Chapter I: Part 1

Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=.

THE
ADVENTURES
OF A
BLACK COAT.

CONTAINING

A SERIES of Remarkable Occurrences
and entertaining Incidents,

That it was a Witness to in its Peregrinations
through the Cities of London and
Westminster, in Company with Variety of
Characters.

As related by ITSELF.

Qui mores hominum multorum vidit. HOR.

DUBLIN:

Printed for ROBERT BELL, Bookseller
and Auctioneer, at his great Auction-Rooms
on _Cork-Hill_, opposite to _Lucas’s
Coffee-House_. M DCC LXII.

[Price sewed 1s. 1d. bound 1s. 8d.]

THE

The necessity which custom has intailed upon authors, of prefixing an apology to their performances, makes it requisite for me to say something on introducing the following sheets to the public; and as long prefaces are in general of little estimation amongst the readers of books of entertainment, I will trespass as little upon their patience as possible.

To excite virtue, depress vice, and ridicule folly, is as much the business of the Novelist, as it is the design of the Drama; and though the former cannot, like the dramatic-writer, represent his scenes to the _Senses_, yet it is in his power to set his characters in such a light, as to strike the _Minds_ of his readers, in a very forcible manner, with the virtues he would have them imitate, or the errors he would wish them to amend.—But our present novel-writers seem to have little else in view than to amuse their readers; or, if they have any design to instruct them, they _gild_ the pill so very thick, that all its latent good qualities are destroyed, or its effects prevented. To mix pleasure with instruction, is certainly the most efficacious method a writer can take, to render his labours agreeable to his readers. All I shall say of the following _petit_ performance is, that I have endeavoured to make the _Author_ less conspicuous than the _moral_.

If a blush should arise on the cheek of conscious vice, or a sense of shame be awakened in the bosom of folly, on perusing any of the characters exhibited in this performance, my intentions will be answered, and there are hopes that such are not incurable. In this age of _Magazines_ and _Chronicles_, the _Cacoethes Scribendi_ hath infected the town so much, that almost every _shop_, or _work-room_, harbours an author; and _gentlemen_ of the _file_, now leave their more useful labour at the _vice_, and toil to _polish periods_. When such _gentlemen_ assume the pen, I hope it will not be deemed vanity, if I decline standing as candidate for literary fame, and declare myself not desirous of sharing with them the _honours_ that may be bestowed on their labours: but though I profess myself careless of fame, I am not callous to contempt; and should be pleased to hear critics say, that though the _performance_ claims no panegyric, yet the _design_ of it merits some praise.

Politicians will find nothing in this little work that will gratify their malevolence, nor has my pen been employed to paragon the wisdom of the present ministry.—In short, state affairs is not the subject of the following pages; neither have I drawn upon myself the enmity of so large and respectable a body as the clergy, by invading the rich province of religion.

But not to detain my readers any longer, nor awaken their entertainment by anticipating their expectations, I now refer them to the performance itself, if they should not be prejudiced against it, by deeming what they have here read as _blossoms of weeds_.

THE
ADVENTURES
OF A
BLACK COAT.

A Sable coat, whose venerable rents confest a life of business, and a length of years, long had hung sole tenant of a wardrobe; till a gay white coat with care was ushered in, and laid at decent length: when lo! with mortal voice, and sounds articulate, Sable was thus heard to address the stranger: “Thy presence, spark, warns me of my approaching dissolution; but when I cast a retrospect over my former life, and behold thy native purity and unblemished form, I cannot but pity the many and various misfortunes thou art, in all probability heir to.”—To whom, White, “And when I behold thy queer shape and rustic aspect, I cannot but return thy pity, and offer up my prayers against longevity.”—Sable replied, “Boy, know that the depredations of time, and the unseemly appearance of industry, are not proper subjects of ridicule: were it possible thou couldst foresee the train of misfortunes, which in the course of thy existence, and revolutions of thy fortune, thou will be subject to, that gay and happy mien would be changed to a gloomy and melancholy aspect.” Here White bowed humility, craved the sages pardon, and supplicated his advice in the conduct of his life. Sable, finding it a coat of manners, and pleased with the deference paid to his importance, thus answered, “To give advice is easy, but to profit by it is difficult; I will therefore (if thou hast patience to listen) rehearse to thee the vicissitudes of my fortune, from my first formation to this time, so that thou may’st profit by my misfortunes, and learn to bear thy lot, (whate’re it may be) with patience and resignation; and believe me thou wilt have occasion for philosophy.” White politely expressing his desire to be informed of the sage’s life, he thus proceeded: When I contemplate the scenes I have experienced, and meditate on the vile schemes I have been obliged to countenance in those whose sole merit and reputation on arose from my close attachment to them, my very threads blush at the indignity. Here Sable was heard to sigh most piteously, and White, ’tis thought, laughed in his sleeve. After a pause of some minutes—Sable thus opened the relation of his adventures.

The death of a late Princess was the æra of my formation, at which time I was called to this state as a symbol of sorrow, (formed by R ——’s skillful hand) for the use of a commoner of distinguished abilities. With him, in the senate-house, have I seen the best heads have the worst hearts, and fallacious eloquence silence truth, when delivered in simplicity of language: but being naturally of a volatile disposition, this life of idleness, for it was seldom I appeared in public, grew irksome to me, and I languished to see the world. My wishes were at length gratified; the limited time of mourning being expired, I was disposed of to a favorite domestic, who soon after, for a small consideration, consigned me over to Mr. ——, a merchant in Monmouth-Street.

Here properly I may say I began to exist; my heart dilated with joy at the prospect of seeing life, and associating with the various characters that visit this place.

I was soon introduced by my new owner to the class of _occasional gentleman_, each of whom I had the mortification to see frequently depart from our prison of dust and moths, and enjoy liberty and fresh air; many objecting to me on account of my size, which was then far above the common, though now, as you may see, below it, having lately been curtailed by the degrading scissars of a botcher, and refused by more from my colour. At length an Irish footman, after being disappointed by the whole class of _Beaus_, who were not equal to his Herculean breadth of shoulders, determined to appear in a character of gravity, and sallied forth with me on his back.

Various were my conjectures where this enterprizing genius was carrying me, nor was I quite free from fear of receiving stripes, from the temerity of my adventurer; for I concluded it was not an expedition squared by the rules of right altogether; especially as many of our community frequently brought home with them marks of various disasters, sometimes being dragged through a horse-pond, at other times rolled in a kennel, besides numberless canings and kickings, and were generally afterwards delivered over to the inhumanity of a scowerer, who impaired us more, with the variety of brushes he tormented us with, than a whole year of service.

But I was surprized, and not a little pleased, when I found this bold spark knock at the door of one of the managers of the theatres; the door being opened, this worthy member of the party-coloured society, was introduced to the manager, and my fears of a drubbing subsided. The ceremony of salutation being ended, my conductor was desired to open his business, which he did, with a genuine Munster accent, in the following words, as near as I can remember;—“Sir, finding myself _capacitated_ to appear upon the stage from my _internal_ figure, and other qualifications, I am come to offer you the _refusal_ of me, in _deference_ to the other house.” The manager expressed his thanks for the favour he intended him, and requested him to name the characters he thought he was the most capable to perform. “Look you, Mr. ——,” says this Hibernian Roscius, “let us first settle the sallary you are willing to give me, for ’tis not my way to take a _certainty_ for an _uncertainty_.” The manager remonstrated that it was impossible to offer any sallary before he was acquainted with his merit.—Our hero replied, “Why there is Mr. ——, I think I am not _superior_ to him in any thing, and he has, I am told, 1000l. a year; therefore I would not ask more for the first year.”—1000l. a year, (replied the manager) may not be equal to your merit; Mr. —— is a favourite of the town, and that is one reason of his being paid so much.—“By the almighty heavens! exclaimed the Munster hero, I shall be as great a favourite as he, with all the ladies soon, for I am as well proportioned a man as he is, and I don’t care a fig for him.”—Upon my word, Sir, says the manager, I believe you wou’d beat him; but Sir, I believe you have made a small mistake.—As how?—replied the Hibernian genius,—Why Sir, you have mistaken the house, Mr. Broughton lives in the Hay-market, where, if you will give yourself the trouble to call upon him, you may perhaps meet with encouragement on his amphitheatre,—“Why you little _Crature_, replied Teague, I have a great mind to take satisfaction upon your small bones.—But here the manager prudently made his exit, and left the enraged footman to his soliloquy, who, after venting many execrations and threatnings, left the house, and marched with me to my old habitation, where being arrived, he sullenly disrobed himself, and with a curse threw me on the floor, then put on his accustomed garb, adorned with the _insignia_ of his profession, and issued forth with hasty strides, to attend the humble duties of his station.

This my first adventure was not over-pleasing to me; however, I consoled myself with reflecting, that I was seeing characters and life, for which I had a longing desire that seemed implanted in my nature; and though I am sensible no coat of prudence ought to cherish such a desire, yet, at the same time, I am certain, much useful knowledge may be drawn from observing the various characters that are to be met with in this metropolis. But to proceed:

Three months I lingered in dull apathy and close imprisonment; (which to a coat of such a volatile spirit as I was then, was worse than total dissolution, or the tormenting needle of a botcher, than which nothing was half so dreadful to me) thrice a week indeed a general review was made of our company, and every one cleansed with cane and brush from moths and dust. But now a young gentleman of a most graceful appearance, ordered me to be tried upon him. I was fearful of being something too large, but the desire I had to accompany this agreeable youth, made me contract every thread to clasp him; and I so far succeeded, that he seemed equally pleased with me as I with him. In short, we soon left the neighbourhood of St. Giles’s, and with genteel deportment he conducted me towards the court-end of the town, each, if I may be allowed to say so much in my own praise, lending grace to the other.

Being arrived near St. James’s (after traversing the park once or twice, during which I could discover great anxiety of mind in my conductor; and feel his heart throb with great force) he stopt at a house that bespoke the owner to be a man of distinction, and being entered the hall, he enquired if his lordship was to be spoke with; being answered in the affirmative, he was immediately waited upon up stairs, and introduced into a spacious room, which was almost filled with gentlemen who were waiting for his lordship: from the time of his entering the house I found his heart beat with stronger emotions, from whence I concluded he was near some important period; I soon discovered the _major domo_ was a minister in a certain department, and that this was his lordship’s levee;—It was near an hour before his lordship appeared; during this time, I employed myself in an endeavour to discover, from the physiognomy of the persons present, the various expectations that might be traced in each countenance; doubt of success seemed to be predominant in the assembly, and so much was every one engaged in a tacit conversation betwixt himself and his lordship, that for the greatest part of the time a total silence prevailed. At length the doors flew open, and the minister’s coming was announced.—The peer entered, and with great dignity bowed to his dependants, who returned the salute with humble reverence. His lordship spoke to each with a mild affability, as they stood in rotation, and procrastinating the desires of his dependants, seemed to be the general benefit conferred upon the company. At last it came to be my conductor’s turn to address the peer, which he did in the following words, but something inarticulate from his extreme modesty—I beg permission to acquaint your lordship that it is this day two years since I had the honour to be put upon your lordship’s list, to be employed in an office your lordship should appoint, in the embassy to the court of Spain, in consequence of an application to your lordship from the honourable Mr. ——. Why Sir, replied the minister, I do remember something of Mr. —— applying to me in your favour, and ’tis probable I might then put you upon my list, but I can never think it is two years since.—I would not, return’d the youth, impose upon your lordship, nor assert a falsity. Pray Sir, rejoined the peer, did you ever apply to me since the first application? My lord, answered the young gentleman, I have attended your lordship’s levee constantly once a month since, and should oftener, but was fearful of being troublesome to your lordship—Do you understand Spanish and the other requisites for such a station, Sir? says the peer—My lord, urged my companion, permit me to say, it is now more than a twelvemonth since your lordship pointed out to me the necessary qualifications, and permit me also to add, my lord, that I have dissipated my small fortune, in attaining those qualifications, and rendering myself equal to the service, so that I might not disgrace your lordship’s choice.—I am sorry, returned his lordship, that it is not in my power to serve you, for all the employments have been disposed of some time ago.—I hope your lordship, replied the astonished youth, will serve me some other way, as a recompence for my loss of time and the injury my fortune has suffered, by your lordship’s unhappily forgetting me.—I don’t remember, says, the absent peer, that I recommended you to lay out your money in any thing about this affair; but if I did, I suppose I then intended to appoint you, but it is now too late Sir, and I wou’d advise you to think of something else.—I should presume, says the unfortunate youth, on your lordship’s knowledge that it has cost me upwards of 200l. in qualifying myself, agreeable to your lordship’s order, your lordship, out of humanity, wou’d favour me with something that might retrieve my shattered fortune—What you understand the Spanish language, Sir? says his lordship.—Perfectly, replied the alarmed youth. Why then, returned the peer, you have the advantage of me, and may receive ample satisfaction, in reading the history of Don Quixote in the original language, and with that piece of wit, he politely took his leave of our thunderstruck youth, who on recollecting himself exclaimed, Æsop’s fable of the boys and frogs is here fatally exemplified, what is sport to him, is death to me—and instantly departed, bending his steps towards the Bird-Cage walk in the Park, where sitting upon a bench he passed two hours in silent meditation, but at length rousing from his melancholy reverie, with a start that put every thread of me to the proof, he took the resolution of entering as a private soldier in the guards, and hoped that while he might be upon duty under the cruel minister’s window, the reflection that he had drove him to that course of life for bread, might if his soul was not callous to every sensation, make him feel the pangs of wantonly ruining a man who had never injured him. Thus resolved, he hastened with me to my old habitation, where leaving me, he fled, as I suppose, to execute his ill-fated purpose.

After undergoing the press for some hours, on my return, (a custom we were all subject to, the frequency of which I may say was the chief cause of my early decay) I indulged myself in reflecting on the days adventure, which led me naturally to contemplate on the many young people who quit a life of industry and competence, and pursue the phantom of hope, through the various mazes of misery she wantonly leads them; stimulated at first perhaps by choice, but at length are forced to persevere through necessity, and how oft does she lead these unhappy men to total destruction; seating herself in the mid ocean and beckoning to her followers, who seldom have the power to see the distance she is from the shore, or perceive the whirlpools that intervene, but keeping their eye fixed upon her, plunge in and are lost! But, continued the sage, I fear I am rather troublesome, than entertaining to you. I beg returned the gay spark, you will make no apology, for I am very far from thinking your observations will be the least entertaining part of your narration—Sable replied, young gentleman, I believe you speak ingenuously, and am pleased I have an opportunity, before I leave this miserable state, of communicating any thing that may hereafter be of service to one who appears so deserving of it.—White politely thanked him for the compliment, and Sable thus proceeded in the relation of his adventures.

It was not long ere I was again summoned to the duties of my station, by a tall _genteelish_ kind of a person, who ordered me to be tryed upon him, and I was engaged by him for the day. Notwithstanding I thought myself a tolerable good physiognomist, yet the appearance and deportment of this stranger caused my fancy (that weathercock of judgment) to vary so often, that it was impossible for me to fix any criterion: he had much the air of a gentleman, but his gentility seemed a kind of a habit, that he had acquired since he came to years of maturity, and appeared to be only superficial, from the effect of close observation, rather than the air and grace which naturally results from the manners being property cultivated and corrected in youth.—In short he was altogether a contradiction, and intirely conquered my sagacity, which greatly added to the natural desire I had of proving the adventure.

It was in the morning that my unknown conductor took me through the busy streets into the city, and entering a coffee-house, near the Exchange, almost filled with company, he spent some time before he could resolve where to seat himself; at length he determined on a place, which, to me, appeared the most inconvenient one in the room, it being in a box that was already almost full; here he breakfasted and read the papers, but seemed more intent upon remarking the company, than on the news of the day. We stayed here about an hour, when my conductor rose up, and taking a gentleman’s hat instead of his own, was leaving the room. As soon as the owner observed the mistake, on acquainting him with it, he asked the gentleman pardon, and at the same time informed him, that he was so extremely near-sighted, that without the help of his glass, (which he had unfortunately left at home) he was continually mistaking; the gentleman begged he would make no apology, as every man was liable to mistake; shortly after he took an opportunity to go away without paying for his breakfast, which made me conclude he had likewise unfortunately left his memory at home. This caused me to reflect that I was very indifferently situated in being obliged to accompany a man that went into company without either eyes or memory, and I must own I began not to half like the prospect of this adventure.—Soon after leaving this coffee-room, he went into another, where seating himself as before, he drank a dish of chocolate, and on his leaving the place, his eyesight again failed him, and he mistook another gentleman’s hat for his own again, and went off with it without interruption or paying for his chocolate: this second mistake alarmed me greatly, fearing lest the owner of the hat should be in pursuit of us, who possibly might not shew so much regard for the infirmity of my conductor as the other gentleman had, or not entertain so favourable an opinion of his veracity, especially as the difference in value of the hat, was greatly in favour of this near-sighted spark, which circumstance I observed in the preceding mistake likewise; but my fears ceased, when coming into Corn-hill I heard him call a coach, and stepping in, ordered the coachman to drive to Covent Garden, but in Fleet-street he ordered him to stop in middle Temple-lane, and to set him down at a certain door there, on the coach stopping at the place appointed, he ordered the coachman to wait, and I imagined that he was calling upon his lawyer, but found he only went through a public office, which opened into two different places and was used as a thoroughfare. Having passed the other door, he very leisurely walk’d across the court, and so into Fleet-street, and from thence, without stopping, he conducted me to the piazza’s, Covent Garden. This extraordinary absence of thought in leaving the coachman to wait for him, when it appeared evident he did not intend to return to him, created some reflections in me that did not end greatly in his favour; nor did they leave me in great tranquillity, for my mind run now upon nothing but horseponds, duckings, and kickings, which I had heard my companions speak of suffering, and which I knew I must chiefly sustain, should any instance of his infirmities terminate unfavourable—But to return, being arrived in the piazza’s in Covent Garden, as I mentioned before, from thence we ascended a pair of stairs, and I found myself in a room amidst a great number of very genteel people, some of whom were of the first fashion; I soon perceived it was an auction-room; then my fears began to operate upon me least some of my gentleman’s faculties should again fail him, and the ill consequence I dreaded would fall upon me; but every thing remained quiet for a considerable time; at length a chaised-watch, by Tompion, was put up, which I found had a very strong effect upon my adventurer, though I could not devise the cause, for as I knew he had not sixpence about him, I could not conceive he intended to bid for it; as the bidders advanced he became more anxious, marking every one who bid, very strictly.—In the conclusion a certain nobleman, who is observed to attend these kind of sales with great punctuality, bid 80 guineas, and was knocked down the best bidder, and the watch set down to Lord ——. My adventurous spark now seemed calm and determined, and instantly quitting the room, went into a tavern near; where ordering a bottle of Madeira, and pen and ink, he took from his pocket a message-card and wrote as follows—“The earl of —— seeing lord ——’s equipage standing at ——’s auction-room door, begs the favour of his lordship’s company at —— for a moment.—Having just received an accident upon my right hand ——s writes this to you, and promises to take it to your lordship himself.”—Having wrote this he orders the master of the tavern to attend him, who being come, our spark, after splitting the card, and securing the writing by a wafer, told him he should be much obliged to him if he would take that card to lord —— at ——’s auction: the landlord assured him he would, but, adds, this cautious genius, deliver it to —— the auctioneer, and he will hand it to his lordship: —— promised to obey his orders punctually; the landlord being gone, my companion, after recruiting his spirits with a glass of wine, immediately decamps, leaving orders to acquaint lord —— he would return before his lordship could be seated, and immediately goes and posts himself in a place where he could see his lordship come from the auction-room: very short was his stay before he saw his lordship, attended by the landlord, step into the chariot, and drive to the tavern; our bold youth was as good as his word, and followed his lordship into the room before he was well seated, and told him that the earl of —— was “just drove into the next street, and had ordered him to wait upon his lordship with an apology for leaving the room, but that he would be with him in an instant.” This excuse delivered with a good grace by a seeming gentleman, satisfied his lordship, and seating himself, our hero took his leave of his lordship, and going to the bar, told —— the landlord, that he must go to —— the auctioneer, and tell him, “that lord —— desired him to send the watch he had lately purchased by him, as he just wanted to shew it to the earl of ——”. Away goes the landlord and acquaints the auctioneer with his lordship’s desire; the auctioneer knowing the landlord, and seeing the lord —— go out with him just before, made no hesitation, but delivers him the watch, who on meeting my gentleman at the door, put it into his hand, and he flipping it into his coat-pocket, again goes into his lordship, and telling him “the earl of —— begged his patience a few minutes longer, as he had now just finished the affair he was upon, and hoped he would stay, as he had something to acquaint him with that would surprise him very much”. His lordship answered it was very well; upon which our sharper left his lordship to wonder what it could be that would surprize him so much, and I make no doubt but in a short time he was greatly surprized.

The planning of this artifice continued Sable, gave me a high opinion of our sharper’s ingenuity, and the dexterity with which he conducted it, entirely removed all my fears of any accident happening to us. After this successful exploit, he walked through a few streets and then took a coach, ordering the coachman to drive to a tavern near the Exchange in the city; by this method he eluded the vigilance of a pursuit, which he imagined must succeed his lordship’s discovering the imposition, and which no doubt was in a very short time after sent forth.

Being arrived at the tavern he ordered the coachman to take his money at the bar, and was shewn into a very handsome room; he immediately ordered a genteel dinner consisting of five dishes, and ordered two courses, saying he expected a gentleman to dine with him, and ordered if any one enquired for Sir —— to shew him in; but I should have mentioned to you that as the coach was passing by the Temple, he ordered one of the porters who ply there, to take a card which he had been writing upon in the coach, to the very tavern he had ordered the coachman to drive to, with strict orders for the porter to be there with it by 5 o’clock; this card was directed to the knight whose name and title he had now assumed.—By the time he imagined dinner was ready, he rang and ordered the cook not to spoil the dinner, but when it was ready to bring it in, saying he would not wait a minute for the king in prejudice to the skill of the cook,—whom he ordered to take a pint of wine at the bar. Dinner being ended, and the cloath removed, champain and burgundy were ordered, and he sat very composedly entertaining himself in mediating on the labour of the great Tompion, and from thence took occasion to descant on his own ingenuity, which he justly boasted was not inferior to that famous artist, though it run in a different channel: at the hour of five the waiter entered with a card for Sir —— on which was wrote these words “Lord ——’s compliments to Sir ——, asks ten thousand pardons for not attending him at dinner as appointed; begs Sir ——, will not go till he comes, which will not exceed half an hour.” The card was purposely wrote upon to the view of every one, which added dignity to our new-made knight’s former consequence, and ordering the porter to be discharged at the bar, he sat a few minutes; when ringing the bell he ordered the waiter to tell his master to come to him, who soon appearing, he desired him to sit and fill a glass of wine, and entering into a familiar conversation with him, in a short time enquired if there was ever a shop near where he could purchase a gold chain to his watch, and at the same time produced the property of lord ——, which being in a neat shagreen box, looked at a distance like a shagreen case; the vintner being willing to oblige a neighbour, told him he could recommend a dealer in those things, who had great choice, and lived only in the next street.—Our knight begg’d he would send for him, with orders to bring some watch chains with him: the vintner immediately dispatched a waiter to the person who soon arrived with a box, and producing some very curious watch chains, my gentleman at last fixed upon one, which came to 5l. 1s. The spark offered him four for it, but the tradesman being a quaker, told him he never asked more than he intended to take, but however he was still offered 4l. 1s. and the tradesman refusing was dismissed.—In five minutes the sharper rang for the master of the tavern, and told him what had passed, adding he greatly liked the chain, and would purchase it, but should take it as a favour if he would go to the man, and see if he could not get it for the money, but if not to bring it with him, and at the same time desired he would tell the tradesman to bring a cornelian seal with a Homer’s head for the impression; away went the landlord, and soon after brought the chain with him, but told our genius he could not prevail upon him to take any thing less than he had asked; that he had never a cornelian with a Homer, but had sent to a friend in the next street who he believed had one, and he would bring him word in ten minutes: during the landlord’s absence, this ingenious gentleman had taken out the watch and left the shagreen box upon the shelf over the fire-place, in full view of the landlord, who might suppose it was the real watch. Upon looking at the chain, the spark pretended it was not the same he had shewn him before, the landlord told him it was possible he might mistake by candle-light, and offered to go and change it—but the sharper said he would go himself, as he had some suspicion the quaker had a mind to impose upon him, and saying the watch he supposed would be safe upon the shelf, went out of the room, and the landlord shutting the door, told him he would take care no body should come in during his absence. Our successful sharper now bent his course to Cheapside with all speed, leaving the shagreen box to pay the vintner his reckoning, and the quaker for his watch chain.

The luxuriancy of my ingenious conductor’s invention in the progress of this adventure astonished me greatly, but I’ll forbear to trouble you with my reflections now, and hasten with him to the play-house.

Being arrived in Cheapside, he takes a coach and orders himself to be drove to the Rose in Bridges-street Covent Garden, and the coach stopping at the door the coachman descended to let him out, but was ordered to go into the tavern and enquire if Mr. —— was in the house; the enquiry through every room he knew must take up some minutes, and give him time to let himself out at the other side of the coach, which he effected with great privacy and expedition, and immediately set forward for Covent Garden play-house, taking his way up Bow-street, purposely avoiding, as I apprehended, the scene of his morning adventure.—Here Sable was interrupted in his narrative, by the arrival of his owner, who brought in with Him an old cloaths-man, and handing the black narrator down delivered him to this new vamper of old commodities; who after perusing him with great attention and sagacity, shaking his head declared he could not give any thing for it, adding, “it had been so much used, it would not hold together for a single day’s wear”; and as for repairing it, he said it was impossible from the rottenness of it, nor could it be converted into patches, as in fact, he said, it consisted of nothing else but patches; and returning it to the owner, desired him to keep it as a curiosity, swearing he never saw such a thing in his life: upon this Sable was once more conducted to the wardrobe, and hung on the peg he had been removed from.

Sable (half recovered from his fright) soon was heard to utter these words.—My loved companion, and adopted son, indulge me a few minutes to recover my breath.—White with great tenderness, begged he would make no apology, for though he was exceeding anxious to know what had caused the fright he was in, he would not think of being gratified till he was perfectly recovered—after a few minutes pause the frighted veteran thus broke forth.—Where is the philosophy, the calm resignation, I fancied I could meet my last hour with? alas! I find I have learned nothing that is worth retaining, since I have not learned to bear the near approach of my dissolution without trembling; why should I wish to exist, or linger in this decayed and miserable state, when the momentary shock of death is succeeded by a total annihilation?—Here White interrupting him, begged to know the cause of such sad reflections. My son, returned Sable, bear with the infirmities of age; the frequency of contemplating on death, believe me, greatly lessens its terrors:—the danger is now over, and my fears are subsided—. Here Sable recounted his late adventure with the dealer in old cloaths,—which having concluded, he proceeded in the relation of the many and surprizing changes of fortune—(But here, reader, lest thou should imagine this digression from the chain of adventures as related by our Black Hero, is an artifice calculated to extend this work, and that no such interruption ever happened, but what was made by ourselves, on purpose to eke out this part of our performance, we do assure thee, that nothing but sacred truth obliged us to relate it, and which we shall at all times think ourselves bound in justice to do; therefore, courteous reader, if thou shouldst meet in the progress of this entertaining history, with instances of a similar nature, we advise thee not to pronounce them fiction; for were we inclined to enlarge this performance, the bare recital of numberless minutes, which we have and shall suppress, would extend it to volumes; and if thou will favour us with thy company to the end of this work, thou wilt find such little arts were needless, the sage’s narrative alone affording us ample matter for thy entertainment, and which thou may’st find faithfully recorded in the following pages—The sharper, resumed Sable, being arrived at the play-house, and going to the box-door, he overtook a company of ladies and gentlemen, who were going into the house, and stepping before them, ordered the box-keeper to open the door, saying the servant belonging to the company would pay for all—the box-keeper seeing the company behind, imagined our spark of the party, therefore without hesitation lets him in: as soon as he was within he posts himself in such a manner as to hear what passed at the box-door without being seen, the company being come up were surprized to find themselves charged with one more than they knew of, and disowning acquaintance with my adventurer, refused to pay for him; the box-keeper not having time to go in search of him then, ordered an under box-keeper to look sharp for him as he came out; our spark hearing this seemed very well satisfied—which was much more than I was—and after going from box to box, he at length seated himself in one of the corner green boxes, in which was only an old gentleman; but on the latter account our number was encreased by the addition of two ladies of the town, and two gentlemen—the sharper prudently sat as far back in the box as he could, to avoid being seen, I concluded.—The entertainment being ended, and the company preparing to depart, to my amazement, this bold adventurer seizes a red rocqueleau that was hung in the box, and was going to put it on—when the old gentleman told him, with great politeness, he fancied he had made a mistake, for the rocqueleau belonged to him.—The sharper, with astonishing effrontery, replyed, by your leave, Sir, ’tis you that mistake, for the rocqueleau is mine.—Your rocqueleau? returned the gentleman, indeed it is, replied this son of impudence. Sir, says the stranger, as you have the appearance of a gentleman, I cannot think you mean any thing more than a jest; but let me tell you, Sir, added he, I am not used to be treated so with impunity.—Sir, returned the sharper, it is not my custom to jest with men of your appearance, nor do I expect such treatment from you.—Why sure, says the gentleman, you will not pretend to persuade me seriously that this is not my rocqueleau? That this rocqueleau is mine, Sir, says my companion, I do aver, and will maintain my property,—adding this is the strangest piece of impudence that ever was practised.—Indeed, says the gentleman, so it is, if you pretend to say this is your rocqueleau, when I brought it in, and hung it up before you came.—The sharper alledged he brought it in, and hung it up on his coming in.—This strange dispute whose property the rocqueleau was, created much mirth in the ladies and gentlemen in the box, but created far different sensations in me, who saw no possibility of our hero’s maintaining his assertion with any credit, consequently there was little probability of my escaping a horse-pond, or some such dire mishap, especially as I saw the old gentleman begin to wax warm.—But to proceed,—the owner of the rocqueleau persisted in claiming it, and the sharper as strongly insisted on its being his—in conclusion, my ingenious companion asked him, if he could point out any mark or any thing whereby it might be determined by the company that it was his.—The gentleman replied, he knew of no mark upon it, for that it was never on his back before that afternoon, being quite new; upon that my gentleman exclaimed Amazement! that a man of your years should undertake to play the sharper with no other abilities than bare impudence.—Zounds, returned the strange gentleman, you are a sharper, and since you talk of marks, by what mark do you know it—let us see how you will prove it to be yours—make that appear, Sir, exulting and appealing to the company, who yet could not tell what to make of the affair, sometimes inclining one way, and sometimes another.—Why, Sir, says the impostor, I would have come to that at first, but that I was willing to see what ingenious device you would make use of to support your unjust pretensions; but as I see you take advantage of the coolness of my temper, and confidently think to bully me out of my property, I will submit to the company to determine whom the rocqueleau belongs to, and, continues he, I believe I shall put an end to the dispute very shortly to your confusion; and then turning to the company, told them if the rocqueleau was his there were two X’s marked in the inside near the bottom: the gentlemen looked and found two X’s mark’d in the place our ingenious sharper had directed.—The old gentleman stood petrified with amazement—but recovering himself, swore still the rocqueleau was his, but how those damned X’s came there he could not tell.—The rocqueleau being adjudged the property of our hero, he now put it on, telling the old gentleman, his age should protect him from punishment, and advised him to leave off a profession he seemed unable to succeed in. The gentleman knowing the rocqueleau was his, still urged strongly he brought it in with him, and that it was his.—The ladies now began to revile him,—whom he treated in very free terms; the gentlemen stood up for their doxies, and the loser of the rocqueleau had no friends, but abused every one in the box with being accomplices in robbing him; upon which the ladies fell upon him, and seizing his large powered wig, boxed him about the face with it till he was almost blind, and then flinging it into the pit, among the people who were gathered under the box with the noise that began to be made, the old gentleman’s full-bottom was soon disposed of as well as his rocqueleau.—Our adventurer took this opportunity to quit the box, and with the addition of the rocqueleau, and by timely using his handkerchief as he passed the box-keeper, went away without suspicion of being the person who bilked him on his coming in.—You will, no doubt wonder, says Sable, how this genius could come by the knowledge of the private marks upon the rocqueleau, and your wonder will be no less when I tell you that he himself put them there, whilst the old gentleman was engaged with the performance on the stage: for he, whose study it was to refine upon sharping, never wanted materials, in the various adventures he might meet with, consequently he was as expert with his needle in sewing the two X’s upon the rocqueleau, as a surgeon would be in using his lancet on a sudden emergency.—But to finish with this gentleman.—This last exploit being ended, he takes me through many alleys and dark passages; at length ascending a mean stair-case as high as he could, he gave the signal of admittance, and the door was opened, when there appeared to my sight, sitting round a table, four persons, one in the habit of a clergyman, another in the character of a farmer; a third was a laced beau, and the fourth an honest looking tradesman, and I observed every one had before him watches, rings, swords, snuff-boxes, purses with money, and other things of value, which I afterwards found were the several labours of the day, which had been gained by these honest looking gentlemen in the same capacity as my adventurer—but our ingenious spark producing the watch by Tompion, gold chain, rocqueleau, and an exceeding good hat instead of a bad one, he was deemed the most meritorious of the whole fraternity for that day. A division being made, and the several characters fixed for the succeeding day (when my companion was to assume the appearance of a country farmer) they all adjourned to a tavern, where they spent the evening in recounting the methods they had taken in acquiring the valuable collection I had seen upon the table; on leaving the tavern each took a separate road, my adventurer taking me to the place from whence we last came, and I understood the rendezvous of the next day was to be at the parson’s lodging, which I found they changed nightly.—In the morning early this industrious gentleman conducted me to my old habitation in Monmouth-Street, unhurt, after all the perils of the preceding day, to my great satisfaction, where after suffering the corroding brush, and racking press as usual, I was at liberty to indulge my reflections, and the last day’s expedition afforded me ample matter. Gods! exclaimed Sable, could I have credited that such things were really practised, had I not been a witness to them!

Is it not, says the sage adventurer to his gay companion, greatly to be lamented, that men of such excellent talents, should prostitute them to such hurtful purposes to the community, and reversing morality, industriously pursue evil, that they may boast of blemishes they should rather blush for; as he amongst these pillagers of society, is esteemed the most worthy who is the most wicked. But I will not, continued Sable, spend the precarious minutes in making reflections which your own perspicuity will furnish you with, but proceed in the detail of my next adventure.

I was next, continued Sable, ordered by a tall long visaged person to be tried upon him, and the Monmouth-Street merchant pronounced that if I had been cut out on purpose for him, I could not have fitted him better; on this I was engaged by him for the day. I soon discovered by some detached pieces of poetry in blank verse, and other papers of the like nature put into my pocket, that I was accompanying an author.—His wan and dead complexion made me at first imagine him to be a person confined to a sedentary life, but notwithstanding his unfavourable aspect, I could conceive strong marks of the gentleman, and likewise imagined him to be a scholar, though the rays of learning which beamed from his countenance, seemed to be clouded by misfortune and care.—But to proceed, three times did this son of Apollo attend the door of a certain great man, before he could gain admittance: the first time the servant said his master was dressing, the second time he was busy, and the third we were so fortunate as to be shewn into a small antechamber, with directions to sit down, and my comrade should be informed when he could speak with this very great man, whom, but for the situation of the house, I should have imagined was a prime minister: at last, after waiting above an hour, my companion was desired to walk into a parlour, where was sitting by the fire side, surrounded by half a dozen little kittens, an old man (gentleman I cannot with propriety term him). Without asking the gentleman to sit, he began,—Well, sir, what do you want with me? I wait upon you, sir, replied the author, in relation to a play I some time ago left in your hands.—How long since? says this well mannered gentleman. Fifteen months, Sir, replied the author—O, is that all, says he,—well, and pray, what is this extraordinary play of yours, continues he; a tragedy, I suppose? It is a tragedy, Sir, answered the author, still standing, (which gave me an opportunity of remarking a letter that lay upon the table directed to the manager of one of the theatres). What do you call it? says this important gentleman. It is called ——, replied the author,—and hope it has met with your approbation, continued he.—O, to be sure, says the sneering manager, without reading it.—I imagined, says the author, you would have been kind enough to have indulged me with a couple of hours out of fifteen months to have perused it, or if you did not intend to peruse it, you would have returned it me again. Ay, ay, says the manager; you shall have it again, take it away with you in God’s name—(looking among a parcel of papers) I don’t mean, Sir, returned the author, to take it from you unless you should reject it, after you have read it.—Why, Sir, says the manager, did not you this moment ask me to return it? If you had no intention to peruse it, says the author. Peruse it! replies the manager—why, Sir, do you think I have nothing else to do than as soon as ever people of your way of living have wrote a thing, to play it immediately? what, I suppose, continues he, you think I should read it, alter it, expunge, and add to it, then rehearse it and so perform it, that you might receive the benefit all in ten days or a fortnight?—No, no, Sir you are too quick for me; let’s see where is this thing (looking over a bundle of manuscript plays)—what is the _procession_ in your play, continued the manager? I shall best find it by that, for they are all marked.—There is no procession at all in mine, Sir, says the author. No procession! Sir, says the amazed manager, what do you mean?—perhaps you call it—a _solemn dirge_—a _triumph_—or an—_ovation_—or—There is nothing at all of the kind Sir, says the author, in my play, nor did I apprehend, says he, it was absolutely necessary to.—Necessary? interrupted the manager,—pray, Sir, what would nine out of ten of the tragedies that have come out within these 20 years have been good for, if it had not been for the processions; but if yours has no procession, adds he, I am sure it is not amongst these; (laying the papers he had been looking over down)—but we shall find it presently somewhere, I warrant you—a procession not necessary!—(looking for the play).—By this time the author began to entertain a most sovereign contempt for him, as I judged from his countenance.—At length the manager produced the play, but in such a condition! some part wanting half a leaf, some a quarter, others three quarters, and what remained was in tatters, and strangely smeared and stained, having been frequently used no doubt in taking the tea-kettle off the fire, and other such worthy employments, as I saw him take it from _under a coffee pot_ that stood in the window.—The author at first was astonished when he saw it, but recovering himself, calmly said, he believed it had been perused, for by the appearance of it, it seemed to have been often in his _hands_; and opening it.—Really, Sir, says the author, you have been in a mistake, for it is evident you have read it over, and have _expunged_ several pages of it, (shewing him the dismembered play)—and, continues he, dare say you will be able to get through it in a short time, therefore will continue it in your hands, and hope you will be so obliging as to _add to it_—No, no, Sir, replied the manager, I shall give myself no farther trouble about it; as for the leaves being torn, some of the servants can give you the best account of them.—If, continued he, there had been a _procession_ in it.—Here he was interrupted, by the arrival of a person with a Harlequin’s dress, and the author laying the mangled play upon the table, took his leave, giving place to _Harlequin_—a circumstance that ought not to give him much pain, as it is no more than what the best dramatic authors both ancient and modern, have frequently done.

This tragic gentleman having conducted me home, continued Sable, I was again deposited among my old acquaintance, the _occasional gentlemen_, from whose conversation I received much useful knowledge and rational entertainment. But to proceed—.