HE SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY—THE BEGGAR AND HIS DOG.
HE had taken leave of his aunt on the eve of his intended departure; but
the good lady’s affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep, and early
as it was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set out, he found
her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her caudle-cup in her
hand. She knew enough of physic to prescribe against going abroad of a
morning with an empty stomach. She gave her blessing with the draught;
her instructions she had delivered the night before. They consisted
mostly of negatives, for London, in her idea, was so replete with
temptations that it needed the whole armour of her friendly cautions to
repel their attacks.
Peter stood at the door. We have mentioned this faithful fellow
formerly: Harley’s father had taken him up an orphan, and saved him from
being cast on the parish; and he had ever since remained in the service
of him and of his son. Harley shook him by the hand as he passed,
smiling, as if he had said, “I will not weep.” He sprung hastily into
the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded up the step. “My dear
master,” said he, shaking the solitary lock that hung on either side of
his head, “I have been told as how London is a sad place.” He was choked
with the thought, and his benediction could not be heard:—but it shall be
heard, honest Peter! where these tears will add to its energy.
In a few hours Harley reached the inn where he proposed breakfasting, but
the fulness of his heart would not suffer him to eat a morsel. He walked
out on the road, and gaining a little height, stood gazing on that
quarter he had left. He looked for his wonted prospect, his fields, his
woods, and his hills: they were lost in the distant clouds! He pencilled
them on the clouds, and bade them farewell with a sigh!
He sat down on a large stone to take out a little pebble from his shoe,
when he saw, at some distance, a beggar approaching him. He had on a
loose sort of coat, mended with different-coloured rags, amongst which
the blue and the russet were the predominant. He had a short knotty
stick in his hand, and on the top of it was stuck a ram’s horn; his knees
(though he was no pilgrim) had worn the stuff of his breeches; he wore no
shoes, and his stockings had entirely lost that part of them which should
have covered his feet and ankles; in his face, however, was the plump
appearance of good humour; he walked a good round pace, and a
crook-legged dog trotted at his heels.
“Our delicacies,” said Harley to himself, “are fantastic; they are not in
nature! that beggar walks over the sharpest of these stones barefooted,
whilst I have lost the most delightful dream in the world, from the
smallest of them happening to get into my shoe.” The beggar had by this
time come up, and, pulling off a piece of hat, asked charity of Harley;
the dog began to beg too:—it was impossible to resist both; and, in
truth, the want of shoes and stockings had made both unnecessary, for
Harley had destined sixpence for him before. The beggar, on receiving
it, poured forth blessings without number; and, with a sort of smile on
his countenance, said to Harley “that if he wanted to have his fortune
told”—Harley turned his eye briskly on the beggar: it was an unpromising
look for the subject of a prediction, and silenced the prophet
immediately. “I would much rather learn,” said Harley, “what it is in
your power to tell me: your trade must be an entertaining one; sit down
on this stone, and let me know something of your profession; I have often
thought of turning fortune-teller for a week or two myself.”
“Master,” replied the beggar, “I like your frankness much; God knows I
had the humour of plain-dealing in me from a child, but there is no doing
with it in this world; we must live as we can, and lying is, as you call
it, my profession, but I was in some sort forced to the trade, for I
dealt once in telling truth.
“I was a labourer, sir, and gained as much as to make me live: I never
laid by indeed: for I was reckoned a piece of a wag, and your wags, I
take it, are seldom rich, Mr. Harley.”
“So,” said Harley, “you seem to know me.”
“Ay, there are few folks in the country that I don’t know something of:
how should I tell fortunes else?”
“True; but to go on with your story: you were a labourer, you say, and a
wag; your industry, I suppose, you left with your old trade, but your
humour you preserve to be of use to you in your new.”
“What signifies sadness, sir? a man grows lean on’t: but I was brought to
my idleness by degrees; first I could not work, and it went against my
stomach to work ever after. I was seized with a jail fever at the time
of the assizes being in the county where I lived; for I was always
curious to get acquainted with the felons, because they are commonly
fellows of much mirth and little thought, qualities I had ever an esteem
for. In the height of this fever, Mr. Harley, the house where I lay took
fire, and burnt to the ground; I was carried out in that condition, and
lay all the rest of my illness in a barn. I got the better of my
disease, however, but I was so weak that I spit blood whenever I
attempted to work. I had no relation living that I knew of, and I never
kept a friend above a week, when I was able to joke; I seldom remained
above six months in a parish, so that I might have died before I had
found a settlement in any: thus I was forced to beg my bread, and a sorry
trade I found it, Mr. Harley. I told all my misfortunes truly, but they
were seldom believed; and the few who gave me a halfpenny as they passed
did it with a shake of the head, and an injunction not to trouble them
with a long story. In short, I found that people don’t care to give alms
without some security for their money; a wooden leg or a withered arm is
a sort of draught upon heaven for those who choose to have their money
placed to account there; so I changed my plan, and, instead of telling my
own misfortunes, began to prophesy happiness to others. This I found by
much the better way: folks will always listen when the tale is their own,
and of many who say they do not believe in fortune-telling, I have known
few on whom it had not a very sensible effect. I pick up the names of
their acquaintance; amours and little squabbles are easily gleaned among
servants and neighbours; and indeed people themselves are the best
intelligencers in the world for our purpose: they dare not puzzle us for
their own sakes, for every one is anxious to hear what they wish to
believe, and they who repeat it, to laugh at it when they have done, are
generally more serious than their hearers are apt to imagine. With a
tolerable good memory, and some share of cunning, with the help of
walking a-nights over heaths and church-yards, with this, and showing the
tricks of that there dog, whom I stole from the serjeant of a marching
regiment (and by the way, he can steal too upon occasion), I make shift
to pick up a livelihood. My trade, indeed, is none of the honestest; yet
people are not much cheated neither who give a few half-pence for a
prospect of happiness, which I have heard some persons say is all a man
can arrive at in this world. But I must bid you good day, sir, for I
have three miles to walk before noon, to inform some boarding-school
young ladies whether their husbands are to be peers of the realm or
captains in the army: a question which I promised to answer them by that
time.”
Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket; but Virtue bade him consider
on whom he was going to bestow it. Virtue held back his arm; but a
milder form, a younger sister of Virtue’s, not so severe as Virtue, nor
so serious as Pity, smiled upon him; his fingers lost their compression,
nor did Virtue offer to catch the money as it fell. It had no sooner
reached the ground than the watchful cur (a trick he had been taught)
snapped it up, and, contrary to the most approved method of stewardship,
delivered it immediately into the hands of his master.