id, I sallied out in a transport of rage and sorrow, without
knowing whither to fly for shelter, having not one friend in the world
capable of relieving me, and only three shillings in my purse. After
giving way for a few minutes to the dictates of my rage, I went and
hired a small bedroom, at the rate of one shilling and sixpence per
week, which I was obliged to pay per advance, before the landlord would
receive me: thither I removed my luggage; and next morning got up, with
a view of craving the advice and assistance of a person who had on
all occasions loaded me with caresses and made frequent offers of
friendship, while I was under no necessity of accepting them. He
received me with his wonted affability, and insisted on my breakfasting
with him, a favour which I did not think fit to refuse. But when I
communicated the occasion of my visit, he appeared so disconcerted that
I concluded him wonderfully affected with the misery of my condition and
looked upon him as a man of the most extensive sympathy and benevolence.
He did not leave me long under this mistake; for, recovering himself
from his confusion, he told me he was grieved at my misfortune, and
desired to know what had passed between my landlord, Mr. Potion, and me.
Whereupon I recounted the conversation; and, when I repeated the answer
I made to his ungenerous remonstrance with regard to my leaving his
house, this pretended friend affected a stare, and exclaimed, "Is it
possible you could behave so ill to the man who had treated you so
kindly all along?"

My surprise at hearing this was not at all affected, whatever his might
be; and I gave to understand with some warmth, that I did not imagine he
would so unreasonably espouse the cause of a scoundrel who ought to be
expelled from every social community. This heat of mine gave him all the
advantage he desired over me, and our discourse, after much altercation,
concluded in his desiring never to see me again in that place; to which
desire I yielded my consent, assuring him, that, had I been as well
acquainted with his principles formerly as I was now, he never should
have had an opportunity of making that request. And thus we parted.

On my return, I met my comrade, Squire Gawky, whom his father had
sent, some time ago, to town, for his improvement in writing, dancing,
fencing, and other modish qualifications. As I had lived with him since
his arrival on the footing of our old intimacy, I made no scruple of
i