Mrs. Gauntlet, confounded at these expressions, and moved by the desponding manner in which they were delivered, begged to know if any new obstacle was raised, by some late change in his sentiments or situation. And he, in order to avoid a painful explanation, told her, that he had long despaired of being able to vanquish Emilia's resentment, and for that reason quitted the pursuit, which he would never renew, howsoever his heart might suffer by that resolution; though he took Heaven to witness, that his love, esteem, and admiration of her, were not in the least impaired. But the true motive of his laying aside his design, was the consciousness of his decayed fortune, which, by adding to the sensibility of his pride, increased the horror of another repulse. She expressed her concern for this determination, both on his own account, and in behalf of Emilia, whose happiness, in her opinion, depended upon his constancy and affection; and she would have questioned him more minutely about the state of his affairs, had not he discouraged the inquiry by seeking to introduce another subject of conversation.
After mutual protestations of friendship and regard, he promised to visit her often, during her residence in town; and took his leave in a strange perplexity of mind, occasioned by the images of love, intruding upon the remonstrances of carking care. He had some time ago forsaken those extravagant companions with whom he had rioted in the heyday of his fortune, and begun to consort with a graver and more sober species of acquaintance. But he now found himself disabled from cultivating the society of these also, who were men of ample estates and liberal dispositions; in consequence of which, their parties were too expensive for the consumptive state of his finances; so that he was obliged to descend to another degree, and mingle with a set of old bachelors and younger brothers, who subsisted on slender annuities, or what is called a bare competency in the public funds. This association was composed of second-hand politicians and minor critics, who in the forenoon saunter in the Mall, or lounge at shows of pictures, appear in the drawing-room once or twice a week, dine at an ordinary, decide disputes in a coffee-house, with an air of superior intelligence, frequent the pit of the playhouse, and once in a month spend an evening with some noted actor, whose remarkable sayings they repeat for the entertainment of their ordinary friends.
After all, he found something comfortable enough in the company of these gentlemen, who never interested his passions to any violence of transport, nor teased him with impertinent curiosity about his private affairs. For, though many of them had maintained a very long, close, and friendly correspondence with each other, they never dreamt of inquiring into particular concerns; and if one of the two who were most intimately connected, had been asked how the other made a shift to live, he would have answered with great truth, “Really, that is more than I know.” Notwithstanding this phlegmatic indifference, which is of the true English production, they were all inoffensive, good-natured people, who loved a joke and a song, delighted in telling a merry story, and prided themselves in the art of catering, especially in the articles of fish, venison, and wild fowl.
Our young gentleman was not received among them on the footing of a common member, who makes interest for his admission; he was courted as a person of superior genius and importance, and his compliance looked upon as an honour to their society. This their idea of his pre-eminence was supported by his conversation, which, while it was more liberal and learned than that to which they had been accustomed, was tinctured with an assuming air, so agreeably diffused, that, instead of producing aversion, it commanded respect. They not only appealed to him, in all doubts relating to foreign parts, to which one and all of them were strangers, but also consulted his knowledge in history and divinity, which were frequently the topics of their debates; and, in poetry of all kinds, he decided with such magisterial authority, as even weighed against the opinions of the players themselves. The variety of characters he had seen and observed, and the high spheres of life in which he had so lately moved, furnished him with a thousand entertaining anecdotes. When he became a little familiarized to his disappointments, so that his natural vivacity began to revive, he flashed among them in such a number of bright sallies, as struck them with admiration, and constituted himself a classic in wit; insomuch that they began to retail his remnants, and even invited some particular friends to come and hear him hold forth. One of the players, who had for many years strutted about the taverns in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden as the Grand Turk of wit and humour, began to find his admirers melt away; and a certain petulant physician, who had shone at almost all the port clubs in that end of the town, was actually obliged to import his talents into the city, where he was now happily taken root.
Nor was this success to be wondered at, if we consider that, over and above his natural genius and education, our adventurer still had the opportunity of knowing everything which happened among the great, by means of his friend Cadwallader, with whom he still maintained his former intimacy, though it was now chequered with many occasional tiffs, owing to the sarcastic remonstrances of the misanthrope, who disapproved of those schemes which miscarried with Peregrine, and now took unseasonable methods of valuing himself upon his own foresight. Nay, he was between whiles like a raven, croaking presages of more ill-luck from the deceit of the minister, the dissimulation of his patron, the folly of the projector, for whom he was bound, the uncertainty of the seas, and the villainy of those with whom he had entrusted his cash, for Crabtree saw and considered everything through a perspective of spleen, that always reflected the worst side of human nature. For these reasons our young gentleman began to be disgusted, at certain intervals, with the character of this old man, whom he now thought a morose cynic, not so much incensed against the follies and vices of mankind, as delighted with the distress of his fellow-creatures. Thus he put the most unfavourable construction on the principles of his friend, because he found himself justly fallen under the lash of his animadversion. Thus self-accusation very often dissolves the closest friendship. A man, conscious of his own indiscretion, is implacably offended at the rectitude of his companion's conduct, which he considers as an insult upon his failings, never to be forgiven, even though he has not tasted the bitterness of reproof, which no sinner can commodiously digest. The friendship, therefore, subsisting between Crabtree and Pickle, had of late suffered several symptomatic shocks, that seemed to prognosticate a total dissolution; a great deal of smart dialogue had passed in their private conversations, and the senior began to repent of having placed his confidence in such an imprudent, headstrong ungovernable youth.
It was in such paroxysms of displeasure that he prophesied misfortune to Peregrine, and even told him one morning, that he had dreamed of the shipwreck of the two East Indiamen, on board of which he had hazarded his money. But this was no other than a false vision; for in a few weeks, one of them arrived at her moorings in the river, and he received a thousand in lieu of eight hundred pounds which he had lent upon bond to one of the mates. At the same time he was informed, that the other ship, in which he was concerned, had, in all probability, lost her passage for the season, by being unable to weather the Cape. He was not at all concerned at that piece of news, knowing, that the longer he should be out of his money, he would have the more interest to receive; and, finding his present difficulties removed by this supply, his heart began to dilate, and his countenance to resume its former alacrity. This state of exultation, however, was soon interrupted by a small accident, which he could not foresee. He was visited one morning by the person who had lent his friend a thousand pounds on his security, and given to understand, that the borrower had absconded, in consequence of a disappointment, by which he had lost the whole sum and all hopes of retrieving it; so that our hero was now liable for the debt, which he besought him to discharge according to the bond, that he, the lender, might not suffer by his humanity. It may be easily conceived that Peregrine did not receive this intelligence in cold blood. He cursed his own imprudence in contracting such engagements with an adventurer, whom he did not sufficiently know. He exclaimed against the treachery of the projector; and having for some time indulged his resentment in threats and imprecations, inquired into the nature of the scheme which had miscarried.
The lender, who had informed himself of the whole affair, gratified his curiosity in this particular, by telling him that the fugitive had been cajoled by a certain knight of the post, who undertook to manage the thousand pounds in such a manner as would, in a very little time, make him perfectly independent; and thus he delineated the plan: “One half of the sum,” said he, “shall be laid out in jewels, which I will pawn to certain persons of credit and fortune, who lend money upon such pledges at an exorbitant interest. The other shall be kept for relieving them, so that they may be again deposited with a second set of those honourable usurers; and when they shall have been circulated in this manner through a variety of hands, we will extort money from each of the pawnbrokers, by threatening them with a public prosecution, for exacting illegal interest; and I know that they will bleed freely, rather than be exposed to the infamy attending such an accusation.” The scheme was feasible, and though not very honourable, made such an impression upon the needy borrower, that he assented to the proposals; and, by our hero's credit, the money was raised. The jewels were accordingly purchased, pawned, relieved, and repledged by the agent, who undertook to manage the whole affair; and so judiciously was the project executed, that he could have easily proved each lender guilty of the charge. Having thus far successfully transacted the business, this faithful agent visited them severally on his own account, to give them intimation, that his employer intended to sue them on the statute of usury; upon which, every one for himself bribed the informer to withdraw his evidence, by which alone he could be convicted; and having received these gratifications, he had thought proper to retreat into France with the whole booty, including the original thousand that put them in motion. In consequence of this decampment, the borrower had withdrawn himself; so that the lender was obliged to have recourse to his security.
This was a very mortifying account to our young gentleman, who, in vain, reminded the narrator of his promise, importing, that he would not demand the money, until he should be called to an account by his ward; and observed, that, long before that period, the fugitive might appear and discharge the debt. But the other was deaf to these remonstrances; alleging, that his promise was provisional, on the supposition that the borrower would deal candidly and fairly; that he had forfeited all title to his friendship and trust, by the scandalous scheme in which he had embarked; and that his treacherous flight from his security was no proof of his honesty and intended return; but, on the contrary, a warning, by which he, the lender, was taught to take care of himself. He therefore insisted upon his being indemnified immediately, on pain of letting the law take its course; and Peregrine was actually obliged to part with the whole sum he had so lately received. But this payment was not made without extreme reluctance, indignation, and denunciation of eternal war against the absconder, and the rigid creditor, betwixt whom he suspected some collusion.