Lewellin, expecting that Gordon was going to a Philosophical Society, of which he was a member, gave his consent; nor was he undeceived, till he found himself seated in a box at Drury Lane Theatre. His conscience smote him; but as he had been decoyed there, the faithful reprover was soon silenced; the curtain was drawn, and the stage exhibited a scene which was not only new but captivating. When the play was over, Gordon said, "I have watched your countenance during the whole of the tragedy, and I perceive that you have an instinctive taste for the drama. Yes, Lewellin, this is the school to exalt the genius and amend the heart. Here our manners are polished, our taste is refined, and those moral sentiments are inculcated which make the man the gentleman."
On leaving the theatre they adjourned to an hotel, where they ordered supper, and as they sat conversing together till a very late hour, they decided on sleeping there. The Rubicon was now passed, and Lewellin, having tasted of the forbidden fruit, resolved to rid himself of his Puritanical notions (as he began to term his religious sentiments), that he might enjoy life. The first step he took was to write a letter to his kind friend, Mr. Jordan, to say that circumstances rendered it inconvenient for him to reside so far from the office, and therefore he was under the painful necessity of taking another set of rooms; he added, "I will call and settle with you; and I will thank you to send my dressing-case, &c., by the bearer." He then told his friend Gordon what he had done, who congratulated him on his courage, and assured him that he was welcome to accommodation in his apartments until he could suit himself better.
The seducer having now got his victim in his own power, hurried him through the various stages of vice with almost breathless impetuosity. The theatre, the billiard-room, the tavern, and other places, were alternately visited; and he who a few months before was horror-struck at the sight of a novel, could now occupy the seat of a scorner. But he was not suffered to remain there undisturbed. Conscience would sometimes inflict the most poignant wounds. The thought of home, of his pious father and sister, of the day of judgment, and of his loving mother, drove him at times almost frantic; when, after pronouncing a secret curse on his companion, he would plunge himself deeper in iniquity, that he might gain a momentary relief. To follow him through the course of impiety which he ran for the space of two years, during which time he involved himself in debt and in hopeless misery, would afford the reader no gratification. Disease, which had been for some time destroying his health, and impairing the vigour of his constitution, now incapacitated him for business, and he was obliged to keep to his apartments, which were near those of Mr. Gordon. For several days after his confinement he received no attention from his friend, and that left his mind more at liberty to take the black review.
He reproached himself—he reproached the destroyer of his peace—he wept, but he could not pray. He wrote a letter to his pious mother, but he burned it—he wrote another, and burned it. He wrote to his friend, Mr. Jordan, whom he had not seen since he left his house, and, just as he was directing it, the servant announced Mr. Gordon.
"Well, George, how are you?"
"Ill, very ill, and you are the cause of it!"
"I the cause of it!"
"Yes, you enticed me from the paths of virtue into the paths of vice, and though I reproach myself for my folly in giving way to your entreaties, yet, Sir, you are the seducer."
"Ah! Lewellin, you are got back to the tales of the nursery. Come, come, pluck up your spirits. You will soon get better. What does the doctor say? I was at Drury last night, and never had a finer treat."
"The doctor gives me but little hope, and your present conversation gives me less pleasure. If I die, I must appear before my Judge, and am I (wringing his hands) prepared? No!"