Next morning I put myself on the roof of a coach which in other days I had frequently driven. Neither guard nor coachman remembered me. Of course, the vulgar scoundrels had heard of my downfall. Well, they only imitated men of better birth! They forgot me when it was convenient.
I entered London. It was the anniversary of a victory^ and I remembered it well. Two years before, by a singular coincidence, I had driven in with my own four-in-hand—and as the slang went then, it was “the best appointed drag in England.” Mary Davis was on the box. Ah, two years had made a difference! I was a pauper on a stagecoach—Mary Davis, a wanderer on the streets! A ice, with her, poor girl, commenced in luxury, but to both it brought what it generally does—ruin and disgrace!
The paltry supply that Morley had given was half consumed by my journey; and I sought one of the humblest hostleries which London, in its infinity of accommodation, presents. The extent of my degradation had nearly stupified me; but next morning I went to the Postoffice to inquire for the promised communication, scarcely caring whether it arrived or not. The steward, however, had been punctual; and the expected letter was delivered. It was brief—written in a disguised hand—and merely desired me to call at some rascally place in one of the worst localities of the oldest portion of the city.
I proceeded to find out the street, and with some difficulty succeeded. The person I inquired for was from home, but I was directed to a low public-house in the neighbourhood, and there I found him in company with several blackguard-looking personages. The room reeked with tobacco smoke; the table was splashed over with spilt liquors; the ceiling in many places had fallen in; and the contrivances to stop the broken casement, and exclude the air, were extraordinary. The man I sought took me to an inner closet, called for a stoup of gin, shut the door carefully, and then proceeded to business.
“You are the gentleman Mr. M. has recommended to me?’’ said the stranger.
“I am that unfortunate person.”
“And you want to leave the country for a while? Well, there’s no great difficulty in doing that, if a person was not very particular about the way he travelled. It’s only getting lagged, you know.’
“Lagged! I don’t understand you.”
“Don’t ye?” replied my new acquaintance. “Why I’m certain I speak plain English. I mean, if you did not mind transportation, why you could travel at the king’s expense. But I see you’re raw. Well, I’ll try how far I can oblige the gentleman who takes an interest about ye. Let me see—I have some appointments to keep which will detain me all morning; but meet me at eight this evening in the Borough,” and on the back of an old tavern bill he scrawled, in villanous characters, the place and hour of meeting; told me to be punctual; drank the gin; desired me to pay for it; and conducting me to the door, left me to wear the wretched day through in any way I pleased.
If I might form any opinion from personal appearance, Morley’s friend was every thing but respectable. ‘Well, he was the fitter acquaintance for an outcast like me. I had none better left; and at the appointed time I crossed over London Bridge, to seek the place where the interview with the stranger was to take place.