I resolve to begin the world again, and to seek my fortune in the
next path--I take leave of all my old friends.
The Jew retired, and I commenced my meal, when the door again slowly
opened, and Mr Emmanuel crawled up to me.
"Mishter Newland, I vash beg your pardon, but vill you not pay me de
interest of de monish?"
I started up from my chair, with my rattan in my hand. "Begone, you old
thief," cried I; and hardly were the words out of my mouth, before Mr
Emmanuel travelled out of the room, and I never saw him afterwards. I
was pleased with myself for having done this act of honesty, and for the
first time for a long while, I ate my dinner with some zest. After I had
finished, I took a twenty pound note, and laid it in my desk, the
remainder of the five hundred pounds I put in my pocket, to try my last
chance. In an hour I quitted the hell penniless. When I returned home I
had composed myself a little after the dreadful excitement which I had
been under. I felt a calm, and a degree of negative happiness. I knew my
fate--there was no more suspense. I sat down to reflect upon what I
should do. I was to commence the world again--to sink down at once into
obscurity--into poverty--and I felt happy. I had severed the link
between myself and my former condition--I was again a beggar, but I was
independent--and I resolved so to be. I spoke kindly to Timothy, went to
bed, and having arranged in my own mind how I should act, I fell sound
asleep.
I never slept better, or awoke more refreshed. The next morning I packed
up my portmanteau, taking with me only the most necessary articles; all
the details of the toilet, further than cleanliness was concerned, I
abjured. When Timothy came in, I told him that I was going down to Lady
de Clare's, which I intended to do. Poor Timothy was overjoyed at the
change in my manner, little thinking that he was so soon to lose me--for,
reader, I had made up my mind that I would try my fortunes alone; and,
painful as I felt would be the parting with so valued a friend, I was
determined that I would no longer have even his assistance or company.
I was determined to forget all that had passed, and commence the world
anew. I sat down while Timothy went out to take a place in the Richmond
coach, and wrote to him the following letter:--
My Dear Timothy,--Do not think that I undervalue your friendship,
or shall ever forget your regard for me, when I tell you that we
shall probably never meet again. Should fortune favour me, I
trust we shall--but of that there is little prospect. I have lost
almost everything: my money is all gone, my house is sold, and
all is gambled away. I leave you, with only my clothes in my
portmanteau and twenty pounds. For yourself, there is the
furniture, which you must sell, as well as every other article
left behind. It is all yours, and I hope you will find means to
establish yourself in some way. God bless you--and believe me
always and gratefully yours,
"Japhet Newland."
This letter I reserved to put in the post when I quitted Richmond. My
next letter was to Mr Masterton.
"Sir,--Your note I received, and I am afraid that, unwittingly,
you have been the occasion of my present condition. That I did
not deserve the language addressed to me, you may satisfy
yourself by applying to Mr Harcourt. Driven to desperation, I
have lost all I had in the world, by adding gaming to my many
follies. I now am about to seek my fortune, and prosecute my
search after my father. You will, therefore, return my most
sincere acknowledgments to Lord Windermear, for his kind offers
and intentions, and assure him that my feelings towards him will
always be those of gratitude and respect. For yourself, accept my
warmest thanks for the friendly advice and kind interest which
you have shown in my welfare, and believe me, when I say, that my
earnest prayers shall be offered up for your happiness. If you
can, in any way, assist my poor friend, Timothy, who will, I have
no doubt, call upon you in his distress, you will confer an
additional favour on,"
"Yours, ever gratefully,"
"Japhet Newland."
I sealed this letter, and when Timothy returned, I told him that I
wished him, after my departure, to take it to Mr Masterton's, and not
wait for an answer. I then, as I had an hour to spare, before the coach
started, entered into a conversation with Timothy. I pointed out to him
the unfortunate condition in which I found myself, and my determination
to quit the metropolis.
Timothy agreed with me. "I have seen you so unhappy of late--I may say,
so miserable--that I have neither eaten nor slept. Indeed, Japhet, I have
laid in bed and wept, for my happiness depends upon yours. Go where you
will, I am ready to follow and to serve you, and as long as I see you
comfortable, I care for nothing else."
These words of Timothy almost shook my resolution, and I was near
telling him all; but when I recollected, I refrained. "My dear Timothy,"
said I, "in this world we must expect to meet with a chequered
existence; we may laugh at one time, but we must cry at others. I owe
my life to you, and I never shall forget you, wherever I may be."
"No," replied Timothy, "you are not likely to forget one who is hardly
an hour out of your sight."
"Very true, Timothy; but circumstances may occur which may separate us."
"I cannot imagine such circumstances, nor do I believe, that bad as
things may turn out, that they will ever be so bad as that. You have
your money and your house; if you leave London, you will be able to add
to your income by letting your own apartments furnished, so we never
shall want; and we may be very happy running about the world, seeking
what we wish to find."
My heart smote me when Timothy said this, for I felt, by his devotion
and fidelity, he had almost the same claim to the property I possessed,
as myself. He had been my partner, playing the inferior game, for the
mutual benefit. "But the time may come, Timothy, when we may find
ourselves without money, as we were when we first commenced our career,
and shared three-pence halfpenny each, by selling the old woman the
embrocation."
"Well, sir, and let it come. I should be sorry for you, but not for
myself, for then Tim would be of more importance, and more useful, than
as valet with little or nothing to do."
I mentally exclaimed, 'I have, I think I have, been a fool, a great fool,
but the die is cast. I will sow in sorrow, and may I reap a harvest in
joy. I feel,' thought I (and I did feel), 'I feel a delightful
conviction, that we shall meet again, and all this misery of parting will
be but a subject of future garrulity.' "Yes, Tim," said I, in a loud
voice, "all is right."
"All's right, sir; I never thought anything was wrong, except your
annoyance at people not paying you the attention which they used to
do, when they supposed you a man of fortune."
"Very true; and Tim, recollect that if Mr Masterton speaks to you about
me, which he may after I am gone to Richmond, you tell him that before
I left, I paid that old scoundrel Emmanuel every farthing that I had
borrowed of him, and you know (and in fact so does Mr Masterton), how
it was borrowed."
"Well, sir, I will, if he does talk to me, but he seldom says much to
me."
"But he may, perhaps, Tim; and I wish him to know that I have paid every
debt I owe in the world."
"One would think that you were going to the East Indies, instead of to
Richmond, by the way you talk."
"No, Tim; I was offered a situation in the East Indies, and I refused
it; but Mr Masterton and I have not been on good terms lately, and I
wish him to know that I am out of debt. You know, for I told you all
that passed between Emmanuel and myself, how he accepted five hundred
pounds, and I paid him the thousand; and I wish Mr Masterton should
know it too, and he will then be better pleased with me."
"Never fear, sir," said Tim, "I can tell the whole story with
flourishes."
"No, Tim, nothing but the truth; but it is time I should go. Farewell,
my dear fellow. May God bless you and preserve you." And, overcome by
my feelings, I dropped my face on Timothy's shoulder, and wept. "What
is the matter? What do you mean, Japhet? Mr Newland--pray, sir, what
is the matter?"
"Timothy--it is nothing," replied I, recovering myself, "but I have
been ill; nervous lately, as you well know, and even leaving the last
and only friend I have, I may say for a few days, annoys and overcomes
me."
"Oh! sir--dear Japhet, do let us leave this house, and sell your
furniture, and be off."
"I mean that it shall be so, Tim. God bless you, and farewell." I went
downstairs, the hackney-coach was at the door. Timothy put in my
portmanteau, and mounted the box. I wept bitterly. My readers may despise
me, but they ought not; let them be in my situation, and feel that they
have one sincere faithful friend, and then they will know the bitterness
of parting. I recovered myself before I arrived at the coach, and shaking
hands with Timothy, I lost sight of him; for how long, the reader will
find out in the sequel of my adventures.
I arrived at Lady de Clare's, and hardly need say that I was well
received. They expressed their delight at my so soon coming again, and
made a hundred inquiries--but I was unhappy and melancholy, not at my
prospects, for in my infatuation I rejoiced at my anticipated
beggary--but I wished to communicate with Fleta, for so I still call
her. Fleta had known my history, for she had been present when I had
related it to her mother, up to the time that I arrived in London;
further than that she knew little. I was determined that before I
quitted she should know all. I dared not trust the last part to her when
I was present, but I resolved that I would do it in writing.
Lady de Clare made no difficulty whatever of leaving me with Fleta. She
was now a beautiful creature, of between fifteen, and sixteen, bursting
into womanhood, and lovely as the bud of the moss-rose; and she was
precocious beyond her years in _intellect_. I stayed there three days,
and had frequent opportunities of conversing with her; I told her that
I wished her to be acquainted with my whole life, and interrogated her
as to what she knew: I carefully filled up the chasms, until I brought
it down to the time at which I placed her in the arms of her mother. "And
now, Fleta," said I, "you have much more to learn--you will learn that
much at my departure. I have dedicated hours every night in writing it
out; and, as you will find, have analysed my feelings, and have pointed
out to you where I have been wrong. I have done it for my amusement, as
it may be of service even to a female."
On the third day I took my leave, and requesting the pony chaise of Lady
de Clare, to take me over to ----, that I might catch the first coach
that went westward, for I did not care which; I put into Fleta's hands
the packet which I had written, containing all that had passed, and I
bid her farewell.
"Lady de Clare, may you be happy," said I. "Fleta--Cecilia, I should
say, may God bless and preserve you, and sometimes think of your sincere
friend, Japhet Newland."
"Really, Mr Newland," said Lady de Clare, "one would think we were never
to see you again."
"I hope that will not be the case, Lady de Clare, for I know nobody to
whom I am more devoted."
"Then, sir, recollect we are to see you very soon."
I pressed her ladyship's hand, and left the house. Thus did I commence
my second pilgrimage.