CHAPTER X.
HOW THE DOCTOR WAS AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS.
If it be true (which doubtless will be denied by no one) that women arefond of changing their fashions and of pranking themselves continuallyin some new finery, it is certainly no less true that men--I mean youngones--are for ever changing their follies as well as their fashions.The follies of old men--who ought to be grave, in contemplation of thenext world--seem to remain the same: some of them practise gluttony:some love the bottle: some of them the green table: some, even morefoolish, pretend to renew their youth and counterfeit a passion for oursex. As for the fashions of the young men, one year it is the cockingof a hat, the next it is the colour of a waistcoat, the cut of a skirt,the dressing of a wig; the ribbon behind must be lengthened or reduced,the foretop must stick up like a horn one year and lie flat the next,the curls must be amplified till a man looks like a monstrous ram, orreduced till he resembles a monkey who has been shaved; the sword musthave hilt and scabbard of the fashionable shape which changes everyyear; it must be worn at a certain angle; the rule about the breadth ofthe ruffle or the length of the skirt must be observed. So that, evenas regards their fashions, the men are even with the women. Where wecannot vie with them is in the fashion of their amusements, in whichthey change for ever, and more rapidly than we change the colour of aribbon. One season Ranelagh is the vogue, the next Vauxhall; the menwere, for a year or two, bitten by that strange madness of scouringthe streets by night, upsetting constables, throwing pence againstwindow-panes, chasing belated and peaceful passengers, shouting andbellowing, waking from sleep timid and helpless women and children.Could one devise a braver and more noble amusement? Another time therewas the mischievous practice of man-hunting. It was thought the workof a fine fellow, a lad of spirit, to lie hidden, with other lads ofspirit, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, or some such quiet place, behind thebushes, until there might pass by some unfortunate wretch, alone andunprotected. Then would they spring to their feet, shouting, "That'she! that's he! after him, boys!" and pursue the poor man through thestreets with drawn swords and horrid cries, until, half dead, herushed into some tavern or place of refuge. As for actors, singers,or dancers, they take them up for a season, and then abandon them forno merit or fault in them whatever; one day they are all for Church,and the next they applaud Orator Henley; one day they shout for NancyDawson, and the next for Garrick; one day they are Whig, and the nextTory; one year they brandish thick clubs, wear heavy greatcoats withtriple capes, swear, drink porter, and go like common coachmen; thenext, with amber canes, scented gloves, lace ruffles, flowered silkwaistcoats, skirts, extended like a woman's hooped petticoat, theyamble along as if the common air was too coarse for them, mince theirwords, are shocked at coarse language, and can drink nothing less finethan Rhenish or Champagne, though the latter be seven shillings andsixpence a flask; and as for their walk, they go on tip-toe like acity madam trying to look like a gentlewoman. The next year, again,they are all for Hockley-in-the-Hole and bear-baiting. This year, thefashion was for a short space, and among such as could get taken there,to spend the evenings in the Rules of the Fleet, where, the bloods ofthe town had discovered, was to be found excellent company for such asliked to pay for it, among those who had been spent and ruined in theservice of fashion, gaming, and gallantry.
There are plenty of taverns and houses of call in London where agentleman may not only call for what he pleases to order, but may alsobe diverted by the jests and songs of some debauched, idle fellowwho lies and lops about all day, doing no work and earning no money,but in the evening is ready to sing and make merriment for a bowl ofpunch. This rollicking, roaring blade, the lad of mettle, was oncea gentleman, perhaps, or a companion to gentlemen. To him nature,intending her worst, hath given a reckless temperament, an improvidentbrain, a merry laugh, a musical voice, a genius for mimicry, of whichgifts he makes such excellent use that they generally lead him to endhis days in such a position. Men need not, for certain, go to FleetMarket to find these buffoons.
Yet, within the Rules, there was an extraordinary number of thesecareless vagabonds always ready to enjoy the present hour could somefriend be found to pay the shot. In the morning they roamed the place,leaned against bulkheads, sat in doorways, or hid themselves withindoors, dejected, repentant, full of gloomy anticipations; in theevening their old courage came back to them, they were again jocund,light-hearted, the oracle of the tavern, the jester and Jack-pudding ofthe feast, pouring out songs from the collections of Tom D'Urfey, andjokes from Browne and Ned Ward.
Many of the taverns, the Bishop Blaize, for example, and the Rainbow,kept one or two of these fellows in their regular employ. They gavethem dinner, with, as soon as the guests arrived in the evening,liberty to call for what they pleased. If the visitors treated them,so much the better for the house; but there were, however, conditions,unwritten but understood: they were never to be sad, never grave,never to show the least signs of repentance, reflection or shame; andthey were not to get drunk early in the evening, or before the bettersort of visitors, whose entertainment they were to provide. Shamefulcondition! shameful servitude, for man (who hath a soul to think of) toobey!
One has to confess with shame that among the tavern buffoons, theProfessional Tom Fools of the Fleet, were several of those clergymenwhose trade it was to make rash couples wretched for life. Thispeculiarity, not to be found elsewhere, provided, perhaps, a novelty invice which for a time made the Rules a favourite resort of men abouttown: the knowledge that the man who, without a rag left of the gravitybelonging to his profession, laughed, sang and acted for the amusementof all comers, should have borne himself as a grave and reverenddivine, gave point to his jest and added music to his song. It is notevery day that one sees a merry-andrew in full-bottomed wig, bands, andflowing gown; it is not in every tavern that one finds the ReverendJames Lands dancing a hornpipe in clogs, or the Reverend William Floodbawling a comic song while he grins through a horse-collar. Nor couldthe wits find at the coffee-houses of St. James's or Covent Garden,or at any ordinary place of amusement, a clergyman at the head of thetable ruffling it with the best--albeit with tattered gown and shabbywig--ready with jest more profane, wit more irreverent, song and storymore profligate, than any of the rest.
As for Doctor Shovel, it must not be supposed that he was to be foundin any of these places.
"What!" he was wont to cry, "should a man of reputation, a scholar,whose Latin verses have been the delight of bishops and the prideof his college, a clergyman of dignity and eloquence, condescend totake the pay of a common vintner, make merriment for the company of amug-house, hobnob with a tradesmen's club, play buffoon for a troop ofTemplars, and crack jests for any ragamuffin prentice with half-a-crownto call for a bottle? No, sir! The man who would know Doctor GregoryShovel must seek him in his own house, where, as a gentleman and ascholar, he receives such as may be properly introduced on every nightof the year--Sundays excepted, when he takes his drink, for the mostpart, alone."
In fact, his house was the chief attraction of the Rules; but accesswas only granted to those who were brought by his friends. Onceintroduced, however, a man was free of the house, and might not onlycome again as often as he pleased, but bring other friends. Now, as menprize most that which is least easy to procure, whether they want it ornot, it became a distinction to have this right of spending the eveningin the Fleet Market. A fine distinction, truly!
Those, however, who went there were not unlikely to find themselvesamong a goodly assemblage of wits and men of fashion. The Doctorplayed the host with the dignity of a bishop, and the hospitality ofa nobleman; chairs were set around the table, in that room where heperformed his daily marriages; those who came late could stand or sendfor a bench from the market; Roger and William, the two clerks, werein attendance to go and fetch the punch which the Doctor or his guestsprovided for the entertainment of all. Tobacco was on the table; theDoctor was in the chair, his long pipe in his mouth, his great headleaning back, his eyes rolling as he talke
d, before him his glass ofpunch. He was no buffoon; he did not cut capers, nor did he dance, nordid he sing Tom D'Urfey's songs, nor did he quote Ned Ward's jokes.If the company laughed, it was at one of his own stories, and when hesang, the words were such as might have been heard in any gentlewoman'sparlour, and the music was Arne's, Bull's, Lilly's, or Carey's. Roundhim were poets, authors, scholars, lawyers, country gentlemen, andeven grave merchants; some of them were out at elbows, threadbare, andsometimes hungry, but they were as welcome as the richer sort who paidfor the punch. The younger men came to listen to one who was notoriousfor his impudent defiance of the law, and was reported to possessexcellent gifts of conversation and of manner. The elder men came tolook upon a man unabashed in his disgrace, whom they had known thefavourite of the town.
"All the world," Sir Miles Lackington told me, "ran after DoctorShovel when he was a young man and evening lecturer at St.Martin's-in-the-Fields; never was clergyman more popular in the worldor in the pulpit; what was to be looked for when such a young man spenthis morning with great ladies, who cried, 'Oh, sweet sir! oh, reverendsir! how eloquent, how gracious are your words!' but that he should seewithin reach promise of preferment, and run into debt to maintain afine appearance and a fine lodging?"
The fine ladies had gone off after other favourite divines; theirpromises were forgotten; they had listened to other voices as musical,and bowed their heads before other divines as pious. The debts wereunpaid--the Doctor in the Rules. He possessed no longer the wonderfulcomeliness with which he had stolen away the hearts of women, hepreached no more in any pulpit; but his old dignity was left, with hiseloquence and his wit. He who had charmed women now attracted men.
"Fie!" he would say; "remind me not of that time. I was once the petand plaything of ladies, a sort of lapdog to be carried in theircoaches: a lackey in a cassock, with my little store of compliments,pretty sayings, and polite maxims: my advice on patches, powder, andEau de Chypre: my family prayers: my grace before meat: my sermons ondivine right and the authority of the Church; and my anecdotes to makemy lady laugh and take the cross looks out of little miss's dimpledcheeks. And, gentlemen, withal a needy curate, a poor starveling,a pauper with never a guinea, and a troop of debts which would notdisgrace a peer.
"Whereas," he would continue, "here I live free of duns and debt:the countesses may go hang: I look for no more patrons: I expect nobeggarly preferment; I laugh at my ease, while my creditors bark butcannot bite."
To those who objected that in former times he preached to the flock,and that his eloquence was now as good as lost to the Church, hereplied that, as Chaplain of the Fleet, he preached daily, whereasformerly he had preached but once a week, which was a clear gain forrighteousness.
"What! would you have me send forth my newly married lambs without aword of exhortation beyond the rubric? Nay, sir; that were to throwaway the gift of speech, and to lose a golden occasion. None leavemy chapel-of-ease unless fortified and exhorted to virtue by such anadmonition as they have never before enjoyed."
One evening in October, when the summer was over and the autumn alreadyset in, the Doctor sat as usual in his arm-chair. Before him stood histobacco-box, and beside it lay his pipe. As yet, for it was but eighto'clock, there was no punch. Four great wax candles stood lighted onthe table, and in the doorway were the two impudent varlets, whom hecalled his clerks, leaning against the posts, one on either hand.
There was but one visitor as yet. He was a young Templar, almost aboy, pale and thin because of his late hours and his excesses. And theDoctor was admonishing him, being at the time in a mood of repentance,or rather of virtue.
"Young man," he said, "I have observed thee, and made inquiry among thyfriends regarding thy conduct, which resembles, at present, that ofthe prodigal son while revelling in his prodigality. Learn from thisplace and the wretches who are condemned to live in it, the end ofprofligacy. What the words of Solomon have hitherto been powerless toteach, let the Chaplain of the Fleet enforce. The wellspring of wisdomis as a flowing brook, says the Wise Man. Yet ye drink not of thatstream. Also he saith that Wisdom crieth at the gates, at the entry ofthe city. But ye regard not. He hath told ye how the young man, void ofunderstanding, falls continually into the pit of destruction. But yeheed not. The drunkard and the glutton, he hath declared, shall come topoverty. Ye listen not, but continue to eat and to drink. Wherefore,young man, look around thee and behold this place. We who are here sitamong wine-bibbers and spendthrifts: we have not in our comings andgoings--but, alas! we never go--any gracious paths of pleasantness:we go never among the meadows to breathe the air of buttercups and toponder on the divine wisdom: we listen perpetually to the cackle offools, the braying of asses, whom we could indeed wish to be wild andon their native Asiatic plains; and the merriment of madmen, which islike unto the crackling of thorns beneath the pot: we have--though oursins are multitudinous as the moments--no time nor opportunity forrepentance: and even if we did repent, there is no way out for us, noescape at all, but still we must remain among the wicked until we die.Even the Christian priest, who finds himself (through thoughtlessnessover money matters, being continually occupied with higher things)brought hither, must leave the ways which are right, and cleave untothose which are wrong. It is only by lying, bullying, and swearing,that money (by which we live) is drawn here out of the purses of sillyand unwary people. Granted that we draw it. What boots it if one'srogues bring in a hundred couples in a month? The guineas melt awaylike snow in the sunshine, and nothing remains but the evil memory ofthe sins by which they were gotten."
The Templar, astonished at such a sermon from such a man, hung hishead abashed. He came to drink and be merry, and lo! an exhortationto virtue. While the Doctor was yet speaking, there came a secondvisitor--no other than Mr. Stallabras, the poet, who came, his headerect, his hand thrust in his bosom, as if fresh from an interview withthe Muses. The Doctor regarded him for a moment, as one in a pulpitmight regard a late-comer who disturbed his sermon, and went on withhis discourse:
"This is a place, young man, where gnashing of teeth may be heard dayand night by him who has ears to hear, and who knows that the soundof riot and merriment are but raised to drown despair: to him everysong is a throb of agony, every jest rings in his ears like a cry ofremorse: we are in a prison, though we seem to be free; we are laid bythe heels, though we are said to enjoy the Liberties of the Fleet; welive and breathe like our fellows, but we have no hope for the rest ofour lives; we go not forth, though the doors are open; we are livingmonuments, that foolish youth may learn by our luckless fate to avoidthe courses which have brought us hither. Wherefore, young man, beware!_Discite justitiam moniti._"
He paused awhile, and then continued:
"Yet we should not be pitied, because, forsooth, we do but lie in thebeds that we have chosen. No other paradise save a heaven of gluttonywould serve our turn. In the Garden of Eden, should we peradventureand by some singular grace win thither, we should instantly take towallowing in the mud and enjoying the sunshine: some of us would sitamong the pigsties in happy conversation and friendship with the swine:some would creep downstairs and bask among the saucepans before thekitchen fire: some would lie among the bottles and casks in the cellar.Not for such as have come here are the gardens, the streams, themeadows, and the hilltops."
Then came two more guests, whom he saluted gravely. These wereaccustomed to the Doctor's moods, and sat down to the table, waitingin silence. He, too, became silent, sitting with his head upon hishand. Then came others, who also found the Doctor indisposed for mirth.Presently, however, he banged the table with his fist, and cried out inthose deep tones which he could use so well:
"Come, life is short. Lamenting lengthens not our days. Brothers, letus drink and sing. Roger, go bring the bowl. Gentlemen all, be welcometo this poor house. Here is tobacco. Punch is coming. The night isyoung. Let every man be merry."
The room was half full: there were, besides the residents and lodgersof the place, young lawyers from the Temple, Gr
ay's Inn, and Lincoln'sInn; poets not yet in limbo; authors who were still able to pay fortheir lodgings; young fellows whose creditors were still forbearing;and a few whose rich coats and lace betokened their rank and wealth.
The evening began, the Doctor's voice loud above all the rest. Halfan hour afterwards, when the air of the room was already heavy withtobacco-smoke, Sir Miles Lackington who usually came with the earliest,arrived, bringing with him a young gentleman of twenty-two years orthereabouts, who was bravely dressed in a crimson coat, lined withwhite silk: he had also a flowered silk waistcoat, and the hilt of hissword was set with jewels. He was, in fact, one of those gentlemen whowere curious to see this jovial priest, self-styled Chaplain of theplace where there were so many parsons, who set the laws of the countryat defiance with an audacity so splendid. He looked surprised, as if hehad not expected so large an assembly.
"Follow me, my lord," said the baronet, whose jolly face was alreadyflushed, and his voice already thick with wine. "Come, my lord, let usget nearer the Doctor. Gentlemen, by your leave: will you make placefor his lordship? Doctor, this gentleman is none other than the youngLord Chudleigh, who hath heard of your eloquence and your learning, andgreatly desires your better acquaintance. Rascal Roger, chairs for mylord and myself!"
He pushed his way through the crowd, followed by his guest. The doctorturned his head, half rose; his melancholy mood had passed away: hewas in happy vein: he had sung one or two songs in a voice which mighthave been heard at Temple Bar: he had taken two or three glasses ofpunch, and smoked a pipe and a half of the best Virginian; he was inthe paradise which he loved. Yet when Sir Miles Lackington spoke, whenhe named his guest, the Doctor's face became suddenly pale, he seemedto totter, his eyes glared, and he caught at the arm of his chair, asif about to be stricken with some kind of fit. His friends, who hadnever seen those ample and rubicund cheeks other than of a glowingruddiness, were greatly terrified at this phenomenon.
"The Doctor is ill," cried Solomon Stallabras, starting to his feet."Give air--open the windows--let us carry the Doctor into the street!"
But he recovered.
"It is nothing," he said. "A sudden faintness. The day has been close.Let no one move." He drank off his glass of punch: the colour came backto his face and the firmness to his legs. "I am well again. Sir Miles,you are always welcome. Were the Liberties peopled with such as you,we should be well sped indeed. Quick with the chairs, Roger. I rejoiceto see your lordship in this poor house of mine. Had other noblemenof your lordship's rank but kept their word, I should this day havewelcomed you in the palace of a bishop. Forget, my lord, that I am nota bishop: be assured that if I cannot bestow the episcopal absolutionand benediction which he of London hath ever ready for a nobleman,my welcome is worthy of a prelate, and the punch not to be surpassedeven at Lambeth Palace. Sir Miles, you forgot, I think, to make meacquainted with his lordship's noble name."
"I am the Lord Chudleigh," said the young man doubtfully, and with apleasing blush.
"Again, your lordship is welcome," said the Doctor. "In the old dayswhen I was young and able to stir abroad in the world, without acreditor in every street and a vindictive dun in every shop (whoserevenge in this my confinement has only brought lamentation on everymother's son, because they remain all unpaid), it was my privilege tobe much with your noble father. In truth, I knew not that he was dead."
"My father died two years ago at his country house."
"Indeed!" The Doctor gravely gazed in his guest's face, both stillstanding. "Is that really so? But we who live in this retirement hearlittle news. So Lord Chudleigh is dead! I went upon the Grand Tour withhim. I was his tutor, his companion, his friend, as he was kind enoughto call me; he was two years younger than myself, but our tastes werecommon, and what he bought I enjoyed and often chose. There came atime when--but your lordship is young--you know not yet how rank andclass separate friends, how the man of low birth may trust his noblefriend too much, and he of rank may think the decalogue written for thevulgar. Your father is dead! I had hoped to see him if but once more,before he died: it was not to be. I would have written to him upon hisdeathbed had I known: I owed him much--very much more than I could hopeto repay, yet would I have repaid something. Your father died suddenly,my lord, or after painful illness?"
"He died, Doctor Shovel, after a long and very painful illness."
"Why, there," cried the Doctor, as if disappointed. "Had I only knownthere would have been time for half-a-dozen letters. I would I had beenwith him myself."
"It is kind of you, sir," said his lordship, "thus to speak of myfather."
"Did he--but I suppose he had forgotten--did he condescend to speak ofme?"
"Never," replied Lord Chudleigh; "at least not to me."
"There were certain passages in his life," the Doctor went onthoughtfully, "of such a kind as recur to the memory of sick and dyingmen, when the good and evil deeds of our lives stand arrayed before uslike ministering spirits and threatening demons. Certain passages, Isay, which were intimately associated with myself. Indeed, it cannot bethat they entirely perished from his lordship's memory. Since he spokenot of them, let me not speak. I am sorry, my lord, to have saddenedyou by thus recalling the thought of your dead father."
"Nay, sir," said Lord Chudleigh, "to have met so old a friend of myfather's is a pleasure I did not expect. I humbly desire, sir, yourbetter acquaintance."
The company during this long talk were mostly standing. It was no newthing to meet a man of rank at the Doctor's, but altogether new to havethe conversation assume so serious a tone. Every one felt, however,that the dignity of the Doctor was greatly increased by this event.
Then the Doctor waved his hand, and resumed his cheerful expression.
"Gentlemen," he said, "be seated all, I pray. My lord, your chair isat my right. Enough of the past. We are here to enjoy the presenthour, which is always with us and always flying from us. We crown itwith flowers and honour it with libations: we sing its presence withus: we welcome its coming, and speed its parting with wine and song.So far are we pagans: join with us in these heathen rites whereinwe rejoice in our life and forget our mortality. None but poets areimmortal. Solomon--Solomon Stallabras, the modern Apollo, the favouriteof the Nine, we drink your health and wish the long deferring of yourimmortality. Let us drink, let us talk, let us be merry, let us whileaway the rosy hours." He banged the table with his fist and set theglasses clinking. Then he filled a glass with punch and handed itto Lord Chudleigh. "As for you, Sir Miles," he said, "you may helpyourself. Ah, tippler! the blush of the bottle is already on thy cheeksand its light is in thy eyes. Wherefore, be moderate at the outset.Roger, thou villain, go order another bowl, and after that more bowls,and still more bowls. I am athirst: I shall drink continually: I shallbecome this night a mere hogshead of punch. So will all this honourablecompany; bid the vintner beware the lemon and be sparing of the sugar,but liberal with the clove and the nutmeg. This night shall be such anight as the Rules have never before seen. Run, rogue, run!" Rogervanished. "Let me sing you, my lord, a song of my youth when nymphs andshepherdesses ran in my head more than Hebrew and theology."
He sang in his rich, full, and musical voice, the following ditty:
"Cried the nymph, while her swain Sought for phrases in vain, 'Ah, Corydon, let me a shy lover teach; Your flowers and rings, Your verses and things, Are pretty, but dumb, and I love a bold speech.
"'To dangle and sigh, To stammer and cry, Such foolishness angers us maidens in time: And if you would please, Neither tremble nor tease, But remember to woo us with laughter and rhyme.
"'Go, hang up thy crook, Change that sorrowful look And seek merry rhymes and glad sayings in verse: Remember that Kitty Rhymes still unto pity, And Polly takes folly for better or worse.
"'Come jocund and gay, As the roses in May, With a rolling leg and a conquering smile:
Forget not that mirth Ever rhymes unto worth, And lucky the lover who laughs all the while.'"
"I wrote the song," said the Doctor, "when it was the fashion to besighing at the feet of Chloe. Not that my song produced any impressionon the fashion. Pray, my lord, is it the custom, nowadays, to woo witha long face and a mournful sigh?"
Lord Chudleigh laughed and put the question by.
"What do women care for lovers' sighs? I believe, gentlemen, they liketo be carried by assault. Who can resist a brave fellow, all fire andpassion, who marches to the attack with a confident laugh and a gallantbearing? It is the nature of the sex to admire gallantry. Therefore,gentlemen, put on your best ruffles, cock your hats, tie your wigs,settle the angle of your swords, and on with a hearty countenance.
"I remember, being then in Constantinople, and at a slave-market whereCircassians were to be bought, there came into the place as handsome ayoung Turk as ever you might wish to set eyes upon. Perhaps he was apoet, because when he had the slaves brought out for his inspection,at sight of the prettiest and youngest of them all, he fell to sighingjust like an English gentleman in love. Presently there came in an oldruffler of fifty, who, without any sighs or protestations, tugged outhis purse and bought the slave, and she went off delighted at havingfetched so good a price and pleased so resolute a fellow."
The Doctor continued to pour forth stories of adventure and experience,interspersed with philosophical maxims. He told of courts and cities ashe saw them in the year 1720, which was the year in which he made theGrand Tour with the late Lord Chudleigh. He told old tales of Cambridgelife. While he talked the company listened, drank, and smoked; no oneinterrupted him. Meanwhile he sent the punch about, gave toasts--withevery glass a toast, with every toast a full glass--and swore that onsuch a night no one should pay but himself, wherefore let every manfill up.
"Come, gentlemen, we let the glasses flag. I will sing you anothersong, written for the good old days of Tom D'Urfey, when men weregiants, and such humble topers as ourselves would have met with scantrespect.
"Come, all ye honest topers, lend an ear, lend an ear, While we drain the bowl and push the bottle round, bottle round; We are merry lads, and cosy, cosy here, cosy here; Though outside the toil and moil may resound, may resound.
"Let us drink reformation to mankind, to mankind; Example may they follow from our ways, from our ways: And whereas to their follies they are blind, they are blind, Their eyes may they open to their craze, to their craze.
"For the miser all day long hugs his gold, hugs his gold; And the lover for his mistress ever sighs, ever sighs: And the parson wastes his words upon his fold, upon his fold; And the merchant to the ledger glues his eyes, glues his eyes.
"But we wrangle not, but laugh, while we drink, while we drink; And we envy no man's happiness or wealth, or his wealth; We rest from toil and cease from pen and ink, pen and ink; And we only pray for liquor and for health, and for health.
"Then the miser shall, like us, call for wine, call for wine: And the lover cry for lemon and the bowl, and the bowl: And the merchant send his clerks for brandy fine, brandy fine; And the parson with a bottle soothe his soul, soothe his soul.
"And the rogue shall honest grow, o'er a glass, o'er a glass; And the thief shall repent beside a keg, beside a keg: And enmity to friendship quickly pass, quickly pass; While good fellows each to others drink a peg, drink a peg.
"All kill-joy envies then shall disappear, disappear; Contented shall we push the bottle round, bottle round; For 'tis cosy, topers all, cosy here, cosy here; Though outside the toil and moil may resound, may resound."
Thus did the Doctor stimulate his guests to drink. As the night woreon, one by one dropped away: some, among whom were Sir Miles, droppedasleep; a few lay upon the floor. As for Lord Chudleigh, the fieryliquor and the fumes of the tobacco were mounting to his brain, buthe was not, like the rest, overpowered. He would have got up and goneaway, but that the Doctor's voice, or his eyes, held him to his place.
"I am thinking," said the Doctor with a strange smile, "how your fatherat one time might have rejoiced to think that you should come here. Therecollection of his services to me must have soothed his last moments.Would that I could repay them!"
Lord Chudleigh assured him that, so far as he knew, there was nothingto repay, and that, if there had been, his father's wish wouldcertainly have been to forgive the debt.
"He could not forgive the debt," said the Doctor, laughing. "It was notin his power. He would have owned the debt. It was not money, however,but a kindness of quite another sort."
"Then," said Lord Chudleigh, prettily bowing, "let me thank youbeforehand, and assure you that I shall be proud to receive anykindness in return that you may have an opportunity to show me."
"Believe me, my lord," said the Doctor, "I have the will if not thepower: and I shall not forget the will, at least."
"It is strange," he continued, "that he never spoke about his youngerdays. Lord Chudleigh attracted to himself, between the age offive-and-twenty and thirty, the friendship and respect of many men,like myself, of scholarship and taste, without fortune. He with hisfriends was going to supply that defect, a promise which circumstancesprevented him from fulfilling. The earthen vessel swims merrily, insmooth water, beside the vessel of brass; when a storm rises it breaksto atoms. We were the earthen vessels, he the brazen; we are all brokento atoms and ground beneath the heel. I, who almost alone survive,though sunk as low as any, am yet not the least miserable, and canyet enjoy the three great blessings of humanity in this age--I meantobacco, punch, and the Protestant religion. Yet one or two of theearthenware pots survive: Judge Tester, for instance, a fellow whoseimpudence has carried him upwards. He began by being a clown born andbred. First he was sent to the Inns of Court, where he fell into a redwaistcoat and velvet breeches, and so into vanity. Impudence, I takeit, is the daughter of vanity. As for the rest, a few found their wayto this classic region, on which Queen Elizabeth from the Gate of Ludlooks down with royal benignity; but these are gone and dead. One,I know, took to the road, and is now engaged in healthful work upona Plantation of Maryland; two were said to have joined the WalthamBlacks, and lived like Robin Hood, on venison shot in the forest, andother luxuries demanded of wayfarers pistol in hand; one I saw notlong ago equipped as a smallcoal man in blue surplice, his shoulderladen with his wooden tinder, and his measure twisted into the mouth ofhis sack; another, a light-weight and a younger son, became a jockey,and wore the leathern cap, the cut bob, the buff breeches, and thefustian frock, till he was thrown and broke his neck. I laugh when Ithink of what an end hath come to all the greatness of those days.To be sure, my lord paid for all and promised future favours; but wewere fine gentlemen on nothing, connoisseurs with never a guinea,dilettanti who could not pay for the very eye-glasses we carried. Inthe province of love and gallantry every man, beggar as he was, thoughthimself a perfect Oroondates. We sang with taste; we were charmingmen, nonpareils. We had the tastes of men of fortune; we talked as ifthe things we loved were within our reach; we dreamed of pictures,bronzes, busts, intaglios, old china, or Etruscan paterae. And we hadthe vices of the great as well as their tastes. Like them we drank;like them we diced; like them we played all night at brag, all-fours,teetotum, hussle-cup, chuck-farthing, hazard, lansquenet. So we lived,and so we presently found the fate of earthen vessels. Heaven hathbeen kinder to some of us than we deserve. Wherefore, gentlemen, drinkabout." Here the Doctor looked round him. "Gentlemen, I perceive thatI have been for some time talking to a sleeping audience. Roger, pourme out another glass. Swine of Circe, I drink to your headaches in themorning. Now, lads, turn all out."
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