Part 5

This second unwilling departure, created much mirth in the company, and gave birth to many jokes at the expence of the ill-fated champion. It was not long before he returned, and fixing his eyes upon my companion, swore he believed he had given him a dose of physic in the gingerbread, and with a stern countenance declared, if it really was so, he would resent it severely. My companion told him he had no reason to attribute his disorder to the nuts he had given him, for that he himself and two gentlemen then present had eat of them, and found no such effects; upon this the company was unanimous in opinion, that it must be owing to something else he had eat in the morning. Mr. Feastlove vowed that he had refrained from eating any thing that morning on account of the feast; every one then concluded the turbot did not agree with him, and Mr. Feastlove began to imagine that was the cause, therefore determined to try something else, and again sitting down, he filled a plate with ham and fowl, seeming determined to make up the time and loss he had suffered by the turbot, on those dishes. The quick dispatch he made with the legs and wings of a fowl and a slice of ham, now, assured the company that he was again restored to his usual health and vigour, and they congratulated him on his recovery. Mr. Feastlove said it was very surprising that turbot, which was a fish that he was extravagantly fond of, should serve him so now, particularly, and that he believed he should be able to make a tolerable dinner, but he had scarce devoured two thirds of the ham and fowl he had helped himself to, before he very gravely laid down his knife and fork, and with a mixture of sorrow and anger, protested he found the disorder was again coming upon him,—and in a few minutes the former convulsions of his face returned, which caused much mirth in the company, though they endeavoured to conceal it as much as possible.—He was now advised to drink a glass of wine made hot, which he did, and again seized his knife and fork, and was dissecting a fowl, but the hot wine, like a bason of water gruel, aiding the physic that was lodged in the gingerbread, caused such a ferment within him, that he seemed at a loss to tell which way it would operate upon him; sometimes it appeared as if he had a fit of the cholick, and by and by, as if he had taken a vomit, and just as two fine haunches of venison appeared smoaking before him, he rose from his chair, and cursing his guts, speeded down stairs.

This third retreat surprized the company much, though they did not seem to be very sorry, it being observed he could very well afford to lose what he did. The unhappy eater, of the appetite-creating nuts, continued Sable, being returned, he again vented his rage against the gingerbread, swearing nothing else could have affected him so, but my companion, and the two gentlemen who had likewise eat gingerbread (though indeed not out of the same pocket) being in good health, it was determined by the company, that it could not possibly be the cause.—Mr. Feastlove said he could not tell how it was, but he was sure he had taken physick that day, and swore it was a strong dose too;—and again sat down and swore a great oath, he would not leave the room again till he had fully dined, and though he had been forced from the turbot, and the ham and fowls, yet nothing should make him leave the venison, while he had power to force a bit down.—Thus resolved he fell most voraciously upon the haunches of venison, depriving them of two full pounds at least, which after heating over a lamp with currant jelly and other sauce, he began to send down to keep peace in his _Corporation_, and for a considerable time I concluded the venison would prevent any farther tumult;—but before one third had been dispatched to keep the rebellious powers in awe, an alarm was begun, and the noise of contention was heard again to rumble from within the globose belly of the afflicted hero, and in a few minutes the noise encreasing, declared the battle raged with great violence, but true to the cause, he scorned to be subdued.

A gentleman now recommended a glass of brandy to Mr. Feastlove, which he approving, he for a minute refrained from eating, and took off a large glass, and then fell too again, being determined, he said, to weather the storm, and the horrid faces he frequently made, and extraordinary motions of his body, declared he was very strongly summoned to depart the room again;—but soon the brandy, instead of putting an end to the intestine broil, made it ten times worse,—and just as he was opening his mouth to receive a small slice of venison, not larger than a moderate sized mutton chop, the gingerbread proved victorious, and drove fish, flesh and fowl, with other auxiliaries, out of the field of battle, and they lay in great disorder, scattered over the table, and endangered the eyes of the opposite gentlemen; nor was this all, for during this disaster, another party had forced open the _Sally-port_, and sought refuge in the breeches of the persevering hero.—The company now rose in great confusion, and a quantity of snuff was destroyed; those taking it now who perhaps never took any before. To conclude this terrible affair, the gingerbread-eater, after being pretty well recovered from this last unfortunate affair, was sent home some pounds lighter than he usually came from a feast.

The tragic-comic scene being ended, continued Sable, this worthy member of Comus’s court, repaired to the rendezvous of the Choice Spirits, where he was heartily received, and recounting to them his day’s exploit, set them in a roar of laughter, at the expence of Mr. Feastlove, who little dreamt, I believe, of taking a dose of physic on the feast-day of the society, though ’tis probable this Choice Spirit conferred a benefit on him instead of a punishment; in the morning this frolicksome spark conducted me to my old lodgings.

I began now, continued Sable, to wish for a little respite, the pleasing novelty of my situation in Monmouth-street, gradually subsiding as the succession of my adventures encreased; and my curiosity abating, in proportion as my excursions became less pleasing. The desire I had of a little relaxation from business was gratified, the expedition I had with the _choice spirit_, being the last time I was called to aid the schemes of any of the sons of invention, who might have occasion to appear in disguise, or assist the struggles of the unfortunate in their endeavours to overcome an adverse fate, during my stay in Monmouth-street, where I remained a considerable time without any further employment.

During this recess from business continued Sable, I past much time in contemplating on the various modes of happiness which mankind sought after, and the different means they pursued to attain their adopted wishes; the labours of my fellow adventurers in their diurnal expeditions, which were always communicated to the society together with my own experience, affording me variety of instances. The power of reasoning, and of assimilating their ideas, with which men are indued, to enable them to distinguish the true road to happiness, I found was of little or no service to them in their pursuit, the present gratification of the passions and senses, seems to be the chief consideration and stimulater in all their actions; but when the vigour of youth begins to relax, and the heat of blood to cool, the passions and senses necessarily decay, and they then perceive their error, and lament that they did not in their youth, furnish the storehouse of wisdom, with useful knowledge, to enable them to pass with satisfaction and tranquillity, through age and infirmity, and for want of which they become fretful and peevish, disagreeable to themselves, and to every one else.

The youthful auditor here thanked the sage adviser, for the lesson he so gently insinuated, and assured him that he would endeavour to regulate his conduct agreeably to the dictates of reason, and that his study should be to acquire a fund of knowledge, so that the faculties of his mind, might afford him pleasure when his passions and senses should deny it. The wise narrator replyed, he hoped the alluring bates of pleasure would not have power to check his resolution, or destroy those blossoms of virtue whose fruit was happiness.

I next, continued Sable, became the property of a very ingenious gentleman, who has entertained the town in a variety of characters, but in none more singular, or more to his emolument, during the time it lasted, than that in which I had the honour to serve him in, and though he has never been remarkable for concealing his follies, yet this is a secret which he has carefully preserved.—To keep you no longer in suspence, I was purchased by this genius, to countenance him in the character of a _Fortune-teller_, a scheme which his thorough knowledge of the town, together with a great variety of anecdotes of a number of people, which he had treasured up, made him the best qualified to act of any man in London; and he was a very _Proteus_, in varying his appearance, for he would be in your company two or three times a day, if he had occasion, in the same number of characters, without your being able to discover him.—It was this gentleman, continued Sable, who removed me from Monmouth-street, to a lodging near Charing-cross, this being the place he had chose to deliver his oracles from, a spot which, time out of mind has been remarkable for the residence of all the extraordinary things and phenomena, which have been deemed worthy the attention of this metropolis.

Here White, begged to know why that place was so particularly fixt upon by the industrious providers of strange sights and rarities. Sable declared it was not in his power to resolve him, with certainty in that point, but said, that as these itinerant raree-show gentlemen, dealt in nothing but what is most properly adapted to the meanest capacity, (as some book-sellers inform the world what they publish is) so this neighbourhood may be looked upon, by these gentlemen, as the meridian best calculated for their purpose.

Every thing being settled by this foreteller of events, continued Sable, advertisements were put in the newspapers, and bills dispersed, acquainting the nobility and gentry, that a sage Ægyptian, who was making the tour of Europe, was arrived in London, and that his stay would be only one month, during which time they might be informed of any particular they were desirous of knowing, either past, present, or to come; attendance at —— Charing-cross, every evening, from six to nine, price five shillings each person.

The first who came to search the register of fate, continued Sable, were two ladies, one tall and the other short, the tall lady desired to know, as a specimen of the doctor’s art, (for so he stiled himself) where she was on such a day, a considerable time past; the doctor having been informed of the day of her nativity, and looking over his book told her she was on the day she mentioned, in _Newgate_; the lady started in great surprise,—and asked how she came to be there,—the doctor told her, she went to see a _Highwayman_,—the other lady then asked where she was on that day,—the Doctor, after going through the ceremony of calculating her nativity, told her she was also in _Newgate_, with the other lady on the same occasion.—These answers were thought proof enough of the doctor’s knowledge of things past,—and the tall lady next desired, he would tell her the most remarkable place she had been at that day,—to which the doctor, after making a calculation by some very extraordinary figures with pen and ink, answered she had been to see the _tall man_,—where she had seen _something_ that greatly _surprised_ her.—Here the lady blushed, and said she was now sure he was the Devil; but the doctor declared he was only a distant relation of the infernal’s.—Well where shall I go to-morrow, says the lady, why, madam, says the doctor, you have resolved to pay a visit to the _tall man_ again to-morrow evening _alone_, but whether you will really keep to your resolution or not, is more than the arch-fiend himself can tell.—The lady said she must confess there was more truth than manners in his answers, and that she should have expected such an answer to have been whispered when there was a third person in company.—The doctor humbly asked pardon, but said as the lady her companion was privy to her design, and intended to visit the _tall man_ herself another time, he did not apprehend any harm could arise in speaking of it at that time.—Well, Sir, says the lady, since I find you do know more than I imagined, I hope you are a man of honour, and at the same time put a guinea into the doctor’s hand.—The doctor assured the ladies they might rely upon on his secrecy, and waited upon them down a private pair of stairs which led into a street that lay behind the house.

The first trial of my genius’s knowledge of the influence of the stars, continued Sable, succeeded to admiration.—White here desired to know what book it was the doctor extracted his knowledge from.—Sable replied, it was a common place book in which his owner entered down his anecdotes, and which he was every day encreasing, being employed all day in going from place to place where he could best gain intelligence—you will, no doubt, wonder, says Sable, how he could come by the knowledge of the lady’s secret intention, that, adds Sable, he guessed—which indeed from these ladies known character and disposition was no difficult matter to do; for he knew who the ladies were perfectly well, and, I assure you, they were both people of great distinction.

The next remarkable person, continued Sable, who was desirous of consulting the stars, was an officer in the guards, who on his entrance told the doctor he had heard he was acquainted with things _above_ and _below_ stairs.—You understand me—continues he, and so let me have five shillings worth of information.—From which quarter, Sir, says the doctor—which quarter, replies the familiar gentleman,—why faith, adds he, I believe it is from _below stairs_.—The doctor then desired to know the day of his nativity, and that he would propose his question,—why you must know, says the gay spark, that I have a d—’d inclination to lie with the wife of a particular friend of mine, but I want to know whether it will be attended with any bad consequences.—I mean, continues he, whether I should be obliged to fight in this case or not? for though I would not have you think me a coward, yet I should not chuse to draw my sword upon my friend.—The doctor, after looking over his book, and making a number of hieroglyphicks as usual, told him, that though the husband would know his dishonour, yet he might be assured no bad consequences would ensue to him, for that it would only _make his friend unhappy during his life_; the son of Mars, continued Sable, was extremely well satisfyed with this answer, and departed, in all probability, to confer upon his friend this new mark of his esteem.

A young lady, continued Sable, of a fine figure, next entered, and after answering the doctor the necessary questions, told him she wanted to know when she should be married—what sort of a man she should have—and how many children?—The doctor, after consulting the book of knowledge, told her, that it would be some time before she was married—and that she would marry an old baronet, whose title and estate she would deem a sufficient compensation, for the sacrifice of her youth and beauty, to age and infirmity;—and that she would have two daughters by him, both which would be born _within a month_ after her marriage; and yet, adds he, your virtue will be unblemished.—Sir, says the lady, this is the most inconsistent piece of intelligence that I ever heard; I hope you don’t mean to affront me, adds the lady.—The doctor replied, that what he had related to her, was but the effect of his art; what is meant he declared was yet beyond his knowledge, but, pray Sir, says the lady, does your art inform you that I shall really have two daughters within a month after my marriage, and yet my virtue be unblemished.—Madam, says the doctor, it is really as I have related, but I will take some pains to unravel the mystery—upon which he began to make a number of strange figures, and the result of his enquiry, he told the lady, was, that she would certainly have two daughters within the time he had mentioned, the eldest of whom, he said, would be born very soon after her marriage, and the other within a month after;—you will be very happy, madam, says he, in the first, for your husband will spare nothing that his estate, which will not be very small, can administer for its gratification; nor will you, madam, set any bounds to your inclinations to support and cherish it.—But you will not be so happy, says he, in your other daughter, for she will be of an insatiable disposition, and your husband will do all in his power to satisfy it, but all his endeavours will only serve to increase its desires.—The lady declared she could not possibly understand him, and desired if he could explain himself that he would.—The doctor answered, what he had told her he was convinced would come to pass, and that her first daughter’s name would be _Pride_, and the other _Lust_.—Upon this the lady flew out of the room, saying,—he might repent this treatment.

A little old gentleman with a white wig and rosy face, next entered our temple, and addressing himself to the doctor, told him, that though he had never placed any confidence in oracles, yet the fame of his great skill in astrology, made him resolve to throw away five shillings and half an hour, in consulting him in a thing he should be glad to know.—The doctor told him he would resolve him in the best manner his art would admit. The old gentleman said, that he had for many years been saving every thing he could, scarce allowing himself the necessaries of life, that he might leave a fortune to his son, sufficient to raise a name; and though he had been stigmatised by many people, with not having acquired the fortune he had by the fairest means, yet he believed he had always kept _within_ the _letter_ of the _law_; but, Sir, continues he, if I live six months longer, I shall be able to leave my son fifty thousand pounds; therefore, I should be glad to know what course he will take, and whether he will be much on the Exchange, as I have been.—The doctor told him, his son would follow _Newmarket course_, where, says he, he will _exchange_ the greatest part of his fortune, for the qualities of a jockey, and by the time he is five and twenty, will _exchange_ his liberty for a prison, where, continues he, he will _exchange_ this life for another.—The old gentleman was preparing to remonstrate against the decree of the stars, but was prevented by the knocking of another visiter at the door, and he was conducted down the back stairs, complaining all the way of the partiality of fate in the unjust distribution of his fortune, and in preventing him from being the _first stone_ in the foundation of a family.