At length I was obliged to comply
with the exigence, and left the city, but made such arrangements that I
should be apprized by my wife of Mervyn's return with all practicable
expedition. These arrangements were superfluous, for my business was despatched, and
my absence at an end, before the youth had given us any tokens of his
approach. I now remembered the warnings of Wortley, and his assertions
that Mervyn had withdrawn himself forever from our view. The event had
hitherto unwelcomely coincided with these predictions, and a thousand
doubts and misgivings were awakened. One evening, while preparing to shake off gloomy thoughts by a visit to
a friend, some one knocked at my door, and left a billet containing
these words:--

"_Dr. Stevens is requested to come immediately to the Debtors'
Apartments in Prune Street._"

This billet was without signature. The handwriting was unknown, and the
precipitate departure of the bearer left me wholly at a loss with
respect to the person of the writer, or the end for which my presence
was required. This uncertainty only hastened my compliance with the
summons. The evening was approaching,--a time when the prison-doors are
accustomed to be shut and strangers to be excluded. This furnished an
additional reason for despatch. As I walked swiftly along, I revolved
the possible motives that might have prompted this message. A conjecture
was soon formed, which led to apprehension and inquietude. One of my friends, by name Carlton, was embarrassed with debts which he
was unable to discharge. He had lately been menaced with arrest by a
creditor not accustomed to remit any of his claims. I dreaded that this
catastrophe had now happened, and called to mind the anguish with which
this untoward incident would overwhelm his family. I knew his incapacity
to take away the claim of his creditor by payment, or to soothe him into
clemency by supplication. So prone is the human mind to create for itself distress, that I was not
aware of the uncertainty of this evil till I arrived at the prison. I
checked myself at the moment when I opened my lips to utter the name of
my friend, and was admitted without particular inquiries. I supposed
that he by whom I had been summoned hither would meet me in the common
room. The apartment was filled with pale faces and withered forms. The marks
of negligence and poverty were visible in all; but few betrayed, in
their features or gestures, any symptoms of concern on account of their
condition. Ferocious gayety, or stupid indifference, seemed to sit upon
every brow. The vapour from a heated stove, mingled with the fumes of
beer and tallow that were spilled upon it, and with the tainted breath
of so promiscuous a crowd, loaded the stagnant atmosphere. At my first
transition from the cold and pure air without, to this noxious element,
I found it difficult to breathe. A moment, however, reconciled me to my
situation, and I looked anxiously round to discover some face which I
knew. Almost every mouth was furnished with a cigar, and every hand with a
glass of porter. Conversation, carried on with much emphasis of tone and
gesture, was not wanting. Sundry groups, in different corners, were
beguiling the tedious hours at whist. Others, unemployed, were strolling
to and fro, and testified their vacancy of thought and care by humming
or whistling a tune. I fostered the hope that my prognostics had deceived me. This hope was
strengthened by reflecting that the billet received was written in a
different hand from that of my friend. Meanwhile I continued my search. Seated on a bench, silent and aloof from the crowd, his eyes fixed upon
the floor, and his face half concealed by his hand, a form was at length
discovered which verified all my conjectures and fears. Carlton was he. My heart drooped and my tongue faltered at this sight. I surveyed him
for some minutes in silence. At length, approaching the bench on which
he sat, I touched his hand and awakened him from his reverie. He looked
up. A momentary gleam of joy and surprise was succeeded by a gloom
deeper than before. It was plain that my friend needed consolation. He was governed by an
exquisite sensibility to disgrace. He was impatient of constraint. He
shrunk, with fastidious abhorrence, from the contact of the vulgar and
the profligate. His constitution was delicate and feeble. Impure airs,
restraint from exercise, unusual aliment, unwholesome or incommodious
accommodations, and perturbed thoughts, were, at any time, sufficient to
generate disease and to deprive him of life. To these evils he was now subjected. He had no money wherewith to
purchase food. He had been dragged hither in the morning. He had not
tasted a morsel since his entrance. He had not provided a bed on which
to lie; or inquired in what room, or with what companions, the night was
to be spent. Fortitude was not among my friend's qualities. He was more prone to
shrink from danger than encounter it, and to yield to the flood rather
than sustain it; but it is just to observe that his anguish, on the
present occasion, arose not wholly from selfish considerations. His
parents were dead, and two sisters were dependent on him for support. One of these was nearly of his own age. The other was scarcely emerged
from childhood. There was an intellectual as well as a personal
resemblance between my friend and his sisters. They possessed his
physical infirmities, his vehement passions, and refinements of taste;
and the misery of his condition was tenfold increased, by reflecting on
the feelings which would be awakened in them by the knowledge of his
state, and the hardships to which the loss of his succour would expose
them. CHAPTER XXVIII. It was not in my power to release my friend by the payment of his debt;
but, by contracting with the keeper of the prison for his board, I could
save him from famine; and, by suitable exertions, could procure him
lodging as convenient as the time would admit. I could promise to
console and protect his sisters, and, by cheerful tones and frequent
visits, dispel some part of the evil which encompassed him. After the first surprise had subsided, he inquired by what accident this
meeting had been produced. Conscious of my incapacity to do him any
essential service, and unwilling to make me a partaker in his miseries,
he had forborne to inform me of his condition. This assurance was listened to with some wonder. I showed him the
billet. It had not been written by him. He was a stranger to the
penmanship. None but the attorney and officer were apprized of his fate. It was obvious to conclude, that this was the interposition of some
friend, who, knowing my affection for Carlton, had taken this mysterious
method of calling me to his succour. Conjectures as to the author and motives of this inter position were
suspended by more urgent considerations. I requested an interview with
the keeper, and inquired how Carlton could be best accommodated.