been done in a superior andartistlike manner; not in the rude, bungling way of other adventurers.Moreover, I have always had a taste for polite literature, and wentonce as apprentice to a publishing bookseller, for the sole purposeof reading the new works before they came out. In fine, I have neverneglected any opportunity of improving my mind; and the worst that canbe said against me is, that I have remembered my catechism, and takenall possible pains 'to learn and labour truly, to get my living, anddo my duty in that state of life, to which it has pleased Providence tocall me.'"
"I have often heard," answered I, "that there is honour among thieves; Iam happy to learn from you, that there is also religion: your baptismalsponsors must be proud of so diligent a godson."
"They ought to be, Sir," replied Mr. Jonson, "for I gave them the firstspecimens of my address; the story is long, but if you ever give me anopportunity, I will relate it."
"Thank you," said I; "meanwhile I must wish you good morning: yourroad now lies to the right. I return you my best thanks for yourcondescension, in accompanying so undistinguished an individual asmyself."
"Oh, never mention it, your honour," rejoined Mr. Jonson; "I am alwaystoo happy to walk with a gentleman of your 'common sense.' Farewell,Sir; may we meet again."
So saying, Mr. Jonson struck into his new road, and we parted. [Note: Ifany one should think this sketch from nature exaggerated, I refer him tothe "Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux."]
I went home, musing on my adventure, and delighted with my adventurer.When I was about three paces from the door of my home, I was accosted,in a most pitiful tone, by a poor old beggar, apparently in the lastextreme of misery and disease. Notwithstanding my political economy, Iwas moved into alms-giving, by a spectacle so wretched. I put my handinto my pocket, my purse was gone; and, on searching the other, lo--myhandkerchief, my pocket-book, and a gold bracelet, which had belonged toMadame D'Anville, had vanished too.
One does not keep company with men of two virtues, and receivecompliments upon one's common sense for nothing!
The beggar still continued to importune me. "Give him some food and halfa crown," said I, to my landlady. Two hours afterwards, she came up tome--"Oh, Sir! my silver tea-pot--that villain, the beggar!"
A light flashed upon me--"Ah, Mr. Job Jonson! Mr. Job Jonson!" cried I,in an indescribable rage; "out of my sight, woman! out of my sight!"I stopped short; my speech failed me. Never tell me that shame is thecompanion of guilt--the sinful knave is never so ashamed of himself asis the innocent fool who suffers by him.
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