To-morrow I mean to go shopping; and I may, at the same time, pick up some adventures on my way; for business must be minded.
LETTER VII
Soon after my last letter, I was summoned to supper. Betterton appeared much interested in my destiny, and I took good care to inspire him with a due sense of my forlorn and unprotected state. I told him that I had not a friend in the wide world, related to him my lamentable tale, and as a proof of my veracity shewed him the parchment, the picture, and the mole.
To my great surprise, he said that he considered my high birth improbable; and then began advising me to descend from my romantic flights, as he called them, and to seek after happiness instead of misery.
'In this town,' continued he, after a long preamble, 'your charms would be despotic, if unchained by legal constraints. But for ever distant from you be that cold and languid tie which erroneous policy invented. For you be the sacred community of souls, the mystic union, whose tie of bondage is the sway of passion, the wish, the licence, and impulse the law.'
'Pretty expressions enough,' said I, 'only I cannot comprehend them.'
'Charming girl!' cried he, while he conjured up a fiend of a smile, and drew a brilliant from his finger, 'accept this ring, and the signature of the hand that has worn it, securing to you five hundred a-year, while you remain under my protection.'
'Ha, monster!' exclaimed I, 'and is this thy vile design?'
So saying, I flung the ruffian from me, then rushed down stairs, opened the door, and quick as lightning darted along the streets.
At last, panting for breath, I paused underneath a portico. It was now midnight. Not a wheel, not a hoof fatigued the pavement, or disturbed the slumbering mud of the metropolis. But soon steps and soft voices broke the silence, and a youth, encircling a maiden's waist with his arm, and modulating the most mellifluent phraseology, passed by me. Another couple succeeded, and another, and another. The town seemed swarming with heroes and heroines. 'Fortunate pairs!' ejaculated I, 'at length ye enjoy the reward of your incomparable constancy and virtue. Here, after a long separation, meeting by chance, and in extreme distress, ye pour forth the pure effusions of your souls. O blissful termination of unexampled miseries!'
I now perceived, on the steps of a house, a fair and slender form, robed in white. She was sitting with her elbow in her lap, and her head leaning on one side, within her hand.
'She seems a sister in misfortune,' said I; 'so, should she but have a Madona face, and a name ending in a, we will live, we will die together.'
I then approached, and discovered a countenance so pale, so pensive, so Roman, that I could almost have knelt and worshipped it.
'Fair unfortunate,' said I, taking her hand and pressing it; 'interesting unknown, say by what name am I to address so gentle a sister in misery.'
'Eh? What?' cried she, in a tone somewhat coarser than I was prepared to expect.
'May I presume on my sudden predilection,' said I, 'and inquire your name?'
'Maria,' replied she, rising from her seat; 'and now I must be gone.'
'And where are you going, Maria?' said I.
'To the Devil,' said she.
'Alas! my love,' whispered I, 'sorrow hath bewildered thee. Impart to me the cause of thy distress, and perhaps I can alleviate, if not relieve it. I am myself a miserable orphan; but happy, thrice happy, could I clasp a sympathetic bosom, in this frightful wilderness of houses and faces, where, alas! I know not a human being.'
'Then you are a stranger here?' said she quickly.
'I have been here but a few hours,' answered I.
'Have you money?' she demanded.
'Only four guineas and a half,' replied I, taking out my purse. 'Perhaps you are in distress – perhaps – forgive this officiousness – not for worlds would I wound your delicacy, but if you want assistance – '
'I have only this old sixpence upon earth,' interrupted she, 'and there 'tis for you, Miss.'
So saying, she put sixpence into my purse, which I had opened while I was speaking.
'Generous angel!' cried I.
'Now we are in partnership, a'nt we?' said she.
'Yes, sweet innocent,' answered I, 'we are partners in grief.'
'And as grief is dry,' cried she, 'we will go moisten it.'
'And where shall we moisten it, Maria?' said I.
'In a pothouse,' cried she. 'It will do us good.'
'O my Maria!' said I, 'never, never!'
'Why then give me back my sixpence,' cried she, snatching at my purse; but I held it fast, and, springing from her, ran away.
'Stop thief, stop thief!' vociferated she.
In an instant, I heard a sort of rattling noise from several quarters, and an old fellow, called a watchman, came running out of a wooden box, and seized me by the shoulder.
'She has robbed me of my purse,' exclaimed the wily wanton. ''Tis a green one, and has four guineas and a half in it, besides a curious old sixpence.'
The watchman took it from me, and examined it.
''Tis my purse,' cried I, 'and I can swear it.'
'You lie!' said the little wretch; 'you know well that you snatched it out of my hand, when I was going to give you sixpence, out of charity.'
Horror and astonishment struck me dumb; and when I told my tale, the watchman declared that both of us must remain in custody, till next morning; and then be carried before the magistrate. Accordingly, he escorted us to the watchhouse, a room filled with smoke and culprits; where we stayed all night, in the midst of swearing, snoring, laughing and crying.
In the morning we were carried before a magistrate; and with step superb, arms folded, and neck erect, I entered the room.
'Pert enough,' said the magistrate; and turning from me, continued his examination of two men who stood near him.
It appeared that one of them (whose name was Jerry Sullivan) had assaulted the other, on the following occasion. A joint sum of money had been deposited in Sullivan's hands, by this other, and a third man, his partner, which sum Sullivan had consented to keep for them, and had bound himself to return, whenever both should go together to him, and demand it. Sometime afterwards, one of them went to him, and told him that the other being ill, and therefore unable to come for the money, had empowered him to get it. Sullivan, believing him, gave the money, and when he next met the other, mentioned the circumstance. The other denied having authorized what had been done, and demanded his own share of the deposit from Sullivan, who refused it. Words ensued, and Sullivan having knocked him down, was brought before the magistrate, to be committed for an assault.
'Have you any defence?' said the magistrate to him.
'None that I know of,' answered he, 'only I would knock him down again, if he touched my honour again.'
'And is this your defence?' said the magistrate.
'It is so,' replied Sullivan, 'and I hope your worship likes it, as well as I like your worship.'
'So well,' said the magistrate, 'that I now mean to do you a signal service.'
'Why then,' cried Sullivan, 'may the heavens smile on you.'
'And that service,' continued the magistrate, 'is to commit you immediately.'
'Why then,' cried Sullivan, 'may the Devil inconvenience you!'
'By your insolence, you should be an Irishman,' said the magistrate.
'I was an Irishman forty years ago,' replied Sullivan, 'and I don't suppose I am anything else now. Though I have left my country, I scorn to change my birth-place.'
'Commit him,' said the magistrate.
Just