When I had concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some of
whom came and shook me by the hand, swearing that I was a very honest
fellow, and that they desired my further acquaintance. I therefore
promised to repeat my lecture next day, and actually conceived some hope
of making a reformation here; for it had ever been my opinion, that no
man was past the hour of amendment, every heart lying open to the shafts
of reproof, if the archer could but take a proper aim. When I had thus
satisfied my mind, I went back to my apartment, where my wife prepared a
frugal meal, while Mr. Jenkinson begged leave to add his dinner to ours,
and partake of the pleasure, as he was kind enough to express it, of my
conversation. He had not yet seen my family, for as they came to my
apartment by a door in the narrow passage already described, by this
means they avoided the common prison. Jenkinson at the first interview,
therefore, seemed not a little struck with the beauty of my youngest
daughter, which her pensive air contributed to heighten, and my little
ones did not pass unnoticed.
[Illustration:
_"Alas! doctor," cried he, "these children
are too handsome and too good for such a
place as this."_—_p._ 130.
]
"Alas! doctor," cried he, "these children are too handsome and too good
for such a place as this."
"Why, Mr. Jenkinson," replied I, "thank Heaven, my children are pretty
tolerable in morals; and if they be good, it matters little for the
rest."
"I fancy, sir," returned my fellow-prisoner, "that it must give you a
great comfort to have all this little family about you."
"A comfort, Mr. Jenkinson!" replied I, "yes, it is indeed a comfort, and
I would not be without them for all the world; for they can make a
dungeon seem a palace. There is but one way in this life of wounding my
happiness, and that is by injuring them."
"I am afraid then, sir," cried he, "that I am in some measure culpable;
for I think I see here (looking at my son Moses) one that I have
injured, and by whom I wish to be forgiven."
My son immediately recollected his voice and features, though he had
before seen him in disguise, and taking him by the hand, with a smile
forgave him. "Yet," continued he, "I can't help wondering at what you
could see in my face to think me a proper mark for deception."
"My dear sir," returned the other, "it was not your face, but your white
stockings and the black riband in your hair, that allured me. But, no
disparagement to your parts, I have deceived wiser men than you in my
time; and yet with all my tricks the blockheads have been too many for
me at last."
"I suppose," cried my son, "that the narrative of such a life as yours
must be extremely instructive and amusing."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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