Chapter II: Part 2

My next excursion, resumed Sable, was with a person who conducted me from my habitation in Monmouth-Street, to an indifferent apartment in an alley near Chancery-Lane where he adorned himself with the military ensigns, a cockade and sword, and marched with me to a tavern in the city, where being shewn into a room, he left word if any body enquired for an officer, to shew them in to him, and seating himself he drew from his pocket a letter, in which were these words in an excellent woman’s hand.—“Dear cap. —— my papa has received your letter, and tells me he shall meet you at the time and place you have appointed—I shall be impatient to know the result of this interesting conversation, and hope it will prove favourable to you—”. This letter was directed to be left at a coffee-house in the Strand for my companion. He did not wait long before a plain decent looking tradesman was introduced to him—My comrade received him with an affected politeness, which was returned by the stranger, with an aukward civility: being both seated, the coldness of the weather was the first topic of conversation, the tradesman making a sorrowful observation on the dearness of provisions, and that coals were risen that day; the military gentleman joined in lamenting the hardness of the times, and concluded the subject by pitying the poor; the stranger then filled a bumper, and knocking his glass against the captain’s drank to their better acquaintance, which having taken off, Mr. Sirloin, (that being the stranger’s name) after a few minutes silence on both sides, began the discourse, by saying to my companion, that he believed he had received, a letter from him in relation to his daughter Susan. The captain answered, he should make no ceremony in telling him that he professed a regard for the young lady.—Young lady, says Mr. Sirloin, I beg, Sir, you’ll not young lady my daughter.—Susan is a good likely girl for that matter, but as for being a young lady, I don’t know what title she has to that. Indeed her mother, who has had the whole management of her, has always filled the girls head with a parcel of nonsense. Your plain way of thinking, returned the captain, I highly approve, but her education entitles her to.—Ay, interrupted Mr. Sirloin, that was against my will too, but my wife would have it so, and so she was sent to a boarding school; to be sure, continued he, as she was but a half boarder, I came into it for peace and quietness, but if it was to do again—for added he, she has learned nothing but to talk of gentility and fashions, and dancings, and plays, and I don’t know what.—These things, Sir, answered the captain, are accomplishments which are necessary in every woman who has any pretensions to marry genteelly.—Therefore, Sir, returned Mr. Sirloin, unnecessary for my daughter; for I am sure—I don’t know what pretensions she has to think of marrying genteelly, or out of her sphere.—I am a plain man, Sir, as you see, continues he, and to be sure would do every thing for the best for my daughter, and no doubt should like very well to see my daughter made a gentle-woman of; but then, adds he, how it that to be? that’s the question—for my part I don’t see now a days that gentlemen let ’em have ever so good a fortune, are willing to take a girl for love alone—no offence I hope to you, Sir,—By no means Sir, replied the captain, I assure you, Sir, I esteem your sentiments; and though love is the chief ingredient in a happy marriage, yet to make it quite compleat, a little fortune is necessary.—Now I rather think, says Mr. Sirloin, as times go, that _fortune_ is looked upon as the _chief ingredient_—you’ll excuse me, Sir, I am a blunt man—Pray, Sir, make no apology, replied the captain.—Well, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, let us now enter upon the business we met upon.—You say you have a regard for my daughter, I suppose you mean love. I do, Sir, answered the captain.—You are an officer, Sir, my daughter tells me.—Yes, Sir, returned the captain, but, to deal ingenuously with you, I am only a younger brother, therefore I can’t boast of any great fortune, a thousand pounds or so, besides my commission,—with which, continues he, I am capable of appearing as a gentleman, and hope I have always acted as such.—A thousand pound, says Mr. Sirloin, is a great deal of money in my opinion; I don’t know what you may think of it: as for your commission, says he, that’s quite out of my way, and therefore I know nothing of it; and now, Sir, continues he, as you have told me who you are, it is but fair that I should tell you who I am.—I am, adds he, a butcher by trade, and by industry and frugality, I make shift to maintain myself and family with what I call credit, for I make it a rule, never to bespeak any thing for myself or any of my family, but what I know I can afford, nor let any thing be wore, or made use of, till I have paid for it.—I pay my landlord his rent every quarter day, and I don’t owe any man a shilling in the world, and so now, Sir, if you like me for a father-in-law, without farther ceremony here’s my hand,—and done’s the word. This close way of doing business, says Sable, I found disconcerted my martial conductor, who evaded closing with the proposal, saying such a thing as marriage, required a little more consideration than a bet at a cock-match or a horse-race.—Why look you, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, this is my way of doing business; if I see a bullock in the market, which I think is for my purpose, I go and examine him, and if I find that he’ll do, I enquire his price, and if its about the mark, I bid money for him, and if my money is accepted, I have the beast; but if not, we part, and there’s no harm done, you know; now apply that, Sir.—Well, Sir, returned the captain, to make a matter of trade of this affair, as I profess a regard for your daughter, if you will give me a fortune with her I will marry her, notwithstanding the disgrace it will be to my family.—Fortune, Sir! says Mr. Sirloin, what fortune do you expect me to give? I suppose, Sir, says the captain, you intend to give her a fortune equal to her education and appearance in the world.—As for her education and appearance in the world, says Mr. Sirloin, I have told you how that came about, and that it was not my fault, and now I’ll tell you what I’ll give you with her: I’ll spend a few guineas in a wedding dinner with all my heart; but as for fortune, I assure you I have none to give.—You certainly are in jest, Sir, says the captain, as you have educated and drest your daughter in the character of a lady of fortune. Zounds, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, I tell you my wife has had the whole management of her, and that it is not my fault.—This very thing, adds he, have I told my wife over and over: for, says I, what tradesman do you think will have her, as she will to be sure expect to live in the manner she has been brought up, and if she does not, says I, then she will be unhappy; and what tradesman is there, says I, that can afford, or if he could, wou’d think it proper, to keep her like a lady? and what gentleman, says I, will take a butcher’s daughter without a farthing, only because the girl, says I, has a notion of dress and politeness, as they call it? so that, says I, the girl will be brought up to be fit for nothing, and in the end, says I, turn whore; but it signified nothing; for my wife said her daughter should be brought up and drest as well as Mr. Spigot, the ale-house-man’s daughter, who was no better than she was, and that something might happen.

Here Mr. Sirloin was interrupted by the sudden entrance of the wife of his bosom, who was followed by Miss Sirloin, as I soon found her to be.—The slayer of oxen was at once astonished and intimidated on seeing his wife; Mr. Sirloin, says the lady, on her entrance, I am surprized at your impolitic behaviour. I have heard every word you have said, and any one would imagine you had no more sense that the _beasts_ you kill, to tell a gentleman the circumstances of your family in the manner you have, Mr. Sirloin is a monstrous thing.—Mr. Sirloin declared he had said nothing but the truth, and added that listeners seldom heard any good of themselves. Mrs. Sirloin returned, that he was a poor mean spirited wretch, and had not a grain of ambition in him. Mr. Sirloin replied, he believed it might be better, if some folks had less, and for his part he did not see what business people in his sphere had to do with ambition; for, says he, they are generally getting into some scrape or another.

Miss, during the altercation betwixt her _Papa and Mama_, had drawn near the captain, who took very little notice of her: Mrs. Sirloin now addressed herself to the captain, and told him, she hoped he would excuse Mr. Sirloin’s want of politeness, and assured him, that though it was true, her daughter was not the largest fortune in the parish, neither was she the least, adding, that as Suky was their only child, she would be entitled to every farthing that would be left on their deaths, and which she durst say would _amount to near a hundred pound_. To be sure, continues she, if Mr. Sirloin was but a pushing man, he might be able to leave her many hundreds.

Mr. Sirloin said, he understood the captain was in love with Susan, and said he should think with that and the thousand pound he had, they might live very happy. The captain replied, that it was true, he had a great regard for Miss Sirloin, and that his fortune was about a thousand pound; but that as he was of one of the best families in Dorsetshire, it wou’d be a disgrace to it to marry into Mr. Sirloin’s family, unless it was made up by a fortune; and that he had been told Miss Sirloin wou’d be worth a thousand pound, and which by her dress, and the company she kept, he thought could be no less. Mr. Sirloin declared, that whoever said he cou’d give his daughter a thousand pound was a _scandalous person_; as for her dress and company, do you, speaking to his wife, answer for that.

The waiter now told Mr. Sirloin, a person would be glad to speak to him, and on his going out, Mrs. Sirloin told the captain, that she presumed his intentions had been honourable, and that his addresses had not been made to her daughter altogether for the _lucre of gain_, the captain protested his love was intirely disinterested; but that he could not on account of his family, think of entering into an alliance with Mr. Sirloin without a fortune.—Mr. Sirloin was now returned, and rubbing his hands, asked if the captain was willing to accept of his daughter or not; the captain strongly urged, that the disgrace it would be to his family would not permit him to engage any farther. Pray, Sir, says Mr. Sirloin, what is this great family you talk so much of?—I am, answered the captain, of the family of the _Fortune-hunters_, which is as ancient a one as any in the kingdom. Mr. Sirloin asked him if he did not know one _John Trott_.—The captain upon this appeared extremely confounded, but, stammer’d out he knew no such person; upon this Mr. Sirloin rang the bell, and asked the waiter if he knew that gentleman, pointing to the captain,—yes, replied the waiter, very well, his name is John Trott; he was a footman to ’squire ——, and was discharged for some misdemeanors about half a year ago; and speaking to the new-made captain, said; you know me very well, Mr. Trott, don’t you? the captain replied, he never saw him before to his knowledge.—Come, come, Mr. Trott, says the waiter don’t wink at me, I’ll not see any body imposed upon, I know you very well. Mr. Sirloin’s choler being now raised to the highest degree, he could not contain himself any longer; but pulling off his wig and coat, told my unfortunate companion, that though he had imposed upon him, he would take no advantages of him but wou’d box him fairly; but the martial hero declined the combat; upon which Mr. Sirloin, giving a loose to his hands and feet together, employed them both so fast upon my unluky comrade, that it was hard to determine which of them went the fastest, and my passive conductor seemed resolved to see whether his patience, or Mr. Sirloin’s strength would hold out the longest; and Mr. Sirloin being a corpulent man, was at length obliged to give over his labour for want of breath, and thereby the captain’s principle of non-resistance, obtained a complete victory over the active vigour of the enraged butcher.

Mr. Sirloin, having a little recovered himself from the fatigue the violent exertion of his strength had occasioned, now turned to his wife and daughter, and told the latter, that for the future she should be under his direction, and bid her see that to-morrow, she appeared in the shop as his daughter, with a coloured apron before her, and dispose of those dangling things at her elbows or he’d burn ’em: the two ladies having seen such manifest proofs of Mr. Sirloin’s prowess were intimidated into silence, not even daring to exercise those dreadful weapons their tongues, which were now for the first time, I believed, subdued.

The captain during this had employed himself in wiping the dirt which had been left by Mr. Sirloin’s shoes off him, every now and then saying this was fine treatment for a _Gentleman_.

Mr. Sirloin now opened the door, and ordered the martial captain to leave the room, who seemed very glad to obey him, Mr. Sirloin complimenting him with two or three very handsome kicks at his departure.

The fruits of this adventure, continued Sable, were pretty equally divided betwixt me and my unfortunate associate, though I believe the _marks_ of Mr. Sirloin’s favours, continued a considerable time longer upon the unsuccessful captain than upon me, a circumstance which instead of creating envy in me, proved rather a matter of consolation.

The address and deportment of this assumed military gentleman, continued Sable, did not at first discover to me any thing that resembled the gentility of an officer in the army, nor did his lodging correspond with such a character, therefore I imagined he was only in reality, like me a gentleman _pro tempore_.

The descendant of the ancient family of _Fortune-Hunters_, continued Sable, having conducted me again to my former lodging in Monmouth-Street, and a variety of brushes having been used upon me, like a Hackney-horse after a day’s journey, I remained some time without any remarkable adventure happening to me; at length, continued Sable, a member of Comus’s court, but better known by the significant appellation of a _Choice Spirit_, conducted me to a tavern in the Strand, where I found a number of gentlemen, and the better sort of tradesmen, assembled together, whom I soon learned were the members of a society that met once a week, and that this was their anniversary feast-day. It being in the morning, they were now met together to take a walk, or to spend the time in some amusement, that might best conduce to create an appetite, to enable them to do honour to the approaching entertainment. My companion singled out one, who from his broad sleek face, and rotundity of belly, seemed to have signalized himself at the destruction of many a feast, and by the jocular speeches of several of the members, together with his own expressions, boasting of his excellence in the masticating way, I was fully confirmed that his being so uncommonly well larded, was owing to his superior merit in the science of eating.

My conductor proposed a walk to this gentleman, but he objected to it, on account of the fatigue it would be to him, and that it might disorder his stomach, which he declared was in excellent order, but said he had no objection to take a little air up the river, and which he fancied, with now and then a glass of wine and bitters, they might carry with them, would strengthen his appetite; this proposal was accepted by my comrade, and two other gentlemen agreed to accompany them; accordingly at Somerset-stairs a boat was hired, and the watermen ordered to row them up to Putney.

During our voyage this son of Comus regaled the worthy disciples of Epicurus, with some gingerbread nuts he had brought with him, at first he refused to eat any, fearing he said they would damp his appetite, but my spark telling him, they were an excellent stomachic, and that there was a particular ingredient in them that was an enemy to every thing that clogged the stomach, he was prevailed upon to beguile the time with feeding on the appetite-creating gingerbread, which he did very plentifully, ever and anon diluting with a glass of wine and bitters. The last speech of my companion, together with his taking the nuts he himself ate, and those he gave the other two gentlemen, from a different pocket than that out of which he regaled the well-larded gentleman with, made me conclude the gingerbread _teemed_ with some _jest_.

By the time we arrived at Putney, continued Sable, our fat companion had emptied the pocket of my humorous conductor, of all the stomachic gingerbread, declaring it was the best he had ever tasted. We landed at Putney, where we staid only to get a fresh cargo of wine, and them returned to the general rendezvous, where being arrived, and the champion come within sight of the table, that was by this time prepared ready for the guests, he said he believed he should make a very hearty dinner, for that though he had eat a large quantity of some excellent gingerbread nuts, yet he felt a kind of a gnawing in his stomach. Soon the feast was ushered in, and my companion guessing that it would not be long before the _mine sprung_, prudently retired to another part of the table to avoid the _explosion_.

The company being all seated, each helped himself to what he chose, and presently casting my eyes upon our companion and gingerbread-eater, I saw him labouring most furiously to bring down a pyramid of turbot he had raised upon his plate, at every other mouthful drinking a small glass of wine, saying, by that means he should be able to eat as much again; having accomplished the destruction of the first plate full, he had again heaped it to its former size, and by a vigorous attack, again threatened its downfall; but now the gingerbread I suppose, began to operate, for before he had destroyed one quarter of the plate full, he began to make strange faces, and twined his body about, as if he sat upon something that made him uneasy, which he continued for several minutes, at length a noise was heard to issue from his bowels, like the sound of distant thunder, and immediately starting from his chair, with great haste left the room, and so precipitate was his flight, that by his hasty rising, he overthrew one of his next neighbours, who endeavouring to save himself, pulled down a large bason of oyster sauce, that stood before him, which first falling upon his face, from thence had formed a rivulet down a crimson sattin waistcoat he had on.

By the time this unfortunate gentleman had wiped himself, Mr. Feastlove (that being the fat gentleman’s name) was returned, and having asked pardon of the company in general for his abrupt departure, and the gentleman whom he had thrown down in particular, for the damage done to him, he again sat down, declaring he was never taken so in all his life.—A clean plate being brought him, he once more fill’d it with turbot, and having drank two glasses of wine, began to give evident tokens of a perfect recovery, but by the time he had disposed of half of it, his countenance began to wax pale, and the contortions of his body declared he sat very uneasy, and the rumbling noise in his bowels soon after alarmed the company, and seemed to be the signal for a second flight, upon which the gentlemen who sat on each side of him moved as far from him as they could, lest in his retreat, he might again overturn one of them; however, he yet continued upon his chair frowning and eating; after drinking a glass of wine, the noise in his bowels increased, but yet he was loath to leave the feast, though he had laid down his knife and fork and sat grinning horridly upon his chair, with his hands upon each knee, as if he had really been in an action not decent to be mentioned; but fearing, I suppose, that worse would ensue, he angrily rose from his chair, and once more hasted out of the room, cursing and wondering as he went what could be the matter with him.

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.

The violent knocking at the door which occasioned the sudden dismission of the old gentleman, continued Sable, was the impatience of a lady, whose dress and appearance bespoke she was of quality; she was a tall fine figure, and her face exquisitely beautiful; her eyes were full of levity, and declared the looseness of her soul:—On her entrance she told the doctor, one of his _shop bills_ had been left at her house, and that she had heard many people speak of his great knowledge, which induced her to wait upon him.—The doctor politely acknowledged the honour she did him, and ushered her to a seat.—Mr. what’s your name—says this lady, I have been almost frighted to death these two days, by the loss of a pocket book, which I am afraid has been found by a certain person, therefore I desire you will tell me where it is, and how I may recover it.—The doctor, after having calculated the lady’s nativity, and applied to his book, told her, a servant to a gentleman she had visited, had found it in his master’s _bed-chamber_, and that he and several of his companions were at that time sat down to examine the contents of it.—The lady said she was glad it had not fallen into the hands of the person she was apprehensive of, but desired to know if he could tell her whether there was a small book of ivory leaves in it or not? The doctor told her, he would let her know the whole contents in a few minutes.—Upon which he began to make a great variety of incomprehensible figures, and in the conclusion told the lady, in one of the pockets there was a paper of _carmine_, and several sorts of powders, in the second, there was a small lock of _flaxen-coloured hair_ inclosed in a letter, which was dated from the _Temple_, and contained passionate expressions of the most tender love and eternal constancy, with an acknowledgement of favours in the most delicate terms.—The lady told the doctor there was no necessity for his being very particular, the doctor proceeding said, there was a picture in miniature of an officer, concealed under a pocket looking-glass, with several tender billet-doux addressed to Amaryllis, which had been slipt into her ladyship’s hand; in the same pocket, continues he, there is a miniature of a certain nobleman which was given to your ladyship upon your marriage; well, hang the picture and the original too, says the lady, is the book with the ivory leaves there? I shall inform your ladyship presently, replies the doctor:—In another pocket, there is a collection of _curious pictures_ in _India paper_, given to your ladyship by the gentleman who gave your ladyship the lock of hair, and artfully concealed in a small almanack book:—Here the lady blushed and told the doctor, she desired only to know if the book she mentioned was there.—The doctor begged a moment’s patience;—in a private pocket, continues he, there is a small viol of red liquor, and in another private pocket, there is a number of appointments to meet in a wood in Kensington gardens, and various other places, and a small book of ivory leaves, containing a short account of the art of intriguing, with a select number of extraordinary good _excuses_ in case of _suspicion_, and some excellent _salvos_ for _palpable discoveries_, wrote by your ladyship’s own hand, and which is the book, I presume, says the doctor, your ladyship enquired so particularly for.—It is, answered the lady, and now pray, says she, inform me how I can get it back again.—The doctor answered, he believed if her ladyship would advertise it with a handsome reward she might recover it; the lady declared she would give any thing for it, and putting two guineas into the doctor’s hand, said she hoped she might rely upon his secrecy; the doctor assured her she might, and then conducted her to a hackney coach waiting at the door for her.

The next who came to consult the keeper of the book of knowledge, continued Sable, was a young lady of a most engaging countenance, her natural air and the taste of her dress, seemed to vie with each other, in rendering her an object of love,—if it was possible for envy to have fixed upon any thing that seemed imperfect, it must have been rather too much levity, which her eyes expressed. This young lady having informed the doctor, what he required to know, she told him she had three lovers, who made their addresses to her; one, she said, was a gentleman of the law, another was a lieutenant in the army, and the third a gentleman of no profession, and desired to know which of them she should have; the doctor having consulted his book, told her she should marry neither of them; the young lady was a good deal surprized, and desired if she should have neither of them,—to know who else would be her lot.—I find, miss, says the doctor, you will have several offers from tradesmen, whom you will reject; for though you have no fortune, yet you will adhere to your darling hopes of marrying a gentleman, but you will be deceived in your expectations. I have always been told, says the lady, by people of your profession, and that by more than one, that I should be marryed to a gentleman.—Those who have told you so, replies the doctor, deceived you; they have injured many young people, adds he, by flattering the passions of the credulous, which has influenced the conduct of weak people, and laid the foundation of their ruin.—Sir, says the lady, I believe it is a maxim amongst _Fortune-tellers_, to speak ill of every one in the profession besides themselves, but Sir, adds she, you have not told me who I am to marry.—It is out of my power, madam, says the doctor, for though I can frequently see you a _Votress_ at the _altar of Love_, yet I cannot find that you will ever enter the _Hymeneal Temple_.—I must confess, says the lady, you are the most discouraging foreteller of events that I ever met with, and I have had my fortune told me by _Cards_, _Coffee-grounds_, by inspecting the _lines_ of my _hand_, and by the _Man in the Old Bailey_, and have always been told that I should marry a _handsome black gentleman_, nay, how many children I should have, and that I should be very prosperous, and end my days in a _large handsome house_. My art deceives me greatly, replies the doctor, if there is any truth in any of these things, except indeed, that you will end your days in a large handsome house. What, you do agree with him in that! says the lady, I should be vastly glad if you can tell me whereabout it is situated; the doctor, after having taken some time in ascertaining the Geography, told her, he could not tell her any other way, than by sketching out the appearance of it; and in a few minutes told her, if she would look upon a paper he shewed her, she might probably know it;—the young lady was very eager to behold the plan of the mansion that she was to conclude her life in, and perusing it attentively, I saw her cheeks glow with indignation, and throwing the paper down, left the room, pronouncing as she went—an _Hospital_ indeed!

The first appearance of this young lady, says Sable, revived in me the sensations of my youth, and I must confess my heart was greatly interested in her fate; but the information of the doctor filled me with great anxiety, though I hope his presages will prove his knowledge not infallible.

A lady far declined in the vale of years, next entered to consult the stars: The fame of your great knowledge in the mysteries of fate, says this antiquated lady, hath made me resolve to wait upon you in an affair that concerns me very nearly: The doctor assured her, that as far as his knowledge extended, he would answer any thing she was desirous of knowing: Sir, says the lady, I have a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, and am yet a virgin; but, adds she, I have thoroughly considered the design and end of marriage, and am now convinced that it is an institution calculated for the mutual benefit of both sexes. The scripture too, continues she, instructs us to associate together for the procreation of our species, and therefore I am now resolved to comply with the dictates of the divine law and the _call of nature_—(I must confess, says Sable, I was a good deal surprized to hear a woman, who seemed to be not far distant from what is called the grand climacterick of her age, talk of the procreation of her species in this manner, and of her resolution to follow the call of nature) Your sentiments, madam, says the doctor, are certainly right, and I have chosen, says this wrinkled old lady _a proper young Gentleman_ to partake of conjugal felicity with me, and by whom I may fulfil the divine command: Undoubtedly, madam, says the doctor, a young man is more proper for such cases than a man of your own years: I think so indeed, Sir, says the lady, though I believe I should have children by almost any man; for I am of a very _fruitful_ family, nor am I, continued she, so old as perhaps you may imagine me;—but, Sir, says she, my business with you, is to know whether I shall receive any ill treatment from him, how many children I shall have, and whether my _intentions_ will be _thoroughly answered_ by marrying this young gentleman, for I am resolved upon that, and the marriage writings are bespoke. Madam, says the doctor, I will resolve you presently; upon which he turned to his book, and after casting the necessary figures for information, told the lady, she might depend upon receiving no _male-treatment_ from her intended spouse: that all her _reasonable_ expectations would be answered, such as having the credit of one of the handsomest men in town for her husband, keep what company she pleased, go where she pleased; and in short, do what she pleased, as she did before marriage, for that her husband would never trouble her about any thing:—But, Sir, says the lady, you don’t speak of the other comforts I should expect, and which was my chief design in marriage.—All the other comforts of marriage, Madam, says the doctor; you will receive by _Proxy_.—_Proxy_, Sir! says the lady, what do you mean? Why, madam, replies the doctor, you will enjoy your husband’s company, at bed and board by _Proxy_, bear children by _Proxy_: Don’t tell me, Sir, interrupted this ancient virgin, of bearing children by _Proxy_, I look upon myself as capable of bearing Children as any young girl whatever, and assure you, Sir, I shall not desire any one to bear them for me, and so, Sir, your servant, and immediately hobbled down stairs repeating frequently as she went, the word _Proxy_.