HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY.
THE company at the baronet’s removed to the playhouse accordingly, and
Harley took his usual route into the Park. He observed, as he entered, a
fresh-looking elderly gentleman in conversation with a beggar, who,
leaning on his crutch, was recounting the hardships he had undergone, and
explaining the wretchedness of his present condition. This was a very
interesting dialogue to Harley; he was rude enough, therefore, to slacken
his pace as he approached, and at last to make a full stop at the
gentleman’s back, who was just then expressing his compassion for the
beggar, and regretting that he had not a farthing of change about him.
At saying this, he looked piteously on the fellow: there was something in
his physiognomy which caught Harley’s notice: indeed, physiognomy was one
of Harley’s foibles, for which he had been often rebuked by his aunt in
the country, who used to tell him that when he was come to her years and
experience he would know that all’s not gold that glitters: and it must
be owned that his aunt was a very sensible, harsh-looking maiden lady of
threescore and upwards. But he was too apt to forget this caution and
now, it seems, it had not occurred to him. Stepping up, therefore, to
the gentleman, who was lamenting the want of silver, “Your intentions,
sir,” said he, “are so good, that I cannot help lending you my assistance
to carry them into execution,” and gave the beggar a shilling. The other
returned a suitable compliment, and extolled the benevolence of Harley.
They kept walking together, and benevolence grew the topic of discourse.
The stranger was fluent on the subject. “There is no use of money,” said
he, “equal to that of beneficence. With the profuse, it is lost; and
even with those who lay it out according to the prudence of the world,
the objects acquired by it pall on the sense, and have scarce become our
own till they lose their value with the power of pleasing; but here the
enjoyment grows on reflection, and our money is most truly ours when it
ceases being in our possession.
“Yet I agree in some measure,” answered Harley, “with those who think
that charity to our common beggars is often misplaced; there are objects
less obtrusive whose title is a better one.”
“We cannot easily distinguish,” said the stranger; “and even of the
worthless, are there not many whose imprudence, or whose vice, may have
been one dreadful consequence of misfortune?”
Harley looked again in his face, and blessed himself for his skill in
physiognomy.
By this time they had reached the end of the walk, the old gentleman
leaning on the rails to take breath, and in the meantime they were joined
by a younger man, whose figure was much above the appearance of his
dress, which was poor and shabby. Harley’s former companion addressed
him as an acquaintance, and they turned on the walk together.
The elder of the strangers complained of the closeness of the evening,
and asked the other if he would go with him into a house hard by, and
take one draught of excellent cyder. “The man who keeps this house,”
said he to Harley, “was once a servant of mine. I could not think of
turning loose upon the world a faithful old fellow, for no other reason
but that his age had incapacitated him; so I gave him an annuity of ten
pounds, with the help of which he has set up this little place here, and
his daughter goes and sells milk in the city, while her father manages
his tap-room, as he calls it, at home. I can’t well ask a gentleman of
your appearance to accompany me to so paltry a place.” “Sir,” replied
Harley, interrupting him, “I would much rather enter it than the most
celebrated tavern in town. To give to the necessitous may sometimes be a
weakness in the man; to encourage industry is a duty in the citizen.”
They entered the house accordingly.
On a table at the corner of the room lay a pack of cards, loosely thrown
together. The old gentleman reproved the man of the house for
encouraging so idle an amusement. Harley attempted to defend him from
the necessity of accommodating himself to the humour of his guests, and
taking up the cards, began to shuffle them backwards and forwards in his
hand. “Nay, I don’t think cards so unpardonable an amusement as some
do,” replied the other; “and now and then, about this time of the
evening, when my eyes begin to fail me for my book, I divert myself with
a game at piquet, without finding my morals a bit relaxed by it. Do you
play piquet, sir?” (to Harley.) Harley answered in the affirmative; upon
which the other proposed playing a pool at a shilling the game, doubling
the stakes; adding, that he never played higher with anybody.
Harley’s good nature could not refuse the benevolent old man; and the
younger stranger, though he at first pleaded prior engagements, yet being
earnestly solicited by his friend, at last yielded to solicitation.
When they began to play, the old gentleman, somewhat to the surprise of
Harley, produced ten shillings to serve for markers of his score. “He
had no change for the beggar,” said Harley to himself; “but I can easily
account for it; it is curious to observe the affection that inanimate
things will create in us by a long acquaintance. If I may judge from my
own feelings, the old man would not part with one of these counters for
ten times its intrinsic value; it even got the better of his benevolence!
I, myself, have a pair of old brass sleeve buttons.” Here he was
interrupted by being told that the old gentleman had beat the younger,
and that it was his turn to take up the conqueror. “Your game has been
short,” said Harley. “I re-piqued him,” answered the old man, with joy
sparkling in his countenance. Harley wished to be re-piqued too, but he
was disappointed; for he had the same good fortune against his opponent.
Indeed, never did fortune, mutable as she is, delight in mutability so
much as at that moment. The victory was so quick, and so constantly
alternate, that the stake, in a short time, amounted to no less a sum
than £12, Harley’s proportion of which was within half-a-guinea of the
money he had in his pocket. He had before proposed a division, but the
old gentleman opposed it with such a pleasant warmth in his manner, that
it was always over-ruled. Now, however, he told them that he had an
appointment with some gentlemen, and it was within a few minutes of his
hour. The young stranger had gained one game, and was engaged in the
second with the other; they agreed, therefore, that the stake should be
divided, if the old gentleman won that: which was more than probable, as
his score was 90 to 35, and he was elder hand; but a momentous re-pique
decided it in favour of his adversary, who seemed to enjoy his victory
mingled with regret, for having won too much, while his friend, with
great ebullience of passion, many praises of his own good play, and many
malediction’s on the power of chance, took up the cards, and threw them
into the fire.