SCENE II.

NO, not all the wives in the world ſhall perſuade me to it. Not for all the wives in the world, would I ſuffer ſuch a thing.

Bite my noſe? What the devil buſineſs has ſhe to long to bite my noſe? If it was a child of my own getting, and I loved the mother ever ſo well, I would not allow it.

Thus was Mr. Thomas Ap Morgan, a Welch chairman, very vehemently telling his mind to David Llwhyddwhuydd, his partner. David mild⯑ly replying, you know, my dear countryman, that now I am the very laſt, look you, of all the Llwhyddwhuydds in all Wales, and will any countryman of mine, any true Briton, and there are no true Britons but Welch folks, you know, Thomas.

Yes, to be ſure I do, and thank God for that, I am but a Welchman truly, but I am a true Briton, and Britons never will be ſlaves; and therefore why ſhould your wife want to bite my noſe then?

Now, Thomas, would you have the moſt ancienteſt family in all Wales, and all Merio⯑nethſhire to boot, as indeed mine is, to be ex⯑tinguiſhed, rather than let yourſelf be put to a little pain; and if my wife ſhould miſcarry, there is an end of all my hopes; for only Providence and good Sir Watkins knows, when I ſhall be able to get another child; for we have been a long time about this; and if we loſe this, all my hopes of having a family to inherit my nam [...] is gone; becauſe, you know, we have never a⯑nother child in the world, but that which is coming to be born now.

[6]Thomas picking up his hat, and wiping the flaps of it with his elbow, replied, you know, David, that I would not have Mrs. Llwhyddw⯑huydd vexed now ſhe is ſo near her down-lying, upon any account; but why ſhould you ſay yours is the moſt ancienteſt family in Wales, did not the Ap Morgans go to meet William the conqueror?

God's bleſſings upon us both, I am aſhamed to hear a Welchman talk of any thing ſo little a while ago as William the conqueror; why my family, I have all the parchment account of it at home, was in Wales before the deluge.

But where did they go when the world was drownded?

Why they went on board ſhip with Captain Noah, and the ſhip ſettled upon a very high mountain, and the mountain was Penmanmuir, and Wales was the firſt place peopled again; and Japhet married into our family, and I have ſome of his blood now in my veins, and our family has been in Merionethſhire ever ſince. Now here lies the point, my dear. Suppoſe my ſon, becauſe my wife ſhould loſe her longing, is to be born without a noſe, or

with two noſes now; for great authors ſay, that a woman with child, when ſhe longs, or is affrighted the effects will be the ſame upon the child.

But I don't believe it, no more than if I am carrying a fare, and a dog ſhall come behind []

[7]me and bite my leg, that the gentleman or the lady, look you, in the chair, ſhall have the print of the dog's teeth in their ſkin.

But I will ſhew you, friend Thomas, from the teſtimony of learned wiſe men

I copied them with my own hand-writing, to convince you of the dan⯑ger, that may attend letting my wife, that you profeſs ſo much friendſhip for, loſe her longing.

Well, you know, Mr. David, I love to hear hiſtories, ſo let us ſit down.

CASE. I.

Aldrovandus relates, that a woman in Sicily obſerving a lobſter taken by a fiſherman, and being moved by an earneſt longing for it, brought forth a lobſter, altogether like what ſhe had ſeen and longed for.—Vide the copper⯑plate.

II. Is told by John Swammerdam. A certain woman at Utrecht, being with child, was frighted with the ſight of a negro, and appre⯑hended to be delivered of a perfect black; but at laſt recollecting herſelf, ſhe made uſe of a ſecond imagination, to prevent the danger from the firſt; for ſhe waſhed herſelf from head to foot, with hot water, to clear the child from blackneſs. The time of her delivery being [8]come, the child was born with all his teeth, and appeared perfectly white, except thoſe places, the hot water did not reach.

III. By ditto. A child was born in Normandy with horns upon his head, and cloven feet, and he proved afterwards to be a man of extraordi⯑nary ſenſe and judgment: the occaſion of that misfortune was, that his father having repre⯑ſented a ſatyr upon the ſtage, had the knowledge of his wife in that ridiculous dreſs.

IV. We have a caſe in Fabricius Hildanus, upon the faith of Ludovicus Horniceus, a phy⯑ſician of Frankfort, viz. a woman having been frighted with the firing of a gun, was delivered of a child with a wound in the back, of the ſame ſhape, as if it had been done with a muſ⯑quet ſhot.

V. Father Malebranche, in his ſearch after truth, relates, that ſeven or eight years ago, was ſeen in the hoſpital of incurables a young man, who was born an idoet; and whoſe body was broken in the ſame places where malefactors are broke; he had lived near twenty years in that condition, and has been ſeen by ſeveral perſons. The cauſe was, his mother hearing a criminal was to be broke, went to ſee the exe⯑cution.

Father Malebranche proceeds to explain this ſtrange accident: children, ſays he, ſee what their mothers ſee; they hear the ſame cries, they receive the ſame impreſſions of the objects, and are moved by the ſame paſſions; all the blows given to the malefactor did violently ſtrike the [9]mother's imagination; and by the counterblow, the tender and ſoft brain of the child.—The fibres of the child's brain, not being able to re⯑ſiſt the torrent of the ſpirits, were broken; that's the reaſon why he came into the world without underſtanding. The violent courſe of the mother's animal ſpirits went with force from her brains to the ſeveral parts of her body, which anſwered to the parts of the malefactor: 'twas the ſame in the child—but becauſe the bones of the mother were capable to reſiſt the violence of the ſpirits, they were not wounded. But this rapid ſtream of the ſpirits was capable to carry away the ſoft and tender parts of the bones of the child; and 'tis to be obſerved, that if the mother had determined the motion of the ſpirits, toward any other part of the body, her child had not had his bones broke; but that part which anſwered to the part towards which the mother determined her ſpirits had been ſore⯑ly wounded.

VI. A gentlewoman of Helſenor, ſays Bar⯑tholin, was delivered of a great cat; which, to the aſtoniſhment of the aſſiſtants, ran away with great celerity, and was never ſeen afterwards—becauſe the lady was frightened with one.

VII. Bartholin alſo relates; I have it, he ſays from John Naborouſky, a gentleman of Poland, and my good friend, that a woman of that country was brought to bed of two ſmall fiſhes, without ſcales; which were no ſooner born, but they ſwam in the neighbouring waters, as naturally as others do; becauſe the lady did long for them; ſo that you ſee, my friend Thomas, [10]look you, it is all the ſame, according to the o⯑pinions of theſe learned people, whether a lady is frighted, or whether a lady longs.

Well, let us hear ſome more ſtories, in the Name of God.—I do love to hear ſuch things, to be ſure; but God help me, for my own ſake, but to be ſure I cannot believe all theſe things, ſo well as the ſcholars do, becauſe I have not their learning; but go on, do my friend, do go on.

VIII. Philippus Meurs, apoſtolical prothono⯑tary, and cannon of St. Peter's in Louvain, a re⯑verend ancient man, affirmed unto me, and ſe⯑veral others, ſays our author, Thomas Fienus, that he had a ſiſter compleat in the reſt of her body, but without a head. Inſtead of which, was joined to her neck a ſhell fiſh, in the like⯑neſs of a ſea-muſcle, made up of two ſhells, which ſhut and opened; and by which, from a ſpoon, ſhe took her nouriſhment. And this he ſaid was occaſioned, for that the mother with child with her had a ſtrong deſire after ſome muſcles ſhe beheld in the market, but could not procure at that inſtant. This ſiſter of his lived in this monſtrous condition, to be eleven years old; and then, by accident, happening angrily, and very ſtrongly, to bite the ſpoon they fed her with, and breaking the ſhells, died quickly after.

IX. Schenkius tells of a woman very big; who, among other diſcourſes with her neighbours, mention being made of her great belly, ſhe told them, ſhe reckoned about the time of Epiphany, [11]or feſtival of the three kings. Upon which the good woman wiſhing ſhe might bring forth three kings; ſhe merrily anſwered, with all her heart; and accordingly, at the time, ſhe bore three ſons; one of them an Ethiopian, or of a black colour, as uſually one of thoſe kings are painted. The ſame relation is confirmed by Cornel. Gemma, being ſeen, as he ſays, by great multitudes, in the city of Louvain, and authenticated by un⯑doubted teſtimony.

X. There was a lady, a kinſwoman of mine, ſays Sir Kenelm Digby, who uſed much to wear black patches upon her face (a faſhion among young women) which I, to put her from, uſed to tell her in jeſt, that the next child ſhe ſhould go with, ſhould come into the world with a great black ſpot in the midſt of its forehead; and the apprehenſion was ſo lively in her ima⯑gination, that ſhe had a daughter born, and marked juſt as the mother had fancied, with a great black ſpot upon her.

XI. There lived amongſt us at Bern in Swit⯑zerland, ſays Gul. Fabricius, an honeſt woman, who, about ten years ſince, being great with child, and quarrelling with another woman, put herſelf into ſuch a paſſion, that ſhe was unable to con⯑tain herſelf. After which, falling into labour, ſhe was brought to bed of a daughter, of a cou⯑ragious and heroick mind, but her feet and hands contracted, as if ready to fight, and her whole body in continual motion, ſo that ſhe walks, as it were, dancing, and in a trembling poſture, after the manner of angry people, unable to govern their paſſion.

[12]XII. Amb. Parey gives us to underſtand, that in the year 1517, a child was born (in a village near Fontainbleau) with the ſhape of its face exactly like that of a frog; which was brought to paſs by the mother's holding that creature in her hand, to allay the heat of a fever, about the time of her conception.

XIII. But ſomething ſingular beyond all theſe, is the tale of Languis, of a woman longing to bite the naked ſhoulder of a baker paſſing by her; which, rather than ſhe ſhould loſe her longing, the good-natured huſband hired the baker at a certain price. Accordingly, when the big-bellied woman had bit twice, the baker's wife broke a⯑way from the people who held her, would not ſuffer her to bite her huſband again; for want of which, ſhe bore one dead child, with two living ones.

Why then, I ſay (thus Thomas very loudly began, hitting his hand hard upon the table) I ſay, the baker was—.

At that inſtant a voice from the ſtreet called chair, chair; out run Mr. David and Mr. Tho⯑mas, the book, the noſe, the wife, were in an inſtant forgot; for the occult deſire of money-getting annihilates all other conſiderations, as black abſorbs all factitious colours.

How the chairman came to be ſo learned (as we all love to know every thing) courteous rea⯑der, you ſhall, if you pleaſe, be informed.

He was the living Lexicon, to which the whiſt and jockey clubs applied, whenever they made a bett about ſpelling a word; and he had, from obſervation, acquired ſuch a genius or power in diſputation, that all ſmatterers he ſilenced, as eaſily as Socrates did the Sophiſts; if a true ſcho⯑lar happened to contradict him, David, from his knowledge of the world, dumfounded the ſtu⯑dent, by offering him ten pound on't; for he proceeded upon one general, and not an often controverted principle, i. e. no rich men will mind learning; ergo, only poor folks are ſcho⯑lars.

Therefore every fool, every dunce, dares to aſſert, to contradict, to find fault, or praiſe; even with the utmoſt ignorant effrontery, and oppoſe the opinions of men of real merit—blockheads having one undeniable reſource, the propoſing a wager.

Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd, maſter Neddy's mama, was born in America, the daughter of a mulatto woman, her papa, the famous councellor Juſtice, who was ſent abroad on account of ſome books being miſſing. The grandfather's diſgrace is the reaſon why none of his deſcendants ever choſe to learn their letters.

Hence, as Heinſius obſerves, it is very eaſy to account for the Hero of this Hiſtory being illiterate.

Miſs Juſtice was imported under-cook to a Weſt-Indian family, who came to England for improvement; they hired a fine houſe the ſouth ſide of Maidſtone, within half a mile exactly [14]of the market-place, and on the right-hand of the London road.

N. B. The utmoſt preciſion is made uſe of in re⯑lating the ſituation of the houſe, becauſe an attention to truth is the Editor's greateſt care throughout the whole of this publication.

In Maidſtone, at this time, there was a compa⯑ny of Comedians, that town and county being remarkable for the reſidence of ſuch ſort of peo⯑ple. It is an obſervation of naturaliſts, that turnips and attornies thrive beſt in Norfolk; that Suſſex is noted for bad roads and ſmug⯑glers; and that it is as impoſſible to eradicate buggs from London, as to free Kent from Hop⯑pickers, Gipſies, and Stroling Players.

In all rural theatrical communities, it is the cuſtom of one of the actors to carry play-bills to the people of faſhion's houſes about the coun⯑try; and as theſe Jamaica gentlefolks were re⯑markable for ſumptuous living, the manager caſt himſelf into that part of the buſineſs; this occaſioned much murmuring when his back was turned, among the reſt of the company; they would meet at the ale-houſe, and call him all the ſcoundrels, and tyrants imaginable; but the moment they ſaw him returning, they run out of the room, begged he would drink with them, and happy was he; who could get his handker⯑chief out firſt, to wipe the duſt off from his maſ⯑ter's ſhoes. He loved, like moſt of his brethren, eleemoſinary high living, therefore he never miſſed carrying up a bill every morning to the Weſt Indian ſquires; and uſed to wait in the hall, at firſt, along with the butcher's boy, to know their honours commands.

[15]But Miſs Juſtice, being very fond of players, aſked this proprietor of cloaths and ſcenes to ſtep into the pantry, where the reſt of the ſervants aſſembled, there he was treated with ſeveral remnants of danties ſaved from yeſterday's din⯑ner, and he made the kitchen company vaſtly merry, for he could be exquiſitely entertaining.

He ſpoke Tragedy ſpeeches to them, he ſhow⯑ed them tricks, he made them faces, he ſung ſongs, he acted the lame man, and the ſtutter⯑ing man, and ſtood upon his head, and drank out of his ſhoe, no man had more wit than he had; and he rehearſed all the other comicalities, by which benefit-making geniuſes puſh their tickets off. The young lady above-mentioned fell in love with this maſter actor, his name, or at leaſt the name he went by, was Samly; and as Mr. Samly was ſeeing Miſs Juſtice home from the play-houſe, in about a week afterwards, ſhe confeſſed her affection to him, and informed him, that ſhe had forty nine pounds of her own, and in her own poſſeſſion, all in ſpecie.

Samly immediately fell in love with her, they vowed eternal fidelity to each other, and rati⯑fied thoſe vows by the moſt particular engage⯑ment, before they went out of the home cloſe, while the bright ſtars in the fiery fretted canopy of heaven ſparkled over their heads, and the ſilent gloworms twinkled at their ſides, the leafy hedges ruſtling to their embraces, and the whoping owls at diſtance toot tooting to their ſighs (as Mr. Samly obſerved) made up great nature's loving concert. The next week, unknown to any of their acquaintance, they ſet out for London together; Samly left his cloaths and ſcenes behind him; indeed they were mortgag⯑ed [16]for rather more than the worth, to the land⯑lord of the ſtable in which they acted.

The Editor of this Treatiſe remembers this Mr. Samly's company at Maidſtone, and they had the uſe of a brewhouſe to ſhift their cloaths in; the ladies dreſſing-place was the maſh-tub, and Alexander the Great, he has known to re⯑hearſe his mad ſcene very cleverly in the cooler.

The brace of lovers determined to remain in cog for ſome time in London; becauſe, as Miſs Juſtice ſaid, what would all the world think of her, if all the world ſhould come to know it? therefore deſired Mr. Samly would get a licence as ſoon as poſſible.

That he promiſed upon his honour ſhould be his next morning's buſineſs; and added, at the ſame time, my ineffable Chloe, we will content ourſelves with theſe lodgings for the preſent; what to thee or me does it a drachma ſignify, if as yet, we are at St. Giles's or St. James's—no, we are ourſelves, let us be where we pleaſe.

Upon the inſtant he brandiſhed his lady's cur⯑ling irons, with which he was then pinching his bag wig.—Majeſtically he ſtrode croſs the room, and then with moſt emphatical dignity—he—ſpit out of the window.

Reſuming his ſubject, thus he went on—be⯑fore the winter comes on, thou opening roſe of beau⯑ty, we'll take a ready furniſhed houſe in ſome of the genteel ſquares about Piccadilly. But firſt, I'll de⯑termine with myſelf, which Theatre I chuſe to belong to.—A man of my merit, my lovely attractreſs, will be careſſed by the managers of both houſes; ſo I'll play them off one againſt t'other; promiſe them both, and at laſt, who bids moſt has me. I know my cue—but I am reſolved never to come upon the ſquare of [17]common ſalary actors; no, I will have ſo much cer⯑tain when I play, or elſe ſuch a ſum of money out of the houſe as a ſharer, and this way—(hitching up his breeches at the ſame time) this way I ſhall, keep up my conſequence; and conſequence is what an actor ought to ſtudy, as much, ay, and more than his parts. But it happened to Mr. Samly, as it may have to thee, reader, his expectations were ſuperior to his advancement; the managers of both Theatres refuſed him.

His caſe was very ſevere, he had a great mind to print it, to let the town know how he was uſed; he did ſo, but it did not anſwer any pur⯑poſe; the public took no notice of it, and the bookſeller loſt money by it.

His lady's fortune being ſoon diſſipated, duns grew exceedingly impertinent, misfortunes pre⯑ſented themſelves before him, in all the fright⯑ful phantoms of hunger, bad ſhoes, bum bailiffs, rainy weather, no truſt, and an empty coal-hole; he curſed the pride of managers, their ignorance, their inhumanity; he damned the town, he de⯑ſpiſed life, he grew deſperate; and one morning, before the fringed covering of his lady's eye-lights were withdrawn, he went down ſtairs, and opening the ſtreet-door, he, I am afraid it will never be believed, but the fact is authentic, and I can bring ſeveral reputable people to wit⯑neſs the truth of it,—he, that very morning, reſolved—to work at his own buſineſs, and relinquiſh the ſtage for ever, ſaying, with Car⯑dinal Wolſey,

Farewel, a long farewel to human greatneſs; onwards he went, leaving his lady, London, his creditors, and choice ſpirits, making the beſt of his way to his own pariſh in Notting⯑hamſhire, [18]to work at the ſtocking frame, nor caſt one longing lingring look behind.

SCENE III.

MISS Juſtice received a letter from Samly that very day by the penny-poſt, with his reaſons for abſenting himſelf; and as the epiſtle is really curious, we ſhall preſent a copy of it to the reader, recommending the author to the notice of the gentlemen publiſhers of Periodical Papers, as a proper perſon to be employed by them, when they need a journaliſt.—Since he can moraliſe, ſeems to know mankind, has a pretty knack at abuſe, can write very well on the worſt ſide the queſtion, does not much mind orthography, and by his manner, I fancy him neither timid, heſitating, or conſcientious.

After Samly had put the letter in the poſt⯑office, he recollected his dear Chloe could not read—however, upon reflection, he was not ſorry for that; for, by heavens, and all the ingenuity of arts and ſciences, he called out, it is an elegant Epiſtle, equal to any of Pope's literary correſpondence; and whoever my girl gets to read my letter for her, will and muſt admire the writer, and with me lament the loſs which the town muſt receive, by thoſe fellows of managers not employing me.

[20]Juſt as the epiſtle above-mentioned came to hand, it happened that Miſs Shred was upon a viſit to Miſs Juſtice, or Mrs. Samly, as ſhe was called in the neighbourhood. This young lady, the viſitor, had a very great taſte for plays her⯑ſelf, and was an occaſional actreſs at Richmond, and at Bartholomew Fair; her father has been breeches ſeater to me theſe nine years, and it was from his mouth, that I have been aſſured of the authenticity of this relation.

As ſoon as Miſs Juſtice had heard the letter read, ſhe ſhrieked, ſhe ſtamped, ſhe wrung her hands, ſhe took ſalts: not Ariadne for the loſs of Theſeus; not a quean condemned to the ducking-ſtool; not—but no alluſions could carricature her. Her lamentations brought up the landlord Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd, to whom Miſs Shred diſcovered Samly's perfidy, although ſhe did not ſhow him the letter, but begged Mr. David would leave the lady a little until ſhe came to herſelf. As it is good manners to do ſo, we will attend the chair—carrying gentleman down ſtairs, who rejoiced exceedingly at the two pieces of good news, as he called them.

In the firſt place, to find Mr. Samly was not her huſband; and in the next place, to ſuppoſe Mr. Samly was run away from her; for David long had loved, long had he ſecretly admired her.

The tender God of ſoft deſires rouſed all the ſentimental ſoul of Llwhyddwhuydd, ſoftning his heart, as vinegar will render marble ſupple.

Men have odd taſtes; why then ſhould David be blamed for this? Is it not common for ladies to relate the ſurpriſing conqueſts they have made over their huſbands, and the ſimple means by which thoſe victories have been obtained. Ma⯑dam Blanch avowed to me, her ſpouſe fell in love with her for her ſmall ear. The deputy's wife ſhot her good man with a pair of black ſattin ſhoes, and ſtone buckles; the motion of the hips in walking has made many lady's for⯑tune. Eſquire Pointer declared but laſt week, he was particularly ſtruck with the white point of his wife's elbow: and with all-becoming re⯑verence for the marriage ſtate do I ſpeak this, as I am myſelf in that nuptial band, I was won to ſurrender my liberty to the all excellent graces [22]of my wife, who, in her virgin ſtate, alarmed my eager deſires, when ſhe threw herſelf into that moſt graceful attitude of tying her garter. Here I muſt beg leave to be indulged with ſome anecdotes concerning my ſpouſe.

She was born, ſhe was bred a gentlewoman, I married her out of Sir Trinket Trolly's family; her mamma was companion to lady Trolly, and my wife, born in that houſe, was educated in all the becoming elegance, inherent to a woman of the firſt quality.

While I paid my addreſſes to her, ſeveral wealthy tradeſmen proffered her their ſervices; but her ſoul was above mixing with vulgarities. She ſcorned to liſten to the voice of mechanic money-loving-ſlaves, ſhe valued the addreſſes of a man of wit, more than all Peru.

On that hint I ſpoke,

The rules of politeneſs obliged us to leave the afflicted Miſs Juſtice, when decency deſired Davy to go down ſtairs; but now we have liberty again to walk into her apartment.—Sit down, good reader, you are very welcome, the young lady is pretty well recovered, a ſerenity beams upon her brow, there is not the leaſt print of affliction's footſteps to be ſeen upon her countenance.

But this calmneſs was not owing either to the affected pedantry of ſchool ſtoiciſm, called philoſophy, which honeſt teague, who never read a page of Seneca, ſo well defined, by ſay⯑ing, by Jaſus I am born to be unhappy, ſo I'll make myſelf very eaſy about the matter.

[23]Neither was the young lady of ſo callous a conſtitution, as to be eaſily reconciled to the departure of her gallant, by the method which the preſent females of intrigue make uſe of, viz. immediately to throw themſelves in the way of another—no, this happy reſtoration was ef⯑fected by that never-failing Noſtrum, Nants Brandy. Q. S.

Miraculous ſpecific! bluſh, bluſh, ye diplo⯑miſts of Greſham, ye who pretend to underſtand things; aſico for your knowledge, pound all the Materia Medica together in a mortar, can ye compoſe ſuch a mental Succedaneum? — Behold, reader, the two young ladies, and mark with what courteous words the viſiting lady ad⯑dreſſes the lady viſited.

My dear Samly take t'other pinch, it will do your head good. Thus kindly did my taylor's daughter conſole her companion, untwiſting at the ſame time her paper of rappee.

Call me not Samly, dear crea⯑ture, I conjure you, I deteſt the name. Oh Miſs Shred! what woman would ever put her truſt in man.

Curſe on um indeed, my dear, man is as the poet ſays, ‘Deceitful as the vind.’

Therefore woe be to the woman, who has imbibed any fond ideas for Wits or Players, or ſuch ſort of Geniuſſes.

Curſe me, if ever Wit did any good to man, woman or child, ſince the invention of clean linnen.—As to WIT'S perdition, catch ſuch ſcrubs—they behave as bad to their ladies, as they do to one another.

[24]They'll never give an abſent friend a good word, or allow a girl a ſecond gown to ſee com⯑pany in.

Very true, indeed, miſs; but thank God, per⯑ſons in polite life, are two well bred to be pedants, and I would no more aſk any fine gentleman or lady after their ſcholarſhips, than I would after their religion; becauſe both the one and the other's out of faſhion now.

Well, madam, my friend did ſuch things in the money-winning way, and with ſuch grace!—to be ſure he lived like a nobleman, and mantained me like a dutcheſs; I had my equi⯑page all upon gilded ſprings, and I uſed to ſcorn all low bred perſons, as I called them, for walk⯑ing a foot; becauſe, as my friend uſed to tell me, nobody never need be poor, if they had but a ſpirit to do things — for if people wanted luck, they ſhould make it, or elſe be puniſhed with poverty for their faintheartedneſs.—But [28]for all that, what by the law, or by one thing or another, we dwindled, to be obliged to live in a two pair of ſtairs back-room, madam, as you may do now; and I can't but ſay, we uſed to ſit and think ourſelves very ill done by Provi⯑dence—becauſe, why ſhould we be poor? when we took as much pains in the proper way of getting fortunes, as ever any people did who got eſtates, as the faſhion is now to get them. Well, madam, at laſt we parted, and he married a methodiſt's widow, with 500 l. a year join⯑ture, and I engaged myſelf as a figure dancer at the Opera Houſe, becauſe I was told, a lady had a better chance there of being taken into keeping, than at the Engliſh Play-houſes. But I did not find the Opera people's taſte ſo eager at intriguing with any of our ſex, as I expected.—O, curſe that Italy, my dear—but no more of that—I grew very low, and I ſent to my late friend, who had married the methodiſt's widow for a guinea; and his anſwer was, truly he had done with all the vanities of this life, and ſo ſhould I; and that he would adviſe me not to look after money, but go and ſeek the Lord.

But who am I to ſeek, who'll ſeek me?

Nay, as to that, madam, never deſpair, re⯑member what is ſaid to you in the letter about your landlord David.—I am ſure it may be eaſi⯑ly brought about for him to marry you, I have ſo often heard him ſay, what would he give for ſuch a wife as you.

But, dear creature, would it not be immenſe⯑ly ſhocking, and abſurd in me—in me, to de⯑ſcend from being an actor's, nay a manager's miſtreſs, and become a chairman's wife—periſh that thought—can I bear it? can I, dear Miſs Shred, can I, who came from a gentleman's family. Yes, madam, my papa was a counſel⯑lor at law, he was proſecuted for his merit, per⯑ſecuted for the ſuperiority of his talents, and baniſhed from his native country by faction; but I am his own daughter; and can I ever agree to have theſe arms filled with any body, who is not a gentleman born, or who is not ſo by profeſſion; or is not a perſon of conſequence, ay, conſequence; that was what my deceiver Samly uſed to inſiſt upon; his conſequence; but why ſhould I mention him, or any other belonging to the ſtage; I, who have ſuffered by my fatal connection with an actor; O! that the world was all in flames, that final deſtruction might ſeize on all, ſince I am deceived; de⯑ſerted. Farther ſhe could not proceed, for her friend, fearful leaſt her companion ſhould re⯑lapſe into freſh grief, ſnatched up the pewter meaſure in a moment, in which was one re⯑maining cordial draught, and holding it to Chloe's lips, inſiſted on her not making any more words, but drink it off.

Dear Shred, you are ſo immenſely kind; that, to convince you of my eſteem, I will be ruled by you, and marry this horrid creature; nay, I'll do more; for from henceforth I bid [30]adieu to all high life't ideas, to the fond charms of even dear intrigue.

Miſs Juſtice, you ſhould not make raſh vows; conſider, my dear, you are a gentlewoman, and many gentlewomen marry only for the ſake of intriguing; we ſhould uſe the ſex as that ſex ought to be uſed. I would always chuſe the man, who I fancied moſt propereſt for my in⯑tereſt, to be my huſband; and then chuſe the man, whom I moſt fancied, for my lover.

But how, dear creature, am I ſure, that as this odd mortal, this David, my landlord, now he knows I was only Samly's miſtreſs, how am I ſure, I ſay, that he will have me for a wife? and upon my ſoul, I would ſooner die than de⯑rogate ſo far from the dignity of my birth, and my principles of honour; as to live with any man but a gentleman, without being married to him.

As to that, my dear, you are vaſtly in the right on't; and our ſex ought to be as ſtrict in keeping up our conſequence, in that point, as any, or more than any other; but as to the landlord's knowing of your having an affair — to be ſure, although he is but a chairman, yet he is a Welſhman; and he might, perhaps, have too much ſpirit, had he not lived ſo many years at this end of the town, as to know that it is faſhionable; and what is faſhionable, you know, muſt be polite. Beſides, my dear, not one of [31]his companions dare to hit him in the teeth with it, if he was to marry you, for fear of offend⯑ing one or other of their beſt cuſtomers.

I am determined; but, at the ſame time, am as determined, to avoid even the appearance of intrigue; what other ladies of taſte and delicacy do, ſhall be no rule for me to go by. I will be true to my huſband, my honour, and myſelf, nor ever again grant any other man (ſave him) an involuntary embrace.

The next week's ſun ſaw her blazon'd in the matrimonial inſtallation. With how much firmneſs of ſoul, ſhe maintained her reſolution of chaſtity, will be expreſſed in ſome of the ſuc⯑ceeding chapters. In the concluſion of this, I hope, the reader will give me leave to obſerve, that though, like Miſs Shred, ladies may be women of the town, and actreſſes at the ſame time; and that there are ſome females belong⯑ing to the Theatres, who, now publickly act in both capacities; yet ſo far from being a reproach, it is the greateſt argument, which can be brought, in ſupport of the profeſſion of a player; for although the want of chaſtity, like the want of money, may make ſome people ap⯑pear but in an indifferent light; yet, according to the times, neither of them have any thing to do, at preſent, with the reſpect which is paid to the accompliſhments of genius.

SCENE MATRIMONY.

ON the wedding-night, after the raptures of enjoyment between Mr. and Madam Llwhyddwhudd were evaporated; when every heart-felt thrill and throb of deſire ſubſided; each fine ſtring of delight, which had been ex⯑tatic ſtretched by imagination's apparatus, let down into a philoſophic relaxation, the new married pair lay back to back. — The lady being moſt reſtleſs, was conſidering, whether it would, or would not, offend the rules of delicacy, if ſhe was once again to turn to her huſband.

Her ſpouſe was then debating, ſince he had married ſo good a cook, and ſo notable a wo⯑man, about making his houſe a public one; which he did the winter following, and had great buſineſs, among the beſt people in the neighbourhood; his ſpouſe being ſo obliging a landlady, occaſioned the famous TRIPE AND TROTTER CLUB, to be inſtituted at Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd's.

THE TRIPE AND TROTTER CLUB, was the original of all the other Clubs now exiſting in this metropolis. — From thence came the famous Beef-ſtake Clubs, the Whiſt Clubs, the Ox-cheek Clubs, the Jockey Clubs, the Hornpipe Clubs, the Pea-ſoup Clubs, the Choice Spirit Clubs, the Spirituous Liquor Clubs, the Poli⯑tical Clubs, the Philoſophical Clubs, the Roaſt⯑ing Clubs, the Punning Clubs, the Spouting Clubs, the Kept Miſſes Clubs, and the Club of Diſcontents.

[33]David, as he began to get money, grew aſthmatical and pot-bellied; not breathing ſo freely as he was won't to do, it frighten'd him; like the reſt of the wealth accumulating part of mankind, he was terrified at the thoughts of dying, therefore ſent for a phyſician immedi⯑ately.

Reader, you muſt have known ſuch perſons, who, while they worked for their living, were uſeful members to ſociety; but when, by chance or craft, they become maſters of money, aſ⯑ſumed a haughtineſs of behaviour, abandoning themſelves to a vitiated ſtate of idleneſs, and gluttony. The event is, their being ſeized with a complication of infirmities, which, in their active and praiſe-worthy ſtate, they felt not; they hurry to a doctor, give five guineas for ad⯑vice, in hopes to have a worthleſs carcaſe ſheath⯑ed from the worms; which, was it to continue on the earth for twenty years longer, would not be of five ſhillings uſe to any of its fellow creatures.

David, by his phyſician's order, was to re⯑turn to his former trade; this he had entirely left off; his ſoul, as he ſaid, being always ra⯑ther above ſuch an employment; but when health is concerned, when a life is to be ſaved by it— although a lady or gentleman may have ever ſo good a ſpirit, to be ſure, upon ſuch conſiderati⯑ons, they muſt give way; according to Sir John Falſtaff's aphoriſm,

While Mr. David was putting himſelf once more into chair-carrying exerciſe, ſome ſoldiers were ordered to be quartered in his neighbour⯑hood; [34]and Corporal Knott brought a billet for himſelf, to Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd's

The Corporal was a gentleman remarkable for his gallantry; he had had as many fine wo⯑man as any general officer; he was form'd for intrigue, and graced with every accompliſhment which could undo the fair.

He ſung all the ſongs in the Beggars Opera, he could ſpeak ten Tragedy love ſpeeches, could dance a hornpipe, ſhew tricks with cards, balance a lady's fan upon his noſe, no gentleman could fill a tea-pot more gracefully, or ſwear more often, or more agreeably: then he wore his hat ſo ſmartly bluff, and his hair was powdered ſo ſmooth, could he have been but as conſtant as he was lovely. Yet as no man is perfect, he affected to imitate his betters, and boaſt of his amours.

It is natural for one hero to take another for his pattern; he choſe Alexander the Great for his; it was the Macedonians frailty to glory too much in his conqueſts; which Arrian could no more excuſe in the ſon of Philip, than I can in Corporal Knott.

He, though admired by the fair, was diſliked by his brother ſubalterns, eſpecially the veterans, who, hagged by winter campaigns, their faces weather-worn, and ſcarified; did not like to ſee him look ſo plump, ſo pert, ſo ſmooth⯑faced, and wear his linnen ſo well ironed; when they, who had endured all the inclemency of every hard ſeaſon, in the tented and untented fields of unhoſpitable Germany; who reflected, that, at the time they were thus fighting their country's battles, inſtead of wearing nice plaited linnen, had not any linnen to plait; and half a [35]dozen brave Britiſh battallion boys, who ſcorned to turn their backs upon double the number of French fellows, though all beruffled and chit⯑terlin'd, yet all their linnen, would not ſet up a tinder merchant.

They ſnarled at this beau Corporal; ſwear⯑ing he was not fit for any ſervice, but juſt to make one in an officer's guard, at the Opera-houſe.

Often have I heard theſe non-commiſſioned heroes, as they have limped along—that de⯑fect in their gait proceeding, either from the wounds received in battle; or from the neglect of not being dreſſed after the fight; or from in⯑curable contractions, or relaxations, the fatal ef⯑fects of being expoſed to the ſcorching heats, and ſudden damps of Africa, and America; and to the ſeverity of wintering in ill-provided quar⯑ters, on the banks of the Rhine, the Weeſer, the Lippe, &c. &c. for which, perhaps, Fle⯑miſh and Dutch commiſſaries, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I was preſent at the diſputation, which old Winterneſs had with Corporal Knott on this ſubject; which, with the reader's leave, we'll inſert — becauſe, if it is not a ſtory, it is a dialogue; and as it is a dialogue, it will be a means of diſplaying a copper-plate exhi⯑bition of an old warrior, and a junior fine gen⯑tleman; or, more properly, to explain the print; it is a contraſt between the Charms of Peace in Mr. Knott's figure, and the Fortune of War in the old ſoldier's portrait.

At the valiant tooper the altercation happen⯑ed; old Winterneſs was relating in the Corpo⯑ral's [36]company all the engagements he had been in; fighting all his battles o'er and o'er again, and marking with a ſtick, upon the ſand of the ale-houſe kitchen, the marches and counter⯑marches of our armies, dwelling with emphaſis on the ſpot where he had received a ſhot, or loſt a limb.—There, my boys, juſt there, where I put my foot now, there I ſtood on the left of the Scotch greys, and had theſe two cuts on my ſkull, and, as it mought be here, I had theſe three wounds; and ſuppoſing now theſe pieces of pipe to be our front line, as I was to the right of the royal, a muſquet ball took me in flank, and went through both my thighs, and there Sir, as I was running after the French Pollavouſees, I loſt the uſe of my right eye; and, Sir, ſuppoſing this full-pot now to be Bocachica caſtle, there I ſtood while we were attacking it; and here it was, that I left my arm and leg at Cartagenah. — But what then — I don't think much at it, not I —I have gained honour and glory enough for an honeſt man—I know what it is to ſerve my country — and ſo here's his Majeſty King George's health, and all his family, and Old England for ever—and as to my limbs, why they're welcome to um, as welcome as I am to this tobacco of my own buying.

Yet he was ready, with a ſmall ſword, to give any private gentleman ſatisfaction—be⯑cauſe that was fighting upon honour, which no perſon of honour could refuſe—but fighting for one's country may be refuſed; becauſe you may have—or—or—or—or—or—&c. &c. Knott, unwilling that Old Chelſea ſhould win all the applauſe of the company, interrupted the ſcar-furrowed gre⯑nadier; obſerving, that a man might run as many riſques, be in as many dangers at home, as abroad; and to prove it, related his intrigues with ſeveral fine women.

Firſt, he recounted the hair breadth ſcapes to get Miſs Neatsfoot, the tripe-man's daughter off —how he ſcaled the back garret, how he knock⯑ed down the watchman, and how the town was obliged to him for bringing ſo accompliſhed a girl upon it—thus the Corporal went on. — It was I that gave that girl the firſt idea of acting. I uſt to tell her, how the firſt time ſhe got into grand keeping, ſhe muſt perſuade her friend to ſpeak to ſome of the managers, about letting her come upon the Stage; becauſe I know that's common — ay, and it's grown a ſcheme too among ſeveral gentlemen about town, to get [38]rid of their women that way; for when a girl grows ſtale upon their hands, and they want to part with her genteely, without being a ſettlement out of pocket by her; why then theſe gentle⯑men, will call on one or other of the ma⯑nagers, and ſo, in a ſort of half-aſking favour⯑way, they will tell the proprietor, that there is a fine woman of their acquaintance, who they know will be of ſervice in the Play-houſe; and taking the patentee by the hand, the'll ſay— come ſet the girl down in the liſt, pon honner I ſhall take it immenſely kind, I know you won't refuſe me, what's forty or fifty ſhillings a week out of your pocket; beſides, I am ſure ſhe'll earn it. And this is the way that we have women of the town belonging to the Theatres.

Then, continued the Corporal, there was Bett Filbert, ſhe was the beſt dreſt fruit girl a⯑bout St. James's market—I beat the reform⯑ing raſcals for her — no woman of quality, though ſhe had ever ſo fine a ſilk ſtocking, and diamond ſhoe-buckle on, could ſhow a neater leg and foot then Bett's was, with her ſilver claſps, red clocks, and pinned up petticoats; and as to an elegant and polite manner of doing things; who ever opened oyſters with more affa⯑bility then Bett? or made a hot-pot with more taſte then ſhe did?

Then there was Waſte Butt, the publican's widow, I ſpent about five and forty pounds of her money, only ſhe grew too fond; and when once a woman begins to behave ſo its fulſome, and what no man of true delicacy can bear; I was obliged, therefore, to leave her, and got cherry-cheeked Judy, that uſed to liſp at Bucking⯑ham-gate, can o'milk, Sir?—I was private then, [39]my officer made me a corporal for her — I a'nt the firſt gentleman, I ſuppoſe, who has made his fortune by women, nor come to preferment, by giving up his miſtreſs.

Who had ſat chewing the cud of diſappointment, to be cut off in the concatena⯑tion of all his glorious recitals, and by a ſmock⯑faced boy too, as he muttered to me; roſe up, like Ajax, boiling with rage, and caſting his eyes upon the Corporal, he burſt out with,

Why then, Sir, I muſt tell you—that a man of honour, Sir — ſtriking his fiſt at the ſame time againſt his waiſtcoat breaſt buttons, a man of honour, Sir, would as ſoon ſell his king as his miſtreſs. — A ſoldier, let me tell you, Sir, would as ſoon deſert from his poſt, or run away from his colours, as give his girl up — I have been among the beauties in my time, Sir—but before I would ſurrender my wo⯑man to a general officer's ſummons, I'd be drummed out of the regiment for cowardice; and as to advancement, I have got Chelſea honeſtly — I never won preferment by pimping.

D'ye call me pimp, Sir?

This diſpute would certainly have grown ſe⯑rious, had not the Editor of this work ſtarted up between them—whiſpered Knott, that he ſaw a fine girl paſs by the ſaſh window, and give the Corporal a beckon; away ſkipped Knott, and I begg'd old Winterneſs to be pacified; and that I would bring him half a pound of the beſt pigtail next ſunday.

This pleaſed the veteran, he ſhook the Editor heartily by the hand, promiſed him never to mind any more fools for the future; ſwore, when he dyed he would leave me all his papers, if I [40]would promiſe him to write the hiſtory of an old ſoldier.

It is neceſſary we ſhould return to the other perſonages of our dramatical copper-plate hiſto⯑ry; and conſider to what purpoſe Corporal Knott was introduced into this narration; with regret I record it, but Madam Llwhyddwhuydd, for all her reſolutions, fell in love with him.

Sometimes a lady's vows, like French treaties, are not to be relied on—they are like haſty made acts of parliament, which the cunning of conv [...]niency can always find means to evade. —Beſides, when love is in the caſe; nay, when money, for love and money are like a principle in mechanics, which acts equal and contrary. Love is equal in its power of action to money, but contrary in its effects; for as money will make perſons blind to every thing, but their own intereſt; love will make perſons ſee every thing, but their own intereſt. And with this mechanical, metaphyſical, tritical, critical, and analytical diſquiſition, proper it is to finiſh this ſcene of the drama.

The CHOICE SPIRITS FARCE.

There is ſomewhat vaſtly ſignificant, not only in the reputation of being a ſoldier, but alſo in a ſoldier's reputation; which made Madam Llwhyddwhuydd, as ſoon as ever the Corporal came with his billet to her houſe, regard him with an eye of complacency.

The Corporal conceived a moſt violent incli⯑nation for her, from the moment he was con⯑vinced her huſband was a monied man, and that ſhe bore the purſe.

He immediately opened his trenches with a love ſpeech, made regular approaches, by ſqueezing her hand; planted his battery of ogles againſt her; and quickly found he had a friend in the garriſon, which determined him to make one general aſſault, by a billet doux, that he re⯑ſolved ſhould be in the moſt elegant manner; and concluded to have a ſong wrote upon her.

He enquired among the Choice Spirits, who then held their meetings, like the primitive chriſtians, by ſtealth, the reforming conſtables carrying on terrible proſecutions againſt them; he found them at the cat and bagpipe, in Roſemary-lane, after declaring, upon honour, he was no informer; and owning his buſineſs; he was inducted to the preſident, whom you ſee in the print, one George Alexander Stevens, and who was recommended to the Corporal as a ſong-writer.

Stevens received ſix-pence from him as earn⯑eſt; for it was a rule, which the poets of that club had made, to always have half the money down; and the preſident declared he would write the ſong, as ſoon as ever the diſputation was over, which the gentleman's entrance had put a ſtop to.

The argument was warmly ſupported by the two altercators, Stevens and Harry Howard the [42]aſs-man, concerning eſſential qualities. George inſiſted, the only acquiſitions, which could con⯑ſtitute human happineſs, were temperance, ſta⯑bility, and propriety of behaviour.—Harry, on the contrary, ſwore, that there were no ac⯑compliſhments worth a man's while to be maſter of, except good breeding, and a good educati⯑on. This diſpute would have laſted much longer, had not a headborough opened the door, and producing a warrant againſt Harry Howard for ſcurrility, took away one ſide of the argu⯑ment.

A ſheriff's officer would have carried off the other, he came there with a thief-take's dog fearful of a reſcue—but leaſt the thread of our hiſtory ſhould be ſnapped too ſoon, we ſhall turn over this cauſe and arreſt, to the chapter entitled the art of bail-taking, or—the—by—London—and Weſtminſter.

All gentlemen performers in the pen and ink way of ſong-making, muſt acknowledge it is extremely unlucky, when the lady's name, whoſe perſon they are to celebrate, won't make a proper rhime.

The number of pretty ballads which are ſung every ſummer ſeaſon, at all publick places of entertainment, would loſe one part of their merit, were it not for the name jingle, which ſo aptly terminates every ſtanza; ſuch as

• Kitty Downs
• And Zouns
• Miſs Apple
• And Couple
• Polly Savage
• And Cabbage
• Love Miſs Harriot
• And Judas Iſcariot

[43]What then could a ſong-maker do with Llwhyddwhuydd? had he not cunningly ſup⯑plied that defect, by verſifying her Creolian name Chloe; and fitted up ſo taſty a love-ſong for the Corporal, that Mr. Knott, taking the bard by the hand, ſwore, had he had any more money about him to ſignify, he would have made George a handſome preſent, over and above what he agreed with him for; however, the military man's ſpirit was ſo great, and he was ſo well pleaſed with the verſes, that he ſlipped the re⯑maining change of ſix-pence into the poet's hand, which was all Knott had, after paying for a tankard of porter, the entrance fee, which every body ſubſcribed, according to the rules of the room, before they could be admitted ho⯑norary members.

The Editor of this undertaking cannot be ſo ingrateful, as to ſuffer ſuch a noble action of the Corporal's to ſlip, without taking proper notice of it.

To the moſt Noble, moſt Worthy, moſt — &c. &c. &c.

Ye great men of many manors, who at this preſent writing can chuſe your taverns, and pay a ready money reckoning for every dainty you call for; while I, twirling my mutton before an ill-ſupplied fire, am ſtretching the elaſticity of my invention, to its utmoſt pitch, how to ob⯑tain, upon credit, one ſingle beer and beer libati⯑on.—Oh, would ye but imitate this generous ſoldier's behaviour, and beſtow upon the artiſts, you employ, a premium for their merit. But artiſts, perhaps, would think themſelves happy, [44]could they, inſtead of being paid overplus, only receive the prices they agreed for.

But laments are vain, the labourers of genius, and the lollers in a coach and ſix, are no more analogous, than politics and plain-dealing.

Honeſtly and bona ſide I ſpeak; if they do call me names, I can't help it; but ⅝ of all the rich people in England, were it not for their money, would have no more ſenſe, no more wit, no more taſte, no more generoſity, no more hu⯑manity, no more learning, no more affability, nor more of any more, mores, than we have, who are obliged to mind our books, to make the pot boil.

Yet writers, who pretend to ſatyriſe rich folks, are to blame; nor ſhould any pen and ink dealers call the expectants and dependants of wealthy men, who are known by the name of toad-eaters, to an account for their behaviour.

To be ſure, the members of the toad-eating club will give his honour vaſt applauſe, if his honour ſays but any thing bordering upon com⯑mon ſenſe; and they will alſo lift up their hands and eyes, with theatrical aſtoniſhment, if her ladyſhip ſhould make an obſervation pertinent to the ſubject, and extol the vaſtneſs of their pa⯑tron's capacities. Now I cannot ſee any flat⯑tery in all this; for it is wonderful, conſidering rich peoples education. The ductility of their tutors, the venality of their menials, and the libertiniſms they are indulged in; how they can ever ſay, think, or do any thing, to the purpoſe.

Heirs to great fortunes are born as well mind⯑ed, very often, as the pooreſt tenant's child un⯑der them; but the underſtanding of the eldeſt [45]hope of great families, is either totally neglect⯑ed, or elſe cultivated in an improper manner.

The reaſon why men of genius are ſo ſeldom rewarded by men of fortune, is, becauſe men of fortune don't underſtand genius; therefore rich people are more proper objects for pity than ſatire. It is the want of having their minds juſtly improved by arts and ſciences, which makes them ſuch ſtrangers, to the happineſs of know⯑ing what to do with their time.

To be a man of faſhion, they think, is the excellence of perfection; or they would not la⯑viſh ſuch vaſt ſums for the encouragement of grooms, gamblers, proſtitutes and rare-ſhows; when ſo many works of public utility become abortive, and ſo many artiſts pine away for want of the hand of bounty, to bring them to life, for the ſervice of their country.

Is it not a ſhame, that in ſo noble a nation as England, renowned throughout the world for arts and arms, the major part of thoſe, who ſhould ſet a better example, only exhauſt them⯑ſelves and their fortunes, in an eternal round of viſits, cards, auctions, foreign fidlers, and ballad-ſingers.

As to ballad-ſingers and ballad-makers, the difference is trifling in regard of their merit; but the reward is not proportionable. This Stevens, to my knowledge, has wrote upwards of 200 ſongs, yet never was ſo well paid for any; nay, for all the reſt, as for that one he made the Corporal.

[46]

All the reſt of this man's ſongs, I am certain (the weight of paper excepted) would not now ſell for ſo much money.

For the entertainment of the curious, we in⯑ſert the verſes that Mr. Knott beſpoke, printed from the author's original copy.

And as this ſong comprehends all that has been, or can be comprehended, in the compo⯑ſition of love-ſong-writing, according to the method at preſent of the public garden poets; the Editor preſumes, this may ſerve as a pattern, or meaſure, for all future amorous ſtanza ma⯑kers, to cut out their works by, who intend to write for the amuſements of the ſummer parties, that ſwarm from Ranelagh Rotunda, to the New Tunbridge.

SCENE, the OVERTHROW.

Home haſted the Corporal with the copy of verſes, and gave them the lady wrapped up, as he received them from the author. She hurried into her own room with the pacquet, imagining it was ſome very pretty preſent; but when it was unwafered, and it appeared to be only a paper filled with written hand, which ſhe could not read one ſyllable, Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd ſuffered the moſt cruel agitation of ſpirits, that ever any lady was thrown into; who, by the ſudden whim of ſpouſe or papa, was prevented from being punctual to the moment of aſſigna⯑tion.

She ſuppoſed the letter to be an appoint⯑ment, the Corporal gone to the rendevouz, and had left her that, as a direction where to follow him. How did ſhe then lament her not being book-learned; ſhe fretted, ſighed, ſtamp⯑ed, [54]called on her ſtars, on the Corporal, and fate.

The maid, paſſing by the door, heard the outcry, run down to Mr. Knott, beckon⯑ing him into the back kitchen, aſked him what he had done to her miſtreſs; for that, as how her miſtreſs was in the moſt wonderful conſter⯑nation, about the Corporal, and what he had wrote in a paper.

Knott, who had been, Bajazet like, enjoy⯑ing, though but in fancy, his ſcheme, and what an opinion his landlady muſt have of him, and how fine a fellow ſhe muſt think him; to be able to write ſo fine a ſong, was ſtruck as flat, with what the girl ſaid to him, as a new actor juſt hiſſed.

It occured to him, on the inſtant that the verſe-maker had hummed him; and, inſtead of the ſong he had paid for, had palmed ſome other paper, on purpoſe to make the lover look like a fool; and Knott muttered, damm theſe wits, they are always full of miſchief, eſpecially againſt their beſt friends; however, I'll break the raſcal's bones.

Unluckily for ſome parties, George, the bal⯑lad-compiler, then was paſſing along on the other ſide of the way, the military man had a view of him, and through the entry Knott burſt into the ſtreet after the ſcribbler.

Paſſion or anger will as effectually dazzle perſons eyes as intereſt. Mr. Knott, by rage, was ſo dim-ſighted, that, as he ſprung from the threſhold, he ſaw not a ſedan, which David and his partner were bearing by with a fair in it.

[55]Againſt its ſide ruſhed the Corporal, and down came the chair, ſhattering upon the pave⯑ment. The glaſſes were ſmaſhed, the ſaſh frames ſhivered; and the ſoldier tumbling over the top of it, rowled into the channel, calling out, as he lay, oh, Stevens, I [...]ll do for you.

George Alexander, hearing a threatning voice, imagining it to be a bailiff's, ſtarted off, faſt as fear could wing his feet; and (like an expe⯑ditious fine porter, running to his duty) overſet every one who ſtood in his way.

The firſt perſon, who fell a victim to the ve⯑locity of the poet's fears, was Well-fleet Betty, ſtanding on the upper ſtep of a cook's cellar, with a baſket full of goods upon her head; one hand was reſted upon her hip, her elbow form⯑ing the point of an angle, and with the fingers and thumb of the other hand, ſhe was ſnapping defiance.

The bard took her in flank, ruſhing againſt her outſtanding elbow; the ſudden ſhock turn⯑ed her half round, and backwards ſhe pitched into the cellar, juſt as Theo. Cibber's property⯑man was bringing up twelve-pennyworth of ſoup and ox-cheek bouilli, for his maſter come⯑dian's dinner.

Down ſouſed Betſy's head into the diſh, and her feet fell on each ſide of the young man's head, upon his ſhoulders; her weight returned him into the cellar; and the broken baking pan, the ox-cheek, the ſoup, and the oyſters, cover⯑ed the floor.

Onward ſcampered George, overturning Had⯑dock's waiter, who had a box full of jellies in his hands; then the ſong ſcribbler met parrellel to his breaſt a mop-handle, which a wench was [56]twirling; his force flung it in a diagonal direc⯑tion down; but the mop hit in its way the ſilk⯑ſtockin'd ſhins of a French dancing-maſter the blow brought Monſieur Capriole to the ground, he pitched upon his face, and his noſe was flat⯑tened againſt the pavement.

The perpetrator of this miſchief began to be ſcant of breath; and turning his head, as he ran, to ſee where his purſuers were, he threw down a ſalop ſtall.

The vender of that diet drink, had juſt ſerved a diſh to no leſs a chapman, than the little poet DERRICK, the doer of Dryden's works, who, not thinking of any thing, was very innocently cooling his ſaſſafras, when the groſs bodied bard, like a collier, running foul of a pleaſure boat, tumbled the ſmall ſized verſifier into the dirt.

The bulk of Mr. Derrick's muff, prevented him from being bruiſed; but the blade of his pinch-beck hilted rapier, ſnapped in the ſcabbard, and the ſpray of the ſalop, obliged the little gentleman to keep his bed, until the ſcowerer had repaired the damage his laced coat and waiſt⯑coat had ſuſtained.

Here the race ended; the author of all theſe ills, tumbling at the ſame time, was ſeized by the woman, to pay for what was broke, ſpoiled and ſpilt.

It is impoſſible to ſay, what might have been the event of George's being detained, ſince he always was inflicted, with that terrible malady, of non ſum ſolvendum; but Mr. MACKLIN the the actor came by, paid the coſt, and took Ste⯑vens home, promoting him to be his tutor.

The COUCH SCENE.

The perſon who happened to be in the chair, when it was overturned, was the very drole SAM. FOOT, Eſq the greateſt mimic genius in England; who, after much ſhrieking and ſtruggling, roſe head and ſhoulders high, betwixt the broken frame of the chair-glaſs; his face all ſcratched, like a freſh blooded ghoſt, aſcending through the tragedy trap; on his countenance pallid fear ſat frightful; his livid lips quivered with terror; he begged help for God's ſake, and religiouſly reiterated his intreaties to the by⯑ſtanders.

He had not, at this time, exhibited publickly any of his extraordinaries; neither was he as yet determined, to what part of the arts and ſci⯑ences he ſhould devote himſelf.

It was to this adventure, and the advice of Miſs Shred, that the town has had the happineſs of being entertained with his Vis Oeuvres.

After he was delivered from the chair, and inducted into Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd's beſt one pair of ſtairs room. Miſs Shred, who ſaw from her chamber the accident, ran over to David's houſe, fearful, they had not politeneſs enough, to accomodate ſo brilliant dreſſed a perſon, as Mr. Foot.

Miſs Shred inſiſted, upon carrying up the ba⯑ſon of water, and towel, to the gentleman. Mr. Foot received her with all that complai⯑ſance, peculiar to himſelf; and aſſured her, both [58]in French and Engliſh, that he was immenſely obliged to her.

Sir, a perſon of your appearance demands the moſt polite reception; and, as I am conſcious, the people of this houſe, are too vulgar to uſe ſuch a perſon, as you are, as you ſhould be; therefore I left my own houſe, that I might pay a proper regard to one of your elegant ap⯑pearance.

Madam, you do me too much honour; to be ſure ma'am, I conceive the inhabitants of this porter-ſelling territory, to be the quinteſſence of vulgarity. My Ideas never before announc⯑ed ſuch a contemptible ſet of reptiles, as thoſe creatures were, who helped me out of the chair: one ſhould not, they ſay, mock one's friends; but upon my ſoul, they were ſuch a collection of groteſques, that while they were doing me a great piece of ſervice, I could not help taking them off; and the fellow who ſeemed to have the moſt humanity about him, and was really very tender of me, ſquinted his compaſſion with two ſuch inverted eyes, ſaying—I hope your honour cant hurt, Sir.

I vow, Sir, that look was vaſtly like him; but I am ſurpriſed, Sir, a gentleman of your accompliſhments, ſhould ſeem to heſitate, about taking off your friends; it is the extreme wit [59]of the politeſt perſons; and which, Sir, you muſt know, and if you was not to do it, Sir, it would be a loſs to the world; for you know, Sir, each individual admires to have an acquaintance, nay, all their acquaintance, made ridiculous; and I am perſuaded, no perſon, can be more happy in that execution, than yourſelf.

Madam, I am embarraſſed at this rencontre, with a lady of your conſummate penetration; indeed, madam, I have been flattered by my friends, with having an excellency, in taking off my intimates; and ſhall be proud, of a lady of your ſenſations, determining, concerning the merit of my abilities.

Immediately he went through the defects, misfortunes, and weakneſſes, of all his ac⯑quaintance with immenſe ſpirit; he took off Sir Harry's lady, as ſhe ſaid her prayers at church; mimicked her brother the judge, in his paſſing ſentence of death; ſhook his head as my lord's uncle did, who was paralytic from his infancy; walked limping like Sir William, who loſt part of his heel in a ſea-engagement; and then in the character of punch, preached a fu⯑neral ſermon, with ſuch vivacity, ſuch humour, and ſuch naivetie, that Miſs Shred became tranſported, backwards ſhe fell in raptures upon the couch, crying out bravo, bravo, bravo, my dear creature —

SCENE III.

UPON my honour, Sammy, you have reduced me to the moſt extraordinary cir⯑cumſtances, of not being able to look at a gen⯑leman without bluſhing; and, believe me, Sir, I never was guilty of ſuch an action before; but, as Richard ſays, for this among the reſt was I or⯑dained.

Madam, it is impoſſible for me to expreſs, how high an idea I entertain of a lady, poſſeſſed of ſuch a capability, as I find you miſtreſs of, therefore I can do no leſs, than dedicate myſelf to your ſervice.

I accept your homage, dear Foot, and I give you my hand, which acts equal with my heart; and as I know your talents, are as ex⯑trordinary, as you are pleaſed to obſerve my capabilities are ſurpriſing, I will plan, and you ſhall execute, as I am conſcious my concepti⯑ons are perfectly pictureſque.

This it was, on which Mr. Foot laid the foundation of that grandeur, we have ſeveral times ſeen him ſo amazingly arrive at. To [61]Miſs Shred he was obliged, for the hint of giv⯑ing tea; by her he alſo was initiated into that ſpecies of wit and humour, with which, to this day, he continues, with ſo much originality, to entertain the town.

During this above-ſtairs converſation, David was buſied, in picking up his chair's fragments; the Corporal was upon foot purſuing the au⯑thor; but the ſoldier met his officer at the turn of a ſtreet, who ordered him immediately to get ready, and ſet out next morning for Corn⯑wall.

Knott, though he was alarmed at the com⯑mand, knew his duty was to be ſilent, and obey.—But took his reſolutions accordingly; as he had been hitherto ſucceſsful in his ſchemes, with the fair ſex, and that his time was ſo ſhort, he went upon the hunt, for two of his com⯑rades he could confide in.

This was the reaſon, that Madam Llwhydd⯑whydd did not ſee her lover all that day; although its certain, no lady ever more longed, that is, ſhe wanted to be ſatisfied, and no perſon, ſhe was ſure, or at leaſt ſhe thought herſelf ſure, and that fancy with many ladies, amounts to a certainty, that no body could ſatisfy her, ſo well, as the Corporal.

The damaged chair was ſent to be repaired; Mr. Foot and his lady took coach for a coun⯑try jaunt. David, having nothing elſe to exe⯑ciſe himſelf with, reſolved to walk into Wap⯑ping, to ſee his brother on board of ſhip.

His ſpouſe, who knew her huſband would not be at home, until four or five in the morning, began to be vaſtly uneaſy about the Corporal, who made it evening before he returned.

[62]The gueſts withdrawn, the maid hurried to bed; juſt as the feeble watchman, whiſtling in his ſound, came by coughing out, pa-a-aaſt 11 o'clock—Mr. Knott, high in blood, ſtole (like Lothario) unheeded to his dear Llwhydd⯑whuydd's chamber, he found the lady looſe, unattir⯑ed, warm,—I aſhamed to ſay it—but fuddled, abſolutely non compos; how it happened, as well as ſo melancholy an accident can bear relating, ſhall be diſcloſed.

That night the lady went up ſtairs, in charm⯑ing ſpirits. Mr. Knott having received the wink of aſſignation, while he ſat below, drinking with his comrades. But alaſs, unhappy gentlewoman, reflecting perhaps too much, on what might very naturally happen, between her, and the Corporal; ſhe grew immoderately thirſty, in poetry we ſhould expreſs it, ſhe was burning with deſire.

By miſtake ſhe put a bottle of brandy to her mouth, which had, in the hurry, been put un⯑corked where the water-bottle uſed to ſtand. It was there placed by the maid, the miſtreſs's ſud⯑den coming up, prevented the girl from any other ways diſpoſing it.

Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd's agitation of mind, rendered her incapable of judging the differ⯑ence, until ſhe had ſwallowed ſo large a gulph; intoxication was the conſequence. By which the reader is deprived of one of thoſe luſcious deſcriptions, which are now looked upon in the novel way, the moſt eſſential embelliſhments for modern bookſelling.

Maſters under age, are ſuppoſed to have raw and indigeſted ideas; not being arrived at a pro⯑per taſte.

Elderly lovers have out-lived their's, there⯑fore both muſt be alike fed, and their ſtrength⯑leſs appetites, tempted by inſubſtantial garniſh; not having power to reliſh manly food.

Mr. Knott, knowing by the orders he had received from the captain, there was no time to ſpare, took ſome pains to waken the lady; and having recovered her ſo well, as to acknowledge ſhe loved no man like the Corporal, he diſcover⯑ed to her how he was pinched for time; the lady, fearing to loſe her ſo very lately gained lover; the force of liquor, and power of the Corporal's arguments, altogether correſponding, made her conſent that very night to go off with him. The maid faſt aſleep in the garret, the drawer dead drunk in the cellar, and her huſ⯑band from home. She packed up all the plate, ready money, and her beſt cloaths; for that is an obſervation I have generally made, that la⯑dies, who, by ſtealth, leave their huſbands, are determined that the loſs ſhall be as ſeverely felt, as the time they have to accompliſh their ſcheme will admit.

It was by the help of Mr. Knott's comrades, every article was brought ſafe to the Fly; in which the Corporal and his lady were convey⯑ed, without one accident to Portſmouth; there the next morning, by the greateſt good luck, they found a ſloop going off for Plymouth, in [64]which they embarked, and in four days landed there, then by eaſy journeys reached Cornwal; to which the Corporal's rout was directed.

Since we have conducted Mrs. Llwhydd⯑whuydd ſo far, we'll let her reſt a little after her journey, and take a trip to London, to inquire what became of her huſband.

The DREAMING SCENE.

David returned home the next morning a⯑bout two hours after his unfaithful lady's elope⯑ment; but too much filled with his evening's exceſs, to admit of any information, until ſnor⯑ing had evaporated ſome of thoſe fumes—but the phyſical account of SNORING, which was never before attempted, is proper to intro⯑duce here.

[65]SNORING ariſes from the ſuperabundancy of vapour, collected the preceding night, by drink and converſation, treaſured up in the ſtore-houſe, or magazine of the head.

The ſpirit of the liquor ſublimates through the valves, and ducts, from the ſtomach: and the froth, or Aerial parts of diſputes, obſervati⯑ons, altercations and witticiſms, make their way, thro' the auricular glands or organs, at the ſame time, into the cellulae of the brain. Theſe puff-balls, thus collected, float about, un⯑til ſecretion (I beg, my friends of the faculty, you'll obſerve this) although it is out of the power of the College to account for animal ſe⯑cretion; ergo, all phyſick is upon undetermined principles. Yet I have aſſigned a ratio for the ſecretory officinal of dreams, which are theſe puff-balls; compoſed as before-mentioned; and lodged in the tenements of the pineal glands; juſt as infant maggots are houſed.

But when all the pia and dura mater apart⯑ments are filled, and not a ſingle idea, even for the good of ſelf, can be wedged in, there will remain great quantities of this windy effluvia, which the owner of the head has imbibed in the laſt day and night's exerciſe, which muſt be diſ⯑charged, charged, before the proper diſpoſed imaginations can have room to act.

Therefore on a ſudden, faſt iſſue through thoſe wind-gates the noſtrils, the overplus of yeſterday's retailings, which can't be perform⯑ed, before ſleep has, for ſome hours, ſet his draining engines at work; and that is the reaſon, why morning dreams are more to be relied up⯑on, than thoſe before midnight. The violence with which this ſtream ruſhes forth, from the [66]head, is the occaſion of that ſound, which is equal to the diameter of the diapaſon of—but the ſolution of that queſtion, concerning the mathe⯑matical proportion of major and minor ſemi-tones, betwixt ſnoring and other eructations, is ſent for a prize anſwer to the Lady's Diary, to which we refer the reader.

After David had ſlept about five hours, loud and ſound, the elaſtic coats of his brain began to exert their pulſations, and he dreamed a dream which forboded miſchief, as plain as any dream, ever repeated at breakfaſt, by the polit⯑eſt, prettieſt, and moſt ſenſible maid, wife, wi⯑dow or miſtreſs, you enjoyed a morning's tête a tête with, or at leaſt, that you ſaid you did.

David did dream, as how, that the Tower of London was made of papier machée; and that the French intended to undermine all our coal⯑pits, and ſo deſtroy the nurſery of our ſeamen.

Out of the ſeven or eight millions of Great Britain's inhabitants, one million we may rea⯑ſonably ſuppoſe will read this book; and that 900,000 of thoſe readers, delight in the inter⯑pretation of dreams; for their emolument, we ſhall explain this dream, viz. The Tower of London, being made of chewed paper, ſignifi⯑ed, that the affection of his wife, which he thought permanent, as the bulwarks which the mud and graſs of tower ditch ſemicirculates; was as inſubſtantial, as the incoherent orna⯑ments of waſte paper: and the French, and the coal-pits meant, that a wicked enemy, ſhould undermine the navigation to his wife's heart.

At noon, next day, David waked, and with broad eyes found,—but by all rules of writ⯑ing, an author, as well as a painter, is to [67]allow his cuſtomers imagination, fair play, or game law; therefore this part of the ſcene ſhall be left to the reader's conception. How Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd looked; where he looked; what he ſaid, when he could ſpeak; and how long it was, before he returned to a capability of ſaying, or ſeeing, or doing any thing.

Suppoſe yourſelf, oh ſympathizing reader, in this afflicted huſband's ſituation; it is with ſome confuſion, that the Editor acknowledges him⯑ſelf, rather abrupt in pretending to place any buyer, or borrower of this volume, upon the footing of a chairman. All that we mean by begging the queſtion, is; moſt reverend, moſt honourable, or moſt handſome, Sir, or Madam, a poſſibility for what we call the fineſt perſon in England, when angry, to behave equal with the loweſt. To prove which, I ſhall make an extract from a book, called,

Furthermore, it is ſaid in this Book, chap. 20, page 99. I wiſh, may it pleaſe your ho⯑nour, that you would either look a little more into it, or ſuffer your eldeſt ſon, to be a little better acquainted with it; and I would bett a good name againſt great riches, and that's ten pounds to a crown, you know; that if thoſe perſonages, who can read it, would ſtudy it, not thumb and dog's ear a drole place or two; but go fairly, and honeſtly through it; they would be taught, to think worſe of themſelves, than they do at preſent; and thereby become better for the future.

There would every egotiſt diſcover, ‘That his conſequence was but conceit, and judg⯑ment merely opinion. That FLATTERY is the univerſal language. KNAVERY man⯑kind's modus. Converſation quibbling. PUB⯑LIC SPIRIT a riddle. FRIENSHIP a phan⯑tom; and SELF-INTEREST, grand ſignior.’

‘Good-breeding may be contaminated; and greatneſs put in an extreme fury, for ſuch trifling things, as an honeſt chairman, would be aſhamed to be out of temper about.’

‘And when the moſt polite are moſt angrily agitated, they may, and do often, ſwear, huff, kick, curſe, ſtrike, abuſe, break, and bellow, with ſuch violence, as if they were no more than a chairman; or any other ſuch illiberal beings. And I beg leave to obſerve, (for all what the heralds office alledge to the contrary) even her grace, although deli⯑cately dignified, may be horridly chagrin'd, if [69]ſhe permits paſſion to gallop over the courſe with her.’

The unfortunate Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd, pre⯑ſently ſwore himſelf out of breath, in hurrying backwards, and forwards, throughout the neigh⯑bourhood, to tell his ſad ſtory. Vowed many raſh vows, and ſaid many bad things. When his friends found his anger, was obliged, for want of freſh ſpirits, to ſubſide; and he was ſufficiently relaxed, to hear conſolation, they adminiſtered advice gratis. As all Engliſh peo⯑ple ought to do, one among another; the gene⯑rality of my countrymen and women, are apt enough to beſtow their counſels, even unaſked, in all caſes,—none but phyſicians and law⯑yers making money of their words.

They ſell their advice, as Lapland witches do wind, only to make more miſchief.

His partner, begged him to be comforted; ſqueezing Mr. Llwhyddwhydd by the brawny part of his thumb; my dear David, don't hurt yourſelf any more, by grief. I don't doubt, but all will be well as ever; and your ſpouſe ſhall come home again; and there will be no harm done; and you will live hapyy, to the end of your days; and you muſt take example by your betters, and forget, and forgive, as the Bible ſays.

This ſpeech, gave David great cauſe of con⯑templation; and after he was in bed that night, thus he ſoliloquiſed.

In the name of God, and St. David, can I ever, in honour, have my wife home again? Am I not an ancient Briton? Where then muſt I put my honour? Is not my honour, the ſeat of my heart? and has ſhe not given away her [70]honour? and would ſhe come home, and take away my honour too? now that damm dog of a ſoger, has laid hold of her honour for himſelf,—more ſhame for him; that any of King George's men ſhould not have honour of their own.

Not being able to ſleep, he went to his li⯑brary; and looking over the index of his ma⯑gazines, among thoſe curious receptacles of the atoms of univerſal learning, he found the fol⯑lowing eſſay, concerning

This was not ſatisfactory to Mr. Llwhydd⯑whuydd; he did not underſtand any thing about glory; all his care was about his honour, and not meeting with an explanatory account, in any of his volumes, he aroſe next morning, to conſult an old acquaintance, and country woman of his, and one of the wiſeſt people ever born; for ſhe was deſcended in a direct line, from the child, that Queen Sheba had by King Solomon. Though ſhe could not prove herſelf of one of the moſt ancient families; yet, for the greatneſs of her underſtanding, the defect of birth was overlooked; and ſhe was made overſeer of the weeders, to a Welch gardener's at Lambeth.

During the time of Mr. David's walking to Mr. Winifred ap Shingle, and to make an end of this ſcene of our drama, give me leave, by way of tag, to tell you an old ſtory about honour.

I do not doubt, but you may have read it in every jeſt book; I own the ſtory is old, — yet, like a true commentator, I quote the ancient things, to exhibit the antiquity of my reading.

[73]MAGRAH MONAGHAN of Connaught, din⯑ed one day, with TERENCF O HARA, in the queen's county; Monaghan was every inch of him a gentleman, and ſcorned to do a dirty thing. But as neceſſity, and honour, are ever at ſee-ſaw, with all gentlemen of no fortunes, it happened at that inſtant, Need was uppermoſt, and gave an impelling, or propelling, quality to ſome of Mr. Magrah's muſcles.

Aſtronomers are not yet clear enough in their accounts, for us to aſcertain which it was, of the occult qualities, innate to bodies, that oc⯑caſioned a ſilver ſpoon, before grace after meat was ſaid, to gravitate into Mr. Magrah Mona⯑ghan's pocket. The thing was miſſed, and his hoſt (very mildly) taking his gueſt aſide, whiſ⯑pered him.

My dear Mac, will you be telling me any thing of the ſpoon?

Is it me you mean? the Devil burn me into tinder aſhes, Terence, if I know no more of the ſpoon, than St. Patrick.

Well, but don't you, at all, at all?

Why, then, by the contents of this —

I don't. Would you be thinking, I'd be telling you a LYE?

But, upon YOUR HONOUR, don't you?

MY HONOUR!—By Jaſus, there's

the vagabond ſpoon again; and I'll tell you one thing, Terence, and that an't two; I wouldn't forfeit my honour, for all the ſpoons in the whole country of Chriſtendom.

SCENE IV:

DAVID Llwhyddwhuydd went over Weſt⯑minſter-bridge, to conſult Madam Wi⯑nifred ap Shingle.

After the proper ceremonials were adjuſted, of who ſhould ſet down firſt, what ſort of a day it was, and every other polite phraſe, which is uſed among the moſt delicate, as an introduction to more intereſting converſation. David ac⯑quainted Winifred with his misfortune, and with his partner's ſaying, he ſhould have his wife home again; and how, continued Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd, can I do that with honour? [75]for I do aſſure you, Winifred, that man is not worthy to carry a pair of ſtraps upon his ſhoul⯑ders, who is not a man of honour. For a chair⯑man, when his honour is gone, is no more than a hackney-coachman, or a waggoner, or any other of thoſe horſe-driving raſcals. — How then can I receive my wife again?—oh, Wini⯑fred, you don't know what a fine creature ſhe was.—To be ſure her neck was as white, as a damaſk napkin—and the beſt people in the neighbourhood, did uſe to ſend to by her pick⯑les,—and her cheeks were as red, indeed as my new ſcarlet breeches,—and ſuch a hand — ay, and for a pancake, Winifred, look you—well, God bleſs her Majeſty, and all the ladies of honour, but they could not toſs one better, to be ſure. — Damm Ochee, I will be the death of that damn'd dog, corporal ſcoundrel.—It was love-powder, which he did give her; and he ſhall be taken up, for poiſoning my wife, as ſure as Sir Watkins is a gentleman.

You come to me for advice, David, look you, indeed, and do ſpeak all yourſelf—but you ſhall hear now in God's name,—upon which ſhe put her band before his mouth, and bawled in his ear,—you muſt take your wife again.

He ſtarted from the chair, his ſhoulders ſtrik⯑ing againſt Mrs. Shingle's chin, caſt her back⯑wards into a waſhing-tub, where ſhe lay head and knees bent together; her legs hanging over the edge, while he, regardleſs of his country⯑woman's condition, ſwore a horrid oath, with as much ſolemnity, as ever the fineſt gentleman [76]gave himſelf to the devil, at a hazard-table; but ſtamping at that moment on poor Winifred's cat Grimalkin fixed her teeth and claws ſo fu⯑rious in his leg, that he ſhrieked, he run about the room, he cried murder, over the tub he tum⯑bled, regardleſs where he was, or what became of wi [...]e, Winifred, or all the world, but himſelf.

So true is what was ſaid by the firſt philoſo⯑pher before the flood, and has been annually ob⯑ſerved by all Philoſophers, Play-writers, Anno⯑tators, and Eſſayiſts, that It is natural for our own ſufferings to overbalance all other conſiderations.

The ſame SCENE continued.

Look you, David, be quiet, I tell you; you did not hurt me much; what I have put to your leg will cure it; ſo drink up your porter, and I will fetch another quart.

Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd, when ſhe was gone, began to be in doubt, whether he ſhould, or ſhould not, pull off the piece of black-ſticking plaiſter, that the dame had applied to his leg, for the bite. He wasn't ſure, it was the Court⯑ſticking-plaiſter; becauſe, as he was a chairman, who had been brought up at St. James's, he would not have any thing, as he told her, touch him, made at any of the vulgars houſes in her neighbourhood; becauſe, as he was a gentle⯑man born, and got his living among quality, therefore he would ſooner, he ſaid, have his leg [77]ſwell to the bone, than any low-lifed medicine ſhould come near his fleſh.

Imitating herein, that nobleneſs of ſpirits, which all thoſe moſt reſpectable—but I am interrupted.

Now, David, I will have you be eaſy, hear reaſon, and not fly into any more paſſions; nor don't ſwear againſt your wife, for, to be ſure, a finer woman —

Never was a finer woman, to be ſure.—So is my loſs the more; I ſhall love her to my dy⯑ing day; but ſhe has robbed me, and run away herſelf into the bargain; and where is her ho⯑nour now?

Don't you talk ſo much about honour now; I deſire, and require of you, for if you would be a good chriſtian, you muſt forget, and for⯑give; for what, pray, doth the Scripture ſay about honour?—not much; and pray what do the people of honour ſay about the Scripture? why not much. So you need not ſo much mind honour, if you will but be a good chriſtian.

But then the Devil ſhall be a good chriſtian for me — God forgive us—but how can I, ap [78]Shingle, how can I bear to lye by her ſide now; pray, will there be any chriſtanity in that?

Silence, I tell you, David. You ſhall hear what I will read to you; it is our teacher's ſer⯑mon, which he did ſay at the Tabernacle laſt Sunday, about forgiveneſs, and chriſtianity, and women, and our backſlidings; ſo pray, David, mind.

O ſweet Abraham, what heavenly language is this: don't go to ſleep, David, I deſire of [79]you; how can you be worſe than a heathen, and not liſten to this ſweet ſoul-ſaving ſpeech.

The pudding of glorification—therefore I ſay, that we may mingle the ſpirit with the fleſh, even as potatoes and butter-milk make ſtirra⯑bout; for that is the type of the carnalities, and ſpiritualities.

So I ſay

it is not ſin⯑ful to conſider the uprightneſs of the fleſh, as directed by the ſpirit; becauſe we may receive the ſpirit at home, or in the fields, or in an alley, or in a centry-box; and I'll ſtand centry among you; and if you have faith, you ſhall raiſe the dead to life. I won't be a velvet-mouth'd preacher, like your church doctors, and book learned blockheads. —no—no—no—oh—oh,—can a boy fly a kite without thinking of the clouds? can a wo⯑man ſpread her fan, without thinking of an angel's wings? Therefore, I ſay, that the na⯑tural man is not the ſpiritual man. Yet the ſpi⯑ritual man may think of natural things. So thoſe things are to be put forward, which are to ſatisfy the longings of the ſoul; and tho' at firſt it may be painful to undergo them.

At that inſtant, the tankard from the hand of Mr. David, fell to the ground; the good man, overcome with the two quarts of porter, the keeping all night awake, reflecting upon his honour, and the potency of the preacher's ar⯑guments, dropped faſt aſleep. Which, when Mrs. Winifred obſerved, ſhe ſighed, and ſaid he was a loſt ſoul, waked him; and after ſome time ſpent between them, in ſettling the terms, [80]ſhe went home with David, to be his houſe⯑keeper.

SCENE PLYMOUTH.

THE Corporal, by this time, and his lady, began to view one another in not that rap⯑turous point of ſight, as at firſt. All the plate, and ready money, which ſhe had taken with her, was expended; for Mr. Knott, had too much of the fine gentleman in him, not to be fond of play; and too good an opinion of him⯑ſelf, to fancy any perſon could take him in; but after the money was all gone, his eyes were opened, and he determined to commence gam⯑bler himſelf.

At his quarters lodged a Mountebank and his man. The Merry Andrew was a maſter of arts in ſporting; he could bend, ſlip, ſhade, ſpur, feather-edge, work a brief, knew ſhorts and longs, the high and low games at put, the three ſhuffles of whiſt, upper and under palm, opening a pack, or rounding dice, with all the ſecures, the bars, loads, ringing of changes, &c. &c. &c.

But he, having then an occaſion for a part⯑ner, becauſe he wanted to take his maſter in for a ſum; and as all ſporting men act beſt by confederacy, the Corporal and Pickle Herring entered into a family compact.

Mean while poor Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd daily ſat diſconſolate at home, never ſeeing her gallant, [81]but when he reel'd to bed, incapable of be⯑having to her like a gentleman.

I wiſh, ſome ladies of my acquaintance, with whom it is at this moment a toſs up, between inclination and intereſt, would read this part of my book carefully; and they would know, not⯑withſtanding, modern memoirs mention whiſ⯑pering Zephyrs, eternal conſtancy, love-lane aſſignations, breath-ſtopped kiſſes, midnight moon-ſhine, a charming fellow, and the poſt chaiſe door open,—that according to the un⯑doubted teſtimonials of ſeveral maiden gentle-women, who, by heart-felt experience, vow, a lady is worſe cooped up, who goes off with her gallant, than the moſt domeſtic wife, that un⯑dergoes the drudgery of the nurſery, and kitchen.

Let us only example Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd. She had no perſon to viſit her, was viſited by no perſon, obliged, from having a houſe of her own, to put up with a mean, ready furniſhed lodging; in which, ſitting all day ſolitary,—for believe me, dear ladie, the fine fellow of your fancy, ſoon grows ſick of his ſweatmeats, and every fond couple, who leave honour, family and ALL for love, having then nothing but love to live upon, ſoon eat up their allowance.

Think ladies, what Mr. David's wife ſuffer⯑ed; who, like all other eloping ladies, had truſted the gallant with all, and dreaded to aſk him for a ſingle ſhilling, leſt he ſhould think her extravagant; denying herſelf neceſſaries, becauſe he ſhould not grumble at expence How melancholy her caſe; no companions, but her own thoughts, reflecting and comparing paſt, with preſent times; her former reſpect, her pre⯑ſent [82]infamy,—her huſband's tenderneſs, his repeated tenderneſs; her gallant's coldneſs, his continued indifference.

It is not, I hope, ſo bad with every lovely lady errantreſs. Yet many of them have experienc⯑ed,—don't ſigh, dear creatures;—I know its a melancholy ſcene, and in the cataſtrophe ſtill more vexatious; becauſe the reaſon which ſome ladies alledge, for running away from their guardians or parents, is, the unbearable uſage, which they receive at home, therefore apply to gallants, in hopes of mending their condition, as flying fiſh ſpring out of the ſea to avoid the Dolphin, and tumble into the jaws of the ſhark.

Yet as the moſt time-ſerving-ſcribbler ſub⯑ſcribes himſelf, at the bottom of a dedication, to his right honourable patron; as the tradeſman bows, bill in hand, to his honour, with paral⯑lel awe, I addreſs the ladies, and aſſure them, that my opinion of their magnanimity, will not ſuffer me to imagine, any thing here ſaid, can alter what a fine woman has already reſolved upon.—No—ſpite of all advice or example, her ſpirits will carry her through, whatever her will gives the word for, let the conſequence be—no matter what.

David's ſpouſe had, for ſome time, been in a moſt uncomfortable ſtate. She felt the ſevere pinches of neceſſity, which are evident ſymptoms of repentance; daily, hourly did ſhe reproach herſelf, how ill ſhe had uſed her dear, dear huſ⯑band; how ill her gallant had uſed her; not a friend had ſhe to confide in, except the Merry Andrew above-mentioned; to him ſhe now and then diſcloſed her griefs; he proffered her all the aſſiſtance in his power; vowed he had a vaſt [83]regard for her, and ſealed thoſe vows, upon her lips; juſt at the inſtant, the Corporal opened the door.

All in rage, Mr. Knott ruſhed on the tum⯑bler, kicked him down ſtairs; b—d his lady, and vowed never again to bed her.

Indeed Mr. Knott was glad of an occaſion to break off the acquaintance; for he found it very heavy, ſupporting her out of his pay; and beſide, he had commenced another intrigue, with a lady who kept a raffle, who had agreed to go off with him.

The tumbler, all in a rage, for being uſed ſo by the Corporal; went inſtantly to his maſ⯑ter, and diſcovered, that the night before, him⯑ſelf and the Corporal had cheated the doctor at cards, of fifteen pounds, four ſhillings; and told his maſter, that his conſcience would not let him keep it.

No one thing can hurt a lady, or gentleman, or any other two legged exiſtent, if there are any other perſons, in this kingdom, that are not either gentlemen or ladies, except ſome of the Opera Singers.—I ſay, and am ſure, nothing can hurt ſo much, as being made a fool, or a tool, unleſs ſelf-intereſt orders it ſo to be.—then, indeed, as A—B—C—D—E—and—&c. obſerved, it is proper to appear in taſte.

But to be a tool, and be out of pocket by it,—Seneca, at the head of his ſtoical regiment of Old Buffs, could not bear it.

And as the doctor, like all other doctors, wore a ſword (which, I believe, the faculty at firſt bore emblematically, to denote an aptitude to kill) after a conſultation, with his Merry Andrew, [84]he determined upon having his money, and ſent Mr. Knott the following letter.

The Corporal received this note, as he ſat over a large bowl of punch, with two recruits juſt liſted. He was as brave, as Britiſh ſpirits could make him; and reading the letter, ſwore 'twas very well, he'd come; he would do every thing like a gentleman, and give every body ſatisfac⯑tion—but as to returning, or paying the money back, he was above it.—No, he was too much a man of honour, he ſwore, to be compelled, no, the ſword ſhould decide it.

All fluſh, all gallant was Mr. Knott, the drum beating, recruits ſinging, and bumpers going briſkly about.—Yet the contents of the letter, began like oil, to prevent the potency of [85]the brandy punch, any longer ſublimating into the Corporal's head.

Not that he feared the doctor, or even death, the preſident and commander in chief of all doctors; but his honour was doubly concerned; he promiſed to meet a lady, a new lady, that night; and he would not break that appoint⯑ment, for twenty doctors; but then, who would dare to ſay, Knott wou'd'nt fight? No body ſhould; he ſwore, and in order to keep his word and honour, with both parties, he laid his plan of operations accordingly.

The doctor, who was equally political, (in what a political age do we now live!) made this appointment by moon-light, becauſe his anta⯑goniſt ſhould not diſcover, that he had a quire of white paper for a breaſt-plate, faſtened neatly under his ſhirt.

Each combatant, firmed in his ſafeguard ſcheme, went with the utmoſt intrepidity to the combat. Nobly, magnanimouſly they met. So when—no—come, all ye ſpirits, who have inſpired the belligerant powers, to firm fight⯑ing; and thou, whoever thou art, whether begot by Folly, or Madneſs, or both; thou AETHERNAL, who preſides over duels, ſuitable-ſpirit for ſuch a ſubject, inſpire me, to deſcribe the memorable behaviour, of thoſe truly paired belloniſts, who ſo intrepidly paraded upon the ſuppoſed-to-be-ſanguinary-ſpot; and then, ſo woundleſs,—ſo—ſo—ſo.—So have I ſeen — ay, reader, and ſo may you alſo have ſeen, as well as me, a great many things; but among all the ſhews, did you ever obſerve a ſlit deal figure, ſet up, on the top of a malt-houſe tunnel, or, as a ſcare-ſcrow in a garden, holding in each hand [86]a wooden ſword; which, by the contrivance of the carpenter, and force of the wind, whirl'd its arms about, above, and below, acroſs, a⯑round, ſlaſhing, ſtriking, flouriſhing, in every prize-fighting direction, ingratefully thraſhing that air, which puts it in motion.

Thus is a duelliſt agitated, by honour, which is no more than air; a puff, a wind, a vapour.—Miſtake not the editor's meaning—he is only writing concerning the term honour, which urges, planet ſtruck people, to take the unneceſſary trouble of cutting one another's throats, when, as the madman obſerved, let but your enemies alone, and they'll dye of themſelves.

But duelliſts, like Jobſon at blindman's buff, lay about them, ſlap, daſh, north, eaſt, weſt, ſouth, on every point of the compaſs, becauſe this honour anſwers to all points, all make a point of honour.

It was one of honour's points, the money-getting point, which goaded the doctor to this honourable experiment, and which the Editor, would not have been ſo explicit in, had he not taken the trouble of viſiting tennis courts, billiard-rooms, horſe-race meetings, whiſt-clubs, ſkettle-grounds, hazard-tables, and nine hole alleys; and been aſſured from all parties there, that the doctor was right (in point of honour) to demand his money; and the Corporal was right (in point of honour) to refuſe returning it.

The place appointed for their meeting, was a very wide, dry trench, high mounded on each ſide, and open at each end, like that part of New Market turf, called the devil's ditch, and where, for the name ſake, all hereafter duels ſhould be decided.

[87]They came to the, ſpot, juſt as the clock ſtruck nine, they drew their ſwords, and ſtood in quart and tierce attitudes, between four and five yards aſunder.

They flouriſhed their blades, on which the moon ſhine bright beaming, the glare ſtartled the heroes.

As veracity is the Editor's principle obſervance, throughout this treatiſe, it is neceſſary, to re⯑late how two ſuch men could be brought to the ſcene of action, and draw their ſwords at each other.

The doctor was aſſured by his tumbler, that if he did but ſend a challenge, it would bring the Corporal to any terms, and he had nothing to do, but only go to the appointment, draw his ſword, and Knott would return the money.

After (by his man's advice) the letter was ſent, the mountebank began to have ſome qualms—he doubted, he was diſmayed, and as Mr. John Weſley, and Mr. John Weſ⯑ley's coadjutors, have often declared, that Satan buffetted them about; even ſo was the doctor's tho [...]ghts toſſed, here and there, and not know⯑ing what to make of himſelf, he reſolved to bumper it about until fighting time, to drive off even the idea of death.

Not that he way any ſtranger to that ſpectre; having employed him in as many ſhapes, as the doctor had patients; but he wanted not that fiend, to have any concerns with himſelf; therefore he drank to fortify his mind, and wore a ſtationary breaſt-plate, to barricade his noble parts.

The Corporal marched to the rendeſvouz, with a certainty of ſucceſs.—Firſt from his [88]own conſequence, that the quack ſcoundrel dare not fight him; next, let it even come to the worſt, and he ſhould be obliged to draw his ſword,—Mr. Knott had planned ſuch a ſcheme,—and entirely by the ſcale, ſector, and true modern practiſe of duelling, which is, to ac⯑quire the vaſt, vaſt honour, of being a fighting man, and duelliſt, without running any dange⯑rous riſque.

The Corporal's plot was, to wait for his an⯑tagoniſt, to make the firſt thurſt, then to fall backwards immediately, and bid the doctor make the beſt of his way off, becauſe that he himſelf was a dead man, the doctor having done for him.

Both thus ſecure in their ſafe-guards, ſtood firm—but at the diſtance before-mentioned; indeed it is proper, all quarrelling people ſhould ſo keep aſunder; their right arms were extend⯑ed, ſword point-paralled to ſword point.

At laſt, the doctor being by drink, the moſt elevated, quavered out, ha, ha, and ſtamped his foot at the ſame time; but the unfaithful ſod, ſinking to his tread, brought his body forwards; deſtroyed the centre of gravity, and prone on his face he fell, without ſtretched arm and wea⯑pon.

The Corporal obſerved the glittering ſteel ad⯑vance, backwards at that ſignal fell down, and with a great groan cried out—O I am done for—it's through and through me.—Doctor I forgive you—but make the beſt of your way off—for—oh—I am a dead man.

Terrified at theſe words, his antagoniſt reflect⯑ing on what it was to kill a man, and not ac⯑cording to the ſecundum artem ſtatute; crawled [89]backwards on his hands and knees, crab like, out of the oppoſite end of the ditch. Leaving his ſword (as he ſuppoſed) ſticking in the Cor⯑poral's body; as ſoon as he got upon his feet, he ſcamper'd off, ſtrait forwards, not minding which road he took, all he thought of, at that time was, the hue and cry, which he fancied he heard very plainly behind him.

The Corporal, riſing by degrees, was ſoon ſatisfied of the ſucceſs of his ſcheme, and pick⯑ing up the duplicate ſword, haſtened to his other rendeſvouz, and there he ſhewed his new lady the weapon, which he had brought away with him; telling Madam Raffle, ‘I was obliged to kick that ſcoundrel mountebank, my dear, and make him deliver up his ſword, here it is you ſee, for his inſolence, to pretend to dare to hint any thing againſt your reputation.’

In the beginning of every intrigue, fond beauty fancies all is goſpel, which her gallant ſpeaks.—Knott's new miſtreſs replied, ‘That to be ſure, I knowed as how, Mr. Corporal, you was a vaſtly brave man; and we will live and dy, and I'll go through the world with you.’—But the cataſtrophe of their loves hereafter.

We have now got rid of a pair of lovers, as dextrouſly as any play wright, who after cun⯑ningly bringing them together, gives the promp⯑ter a cue—wheu—wheu whiſtles Mr. Pimper⯑limpimp, the word giver, and the brace of woers are interſected from the audience, by the canvas landſcape, or ſize painted ſtreet ſcene; and the reſt of the comedy goes on as uſual.

When our laſt expreſs came away, the moun⯑tebank was on foot, terribly racing it along, [90]panting and trembling,—the concluſion of his helter ſkelter flight we ſhall now relate under the Anti-comic title, of

SCENE, PLYMOUTH.

THE candles juſt burnt out, and no Knott come yet; what would I give, if I was but at home with my dear huſband; if ever I put my truſt in man again, except my own dear huſband, I wiſh this pinch my poiſon! oh what villains are that inconſtant ſex, except my own poor dear huſband. O that he did but know where I was, that my dear David was but with me, he would not let me lie alone, frightening myſelf, if I was but this moment with my dear huſband in my own room, or if he was but with me here—as to Knott—he's a ſcrub—a wretch I deſpiſe and contaminate—he never knew how to value a woman of merit—no, not he —let him have his trulls, I always was too good for him — I deſpiſe him; nobody do I love, or ever did but my dear huſband — juſt then her ſtomach began to pain her — her heart grew cold — ſhe put forth her hand upon the chair, by the bedſide was a bottle three parts full of medicinal water.

[111]She raiſed the elixir to her mouth—and gently gulping—once—twice—thrice—admini⯑ſtered, warmth to her ſorrow chill'd breaſt, diſ⯑content, died away, ſleepful ſhe ſunk upon her pillow, lulled to reſt by the calm opiate, of ge⯑nuine Hollands.

SCENE next MORNING.

JUST as Madam Llwhyddwhuydd ſat down to her tea, the Merry Andrew came jumping into her apartment; bawling out as loud, as a bribed voter bellows liberty. Madam Knott, Madam Knott, here's good news about you in the news-paper; your huſband has ſent for you home again.

Cups, ſaucers, tea-pot, toaſt and butter, all tumbled to the floor; the lady in her hurry, of joy, ruſhing ſtrait forward, overſet the break⯑faſting ſtool. — Where? where is it ſhe cried? ſnatching at the ſame time the Chronicle out of the tumbler's hands—but recollecting her in⯑ability to make the words out, returned the paper; and begged the young man would read every word of it to her loud, and very loud.

Whereas Chloe, the wife of muſter—here is a hard word, madam, full of double L's, and double D's, and double U's, and I can't ſpell it.

I know it, child, never mind that, my dear; go to the next word.

I'll begin again madam, and ſkip that.

Do ſo, my beſt friend.

Whereas Chloe, the wife of Muſter, what do you call um, was decoy'd away by one Knott, a Corporal; this is to give notice, that if ſhe will return home to her own lawful ſpouſe, ſhe ſhall meet with a hearty welcome, and no queſtions aſked.

The huſband's grief, was left to the reader's imagination. The Editor bequeaths the wife's joy to the ſame colouriſt, and as he made bold to carry her off, takes the ſame freedom to bring her home again; her huſband received her with all that joy, which every fond forgiv⯑ing ſpouſe has felt, when, with out-ſtretched arms, he once more impounds his long ſtray⯑ed lady.

Bleſſing each other, they embraced; and over and over again they bleſſed that day, and alſo bleſſed the inventors of publiſhing new-pa⯑pers, advertiſements, &c.

In honour of the Preſs, I muſt be allowed

And ſo do I, huſband, that nothing hereafter may be mentioned concerning my former with⯑drawing myſelf; for although my dear huſband, I eſteem you as ſo worthy a man ought to be eſteemed; yet if ever you was to reproach me, with what might or might not ſuppoſe to have happened during our ſeparation; that mo⯑ment ſhould be my laſt, I would the next plunge myſelf to the bottom of the river, and prevent that way your ill uſage.

Her ſpouſe, though in raptures at the ſtateli⯑neſs of his wife's geſture; yet the reſolution of her look frightened him; fearful that ſhe ſhould make away with herſelf, eſpecially as he had been at ſuch an expence to fetch her home too; he kneel'd down and begged her to be pacified, and forgive him, if he had ſaid any thing amiſs.

She forgave him, and raiſed him with a tender reconciling look, equal to what the moſt en⯑raged (though detected) lady can ſoften into, when her huſband has made a proper humiliati⯑on, and giving up all his informers.

For it is not poſſible a man can love his lady, either married or unmarried, unleſs he will [117]wink at her errors; and the larger thoſe errors are, or the greater the number, the more occa⯑ſion has he to manifeſt his affection.

To do David juſtice, which a man ſo well born as he was, deſerves; although his enemies ſaid he was a perfect t'other-end-of-the-towns-man, ſuffering himſelf to be carried down the tide in the corrupted currents of this world, admitting the flaws and cracks of reputation to be cemented by the ſolder of ſelf-intereſt, yet he never let a⯑wry word paſs his lips againſt his lady.

Madam Llwhyddwhuydd grew again the ad⯑miration of the neighbourhood, and cuſtomers, even the beſt in the pariſh, aſſembled there every evening as before times.

SCENE the TROLLOPEE'S CATASTROPHE. OR RETORT UNCOURTEOUS.

SOON after Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd's return, Mr. Ap Thomas, her ſpouſe's partner, with a full pot of porter in his hand, happened to run againſt her, juſt as ſhe came from her Sunday noon's walk in St. James's Park.

Her white ſatin trollopee was ſplaſhed with it, and the very ſmell of porter always made Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd ſick; becauſe perſons are apt to depiſe what they get their living by; her cloaths were ſpoiled, and ſuch cloaths too!—a dreſs, that the firſt dutcheſs in the land might have gone to court in.

[118]Paſſion ever has power to ſerve an ejectment upon reaſon; the ſuffering lady on that account, became ſo little miſtreſs of herſelf, that ſhe call⯑ed Thomas ſeveral ſevere names, and at laſt told him he was a vulgar creature.

The word vulgar, was grimgribber, to the ancient Briton; to be reflected upon, as if he was not a gentleman, irritated him to that de⯑gree, that he returned her ſevere words; with words yet more ſevere.

The writer of this part has ſerved his time to the knowledge of mankind, and ſince worked ſe⯑veral year journeyman in that profeſſion; elſe he never could have believed ſuch words could have eſcaped any man's lips; who valued himſelf upon being a gentleman, as Mr. Thomas utter⯑ed.—He made uſe of ſuch phraſes, that no per⯑ſons, if they were not in a paſſion, or choſe to be looked upon ſuperior to the ſcurrilous rank of informing conſtables, would rehearſe.

For in moſt illiberal language, he reproached her with the Corporal.

Company coming in very faſt, ſhe could not with decency ſtay, to hear him any longer, Ladies may like to liſten to ſome ſort of expreſ⯑ſions, yet it is not proper every body ſhould know it. It was extreme modeſty that made Mrs. Llwhuddwhuydd quit the bar, and leave her adverſary maſter of the field of battle.

Indeed, Madam, I wiſh you was to have been laſt lecture night at our tabernacle, to have heard that good creature the doctor divide the differ⯑ence of going into keeping, through inclina⯑tion, or intereſt.

Love for love is, (as he ſaid) like the Levi⯑tical law) of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; but mercenary matches, with or without the parſin (it is all the ſame) is a ſin not to be even purified even by regeneration. But, dear madam, you never told me why you wou'd come home again. I hope the Corporal was not inconſtant?

Inconſtant Miſs! Do you imagine the horrid country ladies, could have any charms for a gentleman like Mr. Knott? who had been tit⯑up a tit-up with all the beau moon of St. James's Park^*—Inconſtant—no Miſs, I aſhure you

I didn't fear any rivals; but I could never forgive the Corporal, becauſe he would not hold his tongue. To be ſure, he mought have made himſelf worthy of any wo⯑man's [120]love, if he would not have boaſted ſo, and made my name the tent-talk of his com⯑rades. I vow, Miſs, I have bluſh'd ſpontane⯑ouſly, as one may fay, and my cheeks have burn'd as much, as if one was talking of a bo⯑dy. When I us'd to reflect, how my name mought be brought up as the Corporal's concu⯑bine, before a parcel of ſutlers wives, and ſogers trulls—me Miſs — was it ME to be treated ſo—I could not bear the idea

I, I, to be uſed ſo—

I

I who was born in the Ingies, and my mamma was firſt waiting woman of quality to the Empreſs of the Catawaws.

Indeed, Madam, it is immenſely monſtrous, to reflect how men will blab; and that is one rea⯑ſon why I have often wiſhed to be a perſon of quality, becauſe they don't care what is ſaid about them.

Very true, dear Miſs; but as I am but a ſimple gentlewoman, one is obliged to be careful con⯑cerning one's reputation, and as I left the Cor⯑poral, becauſe I would not be talked off; ſhall ſuch a reptul as Thomas pretend to reproach me? my huſband knows of it; and every body knows my huſband is a man of honour, and therefore—Miſs your health.

To be ſure, madam, ſuch affairs as your's with the Corporal, may happen to the fineſt woman in England; and in polite life, it is looked upon to be no more than an accident; and no perſons would blame you, but vulgar creatures, nor is there any harm in it;—that is, when it proceeds entirely from the ſpirit; as we prove at our love-feaſts^*.

Here followeth, in the manuſcript, ſeven Chapters of Mr. Zapanhiel's own hand-writing upon the ſeven deadly ſins; and a collection of receipts of regenera⯑tion. Which he entitles, Fullers Earth for the Spots of the Soul, and the account how Miſs Shred became a Methodiſt, which is introduced by a preface of obſervation; wherein he ſays, that gam⯑blers and ladies of pleaſure, if they live to grow old, and have ſaved money enough to encourage our paſtors, or any paſtors to pray by them, they are weaned from their wickedneſſes, and become ſanctified, for the older we grow, the wiſer we grow.

And he ſays further, in exhorting all ſinners to regenerate.—Oh what a heavenly comfort it is, to conſider, that a ſinner, after running thro' a life of all wickedneſs, ſhall, only by attending on our tabernacle, be purified. Is it not a rich balſam for a ſore ſoul? therefore come unto us all ye who are afflicted, with the remembran⯑ces of the methods, by which ye have got your wealth; and ye ſhall but give a tythe to us, by way of paying inſurance to the ſaints, who will [122]infallibly ſave you from being ſhipwrecked on the rocks of perdition, and will ſtcer you into the harbour of grace. Yet we are not Papiſts, no—we won't give you abſolution—we are not Proteſtants—no—we will not ſave you by re⯑pentance—no, no, we are Methodiſts; and it is regeneration ſhall ſave you; it ſhall be the cork waiſtcoat to keep you floating, and ye ſhall not ſink into the bottomleſs pit of the ſea, where the Devil of Hell lies in the ſhape of a ſhark to devour you.

All theſe ſentimental chapters, the Editor poſt⯑poned; and therefore was obliged to cut out, and to turn over above 70 pages, before he could find the continuation of this Regiſter, which went on as follows.

SCENE the DELIVERY.

After Madam Llwhyddwhuydd was put into bed, and her goſſips aſſembled, the good women ordered a man-midwife to be ſent for; but Mrs. Llwhyddwhuydd knowing the objection her ſpouſe had to men-midwives, was prudent e⯑nough to refuſe ſuch aſſiſtance, becauſe ſhe was ſure it would offend her huſband's delicacy.

However, the other ladies were unanimous for a man. She entreated, ſhe begged, they were obſtinate; the diſpute was loud, it reached into the ſtreet, and every ſtall, chandlers-ſhop, and cellar-keeper in the pariſh aſſembled at the door, and determined, that as they knew David was ſent for, he ſhould not paſs into his own houſe, until they had his word and honour, to ſend for a man-midwife for his lady; for as each ſaid, if it was only for the look of the thing, he ſhould have one; David appeared, at that inſtant they ſurrounded him, as the print relates to you, much better than I can. However, one figure in it, I muſt beg leave to explain; which is, the big-bellied female, who ſeems to be full of grief—that lady, is ſpouſe to a moſt celebrated wri⯑ter of political papers; and who has wrote very ſeverely againſt men-midwives; becauſe, not be⯑ing able to pay for their attendance, thoſe gen⯑tlemen had refuſed their aſſiſtance.

She was a party deeply concerned in this diſ⯑pute, and it afflicted her, to take notice of Da⯑vids obſtinacy—he indeed once or twice at⯑tempted to ſpeak—but it was a vain attempt; as he could not, we beg leave to ſpeak for him.

[125]Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd was too fond a huſband to deny his wife what ſhe deſired; but being a great reader, the news-papers and magazines informed him of the indecency, indelicacy, and evil tendency of having men-midwives.

The putters together of thoſe daily and month⯑ly paragraph compendiums had proved, that no huſband of nice honour, would ſuffer a man-midwife; and as David was a man of the niceſt honour, how could he endure them?

In ſome papers it was hinted, that men-mid⯑wives could be of no uſe, becauſe the Indian women delivered themſelves.

In other papers it was inſerted, that in a ſtate of nature, there were neither men midwives, nor parſons; and that people could do well with⯑out both; and as how in the firſt ages, and the firſt ages were the beſt ages, and that this age was the worſt age; but in the firſt ages there were no arts, or ſciences, nor occaſion for any; that people would live better with⯑out them, than with them; that neither man⯑kind or womankind had need for more help than the animals in the fields; or the fowls of the air; that it was only villainous cuſtom, evil habits, wrong tendencies, and the prejudice of education; that made us employ ſurgeons, tay⯑lors, chymiſts, ſhoe-makers, men-midwives, dancing-maſters, ſnuff-makers, French-cooks, ſaddles, ſhirts, ſhifts, or pocket-handkerchiefs.

From the information of thoſe weekly paid journaliſts, we may eaſily account why GREAT SCHOLARS, who ſtudy nature ſo nicely, are ſuch GREAT SLOVENS; as they know by their extreme ſkill, that we are not ſuperior to the [126]beaſts; they chuſe to retain as much brutality as poſſible in their behaviour.

David, like the traveller in the contention with the wind, wrapped himſelf up in his ſur⯑tout, determined to ſtand out the tempeſt; when word was brought him, that madam Llwhydd⯑whuydd was brought to bed of a fine boy, and as like the father—

He would not ſtay to hear the reſt of the meſſenger's obſervation; burſting through the crowd, run home, and received the congratulati⯑ons of his company. Mr. Llwhyddwhuydd in⯑deed rejoiced having a ſon and heir; and that was the utmoſt of his hopes, wiſhes, and pray⯑ers, before he had read the obſervations above⯑mentioned. Yet now his principal ſatisfaction aroſe, from the reflection his lady was brought to bed without the help of a man-midwife.

The METAPHYSICAL SCENE.

The authors of Joſeph Andrews and Triſtram Shandy wrote themſelves into reputation, and I believe got money by what they did; and really deſerved it.—Ever ſince I have engaged in this work, I have endeavoured to copy one or both of their ſtiles, manners, or maxims; but I can⯑not fancy myſelf quite ſo clever. Yet have I all that cuſtomary fondneſs, that becoming par⯑tiality, for my own works, which every author ought to have; and hold all the reſt of my co⯑temporaries in a trifling light, to myſelf. This I do as well as any or all the dramatic writers of England, Ireland or Scotland; but yet I don't find myſelf (honeſtly ſpeaking) a jot better genius for all the abuſe I make uſe of.

[127]If the connections I have with publiſhers could be on my ſide diſcharged, or a protection granted me, I might wear a laced coat, and live without working, as well as many other gen⯑tlemen.

Then, I would no more meddle with a pen and ink, than a lady in high keeping would mend her own linnen; for my mind ſcorns the drudgery of writing, reading, and reflecting, as much as any rich man in the kingdom can do.

My wife has an acquaintance, who promiſes to provide for me, either in the church, the navy, the law, the army, the cuſtoms, at court, or in the exciſe; it does not ſignify what branch it is; for if a man has but intereſt, he is fit for any place.

Muſt it not irritate a genius, like me, or like my ſpouſe, to ſee ſo many dunces, driving their one horſe-chaiſe, or elſe crammed into hackney coaches, taking the air to White Conduit-houſe, on a Sunday, raiſing a duſt on the New Road, and choaking ſuch foot paſſengers as me, and my wife: but we enjoy the ſatisfaction to reflect, though thoſe wretches ride about flouriſhing, in the folly of finery—yet they perhaps, not one of them, ever made a rebus, or can repeat the Greek alphabet.

At this inſtant, the dear creature my ſpouſe is ſitting by me; in diſhabille, indeed—for what need we outward ornaments, when we can deck the mind with underſtanding, or look upon the faſhions of the world, but to condemn, or pity, thoſe that uſe them.

Our baſe grovelling-money-getting-neighbours envy us, and abuſe us, for ſuffering our children (we have but ſix, indeed) to run about ragged. [128]But I deſpiſe their rancour, my wife its too well born, too well bred, and too great herſelf, to deſcend to the ſervile domeſtic drudgery of tend⯑ing nurſeries, or the baſe culinary employment of cooking victuals; no, we had rather go without a dinner, than dreſs one for ourſelves; and the ingratitude and ignorance of the world won't allow us to afford a ſervant.

N. B. This digreſſion is here inſerted to a⯑muſe the reader, until Madam Llwhyddwhuydd was well enough to ſee company.

All the better moſt people of Shug-lane, and Middle-row, came to pay the lying-in viſit. But Madam Llwhyddwhuydd confeſſed to her very intimates, that ſhe cou'd not reliſh a viſitor, with half that ſatisfaction, who lived on the city ſide of Northumberland houſe, as ſhe did thoſe at the polite end of the town.

Unworthy wou'd it be of me, to have regiſter⯑ed this goſſipping, had not the meeting been ſo particularly famous for the metaphyſical conver⯑ſation, which they, for the firſt time, ſtarted in Engliſh—concerning ſeveral abſtruſe and occult points, predicaments, qualities, eſſentials, and immaterialities, relative to ideas, contract, re⯑ſiſtance, modes of the mind, habits of the body, rules of government, errors of adminiſtration, defects in religious worſhip, inequalities of re⯑wards and puniſhments, hell, happineſs, Doctors Commons, faith, perjury, ſimony, hereſy, adul⯑tery, accidents of matter, and ſpiritual eſſen⯑ces.

[129]Piece-meal have theſe ſubjects been retailed, even unto this day, in every coffee-houſe, ta⯑vern, punch-houſe, ale-houſe, eating-houſe, and night-cellar, unleſs the more intereſting vocations of politics, ſtrumpeting, or gambling, have employed the good company's attention.

Indeed, madam, you ſay true, and I muſt own, that after I was delivered of my firſt child, I could not help conſidering deeply about theſe things; and ſo, when I went down for my health into the country, I uſed to love to ſee the hens lay eggs; and then thoſe eggs I was told would produce chickens; upon which, ladies, a thought came into my head, that I never have been ſatisfied about ſince; and that is — which was made firſt, the yolk or the egg-ſhell? if the egg-ſhell was made firſt; how came the yolk in it? if the yolk was made firſt; how came the ſhell over that?

That, madam, is one of the moſteſt curious queſtions in the world; and it was the parſon of our pariſh, who firſt axt me that queſtion; and he laughed at me, cauſe I cou'dn't reſolve him; ſo I made my husband ſend it to the rial ſaciety, and they'll tell us about it I know by and bye.

Now there is one thing, that I, want to know ſadly; becauſe our ſexton ſays, the veſtry di⯑vided [130]about it; and they ſhould know, to be ſure, ladies; that is — whether ſtill-born in⯑fants have any ſins to anſwer for?

To my knowledge, madam, this has made great diſputes among the clergy; and they are divided in their opinions; though, to me, it is as clear as noon-day; for how can poor infants anſwer, when they never had been taught to ſpeak?

Oh, to be ſure, quite right, quite right, indeed.

Pray, ladies, don't you take fate to be a free agent?

To be ſure, madam; whatever may be a la⯑dy's fate, yet ſhe is a free agent; becauſe, now, ſuppoſe I was fated to be married to a perſon, whom I can't ſay I could reliſh, it is at my up⯑ſhot, to be ſure, whether I will act, or no; and ſo, fate is a free agent.

But a gentleman, who lodges in my one pair of ſtairs, told me, but yeſterday, talking about free agents, and fate, and what might be the fate of agents; that fate, and free agency, were like king and commons, that the mind was the monarch, and the will was the people. So I told him, in anſwer, that whatever his mind [131]was, he could not have his will of me, with⯑out I had a mind.

Oh, no, to be ſure, no, to be ſure.

Now, ladies, give me leave to aſk you, whe⯑ther, as Adam never was born, as other people have been ſence; that is, no lady was ever brought to bed, or with child of him, could he have a navel?

No, no, no, to be ſure, no.

My brother, ladies, we all know is a great wri⯑ter; and once wrote a whole news-paper himſelf. He is ſo great a genus at handling his pen, that I was tould by the waiter at Ronelor, how he mought have wrote a ſong, and it would have been ſung before the grand company there; and that you know, madam, wou'd be the vaſteſt honour imaginable; becauſe the quality cou'd recommend him, you know, to be poet larum ſong-maker to the rial familly; but he has gone and diſobliged my huſband, and all his friends; for he has hired himſelf to a club of philoſo⯑phers, and ſo be is to publiſh a book, to prove, how far free-will acts upon the load-ſtone; and he ſays, he don't doubt but he'll get a penſhum for't.

[132]Mrs. Murdock, the nurſe, then began a diſ⯑courſe upon ethics, to determine the identical ſpot of Satan's demeſnes, or where hell-fire was. She affirmed it to be ſeated in the middle of the ſun—but Madam Celery, the green-grocer's lady, denied that, and ſaid it was in the middle of the earth.

Miſs Shred, who was always a ſyſtemiſt, ſup⯑poſed there were ſeveral hells, and that every comet contained one. — The Bible was quoted by Jenny Douglaſs; but when it was aſked what Bible, becauſe Mrs. Murdock obſerved, there were ſo many hiſtories of the Bible, pub⯑liſhed at ſix-pence per month, ſhe cou'dn't tell what to ſay to it, for ſhe didn't ſuppoſe they could be all good, becauſe the blue-paper co⯑vers ſaid ſo.

Madam Llwhyddwhuydd obſerved, that ſhe ſuppoſed they were all true tranſlations, and ex⯑plications, or elſe, to be ſure, the biſhops would not ſuffer ſuch things to be publiſhed.

Well, there are ſo many religions, and ſo many religious opinions, and ſo many books about religion, and ſo many diſputes, and ſo many ſort of preachers, that they are not all to be truſted.

No, Madam, why an't they all chriſtians?

Chriſtians? no, Madam — why ſome are Preſbyterians, and ſome are Methodiſts.

As to Methodiſts, Madam Murdock, you muſt excuſe me; becauſe they are the only chriſtians, for they are regenerated, and no body can be a ſincere chriſtian, until being regene⯑rated; but there are a great many people in the world that are of no religion.

And that's better, than not being of the true one for its a ſhame to ſee how parents uſe their children, here the poor innocents are ſouſed over head and ears, or elſe they are circumſciſed, or elſe made Quakers, or elſe one thing done to them, or elſe another, and ſo they are bound prentice to this, or to that teligion, without ever know⯑ing if they can like it. — And that makes ſo many different opinions in the world, when they grow up to be men and women; becauſe it don't ſignify whether they were made Jews or Chriſtians, you ſee Jews behave as Chriſtians, and Chriſtians as Jews, and there's no telling one from to'ther, I think.

This converſation determined Madam Llwhyddwhuydd, that as there were ſuch diſ⯑putes about religion, her ſon ſhould not under⯑go any ſpiritual ceremony, until he came to years of diſcretion, then he might chuſe which religion he liked beſt, and that was the reaſon, our Maſter Neddy was never chriſtened.

SCENE, ISLINGTON.

Thus far the Editor compiled of the MSS, and attended on the appointed Sunday at Mr. WARNER'S, who is a very good ſort of a man; and one to whom the putter together of theſe hiſtorical paragraphs has been very much obliged.

This would not have been mentioned, but to convince the world all authors are not ſo in⯑grateful, as to forget the friends, who formerly filled their bellies.

I have compoſed Drolls for Mr. Warner's booth, and by his recommendation, I have wrote ſeveral dramas for the proprietors of pup⯑pet-ſhows, in which, I uſed to adhere entirely to the ſtrict rules of Ariſtotle, Rapin, and Boſſu. The chaſtity of taſte among Engliſh audiences at that time was ſo pure, they would not bear the ſmalleſt innovation of the unities of time, and place, even in Mr. Punch;—becauſe, as the coffee-houſe connoiſſeurs obſerved, it is more inſtructive, and more elegant, even to be lulled into a ſlumber, by the rules of art, than kept awake, and in ſpirits, by all the fire of fancy, contrary to the Greek and French ſcale or ſtandard.

At that time Mrs. Charke, ſiſter to the late Mr. Theophilus Cibber, had a famous puppet-ſhow, which was conducted with ſuch regulari⯑ty.—To compare the puppet-ſhows of that time, with the puppet-ſhows of this time, would be only an ill-natured attempt. But Charlotte Charke uſed to pride herſelf, that her company, her ladies at leaſt, were all veſtals. Becauſe, as ſhe ſaid, a lady belonging to the Theatres [135]Royal may be weak enough, or fond enough, or mean enough, and mercenary enough, to deſcend being upon the town. But who? (Mrs. Charke uſed to exult) who can ſay, they ever ſupped with the Queen of Sheba, at the Shake⯑ſpear, or had fair Roſamond at Haddock's?

This daughter of Colley Cibber, the late Poet Laureate, was a lady of ſurpriſing ſingularity; but the oddities of the human mind are unac⯑countable.

There is his honour Sir ******, a great po⯑litician; yet all his delight is chucking ſix-pence into a quart decanter.

Is not Mr. ***** the great phyſician, an admirer of parched peas; but cannot eat any, except what he cooks himſelf.

Mr. ***** the famous mathematician, pre⯑fers battledore and ſhuttle-cock, to painting, poetry, and muſic; and don't we all know ſeve⯑ral dignified ****, who, though amazingly or⯑thodox, value themſelves more upon their taſte, in veniſon, and Madeira, than in interpreting the ſcriptures.

Some ladies of diſtinction have been known to admire low company; their huſbands at the ſame time not caring for any; but it is impoſ⯑ſible to account why we are whim bitten. So far has oddity been epidemical, that noblemen have been known; nay, and ſeveral at this time are, really fond of their wives; and what is as remarkable, their ladies are as warm in their affections for their huſbands.

Our minds will be attached to irregularities. Miſs ***, with the fineſt eyes in England, af⯑fects to be near ſighted; and Lady *****, a moſt charming figure, drawn by elegance, and [136]dreſſed by grace—chuſes to appear round ſhoul⯑dered.

Sir ******, one of our moſt eloquent ſpeak⯑ers, and a gentleman of amazing learning, believes he can ſpin a top, better than any other man in England, and wants to have 500 upon it.

The Rt. *****, who has ſeven of the fineſt children, perhaps in Chriſtendom, has impaired his eſtate, in purchaſing and preparing butterfly-wings, to line his ſtudy, in imitation of tapeſtry. And Mr. ***, the moſt eminent attorney in Great Britain, employs his whole time in gudgeon fiſhing.

This Mr. Warner above-mentioned, had an oddity of temper, which is uncommon among theatrical managers. He never looked upon his people, to be off the Stage as good as himſelf; he never choſe to countenance them as acquain⯑tance, or be familiar with them as friends.

A fortnight or three weeks preceding the Bo⯑rough fair, he uſed to have a great levee of peo⯑ple in the buſineſs, although at that inſtant per⯑haps out of employ; who would wait upon him, to know if he wanted any hands in the acting, ſinging, dancing, hocus pocus, or han⯑nock and jannock way.

They uſed at firſt to come about dinner-time, and no perſon keeps a better-houſe than he does, or underſtands it better; there was always ſomething good in the pot, or roaſting at the fire. There would they walk up and down the kitch⯑en — now glancing at the meat, now at the maſ⯑ter; ſometimes darting their eyes down, de⯑ſponding into the dripping pan, then eagerly expectant, lift them up again to the boiler; and [137]then they would ſtrut acroſs the kitchen, and ſpout; and ſay, to be, or not to be; and Jemmy would laugh, and whiſper me, ſaying, not to be eat by them colls, I aſſure you.

Some of theſe paſſages I was remarking to Mr. Warner, and we were thinking of old af⯑fairs, and I juſt had told him of the dripping-pan, and the tragedy and comedy people, as Mr, Zaphaniel and the dancing-maſter came in; we went up one pair of ſtairs, and there I was ſhewn MASTER EDWARD and MISS ANN, walking arm in arm up and down the Skettle-alley.

Lord, Madam, how you talk, as if I ever loved a man in my life, you know I never did; and yet you know I have had as fine men, [141]as ever put laced cloaths on, and did I ever love any of um? how ſhould I, I have had too many and ſeen too much of them, to love them▪ Indeed, I uſed to tell them I did; what then? that was no more than rehearſing one's part you know — as to love—why now, Madam, you know you have gone out a nurſing, and have a ſweet creature it was; and yet at the ſame time it was ready to make you ſick. Why ſo it is with us girls of the town, we kiſs men, and fondle them, and make babies of them, and tell them they are ſweet creatures, and yet, at the ſame time, they make us almoſt ſick—what then, it don't laſt long; and though the ſervice may be hard, it's ſoon over; and if the wages are good, what does it ſignify?

But who would receive wages from a player?

Why, now, didn't you but yeſterday read in one of thoſe ſix-penny blue covered books, there, that we take in monthly, and a charming libry they make, that's certain, — how that a great Roman Catholic Emperor, laid a tax upon peoples making water, and how his ſon found fault with him for it, becauſe it was a baſe thing; and didn't the father, as the book ſays, take up a piece of gold that was gathered by the tax, and bid his ſon examine, if it ſmelt of chamber-ly. So, madam, what does it ſignify, if we girls can but get money, who it [142]comes from; do you think my mercer can tell one body's guinea from another?

Yes, child, but what guineas can you get from a ſhow-man?

Why, mun, he no more minds money, than I do modeſty; but will give it away as uncon⯑cerned, as I do my hair-combings. Beſides ma'am, the caſe is this, I ſhan't always look ſo well as I do now; for theſe curſed waſhes I uſe, for all they do give one's neck and face ſuch a fine whiteneſs, yet they make one's ſkin in a morn⯑ing, look all crumpled, like a waſher-woman's fingers, and turns one's fleſh as yellow, as a peaſe-pudding. Now, you muſt know, that this young fellow, Ned, will always have a good ſa⯑lary from the Playhouſe; becauſe he is deviliſh comical, to be ſure; tho' he has not all the wit in the world neither—what then — the fitter for my purpoſe—if I can but perſuade him to marry me—why ſhouldn't I be made an honeſt woman of? and I will too — I have got ſome money, and I'd give it all, if I could but be made an honeſt woman; for it don't ſignify talking, but I can no more look a modeſt woman in the face, as I ſhould do, than I can ſay my prayers. I wonder what's the meaning of it; however, I don't deſpair, 'cauſe I know Ned's but a Nico⯑demus, and a girl may get him to do any thing; we are to ſup together to night.

Are ye? then I ſuppoſe you are to go to bed together to night; but not at my houſe, Nan—no, by all that's honourable, I never will con⯑ſent to ſo undervaluement a connection.—A player! lye with my relation?—no — as to your having an intrigue with a man of faſhion, why it's what no lady need be aſhamed of, and in⯑deed few are—for that's natural, and therefore no ſin in it; but ſhall any of our family, ever ſtoop ſo low, as to lay the cloath for an actor's ordinary? I deteſt ſuch buſineſs. But ſee, there's Harris from the Shakeſpear at the door, ſome gentleman has ſent for you, I'll lay my life on't—go to him, in the Lord's name; but never let me hear any more, about Mr. what's his name.

Miſs, not being willing to anger her gover⯑neſs, like other prudent young ladies, was de⯑termined to hear her guardianeſs's opinion, and follow her own. She went to the Shakeſpear, where her impatient lover Ned waited for her.

Thus began the amour — Mr. WARNER then bringing up dinner, prevented any more being ſaid upon that ſubject.

Maſter EDWARD and Miſs ANN, dined in the next room, the apartments only divided by a ſlit deal; as we were impatient to be ear-witneſſes, at leaſt of their converſation, we diſ⯑patched our ordinary with ſuch expedition, that both their dinner and ours were over together; when, for the benefit of obſervation, Mr. Zapha⯑niel made three or four peep-holes in the parti⯑tion, [144]through which we could ſee the underwrit⯑ten Dramatis Perſonae.

• EDWARD,
• ANN,
• JEMMY,
• MRS. MOLLY.

As I was determined to be punctual in their con⯑verſation, I took it down in ſhort hand, at the very time the dialogue was uttered; as follows.

Lord, Ned, now don't be ſo fooliſh, as to pull one's hair out of order ſo; I am ſure, you men, not one in a hundred of you, know how it is to treat a woman, as you ſhould do— Lord, don't paw one ſo.

Paw one ſo!—there's a pretty ſpeech, indeed—paw one ſo—what now, is that polite language, Miſs?

May be ſo—I hope you don't ſet up for a critic; do you, Sir?

Suppoſe I do, ma'am?

Why then I ſuppoſe you do wrong, Sir— becauſe you ſhould never find fault with other peoples words; until you can tell your own letters, Sir.

I can always tell your letters, Nan, when you ſend to me for money.

Yes; but who reads them for you? your landlord, doesn't he?

Your landlord, doesn't he? why I neither va⯑lue my landlord, nor you into the bargain.

Nor any body elſe, Ned, that ever did you any favours; I will ſay that for you, your gra⯑titude and my virtue, are two very fine things, if any body could but tell where to find them. —There was, what's his name; who wrote the droll for you, which you thought proper to call your droll, and made you your Diſh of all Sorts, and the Day of Taſte, and ſeveral comic ſongs, which have been of ſuch ſervice to you in your benefits both in town and in the coun⯑try, how did your ſerve him? did'nt you ex⯑ſpoſe [146]him falſely, and ſcandalouſly; and ſtrove, by what you ſaid of him publickly, in ſome of the infamous bawdy-houſes, that you frequent, to render him contemptible? And he had never done any thing, to my knowledge, to merit ſuch treatment.—I wiſh he would write ſome⯑thing about you; I wiſh he would; nothing he could print againſt you, could be half ſo bad, as the abuſe you have loaded him with, in my hearing, Neddy, but he don't value you,— nor I neither—that for you — that for you; and ſhe ſnapped her fingers, as if playing upan the caſtanets, or like Caledonian ladies figuring country dances.

There's a pretty piece of St. Giles's muſic for you, there's a gentlewoman's action for you.

No, Ned, I loſt that character, as ſoon as I let you have any thing to ſay to me.

I think myſelf as good a gentleman—

What, becauſe you wear a laced coat? and belong to the play-houſes, why ſo does New-gate Tom, and he bought his finery ſecond-hand [...]oo, the ſame way, that you came by your wit, [...] your jokes—you have them all at ſecond-hand [147] now—the maker won't furniſh you any longer—you a gentleman? yes, when a night man's cart, may paſs for a nobleman's chariot.

If you never was to have any people to trade with you, but gentlemen, you would have very few cuſtomers.

I had one too many, when I took you for my chapman.

Well, let's have no more of your nonſenſe.

As much ſenſe as yourſelf, Ned, and come of a better family—now there's a ſpiteful fel⯑low for you, to throw a glaſs of wine in my face—O you malicious—but I'll do for you—and then ſhe clapped her hands together, as if ſhe was applauding him for his acting.

I'll expoſe you, ſirrah; I'll tell Squintum of you; yes, that I will, Mr. Jew's Face: though, for that matter, he knows as many tricks as you do; for, to my knowledge, the ſaints at the tabernacle can humm as well as any player in England, they are a parcel of ſad dogs, and for your part, Ned, you are—

At that moment Maſter Edward's clench'd fiſt, like a battering ram, was drove hard, ho⯑rizontally, [148]againſt her mouth; which blow would have been repeated, quick as the change of a pantomime trick, had not the reſt of the company interpoſed.

Soon as the ſuffering lady recovered the uſe of her ſpeech, burſting into tears, ſhe declared, that the villain wanted to ſpoil her face; be⯑cauſe ſhe ſhould not get her bread any longer, as ſhe ought to do.—For you know, Jemmy, addreſſing herſelf to the landlord, and ſtill crying; a girl upon the town, when ſhe has loſt her beauty, is like a toyſhop having its ſhow glaſs ſtole away: but by G—

Oh, don't ſwear, my dear creature, conſider it is the Lord's day, and ſuch a thing as an oath ſhocks me. Chriſt, what conſcience muſt thoſe people have, who break any of the com⯑mandments.

Lord, Madam, I don't want to be taught a⯑bout conſcience; I believe my conſcience, and your's too, madam, if they were hung upon a hedge to dry, no body would think them worth ſtealing.

Madam, I ſuppoſe that I may have as much conſcience as my betters?

But if you have not more, than moſt of them, Lord help you, Madam—ſee how that fel⯑low ſtands grinning there—don't hold him, Jemmy—let him come on—curſe me, if I don't box him—I'll beat ſome conſcience into him—ſo ſtand clear; for if I don't give him ſomething to make him remember me, may I never know what a guinea is again.

In a hurry ſhe pulled off her treble ruffles, with trembling fingers, twitched from her waiſt, the deep flounced apron, threw her garnet edged cap upon the floor, and in amazonian attitude, flouriſhing her fiſts, with hornpipe ſtep, ſhe advanced againſt her adverſary, who ſtood in bear-garden poſition, with horrid grin, as Satan encountred the ſeraph Abdiel.

The lady's locks, unfilleted, fell down her back; dangling like the dropping treſſes of a ſign painted mermaid.—HE bare-ſkulled, bruiſer like;—and now the belligerant pair ad⯑vanced within fingers reach of each other.

OH, FOR THAT WARNING VOICE!

But what ſignifies wiſhing for it? that CHURCH-ILL'S a very ill-natured monopoliſt, and won't part with a note of it.

Come then, thou ſtimulator, and inſpirer of all proſaic ſcribblers, who, like me, jumble words together, unmuſical, unmeaning, inac⯑curate, inelegant, and indifferent. SPIRIT of RIBALDRY aſſiſt me, to ſing, or to relate.

[150]How Nancy ſeized Ned by the collar, with one hand; and with the other, drew from the top of his forehead, four perpendicular lines along his face — blood following every ſcratch.—But as ſhe paſſed her fingers down, two of them were caught between his teeth; ſhe ſhriek⯑ed, he bit, his fiſt fell furious on her face; his other hand ſeized her hair; and with head bent back, and ſwelled out throat, down on the floor ſhe fell, pulling Ned upon her, and by the fall her fingers were releas'd.

But as it often happens in ſtates, that thoſe who are IN ſhall be OUT; and thoſe who are OUT ſhall be IN; the noſe of Mr. Edward, pitched between the upper and lower rows of ivory, which adorned Miſs Nancy's mouth. Quick as a ſhark's ſnap, ſhe fixed them in the griſtle, Ned roared like a whipped ſchool-boy. She pinned him faſt,—ſhe—.

Gentlemen, there is ſomebody's footman below; axing after an author—down ſtairs hur⯑ried the Editor.

Sir, you muſt come to our houſe this moment.—Great people are to be obeyed implicitly. Not a reply to be uttered.—Becauſe PASSIVE OBEDI⯑ENCE is elected foot-ſtool-maker to LADY FA⯑SHION.

[151]Away I went along with the ſervant, running, trotting, walking, panting, and almoſt breath⯑leſs, arrived at the palace of my patron.

The footman informed his honour, that the man who made books was below—very well, let him wait.—So I did, about three hours, and then had the happineſs of a command, to attend there next morning, delivered from the moſt reſpec⯑table perſonage himſelf; who condeſcended to give me that order, viva voce, as I ſtood bow⯑ing at his chariot door, before he pulled the glaſs up.

This poſtponing or delay in my affair, with my patron, aroſe not from his haughtineſs—or any other ſupercilious practiſe, with which geniuſes are generally treated, when put into trammels by their ſuperiors.

My BENEFACTOR, my MAECENAS, my MAG⯑NUS APOLLO, had too much regard for the Arts and Sciences, to uſe me, or any other pro⯑feſſor, in ſo contemptuous a manner.

But the reaſon I had not an immediate au⯑dience was;

An ARTIST from Siberia having met with the celebrated tooth and pinion ſcheme of Mr. JO⯑NATHAN SWIFT for making verſes mechani⯑cally, improved upon the hint, and conſtruct⯑ed an engine for the univerſal erudition of man⯑kind, reſpecting ARTS and SCIENCES.

This piece of mechaniſm, being juſt imported, was brought to my patron, for his countenance and inſpection, juſt after the footman came for me. He ſaw at once its moſt amazing utility; and cried out, BRAVO, before one wheel went about.

[152]The rudiments of learning, the judgment of ſcientific taſte, the excellence of all genius, the miſtery, art, plan, deſign, projection, ſec⯑tion, elevation, and eſtimate of all profeſſions, callings and occupations, without the gift of invention, the labour of ſtudy, or the benefit of a fine underſtanding, this machine explained, and taught inſtantly, by the new diſcovered principle of INTUITION; and in half an hour's time, the purchaſer became an univerſal maſter of arts, as eaſily, as pretty miſs plays tunes on a hand organ.

It was very dear, and therefore no perſons, but people of faſhion, being able to become pur⯑chaſers; it kept the knowledge of every thing confined to the polite part of the world; and as every thing is to be eſtimated by its worth; and as the worth of every thing is only what it will ſell for at market; and as no body but rich peo⯑ple can afford to buy every thing; and as every thing a man buys is his own; therefore only peo⯑ple of eſtate, family, title, or penſion, can be ſaid to be poſſeſſed of the arts and ſciences, which they purchaſed in the manner above related, by this ENGINE.

The name of it is TECHNICATHOLICAUTOMATO PAN TOPPIDON.

The fabricator met with that encouragement, it behoves the rich to afford the ingenious.

The truly delicate, made a point of encourag⯑ing ſo extraordinary an artiſt; eſpecially, as he was not of this nation's growth, but imported.

Perſons of breeding obſerved, their children threw away a horrid deal of time at ſchool; and as they could judge by themſelves, that they [153]were very little the better for it. Nothing could therefore be ſo immenſely convenient, or in⯑deed ſo elegant a piece of furniture, as a clock⯑work ſchool-maſter, that would teach grown people of faſhion, to be perſons of reading and taſte, while their hair was dreſſing. One objec⯑tion was made to the engine, which was, that it could not be ſo proper a thing to vent one's ſpleen on, as a living creature; becauſe it is the ultimate of taſte, among the very beſt bred, to behave rudely, to thoſe ingeni⯑ous, who have only their own merit to re⯑commend them: more eſpecially, if the artiſt ſhould, by the miſconduct of parents, and cru⯑el decree of providence, be born in ENGLAND.

For the truth of this, and other as horrid particulars, I appeal to the behaviour of 9/10 of all the connoiſſeurs who keep coaches.—As to what any perſon elſe is pleaſed to prate about, it's not to the purpoſe; becauſe no man has a right to ſpeak in company, unleſs he is qualifi⯑ed, by much money, or ſanctified by court in⯑tereſt. Then he may expreſs his contempt for his own countrymen, with proper conſequence.

Sir Minikin Pinfly, at the Opera, laſt week, was obſerving to Lady Fidgill, (her ladyſhip hav⯑ing informed the Baronet, that the great premium was given to the gentleman who had found out the art of preventing black lead combs from being brit⯑tle.) In an affair of ſo much conſequence to the nation in general, as black lead combs, he thought, that the contriver could not be too much encouraged; eſpecially, if he was a fo⯑reigner; becauſe, I do aſſure your ladyſhip, that Engliſh artiſts are generally immenſely imper⯑tinent.

Frightfully ſo, pon onner, Sir Minikin; and then they are vaſtly ungenteel, and ſuch ſlovens.

Deteſtable, my Lady.—To be ſure, I don't trouble my head about pictures, or ſtatures, or books; but a gentleman muſt have ſuch things for furniture; and if I ſend to any of theſe ar⯑tiſts, to do a job belonging to thoſe things; if he's a foreigner, the dear creature is ſo delicate, ſo ſubmiſſive, and ſuch vaſt good company,—I vow, I dote upon them. But if you ſend for any of the Engliſh brutes of geniuſes, why, tru⯑ly, they are ſo ſaucy, they won't dine but at what table they pleaſe; and are ſo impudent, as to pretend to offer to give their opinions to one of us; as if ſuch common bred creatures could know things ſo well as we do.

They are hideous creatures; and I can't bear to ſee a genius, without it is at Sadlers Wells; and to be ſure, there, they are very well upon the wire, or tumbling, or dancing hornpipes; but for your painting-engraving people,—or your houſe-building-architects, or mathem—I deteſt ſuch horrid barbarous names; but in⯑deed, the whole crew of creatures, who know one nonſenſe or another about the arts and ſci⯑ences, are only mob—poſitive mob—I'm ſure on't; ſpecially thoſe born this ſide Berwick—they even have the effrontery, with their ſtuff, about underſtanding, and learning, and fancy, and wit, and humour, to conceit; their ſenſes, [155]are as good as ours, who are perſons of diſtinc⯑tion, and ſcorn to be beholden to any ſuch low bred mechanical acquirings, as they value them⯑ſelves upon.