Proceeding inland
on foot, in the direction of Southampton, he overtook a poor man
walking along the road whose looks of unutterable misery induced our
traveller to stop and inquire what ailed him. He told Jackson he had
a son and daughter dying of a disorder apparently contagious, and
that no physician would attend them, as he was too poor to pay the
fees. Jackson at once offered his services, which were gratefully
accepted. He saw his patients, and prescribed for them, and his
heart was touched by their simple expressions of gratitude. 'Their
thankfulness,' he says, 'for a thing that would perhaps do them no
good, gave me more pleasure than a fee of, I believe, twenty
guineas, much in need of it as I was.' The night had gathered in
before he reached Winchester, where, at a respectable inn, he
partook of such refreshment as his means afforded, and then desired
to be shewn to his bedroom. The answer was, that the house contained
no bedroom for such as he, and he was finally driven out with the
coarsest abuse into the streets. The hour was ten o'clock, the month
December, and the severity of the weather may be guessed from the
fact, that the snow lay deep on the ground. After wandering about
for some time, he at last obtained shelter in a small house in the
outskirts of the city. The next day he fared little better. 'On
Sunday morning,' he relates, 'I was sixty-four miles from London,
and had only one shilling in my pocket.
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