Those members who were in favour of the last resolution declared that I should rescue the nation out of the hands of extortioners, lower interests, raise the value of land, revive public credit, improve commerce, and connect the people more closely with the Government, while those of the contrary opinion assured the House that I should engross the whole money of the kingdom, that I should weaken commerce by tempting people to withdraw their money from trade, that I should encourage fraud and gaming, and corrupt the morals of the nation.
Little recked I of all the stir and commotion my birth was causing, as, nursed and cared for by my father, William Paterson, a Scotch merchant, and his friend, Mr. Michael Godfrey, I gradually grew into strength. It was not till long afterwards that I heard and understood the circumstances of my birth, and how around me were centred the interests of the kingdom.
When I was only twelve months old, those who were bound together to take care of my interests separated my father from me, giving as an excuse that he was of too speculative and adventurous a spirit to be entrusted with my welfare.
Poor father! It has always seemed to me very sad that he who had worked so long and so persistently for my success should have been condemned to spend the last years of his life in solitude and neglect in Scotland, while I, his child, was gradually becoming everything that his highest ambition could have pictured; but so it was.
THE OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET. From "Punch."
I have often wished that he had employed those last weary years of his in writing a history of his life. I am sure it would have interested all classes of readers, but I suppose he was too sad and out of heart. He was forty-one years of age at the time of my birth, having been born in Dumfries in 1658. He was one of those who may be said to live before their time. He possessed great ability, knowledge, and experience, and was a great traveller, yet, with all this, his life was a series of disappointments and failures.
His great friend, Michael Godfrey, who had worked so faithfully by his side, would, I am sure, never have forsaken him, but he was struck down by a ball in the trenches of Namur, in 1695, while seeking the king in my interests.
He was a great loss to me, although I was too young at the time to estimate it fully. He has left behind him a quaint and graphic account of my infancy, with which I shall hope to make you acquainted later on.
Should you feel any interest in him, look in St. Swithin's Church some day when passing, and there you will find a monument to his memory, which records that he "died a batchelour, much lamented by his friends, relations, and acquaintances for his integrity, his knowledge, and the sweetness of his manners."