The history of a philosophical vagabond, pursuing novelty, and losing
content.--Vicar of Wakefield.
We followed our strange friend through the crowd at the door, which he
elbowed on either side with the most aristocratic disdain, perfectly
regardless of their jokes at his dress and manner; he no sooner got
through the throng, than he stopped short (though in the midst of the
kennel) and offered us his arm. This was an honour of which we were by
no means desirous; for, to say nothing of the shabbiness of Mr. Gordon’s
exterior, there was a certain odour in his garments which was possibly
less displeasing to the wearer than to his acquaintance. Accordingly,
we pretended not to notice this invitation, and merely said, we would
follow his guidance.
He turned up a narrow street, and after passing some of the most ill
favoured alleys I ever had the happiness of beholding, he stopped at
a low door; here he knocked twice, and was at last admitted by a
slip-shod, yawning wench, with red arms, and a profusion of sandy hair.
This Hebe, Mr. Gordon greeted with a loving kiss, which the kissee
resented in a very unequivocal strain of disgustful reproach.
“Hush! my Queen of Clubs; my Sultana Sootina!” said Mr. Gordon; “hush!
or these gentlemen will think you in earnest. I have brought three new
customers to the club.”
This speech somewhat softened the incensed Houri of Mr. Gordon’s
Paradise, and she very civilly asked us to enter.
“Stop!” said Mr. Gordon with an air of importance, “I must just step in
and ask the gentlemen to admit you;--merely a form--for a word from me
will be quite sufficient.” And so saying, he vanished for about five
minutes.
On his return, he said, with a cheerful countenance, that we were free
of the house, but that we must pay a shilling each as the customary
fee. This sum was soon collected, and quietly inserted in the waistcoat
pocket of our chaperon, who then conducted us up the passage into a
small back room, where were sitting about seven or eight men, enveloped
in smoke, and moistening the fever of the Virginian plant with various
preparations of malt. On entering, I observed Mr. Gordon deposit, at a
sort of bar, the sum of three-pence, by which I shrewdly surmised he
had gained the sum of two and nine-pence by our admission. With a very
arrogant air, he proceeded to the head of the table, sat himself down
with a swagger, and called out, like a lusty royster of the true kidney,
for a pint of purl and a pipe. Not to be out of fashion, we ordered the
same articles of luxury.
After we had all commenced a couple of puffs at our pipes, I looked
round at our fellow guests; they seemed in a very poor state of body,
as might naturally be supposed; and, in order to ascertain how far the
condition of the mind was suited to that of the frame, I turned round to
Mr. Gordon, and asked him in a whisper to give us a few hints as to the
genus and characteristics of the individual components of his club.
Mr. Gordon declared himself delighted with the proposal, and we all
adjourned to a separate table at the corner of the room, where Mr.
Gordon, after a deep draught at the purl, thus began:--“You observe
yon thin, meagre, cadaverous animal, with rather an intelligent and
melancholy expression of countenance--his name is Chitterling Crabtree:
his father was an eminent coal-merchant, and left him L10,000. Crabtree
turned politician. When fate wishes to ruin a man of moderate abilities
and moderate fortune, she makes him an orator. Mr. Chitterling Crabtree
attended all the meetings at the Crown and Anchor--subscribed to the
aid of the suffering friends of freedom--harangued, argued, sweated,
wrote--was fined and imprisoned--regained his liberty, and married--his
wife loved a community of goods no less than her spouse, and ran off
with one citizen, while he was running on to the others. Chitterling
dried his tears; and contented himself with the reflection, that, in ‘a
proper state of things,’ such an event could not have occurred.
“Mr. Crabtree’s money and life were now half gone. One does not
subscribe to the friends of freedom and spout at their dinners for
nothing. But the worst drop was yet in the cup. An undertaking, of the
most spirited and promising nature, was conceived by the chief of the
friends, and the dearest familiar of Mr. Chitterling Crabtree.
Our worthy embarked his fortune in a speculation so certain of
success;--crash went the speculation, and off went the friend--Mr.
Crabtree was ruined. He was not, however, a man to despair at trifles.
What were bread, meat, and beer, to the champion of equality! He went to
the meeting that very night: he said he gloried in his losses--they were
for the cause: the whole conclave rang with shouts of applause, and Mr.
Chitterling Crabtree went to bed happier than ever. I need not pursue
his history farther; you see him here--verbum sat. He spouts at the
‘Ciceronian,’ for half a crown a night, and to this day subscribes
sixpence a week to the cause of ‘liberty and enlightenment all over the
world.’”
“By Heaven!” cried Dartmore, “he is a fine fellow, and my father shall
do something for him.”
Gordon pricked up his ears, and continued,--“Now, for the second
person, gentlemen, whom I am about to describe to you. You see that
middle-sized, stout man, with a slight squint, and a restless, lowering,
cunning expression?”
“What! him in the kerseymere breeches and green jacket?” said I.
“The same,” answered Gordon. “His real name, when he does not travel
with an alias, is Job Jonson. He is one of the most remarkable rogues in
Christendom; he is so noted a cheat, that there is not a pick-pocket in
England who would keep company with him if he had anything to lose.
He was the favourite of his father, who intended to leave him all his
fortune, which was tolerably large. He robbed him one day on the high
road; his father discovered it, and disinherited him. He was placed at
a merchant’s office, and rose, step by step, to be head clerk, and
intended son-in-law. Three nights before his marriage, he broke open the
till, and was turned out of doors the next morning. If you were going to
do him the greatest favour in the world, he could not keep his hands out
of your pocket till you had done it. In short, he has rogued himself out
of a dozen fortunes, and a hundred friends, and managed, with incredible
dexterity and success, to cheat himself into beggary and a pot of beer.”
“I beg your pardon,” said I, “but I think a sketch of your own life must
be more amusing than that of any one else: am I impertinent in asking
for it?”
“Not at all,” replied Mr. Gordon; “you shall have it in as few words as
possible.”
“I was born a gentleman, and educated with some pains; they told me I
was a genius, and it was not very hard to persuade me of the truth of
the assertion. I wrote verses to a wonder--robbed orchards according
to military tactics--never played at marbles, without explaining to
my competitors the theory of attraction--and was the best informed,
mischievous, little rascal in the whole school. My family were in great
doubt what to do with so prodigious a wonder; one said the law, another
the church, a third talked of diplomacy, and a fourth assured my mother,
that if I could but be introduced at court, I should be lord chamberlain
in a twelvemonth. While my friends were deliberating, I took the
liberty of deciding; I enlisted, in a fit of loyal valour, in a marching
regiment; my friends made the best of a bad job, and bought me an
ensigncy.
“I recollect I read Plato the night before I went to battle; the next
morning they told me I ran away. I am sure it was a malicious invention,
for if I had, I should have recollected it; whereas I was in such a
confusion that I cannot remember a single thing that happened in the
whole course of that day. About six months afterwards, I found myself
out of the army, and in gaol; and no sooner had my relations released me
from the latter predicament, than I set off on my travels. At Dublin, I
lost my heart to a rich widow (as I thought); I married her, and found
her as poor as myself. God knows what would have become of me, if I had
not taken to drinking; my wife scorned to be outdone by me in any thing;
she followed my example, and at the end of a year I followed her to
the grave. Since then I have taken warning, and been scrupulously
sober.--Betty, my love, another pint of purl.
“I was now once more a freeman in the prime of my life; handsome, as you
see, gentlemen, and with the strength and spirit of a young Hercules.
Accordingly I dried my tears, turned marker by night, at a gambling
house, and buck by day, in Bond-street (for I had returned to London).
I remember well one morning, that his present Majesty was pleased, en
passant, to admire my buckskins--tempora mutantur. Well, gentlemen, one
night at a brawl in our salon, my nose met with a rude hint to move
to the right. I went, in a great panic to the surgeon, who mended the
matter, by moving it to the left. There, thank God! it has rested in
quiet ever since. It is needless to tell you the nature of the quarrel
in which this accident occurred; however, my friends thought it
necessary to remove me from the situation I then held. I went once more
to Ireland, and was introduced to ‘a friend of freedom.’ I was poor;
that circumstance is quite enough to make a patriot. They sent me to
Paris on a secret mission, and when I returned, my friends were in
prison. Being always of a free disposition, I did not envy them their
situation: accordingly I returned to England. Halting at Liverpool, with
a most debilitated purse, I went into a silversmith’s shop to brace it,
and about six months afterwards, I found myself on a marine excursion
to Botany Bay. On my return from that country, I resolved to turn my
literary talents to account. I went to Cambridge, wrote declamations,
and translated Virgil at so much a sheet. My relations (thanks to my
letters, neither few nor far between) soon found me out; they allowed
me (they do so still) half a guinea a week; and upon this and my
declamations, I manage to exist. Ever since, my chief residence has
been at Cambridge. I am an universal favourite with both graduates and
under-graduates. I have reformed my life and my manners, and have become
the quiet, orderly person you behold me. Age tames the fiercest of us--
“‘Non sum qualis eram.’
“Betsy, bring me my purl, and be d--d to you.
“It is now vacation time, and I have come to town with the idea of
holding lectures on the state of education. Mr. Dartmore, your health.
Gentlemen, yours. My story is done, and I hope you will pay for the
purl.”