sought out indigent merit, and raised it from obscurity, confining his
own expenses within a very narrow compass.

"You are a benevolent fellow," said a young officer to him one day; "and
I have a great mind to give you a fine subject to exercise the goodness
of your heart upon."

"You cannot oblige me more," said Temple, "than to point out any way by
which I can be serviceable to my fellow creatures."

"Come along then," said the young man, "we will go and visit a man who
is not in so good a lodging as he deserves; and, were it not that he
has an angel with him, who comforts and supports him, he must long since
have sunk under his misfortunes." The young man's heart was too full
to proceed; and Temple, unwilling to irritate his feelings by making
further enquiries, followed him in silence, til they arrived at the
Fleet prison.

The officer enquired for Captain Eldridge: a person led them up several
pair of dirty stairs, and pointing to a door which led to a miserable,
small apartment, said that was the Captain's room, and retired.

The officer, whose name was Blakeney, tapped at the door, and was bid to
enter by a voice melodiously soft. He opened the door, and discovered to
Temple a scene which rivetted him to the spot with astonishment.

The apartment, though small, and bearing strong marks of poverty, was
neat in the extreme. In an arm-chair, his head reclined upon his hand,
his eyes fixed on a book which lay open before him, sat an aged man in
a Lieutenant's uniform, which, though threadbare, would sooner call a