CHAPTER L.
The history of a philosophical vagabond,
pursuing novelty, and losing content.
--Vicar of Wakefield.
We followed our strange friend through the crowd at the door, which he
elbowed on either side with the most aristocratic disdain, perfectly
regardless of their jokes at his dress and manner; he no sooner got
through the throng, than he stopped short (though in the midst of the
kennel) and offered us his arm. This was an honour of which we were by no
means desirous; for, to say nothing of the shabbiness of Mr. Gordon's
exterior, there was a certain odour in his garments which was possibly
less displeasing to the wearer than to his acquaintance. Accordingly, we
pretended not to notice this invitation, and merely said, we would follow
his guidance.
He turned up a narrow street, and after passing some of the most ill
favoured alleys I ever had the happiness of beholding, he stopped at a
low door; here he knocked twice, and was at last admitted by a slip-shod,
yawning wench, with red arms, and a profusion of sandy hair. This Hebe,
Mr. Gordon greeted with a loving kiss, which the kissee resented in a
very unequivocal strain of disgustful reproach.
"Hush! my Queen of Clubs; my Sultana Sootina!" said Mr. Gordon; "hush! or
these gentlemen will think you in earnest. I have brought three new
customers to the club."
This speech somewhat softened the incensed Houri of Mr. Gordon's
Paradise, and she very civilly asked us to enter.
"Stop!" said Mr. Gordon with an air of importance, "I must just step in
and ask the gentlemen to admit you;--merely a form--for a word from me
will be quite sufficient." And so saying, he vanished for about five
minutes.
On his return, he said, with a cheerful countenance, that we were free of
the house, but that we must pay a shilling each as the customary fee.
This sum was soon collected, and quietly inserted in the waistcoat pocket
of our chaperon, who then conducted us up the passage into a small back
room, where were sitting about seven or eight men, enveloped in smoke,
and moistening the fever of the Virginian plant with various preparations
of malt. On entering, I observed Mr. Gordon deposit, at a sort of bar,
the sum of three-pence, by which I shrewdly surmised he had gained the
sum of two and nine-pence by our admission. With a very arrogant air, he
proceeded to the head of the table, sat himself down with a swagger, and
called out, like a lusty royster of the true kidney, for a pint of purl
and a pipe. Not to be out of fashion, we ordered the same articles of
luxury.
After we had all commenced a couple of puffs at our pipes, I looked round
at our fellow guests; they seemed in a very poor state of body, as might
naturally be supposed; and, in order to ascertain how far the condition
of the mind was suited to that of the frame, I turned round to Mr.
Gordon, and asked him in a whisper to give us a few hints as to the genus
and characteristics of the individual components of his club. Mr. Gordon
declared himself delighted with the proposal, and we all adjourned to a
separate table at the corner of the room, where Mr. Gordon, after a deep
draught at the purl, thus began:--"You observe yon thin, meagre,
cadaverous animal, with rather an intelligent and melancholy expression
of countenance--his name is Chitterling Crabtree: his father was an
eminent coal-merchant, and left him L10,000. Crabtree turned politician.
When fate wishes to ruin a man of moderate abilities and moderate
fortune, she makes him an orator. Mr. Chitterling Crabtree attended all
the meetings at the Crown and Anchor--subscribed to the aid of the
suffering friends of freedom--harangued, argued, sweated, wrote--was
fined and imprisoned--regained his liberty, and married--his wife loved a
community of goods no less than her spouse, and ran off with one citizen,
while he was running on to the others. Chitterling dried his tears; and
contented himself with the reflection, that, in 'a proper state of
things,' such an event could not have occurred.
"Mr. Crabtree's money and life were now half gone. One does not subscribe
to the friends of freedom and spout at their dinners for nothing. But the
worst drop was yet in the cup. An undertaking, of the most spirited and
promising nature, was conceived by the chief of the friends, and the
dearest familiar of Mr. Chitterling Crabtree. Our worthy embarked his
fortune in a speculation so certain of success;--crash went the
speculation, and off went the friend--Mr. Crabtree was ruined. He was
not, however, a man to despair at trifles. What were bread, meat, and
beer, to the champion of equality! He went to the meeting that very
night: he said he gloried in his losses--they were for the cause: the
whole conclave rang with shouts of applause, and Mr. Chitterling Crabtree
went to bed happier than ever. I need not pursue his history farther; you
see him here--verbum sat. He spouts at the 'Ciceronian,' for half a crown
a night, and to this day subscribes sixpence a week to the cause of
'liberty and enlightenment all over the world.'"
"By Heaven!" cried Dartmore, "he is a fine fellow, and my father shall do
something for him."
Gordon pricked up his ears, and continued,--"Now, for the second person,
gentlemen, whom I am about to describe to you. You see that middle-sized,
stout man, with a slight squint, and a restless, lowering, cunning
expression?"
"What! him in the kerseymere breeches and green jacket?" said I.
"The same," answered Gordon. "His real name, when he does not travel with
an alias, is Job Jonson. He is one of the most remarkable rogues in
Christendom; he is so noted a cheat, that there is not a pick-pocket in
England who would keep company with him if he had anything to lose. He
was the favourite of his father, who intended to leave him all his
fortune, which was tolerably large. He robbed him one day on the high
road; his father discovered it, and disinherited him. He was placed at a
merchant's office, and rose, step by step, to be head clerk, and intended
son-in-law. Three nights before his marriage, he broke open the till, and
was turned out of doors the next morning. If you were going to do him the
greatest favour in the world, he could not keep his hands out of your
pocket till you had done it. In short, he has rogued himself out of a
dozen fortunes, and a hundred friends, and managed, with incredible
dexterity and success, to cheat himself into beggary and a pot of beer."
"I beg your pardon," said I, "but I think a sketch of your own life must
be more amusing than that of any one else: am I impertinent in asking for
it?"
"Not at all," replied Mr. Gordon; "you shall have it in as few words as
possible."
"I was born a gentleman, and educated with some pains; they told me I was
a genius, and it was not very hard to persuade me of the truth of the
assertion. I wrote verses to a wonder--robbed orchards according to
military tactics--never played at marbles, without explaining to my
competitors the theory of attraction--and was the best informed,
mischievous, little rascal in the whole school. My family were in great
doubt what to do with so prodigious a wonder; one said the law, another
the church, a third talked of diplomacy, and a fourth assured my mother,
that if I could but be introduced at court, I should be lord chamberlain
in a twelvemonth. While my friends were deliberating, I took the liberty
of deciding; I enlisted, in a fit of loyal valour, in a marching
regiment; my friends made the best of a bad job, and bought me an
ensigncy.
"I recollect I read Plato the night before I went to battle; the next
morning they told me I ran away. I am sure it was a malicious invention,
for if I had, I should have recollected it; whereas I was in such a
confusion that I cannot remember a single thing that happened in the
whole course of that day. About six months afterwards, I found myself out
of the army, and in gaol; and no sooner had my relations released me from
the latter predicament, than I set off on my travels. At Dublin, I lost
my heart to a rich widow (as I thought); I married her, and found her as
poor as myself. God knows what would have become of me, if I had not
taken to drinking; my wife scorned to be outdone by me in any thing; she
followed my example, and at the end of a year I followed her to the
grave. Since then I have taken warning, and been scrupulously sober.--
Betty, my love, another pint of purl.
"I was now once more a freeman in the prime of my life; handsome, as you
see, gentlemen, and with the strength and spirit of a young Hercules.
Accordingly I dried my tears, turned marker by night, at a gambling
house, and buck by day, in Bond-street (for I had returned to London). I
remember well one morning, that his present Majesty was pleased, en
passant, to admire my buckskins--tempora mutantur. Well, gentlemen, one
night at a brawl in our salon, my nose met with a rude hint to move to
the right. I went, in a great panic to the surgeon, who mended the
matter, by moving it to the left. There, thank God! it has rested in
quiet ever since. It is needless to tell you the nature of the quarrel in
which this accident occurred; however, my friends thought it necessary to
remove me from the situation I then held. I went once more to Ireland,
and was introduced to 'a friend of freedom.' I was poor; that
circumstance is quite enough to make a patriot. They sent me to Paris on
a secret mission, and when I returned, my friends were in prison. Being
always of a free disposition, I did not envy them their situation:
accordingly I returned to England. Halting at Liverpool, with a most
debilitated purse, I went into a silversmith's shop to brace it, and
about six months afterwards, I found myself on a marine excursion to
Botany Bay. On my return from that country, I resolved to turn my
literary talents to account. I went to Cambridge, wrote declamations, and
translated Virgil at so much a sheet. My relations (thanks to my letters,
neither few nor far between) soon found me out; they allowed me (they do
so still) half a guinea a week; and upon this and my declamations, I
manage to exist. Ever since, my chief residence has been at Cambridge. I
am an universal favourite with both graduates and under-graduates. I have
reformed my life and my manners, and have become the quiet, orderly
person you behold me. Age tames the fiercest of us--
"'Non sum qualis eram.'
"Betsy, bring me my purl, and be d--d to you.
"It is now vacation time, and I have come to town with the idea of
holding lectures on the state of education. Mr. Dartmore, your health.
Gentlemen, yours. My story is done, and I hope you will pay for the
purl."
