The third day, continued Sable, I was summoned into the parlour, and was ordered to be tried upon a middle-aged gentleman, and met with his approbation; so leaving his former attendant, which was in a very bad condition, and paying a small fee more to the salesman, he conducted me to a street, near Red-Lion-Square, where he ascended into a garret. It being evening, continued Sable, I had not an opportunity of forming any judgment of the profession of my new owner, though I imagined he was either a great œconomist, or that poverty and he were joint tenants of the apartment; for upon the candle’s going out (which from a seeming affection to my unknown master, had long laboured to support life) he retired to rest, though very early in the evening;—as soon as day-light would permit me, continued Sable, I began to take an inventory of the furniture; which I found consisted of an old miserable bed and bedstead, with a coverlet and an old blue curtain, which was fixed to the side of the bedstead; adjoining to the casement, a whitewashed wall served to keep the wind from intruding upon the privacy of the reposed gentleman on the other side, and also to receive that which some people of a phlegmatick constitution, carry with them in their pockets. A table next presented itself, which seemed to lament the loss of a flap, that either time, or something else, had amputated from it, and which was laid across a chair, the cane-bottom having given way; two other maimed chairs supported themselves by leaning against the wall, one of which sustained me; the next were two deal boxes, which occupied a fourth part of the room, one of which wanting a lid disclosed a confused heap of papers, amongst which I saw the cover of a letter directed to Mr. Stanza; and lastly a shelf that ran the length of the room, on which lay one black pudding.
From the letter and papers in the box, continued Sable, I concluded, I was now the property of an author. Early in the morning, Mr. Stanza (that being my owner’s name) got up, and taking down the blue curtain, wrapt it about him, tying it round with a garter; so that it made a tolerable good morning gown, wanting nothing but sleeves, and sitting down to the table, he put the finishing stroke to the poem, and then read it over with great satisfaction. He next prepared to equip himself to go out, which took up the best part of two hours; (including the cleaning of his shoes,) and performing some very dexterous operations on his stockings) however, at length, he was drest, and carefully folding up his poem put it into his pocket, and after reconnoitring the street door through the casement, sallied forth. Near Gray’s-Inn, in Holborn, two men stept up to him, and one of them whispering him in the ear, informed him of a piece of news, that I found by his “rueful length of face” was rather disagreeable to him, and these two gentlemen conducting him to a house in Gray’s-Inn-Lane, I found the bard was under an arrest, though I did not imagine a poet was within the jurisdiction of any court, but the court of criticism, or that he was liable to answer any plaint but what arose within the province of Parnassus. However Mr. Stanza was left by his two companions under lock and key; but as he soon began to recover his spirits, I imagined he intended to remove the plaint, and have his cause tried before Apollo, but he was the next day, for want of bail, removed to the Fleet-Prison.
This prison, continued Sable, tho’ it is said to be the best in the kingdom, is a most shocking place, the generality of the inhabitants being those who have brought themselves here, either by idleness or extravagance, and very few of those bring in with them any principle of honesty or sense of shame, or if they do, they generally get rid of such troublesome companions in a very short time; most of them divert reflection by amusement, or drown it by debauchery, which weakens the mind to such a degree, that they scarce ever after are capable of reflection, as some colds take away the voice, which is never to be recovered again; those who are forced thither by misfortunes, find it difficult to maintain their principles; so naturally and imperceptibly do we imbibe the sentiments and manners of those with whom we are accustomed to converse.
One day being at the billiard table, which is permitted to be set up here for the recreation of Gentlemen, I recognized the person of my ingenious companion the sharper, who it seems, had been excelled in his own way, and outwitted by a bailiff; I must confess, says Sable, if it should have happened, that I should ever have had occasion to have enquired for this genius, I should have applied to this place, if I had not found him in the printed Register of Deaths published by the Ordinary of Newgate: And it is more than probable the latter will be yet honoured with his name.—But to return to my fellow prisoner Mr. Stanza, who had, I learned, been in his youth a man of gaiety, and had with great facility run through a pretty fortune, and afterwards run through the several characters of gamester, fortunehunter, and sharper, but with very indifferent success, and had now taken up the lucrative calling of a poet. The bard, continued Sable, whose happy disposition was superior to fate, in two or three days, began to be reconciled to his situation, and applied very closely to his profession, consuming much ink and paper; and in three months, that I continued with him there, he had written three acts of a tragedy, two acts of a comedy, almost finished a dramatic pastoral entertainment, and drawn many characters for farces, besides several poetical essays, which from the want of taste in the publishers, had been rejected and lay dead upon his hands; but the publick will have the pleasure of perusing them in his works, which he intends to publish by subscription, having already written thirty pages of a preface: add to these, continued Sable, he was an excellent Handycraftsman, and three times a week, furnished the carpenters and joiners of a certain periodical work with easy chairs, wooden spoons, &c. &c. &c.[A] the materials for which, he pilfered from the storehouses of several eminent Parnassian merchants, and sold as new cut from the Forest of Parnassus, daubing it over by way of disguise, with a nasty composition of his own making.—You will think, continued Sable, from what I have related to you concerning Mr. Stanza, that he was a man of great erudition and genius, as well as industry and perseverance. It must be confessed, says Sable, that if he could not boast so much of the former, as some authors, it is certain that he excelled most of them in the latter, so that what was deficient in quality, was amply made up by the quantity; and though it might be alledged against him, that his labours did not any way contribute to the improvement of his readers; yet, should he be arraigned by some ill-natured critick, for not having answered the intention of his profession, he might, with great propriety, plead his head, as women at the Old Bailey, sometimes in arrest of judgment plead their belly; and if the court should direct a jury of criticks to enquire, if he had neither wit or learning, they would, if it was an impartial jury, certainly return non est inventus, and consequently, he would be discharged.
During my abode, continued Sable, with Mr. Stanza in this repository of vice and folly, the bard had contracted an acquaintance with a certain quack, who from the length of time he had been here, and the visible decay of his drapery, was become worthy observation, as ancient coins become valuable by rust and antiquity. The bills of mortality too had long mourned his absence, the number of deaths being sensibly diminished during the doctor’s seclusion from the world. This gentleman, continued Sable, had tried many schemes to regain his liberty, but hitherto without effect: at length he fell upon an expedient, that indeed promised no better success than any of the former; but the doctor being of a disposition not easily discouraged by difficulty, he resolved to put the trial of it into execution; accordingly, he drew up an advertisement, addressed to unmarried ladies, which he put in one of the daily newspapers, setting forth, that a single gentleman of a good family, was confined in the Fleet for an inconsiderable sum, and that if any lady who had a fortune sufficient to enable her to live genteelly, with the addition of the advertiser’s practice in his profession, was willing to accept of a husband, who would make it his study to evince his gratitude, he was willing to change his state, and might be spoke with by any lady at the lodge of the Fleet-Prison.—This scheme was looked upon (should it prove successful) by some people, as exchanging a temporary confinement for a perpetual slavery;—but the doctor was one of those, who were certain that locks and bolts were more difficult to burst asunder than the bonds of matrimony, and indeed, in the doctor’s opinion, there was no tie, either divine or human, that was half so binding as that which was made of iron: he likewise knew that his profession would enable him at any time, to get rid of a disagreeable wife, as well as a troublesome patient. The doctor, as I hinted before, continued Sable, had received much damage in his wardrobe, and now constantly made his appearance in a long morning gown, which served instead of coat and waistcoat, and some people scrupled not to say, for breeches too; but that I had some reason to believe was not true; for, in order to aid the son of Æsculapius in his matrimonial scheme, Mr. Stanza, at the doctor’s request, consigned me over to him, in lieu of the morning gown, that the doctor might be able to receive any ladies who might apply to him, in conference of the advertisement, and I luckily fitted the doctor extremely well.—The second day after advertising, the doctor was called down to the lodge, and immediately obeying the summons: he was introduced to two young ladies, who I soon recollected to be the same who sat in the box with me at the play-house, when the sharper so ingeniously carried off the old gentleman’s rocqueleau; these ladies diverted themselves for some time at the expence of the doctor, and then left him, not a little chagrined at the first disappointment; however, he was in the dusk of the evening again summoned to the lodge, where he found an old lady waiting for him, whom he politely addressed: The compact shoulders and promising legs of the doctor, continued Sable, drew a more than ordinary attention from this ancient lady, and influenced her so much in his favour, that in a very short time the match was concluded, and every thing was settled for the doctor’s departure the succeeding morning, for which purpose the lady gave him a bank note; and left him overjoyed with his good fortune. The doctor immediately went to Mr. Stanza, acquainted him with his success, and begged the bard would let him keep me, and set his own price upon me.—This matter was soon settled, and I remained with the doctor, who generously made a present of the gown to Mr. Stanza. In the morning, continued Sable, the lady came to her appointment; and the doctor after having taken leave of his fellow prisoners, handed the lady into a hackney coach, and immediately drove to the temple of Hymen, and from thence they went a few miles out of town to celebrate the nuptials, and in the evening came to the lady’s house in Southwark, where the marriage, was consummated. The facility with which this marriage was conducted, continued Sable, did not, however, outstrip the eager wishes of the parties to have it concluded; the lady was perhaps stimulated by charity, and could not sleep, till she had released a man of the doctor’s figure from misery; and the doctor, I suppose, was no less uneasy, till he had once more an opportunity of circulating his medicines, to the great emolument of his good friends the Undertakers; whose trade had languished very much during his long confinement. The next morning, continued Sable, the doctor determined to shew himself amongst his brethren of the faculty, and accordingly conducted me to St. Thomas’s Hospital: here he was congratulated by his acquaintance upon recovering his liberty, which the doctor received with an extraordinary good countenance. During our stay in the womens ward at the hospital, continued Sable, I recollected, amongst the unhappy creatures, the features of the daughter of Mr. Sirloin, who was so well recovered from a Salivation, as to convince me by her behaviour, that she was an abandoned prostitute: I was struck with surprize and pity, continued Sable, to see what a wretched condition she was reduced to, and my censure was involuntarily fixed upon the ill conduct of her parents, but chiefly, upon her mother’s ill-placed pride and silly expectations, that something might happen: a vain hope, says Sable, frequently indulged by weak people, and indeed what has happened to this young woman, is too often the consequence of encouraging pride and folly in those who have nothing to support it. The doctor, continued Sable having perambulated through all the hospitals the morning would admit, returned home to his spouse, and in the afternoon, made his appearance, at all the coffee houses within the circle of his knowledge. The next morning, continued Sable, the taylor brought home a new suit of cloaths, upon which I was deposited in the wardrobe. And now, my son, says Sable, to his youthful companion, I think, I have performed.—Here Sable, was unluckily prevented from concluding his adventures by the entrance of a person, who took away White, the companion and auditor of the sage narrator; but ’tis presumed, he had only a few words more to have entirely ended; and as truth has presided over our pen, throughout the relation of these uncommon adventures, we are not at liberty to set down words that were really never uttered; therefore we chose to leave Sable’s last sentence broken, rather than put down any thing we have not authority for, as some historians do. And now, gentle reader, we take our leave of thee, hoping thou hast received as much pleasure in the perusal of this delectable history, as the relation of it from the sage’s mouth afforded us.
Footnote.
[A] Vide titles to several wooden pieces, inserted in Lloyd’s papers.
FINIS.
"New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain."