The merchant had much experience, and would have taken great pleasure in pointing out what was best. He had received some hints of Oliver's proceedings, but wished to think better of him than was represented. He concluded, Oliver would by and by call at his house, and clear up every evil report. He hoped, at present, Oliver was too busy in his trade and could not spare time. The merchant's good disposition caused him to judge too favourably of the vices of others. In this instance he was sadly deceived; the case was different.
Oliver found no longer any joy in industry. He frequently locked up his shop to go to the alehouse. He thought not of the evil days that were to come.—Days that might have been pleasant to him. He thought only of the money in his pocket, which was likely to last yet a long time. He trusted to some good fortune, as he called it, for more. From day to day his present stock was diminishing. What blindness, what folly could lead him on thus madly!
Conviction at last came. Came like a clap of thunder. Alas! it came too late. His creditors wanted money; he had none left. He could ask no more of the merchant, he knew he would not lend him any. The merchant perceived he had done Oliver an injury. Elated with having so much money, he acted as if it would never have diminished. The merchant had not considered the MIND of Oliver.
Oliver's mind was weak and trifling; and might be compared to a butterfly, always roving about, but never gaining any thing by it. As he mixed only with low company, his ideas were grovelling; and, though an excellent workman, his genius, was of an ordinary kind. He was not formed for the execution of any thing great or noble. He had, indeed, natural good sense sufficient, but he did not hearken to what it dictated; bad habits had suppressed every generous principle of the mind.
Overcome with shame and grief, he sought to stifle reflection by hard drinking. The frightful moment came. His few effects were sold and divided among his creditors. Thus did ruin fall on him. He was now disgusted with industry. He would not work. He was himself an object of horror. Life became a burden. A scene of poverty opened before him.
He fled from his country; followed by goadings of conscience, and despair. He joined a gang of smugglers, formidable for the ravages they spread through every country on the coast. God did not permit their violence to continue for a long time unpunished. Their ship was taken, the whole gang were seized, and Oliver, with the rest, was committed to prison. He was put into a solitary cell, loaded with fetters, deprived nearly of light, and allowed only bread and water to subsist upon. His bed was composed of straw. In this miserable situation he remained two months. He was then tried, found guilty of many crimes, and condemned to be shot to death. I will spare you the pain you would feel on hearing the account of his exit. Let this suffice, he ended his short term of wickedness by much repentance and a disgraceful death.
