My hand was in my pocket, and the guinea, which was between my finger and thumb, slipped out.
“Yes,” said I, “she shall have my five shillings,”
“Good heaven!” exclaimed Justice, “what are you about! Five shillings? If you pay but five shillings for going into the Theatre, then you get value received for your money.”
“And I shall owe him no thanks,” added Charity, laying her hand upon my heart, and leading me on the way to the Widow’s house.
Taking the knocker in my left hand, my whole frame trembled. Looking round, I saw Avarice turn the corner of the street, and I found all the money in my pocket grasped in my hand.
“Is your mother at home, my dear?” said I, to a child who conducted me into a parlour.
“Yes,” answered the infant; “but my father has not been at home for a great while; that is his harpsichord, and that is his violin.—He used to play on them for me.”
“Shall I play you a tune, my boy?” said I.
“No, sir,” answered the boy, “My mother will not let them be touched; for since my father went abroad, music makes her cry, and then we all cry.”
I looked on the violin—it was unstrung. I touched the harpsichord—it was out of tune. Had the lyre of Orpheus sounded in my ear, it could not have insinuated to my heart thrills of sensibility equal to what I felt. It was the spirit in unison with the flesh.