CHAP. XXX.

RAMBLE having never ſeen Bridget but once or twice acci⯑dentally at Lady Daſhit's, her face was not well-known to him; ſhe was ſen⯑ſible of this, and being diſcarded from her place as an accomplice with Tom, was driven to her ſhifts. Knowing ſhe could not get another without a cha⯑racter, and that ſhe was not likely to [4]obtain, being rather a pretty young woman, and not more than twenty years of age; a ſcheme came into her head, which, if ſhe could effect, ſhe thought might turn out as well if not better, than being a party concerned in marrying her miſtreſs to Tom, Mr. Dangle's valet. This was, to dreſs herſelf up ſmart, and make an appli⯑cation to Ramble for protection, under the pretence of being a young woman, the daughter of a ruined tradeſman, turned out of doors, not having a place to fly to; and that poſſibly Ramble, who was a man of gallantry and for⯑tune, and without attachment, might be taken with her appearance, and grant her that protection ſhe wanted, [5]which was to live with him as his miſtreſs.

The abſurdity of the ſcheme muſt be evident to every perſon of common ſenſe. She might be diſcovered, and if not at firſt, moſt likely would in the end, through Flint, the Colonel's ſervant. This thought ſtruck her, but thoſe who are ſet upon a ſcheme, ſel⯑dom are deterred from it by little difficulties: ſhe ſaid to herſelf, the Colonel is certainly not on ſuch fami⯑liar terms with his ſervant, as to let him into the ſecret of his amours, and ſhould he be tempted to catch at the bait, ſhe flattered herſelf ſhe was miſ⯑treſs of thoſe charms, that, if the mat⯑ter [6] was afterwards diſcovered, ſhe ſhould be able to diſarm his anger, and keep him notwithſtanding. He can⯑not be ſo ignorant, thought ſhe, as to expect that in a miſtreſs, which he would look for in a wife. And where ſuch an object is thrown in his way, many little circumſtances are over⯑looked, that would be thought un⯑ſurmountable crimes, if that object was ſtudied and ſought for.

Beſides, he who is acquainted with the world, muſt know, that thoſe who lay ſchemes to take in the unwary, ſeldom plan the buſineſs ſo well as to put it out of the reach of detection. There is ſomething unthought of and [7]unguarded againſt, that interferes and defeats it. Bridget muſt have had but a poor inſight into things, if ſhe could any way ſuppoſe ſhe ſhould have been able to have carried her point with Lady Daſhit; but, as ſhe did ſuppoſe it, we muſt conſider the tranſ⯑action in the light we have now view⯑ed it; that it was a deſperate attack, and as deſperately managed, and ended as thoſe ſchemes generally do, in the overthrow and ruin of the ſchemer.

Her deſign on Colonel Ramble was not leſs abſurd or impracticable. How⯑ever, ſaid ſhe, nothing venture, no⯑thing have. She followed the Colo⯑nel's method of introducing himſelf [8]to Miſs Trevor, by a note, and wrote him the following:

‘An unfortunate young woman, under twenty, without a friend or a home, the daughter of a reſpectable tradeſman thrown into priſon for debt, wiſhes for an interview with Colonel Ramble. She truſts her ap⯑pearance will plead in her favour, and procure her that protection under his roof, which ſhe is ambitious to merit. The Colonel need only name the hour of his being alone, and ſhe will wait on him.—The bearer waits his anſwers.’

Ramble ſent for the bearer of the [9]letter up, and aſked him ſome queſtions; but he being only a common porter, could give no other kind of informa⯑tion, than, that he was ordered to de⯑liver the letter and bring an anſwer. The Colonel wrote one in the following line: ‘Colonel Ramble will be alone to-morrow morning at eleven.’

Ramble's general good opinion of mankind led him to put the beſt con⯑ſtructions on this note, and, therefore, waited her coming with impatience, determining to relieve her, if relief was in his power. Bridget dreſſed herſelf up ſmartly and gayly, very much un⯑becoming the ſuitor Ramble expected to meet with, but in that kind of wan⯑ton [10]attire, that beſpoke her own wiſhes, and would leave, as ſhe thought, very little to explain. When ſhe firſt entered the room, he received her with tenderneſs. She burſt into affected tears, and thus addreſſed him.— ‘You ſee, Sir, before you, an innocent, help⯑leſs maid, deprived of her parents by the cruelty of creditors, her bed ſold from under her, turned into the wide world without a friend to aſſiſt, induced from neceſſity to ſeek the protection of a ſtranger. Your hu⯑manity is too well known, to make any feeble apologies of mine neceſ⯑ſary. You are, I underſtand, a ſingle man, without attachment, and I am yet unſullied and uncorrupted; and if [11]you can meet that ſociety in me, which gentlemen generally look for in women leſs innocent that myſelf, you will find me attentive, aſſduous, and dutiful.’

Such an addreſs Ramble little ex⯑pected; however, he deſired her to be ſeated, made ſome enquiries reſpecting her family and connexions; and finding when ſhe was off her guard, and inter⯑rogated on points ſhe was not prepared for, that ſhe heſitated, prevaricated, and was confuſed; he began to call his recollection to his aid; looked her full in the face, examined her countenance, and thought he diſcovered in her a re⯑ſemblance of Bridget, Lady Daſhit's [12]woman.—He was not, however, certain of this, and, being very unwilling to tax her with it, if it ſhould not be ſo, and thus wound the feelings of one, apparently too much already wounded; began with aſking her, if ſhe did not know Lady Daſhit? Bridget's con⯑ſcience immediately ſtruck her, and her countenance betrayed her guilt. Ramble now roſe from his ſeat, and ſaid, ‘I ſee but too plain, who you are, and what you are; you are, or were Lady Daſhit's woman; and I am ſorry the detection in one iniqui⯑tous piece of buſineſs, has not de⯑terred you from attempting another. Your deſign upon me I am at a loſs to unravel, and happy it is for you, that [13]I have not got to the bottom of it. Be aſſured, as humane as I am, I can ſet my face againſt an impoſtor, and go great lengths to puniſh one. Many a perſon has been hanged for leſs offences than you have com⯑mitted, and, poſſibly, it may be an ill-judged lenity to ſuffer you to eſcape.’

Bridget, now a good deal frightened, burſt into real tears; threw herſelf on her knees before him, wrung her hands, and implored his mercy. ‘Mercy, (cried he, aſtoniſhed) would, I fear, be ill-applied to one of your caſt.— However, you are, as it were, ſelf⯑convicted, and I hope, If I am ſilent [14]in this matter, my ſilence will not be abuſed. Riſe, and leave me, and let this lenity of mine be a caution to you, how you behave in future. You are young enough to reform, and for your own ſake I hope you will.’ Upon this he rung the bell, and Flint entered the room with his hand to his cap, ſaluting. ‘Flint, (ſaid Ramble) I preſume you know this lady, take her under your eſcort, and conduct her down.’—‘Fait, a I do, your honour, (returned Flint) and little Flint will take as much care of her as your honour would your own dear ſelf.’ Flint then took her by the arm, put it under his, and the left the room together.

[15]Ramble's reflections on this buſineſs, were thoſe natural to every benevolent mind; that Bridget might not be deſ⯑perately wicked, that ſhe might ſtill poſſeſs ſome good principles; but, that being a woman of intrigue, thoſe prin⯑ciples are often loſt in the back ground; that an enterpriſing ſpirit often out⯑ſtrips our reaſon, leads us into wild acts, that, at a quiet moment we cannot but condemn; and, that whilſt ſuch a diſpoſition is endeavouring to improve its ſituation, it often miſſes its mark, and undoes itſelf, like a man who too eager in ſtriking, often miſſes his blow, loſes his equilibrium, and otherthrows himſelf by his impetuouſity.

CHAP. XXXI.

RAMBLE now received a letter from Miſs Raſpe, ſaying, that they ſhould leave London for Paris the next morning, but wiſhed him not to follow them for a day or two, leſt they ſhould be detained at Dover, waiting for a fair wind; and, if it ſo happened, they ſhould there meet; ſhe ſaid, the only perſon that was to go with them, was Brutus, the black. On receiving this intelligence, he prepared alſo for his journey; and the fourth day after he had received Miſs Raſpe's letter, with his valent and Flint, he took his way to Dover. On coming there, [17]he enquired what paſſengers had lately paſſed for Calais, and found Raſpe had ſailed two days before. All apprehen⯑ſions of falling in his way being over, he took the firſt packet that ſailed, and, as Raſpe travelled not very faſt, was in Paris almoſt as ſoon as him. His re⯑ſolution at that time was not ſo firmly ſettled at at preſent, and Paris was in commotion; but, as their ſtay there would be but ſhort, it was of no great moment.

Raſpe, no ſooner arrived in Paris, than he placed his daughter in a con⯑vent; for, though his intent was to ſtay there only a few days, he thought a convent the ſafeſt place; this ſhe was [18]unacquainted with till ſhe arrived at Pa⯑ris, and of courſe could not give Ram⯑ble intelligence of it; nor had ſhe an opportunity of ſending a line to the coffee-houſe as propoſed, as at the con⯑vent paper and pens were forbidden her.

To avoid inſult, Raſpe had put a Na⯑tional cockade into his hat as ſoon as he ſet his foot on French ground; and, on his arrival at Mr. Engliſh's; this gentleman took notice of the cockade, and ſaid, ‘I ſee you are already a vo⯑lunteer in our ſervice.’—‘No vo⯑lunteer, (replied he) but neceſſity has no law; my motive was to avoid danger. I dont' wiſh to be knocked [19]of the head.’—‘Indeed, (replied Mr, Engliſh,) there is no medium in the people here;—they're either all one thing or all t'other. A few months ſince they were all ſlaves; now they are all free.’—‘Wiſh to to be thought ſo, (ſaid Raſpe) not ſo in reality. From being ſlaves to others they are now ſlaves to them⯑ſelves. Where's you daughter; en⯑quired Mr. Engliſh, I hope we ſhall have the pleaſure of ſeeing her. There's too much liberty, in this country for her (returned Raſpe) We've a little of it in England, but that little was too much for her.— Liberty may do very well for our ſex—it ill agrees with her's.’ [20]"Where is Miſs Raſpe," (ſaid Mr. Engliſh). ‘That's a ſecret; (return⯑ed Raſpe) I ſcarce know myſelf. I am afraid of loſing her in this wild country—the people are all wild here. I have placed her in a con⯑vent—liberty's a good thing, but abuſed liberty, a bad one.’ Mr. Engliſh having been called out, re⯑turned, and ſaid, ‘he was ſorry to be the meſſenger of ill news, but ſeveral of the mob without doors have been enquiring, whether he had not a per⯑ſon in his houſe, who had enriched himſelf at the expence of the free⯑dom and liberty of men: alluding, he preſumed, to the traffic Mr. Raſpe carried on.’—Raſpe, ex⯑preſſing [21]ſigns of fear, Mr. Engliſh went on. ‘I would not have you be alarm⯑ed; only be cautious, and whilſt you continue at Paris, be ſeen as little abroad as poſſible, or I would not anſwer for the conſequences.’ Raſpe now more alarmed than ever, ſaid, ‘he dreaded the fury of a mob; yet could not be ſhut up; he ſaid his very fears would betray him, and wiſhed he had a diſguiſe.’—‘Why, (replied Mr. Engliſh) as your perſon has been deſcribed, a diſguiſe would not be amiſs.’ If the floor had been burn⯑ing under him, Raſpe could not be more reſtleſs. He could not ſtay one inſtant in a place, but jumped about as if he had been on burning [22]coals. Mr. Engliſh told him he had put the populace off their ſcent, by ſaying, that he left Paris yeſterday; but ſtill recommended ſome kind of diſguiſe; ſaid there was a Perukier in the next ſtreet, famous for making wigs that would give any character you like, make an old man of a young one, or a young man of an old one. Raſpe, rejoiced at this, and determined to go to him immediately, and aſked if the coaſt was clear; and being told it was, begged Mr. Engliſh would let his ſer⯑vant ſhew him the way. He accord⯑ingly put on his great coat, ſlipped out of the back door, and ſet off.

On Ramble's arrival, he put up at [23]at a hotel. He and his valet had ridden in a poſt-chaiſe; Flint rode on horſeback; and as they travelled very faſt, and Flint was unuſed to their paved roads, he found himſelf uncom⯑monly fatigued. ‘I don't know how, (ſaid he to his fellow-ſervant) the French roads may agree with an Engliſhman, but, arrah by my ſhoul, they ſhake an Iriſhman all to ſhivers. I havn't a ſound bone in my ſkin, and theſe damn'd little galloways, are ſo uſed to ſay their prayers at every croſs they paſſed, that it was as much as he could do to keep them on their legs.’—‘You're an old ſoldier, (ſaid the valet), and ſhould not mind a little difficulty. There's good [24]eating and drinking here, and this merry country will ſoon bring you round again.’—‘I have been taught from a child, (ſaid Flint) to conſider the French as an enemy; and as a ſoldier, even learnt it with my exer⯑ciſe: but ſuch is the heart of Flint, that as a change in their ſentiments made England their friend, he now calls them brothers, and wants but and opportunity of doing them a bro⯑therly act.’—‘Well, (ſaid the valet) I muſt go ſee for my maſter; do you take care of the baggage.’ Flint ſet down upon it, and a girl paſſing the room, ‘Come here, my ſweet honey, (ſaid Flint) and rub my back.’ ‘—What ails your back, (ſaid the [25]girl.’ ‘What ails my back, my dear?’ returned Flint. ‘It has got the infection of your country;—fits and convulſions.’—‘Stiff, I ſuppoſe, (ſaid ſhe) with your journey?’ ‘Fait and you may ſay that, (replied he,) very ſtiff, indeed; and pulling her upon his knee, I wiſh you would rub it, and ſupple it.’ ‘Lord, fellow, (cried the girl,) let me alone, or I'll ſlap your face.’ ‘Any thing, my dear wench, (returned he,) to di⯑vert the pain from my back. Your curſed French pavements have al⯑moſt ſhaken me to pieces. Shew me to your bed, I want to lie down.’ Struggling, however, ſhe got from "him, and left him to his reflections.

CHAP. XXXII.

RASPE having found his way to the peruquier's, was ſhewn into a room, where there was a variety of wigs, hanging on blocks, reſembling different characters. Bag, bods, ties, majors, and brigadiers. Raſpe told the peruquier that he wanted to be diſ⯑guiſed, and aſked him whether he could furniſh him with a wig that would totally change his appearance? ‘Certainly, (ſaid the peruquier) I have made it my ſtudy for many years; have of late, converted abbés, into generals, and generals into abbés, and made gentlemen of ſhopkeepers; turned co⯑quets [27]into prudes, and widows into virgins; nay, Sir, I have done more. I have outſtripped Time. To ſerve a purpoſe, I have made boys to look like men in years, and old men of ſe⯑venty to reſemble boys of twenty.’ ‘Change of character (obſerved Raſpe) is no new thing here. Aſhamed, I pre⯑ſume, to wear their own faces?’ ‘Not aſhamed, ſir, replied the peruquier we, are aſhamed of nothing; Paris has long give law to faſhion. Our modes change as often as the moon. We are now ſhifting characters. An ariſtocrate takes that of a patriot; a fiſh woman that of a ſoldier; a prieſt that of a ſtateſman; and ſo on. Our profeſſion has hitherto been what you Engliſh⯑men [28]call a Tory: we bear the king's arms. In future we'll be Whigs, the application ſuits a peruquier beſt. Once King—now country.’

Raſpe deſire he'd ſhew hima variety; the peruquier now called a boy, and bade him bring the gentleman a hand⯑looking-glaſs and a ſpunge, and take down the Spaniſh Admiral. ‘You will be ſurpriſed, ſir, ſaid he to Raſpe, at the effect produced by a wig and a piece of charcoal.’ The boy gave the glaſs to Raſpe, and the ſpunge to his maſter. Raſpe looking about, ſaid he hoped he ſhould not be ſeen; and on being told all was private, a large black Ramilee was put upon him, [29]and the tail ſuffered to hang over his ſhoulder; and with the charcoal the peruquier painted on his lip a pair of muſtachios. Raſpe looked in the glaſs and ſeeing that he cut too fierce a figure, took off the wig and ſaid it would not do, for he hated fighting. Spunge and water being given, the muſtachios were taken off. "Muſt be a prieſt then," (ſaid the peruquier).—A biſhop's full-bottomed grey was handed down, and put on Raſpe as before, who on examining himſelf again, ſaid ‘That would not do, for he was apt to ſwear.’ ‘Bring then the Judge’ (ſaid the peruquier to the boy.)" This was tried, and Raſpe ſaid ‘It was equally bad, he not being grave enough for [30]a judge.’ ‘Reach down Independence then—’ (ſaid the peruquier,) the wig was brought; this was a bag-wig, curls l'ailes de pigeon, and cocked up be⯑hind fantaſtically. The boy brought with him alſo a black puritanical head of hair. ‘Theſe are, (ſaid the peruquier,) my ſpecimen-wigs, if either of them pleaſe, I can make you one in twelve hours.’—Now ſir, (con⯑tinued he, taking the bag-wig) ‘if any thing will ſuit you, it will be this. I call it an independent bag. It is independence here that makes a man reſpectable. I don't mean independ⯑ence from money, but independence from determination; a reſolution to throw off all ſubordination and con⯑troul. [31]It is this which has made all our great men’ (naming moſt of the leading men in the revolution.) ‘By fortune and character, they were in⯑ſignificant, poor as rats, trifling as harlequin, but having flown from all authority, and ourſtretched the law, they became great men; and this is the wig they wear.’ (Puts the wig on Raſpe as before, who, frightened at his own figure, cries ‘Lord! lord! this independence is the devil;’ and tore off the wig.—"Perhaps this, (ſaid the peruquier, taking from the boy the black head of hair) ‘Perhaps this will pleaſe you better; theſe are the locks worn by thoſe who deplore the depravity of the times, execrate the [32]preſent licentiouſneſs of the people, and wiſh to hide themſelves from the world.’ This being tried like the rest, gave equal diſatisfaction, Raſpe ſaid ‘he liked none of them; loved his own ſcratch beſt; would run every riſk; would not venture on an aſſumed character, but would get out of Paris as ſoon as poſſible.’ ‘Well ſir, (ſaid the peruquier), if none of my diſguiſe's pleaſe you, and you wiſh to leave Paris, turn your coat. They are all turn-coats here—do this, and you may paſs among the croud un⯑noticed.’

Raſpe was ſorry for having given him ſo much trouble, and obſerved, that [33]aſſumed characters were the worſt of characters; that a man had better meet the ridicule of the world, than deceive mankind and incur their anger.

CHAP. XXXIII.

RAMBLE going into an Engliſh coffee-houſe at Paris, was not a little pleaſed with a kind of alternate dialogue that ſtruck his ear, in a man⯑ner very different from what was de⯑ſinged by it, but conveying a very ſati⯑rical meaning. He had no friend with him, and not mixing with other par⯑ties then in converſation, had little to do, but to liſten to what came from them, and ſuch words as he heard at one ta⯑ble added to thoſe which came from [34]another, ſo correſponded, as to form a dialogue of themſelves, ſomething in the manner of the croſs-reading of a newſpaper, where the line of one co⯑lumn read on in the line of the adjoin⯑ing, frequently produces a ſenſe dif⯑ferent from what the writer meant. It is difficult to explain this to the eye, but I will attempt in, that the reader, if poſſible, may be as well entertained as he was. Conceive then three differ⯑ent tables in a public room, two Italians in converſation at one, two Engliſh⯑men reading the Engliſh newſpapers at tanother, and two Dutchmen ſmoking at the third; and ſuppoſe the following dialogue to take place between them, interrupted only occaſionally by the [35]waiter, anſwering to their call and bringing them what they called for.

"The Engliſh quarrelled with America, blocked up her ports and ſent an army into the country, to cut the throats of their fellow-ſubjects.

"They did—but the offence given was of that nature, that called for all their ſpirit and reſentment. Per⯑haps you are ignorant of the cauſe, it was no leſs than.... here he whiſpered as if unwilling to mention it publickly, and an Engliſhman called out to the waiter.

"Some tea!"

‘They have not [36]only exhauſted their treaſury, and run themſelves 250 millions in debt, but have ſacrificed a million of lives, and for what?’

‘I'll tell you—England could do no leſs—her honour was at ſtake. I will admit that in the conteſt the loſt America, but what did ſhe get?’

"A diſh of coffee!"

‘I ſee by our newſpapers, that oppoſition intends at the next meeting of parliament, to bring for⯑ward the ruinous ſtate of the nation, and, between you and me, for I would not haveour enemies hear—the waſte of .... whiſpering.’

‘Bread and butter!’

The oppo⯑ſition ‘certainly grows very powerful, and the whole party combined, may now be ſaid to be worth .... whiſ⯑pering.’

‘A pinch of ſnuff.’

Here, as is the cuſtom in French coffee-houſes, the converſation was in⯑terrupted by ſome Savoyards that made their apperance in a gallery or kind of orcheſtra above, who played to enter⯑tain the company; and a girl with a pleaſing voice, and a good deal [38]of pathos, ſung the following air. It being, pretty and new, and having pro⯑cured the muſic; though an epiſode in the work; I truſt my fair readers will find it acceptable.

The ſong ended; the converſation went on as before.

‘No ſhip has ſo broad a bottom as.... He was going [40]on, but was interrupted by his friend aſking for his tobacco-box.’

‘Lady Bridget—is going to be married I ſee, to Lord.... but could not make out to whom, the printing being ſmeared.’

Macaroni, Waiter anſwering "Yes ſir,"

‘What in the name of patience could induce her lady⯑ſhip to ſuch an alliance? She has a ſtretching conſcience, and let me tell you, her expectations will not be an⯑ſwered only.... whiſpering to his firend.’

"how often the mail arrived from the Weſt Indies— Anſwered aloud,.... once a month.

"Was you at the Champ de Mars?

‘Yes; and I think I never ſaw ſuch a collection of offi⯑cers, abbés, fidlers, hair-dreſſers, ci-devant nobleſſe, and lacquies...’

A French poſtillion enters the room, all ſplaſhed and dirty, and ſets rudely down by the Italian gentlemen, who were well dreſſed, and looking at him⯑ſelf, exclaims, "Morblue. ‘Dere be a great deal of dirt! Where there is moſh dirt, a great deal vil ſtick.— Garçon, bring me a glaſs of noyau!’

"Obſerve!" pointing to the poſtillion.

‘Such is the bleſſed effect of French equality!’

The reader will, by a little thought, ſee the effect of this medley of conver⯑ſation, where the words of one party, cor⯑reſponded with thoſe of the other, and ſeemed to a bye-ſtander, to form one ge⯑neral dialogue. A mountebank ridicu⯑louſly dreſſed, now entered with a box of medicines for ſale. ‘Remedies, gen⯑tlemen, (cries he) for all complaints. This is my liberty-pill: it is gilt, becauſe golden pills are readier ſwal⯑lowed. It will purge away the bile of ariſtocracy, and cleanſe the prima via [43]of foul humours, and national pre⯑judices.’ Offering his medicines to the gentlemen, who were exceedingly diverted at the fellow's humour; he went on, ‘This is the powder of Baſtile, calcined from the very ſtone where the firſt breach was made: it has a wonderful efficacy in purify⯑ing the brain, eradicating deſpotiſm, making a man ſee with his own eyes, and bringing him to reaſon. This is my plaiſter for every ſore; it is ſuch an emollient, that by an appli⯑cation to the breaſt, it ſoftens the moſt tyrannic heart, and by applying it to wounds of the head, it will re⯑cover a deranged one, and will heal even a love-ſick mind: it is alſo a [44]a ſtyptic, that will ſtop the bleedings of the ſtate.’ As the company only laughed, the woman at the bar, cried out, ‘Away with your noſtrums, your pills, and your powders; we are all patriots here. My coffee-room wants neither purging nor purifying.’ This fellow was no ſooner gone, than the converſation went on as before.

‘it was certainly wiſe of the Spaniards to accede to our terms.’

‘I don't ſee that, had there been a war, ſhe might have poſ⯑ſeſſed herſelf of Gibraltar, Jamaica, and’.... (looking round, as if he wiſh⯑ed not to be overheard, whiſpered the reſt).

‘.... A little rum and ſugar!’

‘What is the faith of nations worth?—It is no longer pre⯑ſerved, than whilſt it ſuits their con⯑venience.’

‘Faith is one thing; Conventions are another. This Con⯑vention we compelled the Spaniards to ſign, is a jewel in the cap of the Engliſh worth..... I can't tell you what.’

‘.... A pipe of tobacco!’

‘There muſt be a certain [46]ſomething about opera-ſingers more than their voices, that makes them ſo much courted in England. I ſhould like to know what it is.’

‘The ladies are the beſt judges—why ſhould men inter⯑fere with the faſhions.’

At this inſtant a great noiſe was heard without, and a man came run⯑ning in, out of breath, crying, ‘Inſur⯑rection! Murder! Inſurrection!— For God's ſake, Gentlemen, arm yourſelves. All Paris is in an up⯑roar; the ariſtocrates are riſen; Count D'Artois, is at the gates with forty thouſand men; the King's off; I have been round to all the public [47]houſes. (Drums being now heard) The drum beats to arms; every man, who loves his country, will ſurely ſtand forth on this occaſion. Haſte, haſte!’ At this he runs out, and all the company proceed to arm them⯑ſelves. Some with one thing, ſome with another; ſpits, frying-pans, po⯑kers, &c. and ſallied forth into the ſtreet. Ramble who had more ſenſe and coolneſs than fell to many men's ſhare, left the room with great compo⯑ſure, convinced, as it afterwards happen⯑ed to be, that it was only a falſe alarm.

CHAP. XXXIV.

RAMBLE not finding a letter at the Engliſh Coffee-houſe as he [48]expected, did not know what to make of it. He was well convinced of Miſs Raſpe's attachment to him, and her inclination to acquaint him with the ſteps they took; of courſe conceived ſuch letter, if ſent, had miſcarried: or that ſhe was, ſome way or other, pre⯑vented from ſending one.

He enquired at the poſt-office, and at all the trading coffee-houſes in the city, where there was a likelihood of his hearing of Mr. Raſpe: had ſent to all the auberges, and hotels, and en⯑quired of every Valet de Place that he could hear of, but without effect.

Whilſt he was in this perplexity, running about from one room of his [49]hotel to another, he was accoſted by an impertinent fellow, an Engliſhman, who lived at Paris upon his wits, and who intruded himſelf upon him with ‘I ap⯑prehend, Sir, you are in ſome diffi⯑culty; I ſhall be happy to re⯑lieve you.’ Being dreſſed like a cox⯑comb, Ramble looked down on him with a degree of contempt, but recol⯑lecting that he might poſſibly have ſome knowledge of the arrivals, he replied, ‘I am, 'tis true, Sir, a little embarraſſed, and if I thought you could furniſh me with what I want, I would accept your kind offer.—I preſume, by your appearance, you are in a happy ſtate of affluence and enjoyment, and poſ⯑ſeſs [50]that which many of our country⯑men ſearch for far and wide.’ ‘Damn it, I am in a hobble here,’ ſaid Lackit aſide, for that was the ſtranger's name, who by the by, poſſeſſed ſpirits, effron⯑tery, ſang froid, impudence,—every thing but money; then addreſſing himſelf to Ramble— ‘You mean, I pre⯑ſume, Happineſs.—Why, Sir, I am pretty well as to that; I have a good eſtate, but that's neither here nor there;—and I have a long purſe,—but there's nothing in that, you know. It is not land or money that conſti⯑tutes happineſs—I have it and I have it not—hah? Friend, you underſtand me?—I know every body here, and every body knows me;—and as I am [51]informed you are but juſt arrived, I ſhould be gland (ſtrutting about) to know ſomething of you.’ At this he turned upon his heel and obſerved to himſelf, that what he ſaid, was a good turn-off. Ramble told him, he neither wanted his purſe nor his land; he want⯑ed merely a little information, and as, by his own account, he was acquainted with every one, poſſibly he might be able to tell him of the late arrivals at Paris. He was in ſearch of a party, whom he knew not where to find.—"Male or female?" retorts Lackit. "Both," returns Ramble. ‘Egad, that's an hermaphrodite! Here are plenty of hermaphrodites in this coun⯑try, women with the martial ſpirit [52]of men, and men with all the effemi⯑nacy of women. Times are however a good deal altered, petit-maitres have dropped their inſignificance, and co⯑quets thrown off their airs, and both ſexes ſeem now to be animated with one enthuſiaſtic ſoul! You have no⯑thing to dread here, believe me, but from our own countrymen. If you value your quiet and your purſe, don't mix with them. I ſpeak this entre nous, as a friend, I love my country, and I adore and Engliſhman, but I hate a ſhark of any nation. Here are a number of theſe, who follow a ſlave-ſhip for blood, and run as to a fire, to enjoy the diſtreſs and con⯑fuſion, and profit by any thing that [53]may fall in their way. Before you make any acquaintance, aſk me. I know but every one. If you are diſ⯑poſed for an intrigue, I can aſſiſt you, married or ſingle, demireps, reps, or no reps. I have a univerſal know⯑ledge of the women.’ ‘You ſee'm to confound all ſtates, Sir, (obſerved Ramble) and make little or no diſtinc⯑tion. The married ladies ſurely pay a little more regard to character, and don't ſubject themſelve's to the tongue of the calumniator.’ ‘Sir’ (retorts Lackit, ſtaring in Ramble's face, with a vacant countenance) ‘you ſeem little ac⯑quainted with the world; married wo⯑men are ſooner to be had now then ſingle ones. The men have changed [54]their ſyſtem, feel themſelves ſafer in a connexion with married women, and conceive the enjoyment to be greater. Stolen pleaſures, they fay, are ſweet, and cuckoldom now is become the zeſt of the gay world; the women court it, the men wink at it, and con⯑ſider it as a relief from a tireſome drudgery. Many a family has pined for an her; barren ſoils have been made prolific by new dreſſing; the ſtate is benefited by an increaſe of population; of courſe the man of gallantry becomes a uſeful member of ſociety, and cuckoldom is growing into credit. It is particularly ſo here, and I underſtand they are a getting into it in England.’ Ramble could [55]not but allow the character to be juſt, tho' he held the remarker in contempt. It was a ſubject he did not reliſh, there⯑fore turned the converfation, by ſaying, ‘as you profeſs to know every one, poſ⯑bly you may be able to inform me of a late arrival here.’ ‘Certainly I can, (returned he) there is not an ar⯑rival of any note, but I am made ac⯑quainted with it, within an hour of their entering Paris.’ ‘Have you heard then of ſuch a perſon as Mr. Raſpe, (ſays Ramble) and Engliſh mer⯑chant lately arrived here with his daughter?’ ‘Is he in the ſlave⯑trade?’ aſks Lackit. "He is," re⯑plies Ramble. "Heard of him?" re⯑turns Lackit, ‘yes, almoſt all Paris [56]has heard of him ere this.—Had it not been for me, he would have made his exit à la lanterne. Report ſays, he was at an Engliſh merchant's in this city, and it being ſoon buzz'd about that he was an enemy to Liberty and the Rights of Man, the Sans Culottes ſoon gathered round the houſe, and would have torn him from it; but I being well with all ranks, puſhed into the crowd and ſaved him, abſolutely by dint of lying.’ ‘I don't think I could lie (ſays Ramble) to ſave any man.’ ‘Oh, Sir, miſ⯑take me not, a gentleman never lies; he may amuſe to deceive, and deceive to amuſe; he may practiſe the ars diſſimulandi, but he never lies. With [57]all my faults, I am bold to ſay, I never told a direct lie but in a good cauſe; and it is an eſtabliſhed maxim with me that a beneficial falſity is prefera⯑ble to a deſtructive truth. Beſides, your friend is an Engliſhman, and En⯑gliſhmen will not be very punctilious where a countryman's life is to be ſaved. Sir, as I have told you be⯑fore, I love my country and all that belongs to it; Vive la Nation! whether France or England. I got between the foremoſt of the mob and the door, ſwore till I was black in the face, that he had left that houſe the even⯑ing before; that I ſaw him get into a poſt-chaiſe and order the poſtillions to make the beſt of their way to the [58]firſt ſtage in the road to Lyons.’ ‘And did you?’ ſays Ramble. ‘Did I? (retorts Lackit) No; certainly I did not.—It was all a humbug. The French are eaſily humbugged.— Brunſwick has humbugged 'em, Mon⯑ſieur has done the ſame; Louis has humbugged them, and I have hum⯑bugged them.’ Then toſſing himſelf about, roared out the burden of the old Engliſh ſong,

‘I only told them ſo (continued he), to pacify them; it anſwered the pur⯑poſe. I threw my purſe among them, and away they went.’

[59]Ramble's philanthropy was awakened at this recital. Thoſe who are freeſt from guile, are moſt eaſily beguiled. He told Lackit that the gentleman whoſe life he had ſaved (for he believed him implictly) was a particular friend of his, and in whoſe welfare, he was more than commonly intereſted, and begged to know what were the contents of his purſe. The very thought of get⯑ting ſome money from Ramble, raiſed Lackit's ſpirits and his art of addreſs; he cried ‘Oh!—nothing, nothing,— Some 40 or 50 Louis d'ors; but that you know, my dear Sir, is nothing, a mere triſle in competition with the life of a countryman. Had it con⯑tained [60]ten times the ſum, they would have had it—they would indeed.— Money is no object to me, when I have it my power to do a good office. I could tell you of many ſuch gifts— but what I give away, is nothing to any one.’

Ramble's generous heart was now rouſed; he drew his purſed from his pocked, ſaid, he believed it might con⯑tain ſomething about the ſum Lackit had given to the populace, and begged he might re-imburſe him. Lackit eyed the purſe with as much eagerneſs, as would a pickpocket watching an op⯑portunity to ſteal it; but at the ſame time refuſed to accept any return, with [61]a "Poſitively not," and on Ramble's urging him to take it, ſaying it was a ſum Mr. Raſpe, in fact, owed him, and would repay him with thanks, if he knew the circumſtance—therefore inſiſting on it, that he might diſcharge that debt for him. ‘Sir, (ſaid Lackit) if you knew my heart and my liberal ſpirit, you would not offer me ſuch and affront. Of what value is money, but for ſuch purpoſes?’ ‘I beg your pardon, (cries Ramble) I would not affront any man; much leſs one who has done my friend ſo kind an office,’ and was in the act of returning the purſe to his pocket. This Lackit did not mean he ſhould do, and finding he had voerſhot his marks, told him, it would certainly [62]be an affront at any other time, than a time of commotion, when nothing was to be had without drawing one's purſe⯑ſtrings; and as it might enable him to perform ſome ſuch good office at an⯑other time, he would accept it; ſaying however that he would take it on no other conditions, than that he would aſk his friend Raſpe for it again, in whoſe ſervice it was expended, and whom he was given to underſtand, was a wealthy man; and that he would alſo do him the honour to take part of a bottle of Burgundy with him. Theſe conditions being aſſented to, Lackit, who had not been poſſeſſed of ſo much caſh for a great length of time, threw the purſe up from his hand, and catching it, put it into his [63]pocket, with a ‘May you be as well laid out as the laſt!’

Ramble aſked Lackit to tell him where this Engliſh merchant lived, who had received Mr. Raſpe. Lackit ſaid he would conduct him there in the even⯑ing; at preſent he muſt claim his pro⯑miſe to drink a glaſs with him. He had a few Engliſh friends in the houſe who would be happy to join them, and if he was diſpoſed to trifle away the morning with a little hazard, he would find the party a pleaſant one.

Lackit being now in caſh, was in hopes to take Ramble in for another fifty at the hazard-table; but Ramble, [64]whoſe thoughts were wholly on Miſs Raſpe, begged to be excuſed joining his party that day and took his leave, ſay⯑ing to himſelf, when alone, ‘He has probably humbugged me;’ yet con⯑ſoled himſelf with obſerving, that too often with the over-cautious has a fear of being over-reached or deceived, pre⯑vented their doing many a good and generous action.

CHAP. XXXV.

RAMBLE ſent for Flint, and aſked him if he knew any thing of Lackit that was in the houſe. ‘Does your honour maen (ſaid Flint) a fellow in a tinſelled coat, whoſe tongue runs like a jack-daw?’ ‘I fancy we mean the ſame perſon (replied Ramble), he is an Engliſhman, and I am ſorry to ſay that of a countryman, but it ſtrikes me, that he has robbed me of 50l.’—‘Blood and tunder! (cries Flint, raiſing his ſtick) I'll find him out and give him a ſound bating.’ ‘That (returns Ramble) will not reſtore me my money; beſides, 'tis not here, [66]Flint, as it is in Ireland, where a man may drub a raſcal unnoticed.’ ‘Par⯑don me, your honour, (ſays Flint,) they take pleaſure here in drubbing any thing that wears the appearance of a jontleman. The poorer a man is in this country, I' my faith, the richer he is, at leaſt the more he is thought of, and the more power he has; the whole city is governed by men who have no breeches to their backſides^* and whoſe greateſt badge of diſtinction, is not having a coat to their back.—Do, your honour, let little Flint give this rogue a bit of a bating; it will cool his courage, and [67]do him a great deal of good.’ ‘No, no, (returns Ramble) it is better, I believe to leave him to the ſcourge of his own reflection.’ ‘Fait, and you may that too (replies Flint), the word of command is in his own breaſt; it is there given diſtinctly, and he muſt be a bad ſoldier who has been well drilled, that does not attend to it; his own court-martial will try him, and if found guilty, that ſtout little drummer, Conſcience, will not ſpare his laſhes, but lay them on heavy.’ ‘Flint (returned Ramble) you are as good a philoſopher as a ſoldier; but go, I would have you make ſome enquiries about him, find him out, tell him you belong [68]to me, and beg him to make you ac quainted with the place where Mr. Raſpe firſt lodged, when he came to Paris.’ He then told Flint the manner he had introduced himſelf and the ſtory he had told of the mob; the narrow eſcape Raſpe had, and his throw⯑ing his purſe among the populace. Flint's anger was rouſed; he told his maſter, that, if report ſpoke truth, he was one of thoſe who got his livelihood by ſucking the brains of others, and was ſorry to find his honour had at all con⯑tributed to feed him. ‘By St. Patrick! (roars he out) he's an arrant teef— The deel burn me—if he did trow his purſe to the mob, but there was not a tirteener in it. By the great G-d, [69](continued he) I'll ferret him out— If I find it a lie, and if I don't get the purſe again, I'll make him repent of what he has done—he ſhall remember little Flint as long as he lives.’ Say⯑ing this he ſaluted, wheeled about, and left his maſter, brandiſhing his cudgel as he went out.

Ramble went to the Engliſh coffe-houſe to make ſome enquiries into this affair himſelf, and learned part of Lackit's ſtory to be juſt, but that Raſpe's eſcape was owing to him was as falſe as the reſt was true. The loſs of his money; did not much trouble him; could he have got the intelligence he wiſhed, he would have given twice the ſum. He [70]obſerved that though Lackit might not tell a direct lie, that faſhionable ars diſſimulandi in which he was well verſed, went very near it. Entering the coffe-houſe to return to his hotel, after it was dark, Chance, as in London, befriended him.

Rafpe's petulance of temper had brought him into a ſquabble in the ſtreet. Brutus, the black, who always followed his maſter, hearing ſome Sa⯑voyards playing and ſinging the follow⯑ing ſong in the next ſtreet, was running to liſten to them.

Raſpe, incenſed at his fellow, called him back with anger, and ſtruck him on the head with his cane; the poor black roared out, and a gentleman who ſtood at the door of a coffee-houſe and ſaw it, went up to him, and ſaid ‘You ſeem, Sir, to forget where you are.— No man dare ſtrike his ſervant here— [73]a levelling principle has taken place among us, and for every blow a man gives, he ſtands a chance of receiving three.’ ‘Peace, fellow! (replies Raſpe with warmth) or I'll level you.’ The gentleman told him, that being an old man, was the only excuſe for his petulance. "Here are ſome ladies, con⯑tinued he; had they ſeen you, you would have repented of your raſhneſs." Theſe ladies were four fiſh-women, who though in petticoats were armed as muſqueteers, patrolling the ſtreets, and fifth beating a drum before them. ‘Here (cried this gentleman, laughing,) are the National Guard.’ ‘Curſe the Na⯑tional Guard!’ replied Raſpe angrily. The women hearing this, ſeized him and [74]cried, Take him to the guard-houſe. Raſpe contending with them, bellowed out, ‘Off, you harridans, or I'll be the death of you!’ and called Brutus to aſſiſt him. A mob was now collected, and the people laughed at the incident. The women having releaſed him, Raſpe aſked them who they were; they an⯑ſwered, The king's body guard. ‘What pretence (continued he) have you to take me?’ ‘Pretence, hah! (cried one of the women) That's pleaſant tryly—we took the Baſtille without pretence—we took the king without pretence—of courſe, can want no pretence for taking you.’

Ramble coming up at this time with [75]an acquaintance ſaid, ‘Sure I muſt know that man!—It is he whom I have been ſeeking; aſk him where he lodges.’ The gentleman did ſo; but Raſpe would not tell him; Ramble who was then in his uniform, ſtepped forward, and ſaid to the women, ‘I muſt take this gentleman's part; (then addreſſing himſelf to Raſpe) I am ſorry to ſee you, Sir, in ſuch an em⯑barraſſment.’ Raſpe, looking full in his face, ſaid with ſternneſs ‘I think I know you—it won't do—you have loſt your aim. I have lodged her in a con⯑vent.’ Even this was a piece of happy intelligence to Ramble; he offered to get Raſpe releaſed, but he, Raſpe, ſaid, ‘I won't be releaſed by you—I'd rather [76]be in cuſtody a month.’ Ramble the addreſſing himſelf to the women, ſaid it was only a little fracas, the effect of anger; that he was well acquainted with the gentleman, and continued. ‘I am an Engliſh officer— you have done your duty, and may releaſe him.’ Raſpe thinking a little money might in⯑duce them to do it, took out of his pocket a tobacco-box, in which was a little bit of dirty paper, folded up in two or three caſe equally dirty, and unfold⯑ing them with great care, one after the other, till he came to the inner piece, ſaid, ‘here is ſome of your current coin, your aſſignats—which an Engliſhman would'nt deign to ſtoop for.’ The women not liking the money, which [77]they ſaid would not paſs, cried, ‘away with them!’ and attempted to drag them forward; reſiſtance being made, the drum was beat, and they called out "Guards! guards!" Two ſoldiers within hearing, with bayonets fixed, ran to their aſſiſtance, and the colonel finding the matter grew rather ſerious, ſaid to one of the ſoldiers, ‘Money has been of⯑fered to releaſe them; if you won't take money, take my word—I am a brother ſoldier, and a gentleman, and will undertake they ſhall appear at the guard-houſe to-morrow morning.’ ‘Soldier! (ſaid the fellow) what of that?—You are not one of us, and though you may be a gentleman, I ſhan't believe you the ſooner—we [78]are all gentlemen here—we know no diſtinction.’ On which one of the ſoldier laid hold of Raſpe, and the women, of the black. Raſpe, ſtruggling, aſked their authority, and on being told, the National Aſſembly, damn'd their National Aſſembly. This was enough— it was leze-nation, high treaſon, in the eyes of theſe women, and they cried out, one and all, à la lanterne!—hang him— à la lanterne! The ſoldiers and women then dragged them off, but the colonel aſſured Raſpe he would be at the guard⯑room as ſoon as him. The mob ſeemed to enjoy this piece of buſineſs, and Brutus, though a priſoner, no leſs ſo; for he was heard to ſay in going off, [79]hugging himſelf, ‘Maſſa no better as poor negro now!’

I cannot help making an obſervation here, on the hale conſtitution of the French women. It is a fact, that a body of the fiſh-women, that is thoſe who ſell fiſh in Paris, and who are of a ſtamp with our Billingſgate-ladies, did take up arms againſt their king; we know the lower claſs of women alſo are employed in very laborious offices, ſuch as carry⯑ing of loads, ploughing of the land, &c. Though they are not apparently ſtronger than the common women of other coun⯑tries, they undoubtedly are; and though they are effeminate in their perſons, they are maſculine in their ideas. This [80]remark, it is ſaid, holds good only with the lower order of women; but we find the ſame ſtrength of conſtitution in all orders. A lying-in woman of diſtinc⯑tion in France will be up the third day after delivery, and ſleep with her huſ⯑band the ninth day, whereas an Engliſhwoman requires a month to recover her. What this ariſes from, I will not take upon me to ſay. It does not appear to be climate or mode of living; for if an Engliſhwoman lives twenty years in France, ſhe is never fit to go abroad after lying-in till nearly the expiration of a month; but a Frenchwoman, though a long time reſident in England, is ge⯑nerally able to get about in nine days. It muſt be owing to conſtitution and to [81]ſtamina. We find this alſo in their men. An apothecary of my acquaint⯑ance formerly aſſured me (he told it as fact, and he is a man of too much vera⯑city to be doubted) that he had a patient in London, a Frenchman, at the ad⯑vanced age of 96, who was regularly three or four times a-year, injured in his health by a connexion with women of the town: That on being once ſent for to cure him of the ſame complaint, he found an old man with him, and, of courſe, entered not into the ſubject till that perſon was gone. When alone, his patient obſerved, he was glad nothing was ſaid before that old gentleman, for it was his ſon. On talking over the matter, the apothecary noticing a fine [82]healthy young woman waiting on him as a ſervant, ſaid he wondered he was not more cautious, when he had ſuffered ſo much, and adviſed him, ſmiling, to make his addreſſes to that healthy wench that attended him. ‘Oh, (returns his patient, toſſing his head) elle eſt mon pain quotidien.’

It was certainly an awkward time for all parties to be at Paris during the com⯑motions that there took place; other⯑wiſe this change of things would have rendered it more agreeable. There was ever a kind of ſettled enmity between the French and Engliſh, which this re⯑volution has done away; but ſtill they cannot forget their ancient prejudices; [83]as a proof of it, the following laughable ſtory is told. A French gentleman, lately in company with an Engliſhman, was boaſting of the advantages ariſing from the local ſituation of his country over England, by its having a variety of ports in Le Manche, meaning the Engliſh channel, which a Frenchmen will never call by that name, ‘by which means, (ſaid he) in time of war, we have an opportunity of watching and check⯑ing the motions of your fleet there. For example, Nous avons Breſt, un port de mer, vis-à-vis Plymouth; nous aurions tantôt Cherburg, au autre port de mer, vis-à-vis Portſmouth; et aurions auſſi Dunquerque, un port de mer, vis-à-vis la Thames.’ ‘Yes, Sir, (replied [84]the Engliſhman) and the more ports you have in our channel the better; for, when we want a man of war or two, we have not far to fetch them.’

CHAP. XXXVI.

RAMBLE went to his lodgings, put on his ſword, and walked away to the guard-room, where he was intro⯑duced to the officer on guard. ‘I waited on you (ſaid Ramble) in be⯑half of a countryman of mine, who from an accidental diſpute in the ſtreet, has been brought here by the night-guard.’ ‘I am glad (ſaid the officer) to find it was only a diſpute. [85]It has been happily adjuſted; he and his ſervant are releaſed, and are gone home.’ Ramble could not help ob⯑ſerving, that a police was too ſtrict that enjoined the taking gentlemen into cuſtody for offences ſo ſlight. ‘The times (replied the officer) make it neceſſary.’ ‘This (returned Ram⯑ble) is one of the baneful effects of your revolution, an unbounded licen⯑tiouſneſs of the people, followed up by as deſpotic meaſures as the revo⯑lution was deſigned to overthrow.’ The officer did not like this, and re⯑queſted him to be a little more guarded in his expreſſion. ‘I am a French ſoldier, (ſaid he) and I ſee by your dreſs, you are an officer in the ſer⯑vice [86]of the Engliſh.’ ‘I am, (re⯑turned Ramble) and as we both ſerve a free country, I ſhould hope we are both of the ſame way of thinking—of courſe it is a little out of character to call upon me to guard my tongue, when it is the privilege of a freeman to ſpeak his mind—I ſay again, your National Aſſembly is far more tyran⯑nical than ever the monarch was.’ On the officer's ſaying he did not ſee in what; Ramble went on, ‘I could mention a thouſand inſtances. France was once a free country, and if time and wicked meaſures had contrived to enſlave her, it would have been better to have reformed the old con⯑ſtitution than to have overthrown it, [87]and raiſed a worſe upon its ruins." Worſe (retorts the officer) do you call it? Are we not now free?’ ‘Far from it, (returns Ramble) you are greater ſlaves now than ever. Your clergy are ſlaves, your nobility are ſlaves, your king is a ſlave, and your army, which ſhould be the ſupport of the conſtitution, are the greater ſlaves of all.’ Ramble was not a man apt to give offence, he was rather the re⯑verſe, but having always diſliked the French revolution, and being drawn into this ſubject rather unexpectedly, he could not but give way to his ſpirit, and therefore ſpoke as he thought. The officer on guard, partaking rather of his national warmth, cried out with indig⯑nation, [88] ‘This is not to be borne—army, ſlaves!—Conſider, Sir, where you are, and who you are talking to.’ Ramble having now gone too far to retract, and his profeſſion not ſuffering him to eat his words, replied, ‘I mean not to be perſonal, Sir, but I repeat, that your army are the greateſt ſlaves of the whole. There was a time when the French army was com⯑manded by gentlemen, men of family and fortune; your officers now are ſhopkeepers, and manufacturers, men who from birth and education, can have no ideas of true honour; of courſe the whole army is now dwin⯑dled into mercenary hirelings, who have betrayed their king, and broke [89]their oaths for a little extra-pay, and who are ſlaves to a wrong-headed ſet of men, void of patriotiſm, who, whilſt they were tumbling their mo⯑narch from his throne, have ſacrificed only their ſhoe-buckles to their coun⯑try; an army that waits only the raſh order of ſuch an aſſembly to lay their country in blood.’ The French officer, who was one of the Paris militia and a tradeſman, was now ſtung to the quick. ‘Having a command in that army, I muſt (retorts he with anger) give the lie to that aſſertion; and if you ſay one word more, I'll call the guard.’ Ramble taking him by the button of his coat, and with an eye that ſpoke the higheſt reſentment, replied, [90] ‘Giving me the lie, Sir, is the ſtrongeſt proof of my aſſertion. It is a proof of your low breeding ang the dunghill you ſprung from.’ Saying this, he ſhook him, as it were, from him. The officer called out "Guard!" but Ramble ſtop⯑ped his mouth, and cried ‘Peace, rep⯑tile! —Call the guard at your peril. You wear the French uniform—if you have the ſpirit of a ſoldier, draw your ſword in defence of your charac⯑ter. If you call the guard (continues he, drawing his own ſword) I'll cut your throat.’ The officer drew his ſword, and they exchanged a few thruſts; but the Frenchman ſoon declared, by his manner, that he was little acquainted with the uſe of it. Ramble ſeeing this [91]ſcorned to take advantage of him, and cried out, ‘Hold, Sir,—you had better put up your ſword than loſe your life—I ſee you are not maſter of it. What do you mean by that, coward?’ ſaid the officer, in a great rage. ‘Cow⯑ard! (retorts Ramble)— Advance then.’ Now they fought with ſome earneſtneſs, but Ramble ſoon diſarmed him, and the Frenchman finding him⯑ſelf at Ramble's mercy, was ſilent; when Ramble ſpoke to him thus, and left him: ‘The language you have held, would juſtify me in delivering you over to the fiſhwomen.—How⯑ever, keep your council, be your own friend, and remember—you met with an Engliſh ſoldier, who had more [92]conſideration for the helpleſs, than all your National Aſſembly put to⯑gether.’

CHAP. XXXVII.

THEY ſay that happineſs conſiſts in the imagination only, and that if we think ourſelves wiſe and rich, it is as well as being ſo. How can I want wealth, ſays a fellow at Paris who lived by fetching water from the river,—how can I want wealth, when all the water in the Seine is mine, and I can ſell it for two ſous a turn?—So ſay philoſo⯑phers, that nothing exiſts but in imagi⯑nation.

The gentleman my friend Ramble met with at Paris, and who was with him when they met with Mr. Raſpe in the ſtreet, is a living teſt of this ideal exiſ⯑tence. He is of noble extraction, and may have had a crown'd head in the line of his pedigree; but whether or not, he believes it firmly; he tells you he is lineally deſcended from an ancient king [94]of Ulſter; never loſes ſight of his ge⯑nealogy, and though he has diſſipated his fortune, and reduced his income to leſs than three hundred per year, he ſtill conceives himſelf of the blood-royal, and but one ſtep below a throne, talks in the plural number, and receives his friends with, Couſin, we greet you well,—giving them his hand to kiſs. He has often pleaſed himſelf with am⯑bitious reveries, and has often been diſ⯑treſſed by the force of imagination. Some perſons have called this vapour⯑ing a madneſs, others diſtrait, but thoſe who ſo reaſon, don't know him. He is at times a very pleaſant fellow; and as rational as any man in the world, but at others, is not to be diſpoſſeſſed of his [95]opinion. Having worked up his ideas to a certain pitch, he ſees things which no one elſe ſees, and realizes all the va⯑pours of his fancy. His reverie can only be ſnapped, like the fiddle-ſtring over-wound; and I have known him, (ſaid Ramble) break from his company with great abruptneſs, tell them he had buſineſs of the utmoſt importance—fly to the other end of the town, as if his well-being depended on being there to a quarter of an hour, and nothing could undeceive him, but tumbling over a lamplighter's ladder that ſtood in his way. This, and this only, could convince him he had nothing to do. Not long ſince he courted a widow, inſiſted upon ſhewing her his country-houſe, hired [96]a poſt-chaiſe for the purpoſe, and when he had got forty miles from town, was ſo taken up with his lady, that he had near⯑ly loſt his way. It was with difficulty he could direct the driver up one lane down another; now to the right, then to the left. The horſes nearly knocked up, and the lad's patience exhauſted, he had almoſt loſt himſelf. ‘The de'el's in't, (cried he) if we don't ſee he houſe preſently.’ And, on the lad's ſaying to himſelf, with a degree of vexation, (though loud enough to be heard) ‘I don't believe you have a houſe to ſee;’ it brought him to himſelf, with a ‘upon my conſcience, my lad, I believe you are right—turn about, and go back to the firſt inn.’

CHAP. XXXVIII.

ON Ramble's return to his hotel, Flint flew into his room, with the very purſe he had given to Lackit. ‘There it is, and pleaſe your honour, (ſaid Flint, throwing it down upon the table); but how much money it contains, I know not, not having taken the liberty to open it: 'tis pretty heavy and pretty full, and I hope your honour will find yourſelf repaid with intereſt.’ Ramble aſtoniſhed, exclaimed, "How is this!" ‘Fait, and you ſay that too, (returns Flint) how is this! I tell your honour how it was. There is a room in this [98]houſe, called the Gambling-room, where gentlemen and no gentlemen, but perſons of all deſcriptions are welcome to go in and loſe their mo⯑ney. Having enquired this Maiſter Lackit's character, and finding him only to be a ſharper, I thought my⯑ſelf a better man than him, and was determined to be one of the com⯑pany. There were many in the room ſhaking their elbows, and throwing out ſome little bits of bones out of a box, making a damned noiſe with their tongues; ſo, your honour, d'ye ſee, ſome had their purſes in their hands, ſome on the table, and that teef, that robbed your honour, trew his purſe down on the table with as [99]much contempt, as if it contained only counters, and cried out, The beſt of tree trows for all it holds. I ſnatched up the purſe, your honour, clapt it in my pocket, and told the jontleman, with this leave, that as he ſeemed to ſet no value on it, I would reſtore it to its right owner. It occaſioned a great hubbub, and had I not ſtood on my guard, in this manner, your honour, (brandiſhing his cudgel about) the enemy would have cloſed in, and I ſhould have been overpowered. I bawled out, however, ſo as to be heard: Jontlemen, I am a ſoldier, and not to be intimidated. The purſe I have taken, belongs to my maiſter, and was taken from him under falſe [100]colours; and if I don't make this ap⯑pear to your ſatisfaction, you may tear the cockade from my hat, and treat me as you pleaſe. Upon this, your honour, I told them the ſtory, and it turning out a lie that Mr. Raſpe's eſcape was owing to Maiſter Lackit, they were one and all againſt him, and I made the beſt of my way off with flying colours.’ Ramble ſmiled at the ſtory, and obſerved, that as he had won the prize, he might keep it, but recommended it to him to count the contents, and if Lackit had been lucky and added to the fifty guineas, to return him all that was over. This Flint promiſed to do, ſaying, ‘Money ill got would never trive.’

[101]Ramble now proceeded in ſearch of Miſs Raſpe. He had enquired at all the nunneries in Paris except two, and the Urſulines was one of theſe. On knocking at the gate of the convent, the portreſs aſked his will; he told her that he was in ſearch of a young lady, whoſe father had ſaid, he had placed her at a convent; but not having mentioned which, he had enquired at moſt of them. He ſaid ſhe was but juſt brought there and from London, and that her name was Raſpe. The portreſs told him, there was no young lady of that name, but that there was one, that in ſome re⯑ſpect anſwered to the deſcription, but her name was Simpſon. ‘Pleaſe to enquire (ſaid Ramble) whether her [102]father is not from Liverpool; if ſhe ſays yes, tell her there is a gentleman at the gate that wiſhes to ſpeak with her.’ She went, made the enquiry, and returned; ſaid the young lady was from Liverpool, and begged him to come in. He was now admitted into the parlour, and Miſs Raſpe ſoon waited on him, attended by two ſiſters of the fraternity. He told the ladies he had a meſſage to this young lady from her relations in England, and aſked if he might be indulged with leave to com⯑municate it in private. He was told, that if ten minutes would be ſufficient, he might command it. On this the nuns retired, and Ramble acquainted her with the trouble he had met with in [103]finding her out; that he believed he ſhould never have done it, had not he met with her father accidentally, who told him with an angry triumph, that he put her out of his reach by lodging her in a convent. Miſs Raſpe replied, that nothing but her being there placed, un⯑known to her as ſoon as ſhe arrived at Paris, and the ſtrict orders the ladies of that houſe had received never to truſt her with a pen and ink, prevented her from writing to him. She wiſhed he could contrive to get her from that place; but in caſe he ſhould not be able, he muſt follow her to Florence which would be the end of their journey for ſome time. ‘Can you (ſaid he) any way get without the walls?’ ‘Impoſ⯑ſible, [104](returned ſhe) my father has given a ſtrict charge that I ſhould ſee no one nor be left alone. It was won⯑derful that you gained admittance, and more ſo, that we are left together; but the ladies are too much uſed to ſuch interdictions to pay much re⯑gard to them.’ Ramble then aſked, whether a good bribe to the portreſs, would not bring that woman into their meaſures; ſhe was ſure, ſhe ſaid, to the contrary. At this time, ſhe heard the noiſe of thunder. ‘Bleſs me (ſaid ſhe) how it thunders! You muſt wait till the ſtorm is over. If it continues, I ſhall be called to chapel; for they always go to prayers when it thunders much. Should I not be able to ſee [105]you again whilſt at Paris, where ſhall I write to you? We ſhall not be long here.’ ‘At the Engliſh coffeehouſe. (replied the colonel.) I have found out your father's lodgings, and ſhall have intelligence when you quit Paris.’ The ſtorm ſeemed to gather, for great peals of thunder were heard, and the chapel-bell rung ‘That's our ſummons (ſaid Miſs Raſpe) to chapel. I ſhall preſently be called.’ Ramble then gave her a letter, and ſhe gave him her hand to kiſs. The two nuns now returned to take her to chapel, and told Ramble there was a violent ſtorm, and hoped he would not venture out till it was over; ſaid it was cuſtomary for them to attend prayers on ſuch oc⯑caſions, [106]and hoped he would excuſe them. Inſtead of abating, the ſtorm ſeemed to increaſe, the thunder roll⯑ed and the lightning flaſhed, and hav⯑ing ſtruck one corner of the tower, part of it fell. This ſo frightened the ladies, who imagined the whole build⯑ing was coming down, that the gates, were opened, and they all ran into the ſtreet, ſcreaming as for life. It was a lucky opportunity for Ramble and Miſs Raſpe. She flew to the parlour, where he was, and the gates being open, fled with him from the convent. Ramble took her to his lodgings, collected his baggage, and ſet off with her that even⯑ing for Verſailles, and the next day ſent for a prieſt and was married to her. [107]The knot being now tied, their alarm in a great meaſure ceaſed. He conti⯑nued at this place till he had equipped her with neceſſaries. He had ſent his valet and Flint on to Lyons, in their way to Italy, in order alſo to elude any ſearch; nay, indeed, he ſaid ſhe ſhould not be diſappointed in ſeeing that part of the world; for before he returned to England, he would take her to Naples, and ſhew her every thing in their way that was worth ſeeing.

The report in Paris that the tower of the Urſulines had been ſtruck with lightning, that the building had fallen, and that the nuns had taken refuge in the town, ſoon reached Raſpe: he flew to [108]the place with the anxiety of a parent, but was much more alarmed when his daughter could not be found: his fears firſt led him to think ſhe muſt have been buried in the ruins, but the por⯑treſs aſſuring him, that ſhe ſaw her afterwards in the parlour, a little quieted him. He roared and ſtamped like a madman, and being told a gentleman with a cockade in his hat had been to pay her a viſit that morning, and had not leſt the convent when the accident happened, he was convinced this was Ramble, and that he had in the general confuſion carried her off. His buſineſs now was, if poſſible, to find out where they were, and to trace them. This he knew not how to do. However his [109]friend Mr. Engliſh adviſed him to ſend to the city gates, and aſk the guard, what poſt-carriages had paſſed out of the city that evening. Intelligence was the next morning brought him, that a perſon, deſcribed to be Flint by his dreſs, was ſufficiently remarkable to be noticed, had gone the Lyons' road in a poſt-chaiſe, with ſome other perſons. This induced him to purſue that road; and being more confirmed at every poſt⯑houſe they came to, he followed them quite to Lyons; where he overtook them, but was more unhappy at the diſ⯑appointment in not meeting with his daughter, than perhaps he would have been, had he found her in the arms of her lover. He tried every means to [110]bring over Flint and his fellow-ſervant to his intereſt, but without effect. Large ſums of money were offered them, but they were not to be corrupted. He did not, however, loſe ſight of them, but appointed a perſon to watch their motions, and follow them where-ever they went. Flint, will all his cunning, was not up to this, and it was by this means Raſpe at laſt diſcovered his daughter; for waiting at Lyons for or⯑ders from their maſter which way to proceed, their route was traced from city to city all through Italy, and Raſpe with his ſlave Brutus joined them where they met; but this was not till they reached Naples, Ramble and his lady having taken another route.

CHAP. XXXIX.

WHEN they reached Naples, Ram⯑ble was aſtoniſhed to hear from Flint, that Raſpe was in that city. He almoſt doubted his veracity; but on Flint's aſſuring him, that he met and converſed with Brutus, he could not but believe it. Flint was among the multitude ſtanding to hear one of thoſe ſtreet orators, who harangue the people in the ſtreets, in order to get money from them, ſomething in the way of our mountebanks in England: In England they ſell medicines; in Naples, cruci⯑fixes.

[112]The following relation is from a gentleman who travelled in that part of the world, and who, aſſured me, was preſent at the harangue. A large cluſter of men, women, and children, were entertained to the higheſt degree, and made exceedingly happy, by a poor fellow that was maſked and played on the guitar; he aſſembled the crowd by his ſongs and his muſic, and by a thouſand merry ſtories he told them, with infinite drollery. The old women ſat liſtening with their diſtaffs, ſpinning coarſe flax, and wetting their thread with their ſpittle; their grand-children ſprawling at their feet, and amuſed with the twiſting of the ſpindle. The men and their wives, they youth and their miſ⯑treſſes [113]ſat in a circle, with their eyes fixed on the muſician, who kept them laughing for a great part of the evening, with his ſtories, which he enlivened oc⯑caſionally, with tunes on the guitar. At laſt, when the company were moſt nu⯑merous and at the higheſt pitch of good humour, he ſuddenly pulled off his maſk, laid down his guitar, and open⯑ed a little box that ſtood before him, and addreſſed his audience thus: ‘La⯑dies and gentlemen, there is a time for all things; we have had jeſting enough, innocent mirth is excellent for the body, but other things are re⯑quiſite for the health of the ſoul. I will now, with your permiſſion, my honourable maſters and miſtreſſes, [114]entertain you with ſomething ſerious, of infinitely greater importance than fiddling and ſinging; ſomething for which all of you will have reaſon to bleſs me as long as you live.’ He ſhook out of a bag a great number of leaden crucifixes. "I am juſt come," continued he, ‘my fellow citizens, from the holy houſe of Loretto, on purpoſe to furniſh you with theſe jewels, more precious than all the gold of Peru, and all the pearls of the ocean. Now, my beloved bre⯑thren and ſiſters, you are afraid, I ſee, that I ſhall demand a price for theſe ſacred croſſes, far above your abili⯑ties, and ſomething correſpondent with their value, by way of indem⯑nification [115]for the fatigue and expence of the long journey I have made, on your account, all the way from the habitation of the bleſſed virgin, to this thrice renowned city of Naples, the riches and liberality of whoſe in⯑habitants are celebrated all over the globe. No, my generous Neapoli⯑tans, I do not wiſh to take the ad⯑vantage of your pious and liberal diſ⯑poſitions. I will not aſk for theſe invaluable crucifixes, (all of which, let me inform you, have touched the foot of the holy image of the bleſſed virgin, which was formed by the hands of St. Luke, and moreover each of them has been taken in the ſantiſſimo ſcodella, the ſacred por⯑ringer, [116]in which the virgin made the pap for the infant Jeſus). I will not, I ſay, demand an ounce of gold, nor aſk a crown of ſilver; my regard for you is ſuch, that I ſhall let you have them for a penny a piece.’ This morſel of eloquence, no doubt, was a great pennyworth; and when we recol⯑lect the ſums ſome men are paid for their oratory in England, though it ſel⯑dom produces ſo pathetic a ſpecimen, we muſt conclude, then, eloquence is a much ſcarcer and dearer commodity in England than in Italy.

It was at ſuch a ſtreet harangue, as I have obſerved, that Flint met with Brutus. Ramble finding Raſpe there⯑fore [117]at Naples, endeavoured to make the beſt of it, and ſaid he would now take ſome pains to bring about a recon⯑ciliation. He wrote to Mr. Raſpe, ſaid as things had turned out, he was not unhappy at finding him at Naples, that he had loved his daughter from the moment he ſaw her, that he loved her for her perſonal qualities, and not for any appendage of fortune, that might follow her; that ſhe was now his wife; that he was a gentleman both by birth and education, and not a beggar; that he was the object of his daughter's choice, waved any claim upon her ſup⯑poſed fortune; was convinced he could maintain her well upon his own; and would pledge himſelf to make her hap⯑py. [118]Mrs. Ramble wrote alſo to her father, ſaid every thing in her power to obtain his pardon, exculpate her huſ⯑band for any unbecoming or unhand⯑ſome conduct, took the blame if there was any; upon herſelf; ſaid no woman on earth could be happier than ſhe ſhould, with her father's forgiveneſs; and with his leave they would throw them⯑ſelves at his feet. Raſpe was of too irraſcible a diſpoſition to liſten to any terms. Revenged he would be of the ſeducer; as he called it, of his child; and hearing there was a certain deſcription of men in moſt Italian cities, who, for a premium, would lye wait for, and diſpatch any one we wiſhed to be rid of, was determined to find out one of [119]theſe men, and try to effect it. He made his Black acquainted with this reſolution, who though according to a received opinion, that negroes have not that fellow-feeling which we naturally feel, ſhuddered at the idea. Raſpe, however, worked him up to be faithful in this buſineſs, by fair promiſes and future rewards, and he according to his maſter's orders looked out for a man of this ſtamp. Such men are in Italy not difficult to be met with, and Brutus having found one, introduced him to his maſter, and left them together. He was a man with a downcaſt look, with murder written in his countenance.

"What is your name, friend?" ſaid [120]Raſpe. "I have no name," anſwered the fellow. ‘What are you called then?’ returned Raſpe. "Bravo," replied he. "And what is your pro⯑feſſion?" ſays Raſpe. "A murderer," retorts he, and with a ſternneſs that made even the unfeeling old man trem⯑ble.

Raſpe, however, collected himſelf, and ſmiling replied, ‘A very honourable profeſſion!’ ‘You need not ſneer; (ſaid Bravo) as times go, it is a pro⯑feſſion equally honourable, with many truly called ſo. There's your ac⯑coucheurs, I believe they are called in your country, men-midwives. How many murders do they commit, hired [121]for it as we are, deſtroying infants in the birth; and yet (continued he with a ſneer) accoucheurs are men of honourable profeſſion! There are your medical practitioners, that learn experience at the expence of other men's lives.—What are they but murderers? And yet phyſic (ſneering) is an honourable profeſſion! Then, again, there are your lawyers, the greateſt murderers of all. Theſe murder a man's fortune, good name, and peace of mind. The pain we give is but a flee-bite to it—It laſts but a inſtant;—whereas their ſtabs ſmart for years, and yet the law (ſneering) is an honourable profeſſion! So again, your ſlave-trade merchants, [122]that deal in human fleſh....’ He was going on, but Raſpe feeling the force of his reaſoning, cried, ‘No more of your remarks.—Are you not afraid of detection?’ ‘Not much for that, (replied the Bravo) every profeſſion has its riſks, and we are well paid for ours. Thoſe who employ us are equally criminal, of courſe are al⯑ways huſh, leſt they ſhould betray themſelves. Beſides, our buſineſs is generally done in the dark, and a dead man tells no tales. The laws alſo of this country favour us; for if a man is under proſecution, there are ſo many courts to go through, and ſo many loop-holes in each part of the proceſs; that it muſt be a very [123]extraordinary caſe indeed, if we can⯑not ſlip through ſome of them.—But what is your buſineſs with me?’ Raſpe aſked him in confidence, whether he might rely on him. Bravo looking ſternly and ſtedfaſtly in his face, and ſlapping his breaſt, cried, "Honour!" "I want a man's throat cut," ſaid Raſpe. "I'll do it," returns the fel⯑low ſmartly, ſlapping his breaſt again. His price was aſked, and being told 50 piſtoles, half in hand, Raſpe gave him the money. "You have a black," ſaid the fellow. ‘I have (returned Raſpe) What then?’ ‘Theſe are men (re⯑plied he) of no conſcience. You muſt order him to ſhew me the man, and aſſiſt me.’

[124]Raſpe told him he would, and bid him be with him again an hour hence; but before he left him, ſaid, he hoped he ſhould not be deceived; that what he undertook would be effectually done; and that no qualms of conſcience or human feelings would prevent it. ‘None, (ſaid the fellow, warmly). If we had either one or the other, we could not live by our profeſſion. I'll give you an inſtance (continued he); a gentleman hired me the other day to cut a man's throat—I did it—and had 50 piſtoles. His father offered me the next day one hundred, to cut my employer's throat, and generouſly paid me before hand. I did it."—Did it! (ſays Raſpe) as how?"— [125]When I returned to my firſt employer (replied he) to receive my money, he was ſo pleaſed with my expedition, that he gave me twenty more. I thanked him—he was going to leave me,—but I ſtopped him—told him, I had received a hundred for cutting his throat—he ſtarted—ſaid he would give me the like ſum for honeſtly acquainting him with it, and was going to give me the money; but I told him, as I ever acted upon ho⯑nour, and had received my reward, I muſt perform the deed; ſo without further ceremony, I whipped out my knife, ſeized him by the throat, as I may do you, (ſeizing Raſpe by the collar) and was through his heart in [126]a twinkling.’ Then quitting his hold added, ‘We give very little pain, Sir, we do our buſineſs ſecundum artem.’ Raſpe was out of breath at this graſp of the fellow, and ſcarce knew whether he was alive or dead; but recovering himſelf a little ſaid, ‘Well—return to me in an hour.’

CHAP. XL.

RAMBLE was invited by Prince Caraccioli to a muſical piece he had got up for the entertainment of his friends at his own private theatre; and it was found out that Ramble and his lady meant to be preſent. This was the [127]evening in which it was ſettled that the horrid deed was to be done. Raſpe had brought over Brutus to his purpoſe, and the plan was accordingly laid. Brutus and Bravo met for this purpoſe, ſome days prior to the time fixed. Bravo aſked him, if he had received his maſ⯑ter's orders to aſſiſt him? Brutus ſaid, he was to ſhew him the colonel, as he went to the opera. "Aye," (replied the Bravo, taking the black by the hand and looking ſternly in his face) ‘and murder him!’ ‘Me no murder colonel, (ſaid Brutus), colonel is good man.’ ‘And is not your maſter a bad one (aſked the fellow) to think of ſuch a thing?’ ‘Maſſa bad man indeed!’ replied Brutus. ‘You [128]cannot love your maſter?’ ſaid the aſſaſſin. ‘Me no loſe Maſſa, (returned the other) Maſſa beat poor negro— uſe poor negro ill.’ ‘Is there any harm in killing a man (aſks the Bravo) who wiſhes to kill another?’ Brutus replied, ‘Colonel no killee Maſſa— Maſſa killee colonel.’ ‘Now ſup⯑poſe (continued the Bravo) inſtead of killing the colonel, for which your maſter would give me fifty pieces, ſuppoſe we were to kill your maſter? He deſerves death for meditating the death of another.’ It was not the principle of retaliation that induced this fellow to this determination, but the ſight of a great box of money in Raſpe's poſſeſſion, when he was with him. [129] ‘Though Maſſa be bad man and beat poor negro, (ſaid Brutus, trembling) Me no kille Maſſa—poor negro no bad man.’ ‘Did you ſee (ſaid the fellow) what a quantity of money he has?’ Brutus hugged himſelf at this thought, and anſwered "Yeas." ‘Let me into his room at night (ſaid the Bravo) I'll kill him—you ſhan't be concerned in it, and yet you ſhall have half that great bag of money. What I do with money?’ aſked Brutus. ‘Carry you to your own country,’ ſaid the Bravo. This won over the black at once. The idea of going back to his own country overſet him. He agreed to the meaſure, and it was ſettled, that on that very evening [130]at twelve o'clock at night, when he was to way-lay the colonel on his return from the theatre, that Brutus ſhould admit him to his maſter's chamber, when he was aſleep; for Raſpe always went to bed early, ſcarce was up later than ten o'clock. ‘All the difference (ſaid the Bravo) well be, that he will fall by the dagger that he would plunge into the breaſt of his ſon-in-law.’ Brutus pro⯑miſed to admit him, but ſaid ‘Mind, I no hand in it.’ ‘Not the leaſt (returned the Bravo). It will only be the old one outwitted.’ Brutus was pleaſed with this, and replied ‘Then Maſſa be outwitted indeed!—No beat poor negro again.’

[131]This dreadful piece of buſineſs would certainly have taken place, but Provi⯑dence interpoſed to prevent it. Pre⯑deſtination is a doctrine exploded by ſenſible men; but too many inſtances occur in theſe volumes, not to ſhew that what muſt be, will be. The timely diſcovery of the plan laid for lady Daſhit; the colonel's meeting with Raſpe at the attorney's; his meeting him again alſo at Paris; the eſcape of Miſs Raſpe from the convent of the Urſu⯑lines; the overthrow of the ſcheme laid for the colonel's life, and that alſo medi⯑tating the death of Raſpe: One would be led to think that theſe events were ſtudied, and not the effects of chance. Chance, did I ſay? What is chance but [132]an interpoſition of Providence, tending to a purpoſe ſhort-ſighted man is unac⯑quainted with? What is luck in a lot⯑tery or at gaming? He muſt be an obſtinate reaſoner, that will not allow it muſt be more than mere accident, that ſhall beggar one man and enrich another. If this be attributed to luck, and luck be no other than good fortune, brought about by chance, the ſame may be ſaid of all the fortuitous events of life. Philoſophers, however, will allow the interpoſition of Providence in great events, denying it only in ſmall ones; but theſe muſt be the philoſophers of a Pagan age; they cannot be Chriſtians, when the Deity has declared, that not a ſparrow falls to the ground without [133]his knowledge, and that all the hairs of our head are numbered.

Flint met Brutus a day or two after his conference with Bravo. The people had flocked into the ſtreet after dark, to ſee the effect of an irruption of Veſu⯑vius, then pouring forth its liquid tor⯑rents of fire. Brutus and Flint were among the reſt, and the negro's mind, diſturbed with the project he had en⯑gaged in, was almoſt panic ſtruck at the blazing of the mountain, which put him in mind of the puniſhment awaiting upon wickedneſs. ‘Hah! honey (ſaid Flint to Brutus, in meeting with him) look at that fire, and tremble.’ Brutus in fact did tremble, and that not [134]a little, and told Flint that he was ſorry he had left Paris "Why?" ſaid Flint. ‘Noting, (replied Brutus, ſighing,) Oh poor Maſſa!’ and on ſaying this, he looked about him as one deranged in mind. "Is your maiſter dead?" ſaid Flint. ‘Not dead yet, (cried Brutus) going to be dead, (and here he ſhed tears) Maſſa would killee me. Me no killee Maſſa.’ ‘Kill your Maiſter, (returned Flint) certainly not.—I hope you have no ſuch thoughts—if you have, a ſure as you do it, the devils will chuck you into that fire.’ Brutus ſtill trembling, cried, ‘Me no killee Maſſa,—Bravo come and killee him.’ Flint appre⯑hending ſomething in theſe words of [135]the poor black, and finding him in ſuch a ſituation as to be led almoſt to any thing; told him he would take him to the colonel, and the colonel ſhould be his friend. ‘No go to the colonel, (cried he) colonel hang me.’ ‘Phu, nonſenſe!’ ſaid Flint, and took him with him.

Flint having brought him to his maſ⯑ter, Brutus opened to him the horrid ſcheme, and Ramble thought he could not do a better thing than get the black to admit him privately into his maſter's room, and ſeize the villain at the mo⯑ment he was going to perpetrate the deed; thinking by this he ſhould not only apprehend the murderer, and bring [136]him to juſtice, but that the fear of de⯑tection, and the gratitude he muſt feel for this act of the colonel in ſaving his life, would be the beſt means that could be deviſed to bring Raſpe round; for all the conceſſions he could make, or any arguments he could uſe would not effect it. He, therefore, determined not to go to the opera that evening, but propoſed to Brutus, that if he would admit him into his maſter's chamber a little before twelve, he would there wait till the Bravo came, and they lay hold of him, and aſſured the black that if he did the buſineſs properly, he would not only reward him, but purchaſe his freedom.

CHAP. XLI.

RAMBLE was now as happy as his heart could wiſh. He had reached the ſummit of his ambition, that of ob⯑taining the woman he loved, and had little doubt, but a reconciliation with her father would take place, and every other difference be made up. ‘We are now married (ſaid he to his wife) and he cannot take you from me, and my buſineſs now ſhall be to find ſome method of bringing about a recon⯑ciliation.’ The ſtory he had heard from Brutus, did not alarm him; he had contrived to turn it to his advantage. They had received a very polite invita⯑tion [138]from Prince Caraccioli to continue ſome weeks with him, and this was the more extraordinary as the faſhionable world at Naples, though they keep ſplen⯑did equipages, and a large hall of ſer⯑vants, are by no means hoſpitable. They viſit, keep up a great deal of eti⯑quette, but a man may as well break his neck as his faſt, in one of their houſes. Their ſervants are generally married men, are paid by the week, and live at home with their own families, attending their maſter only at certain hours of the day; and at night when the family go to reſt, out of an eſtabliſhment of twen⯑ty ſervants there ſhall not be one man that ſleeps in the houſe, and the maſter after a certain hour ſhall have to wait [139]upon himſelf. An ingenious friend of mine, relates the following ſtory of a lady at Paris, where the cuſtom of viſit⯑ing is much the ſame as at Naples; and will give the reader an inſight into the nature of faſhionable intercourſe. We are apeing the manners of the French, and are very near them in all their points of etiquette, and a very little time will give us the following ſcene in London.

A young widow of quality and great fortune, whoſe houſe was the rendez⯑vous of all the beaux eſprits of Paris, was at her toilet one day in high con⯑ſultation with a general officer and two priggiſh abbés, concerning a head-dreſs [140]ſhe had invented, and meant to eſtabliſh as a faſhion. She was one of thoſe ladies who felt her own conſequence, talked loud, ſaid a great deal, and ſpoke upon all occaſions very deciſively. Theſe gentlemen having paſſed many encomiums on her ſmartneſs, taſte, and elegance, ſhe was in the higheſt ſpirits, and ſwung round from her glaſs, exult⯑ing with "Allons mes enfans, à la gloire." At this moment her ſervant entered, and informed her that Madame la Com⯑teſſe had accepted her invitation to din⯑ner, and would do herſelf the honour of waiting on her. This unexpected intelligence almoſt petrified her. Her ſpirits ſunk, and ſhe was ſcarce able to ſpeak. Had notice been brought her [141]of the death of her father, or an only child, ſhe could not have been more damped, and with the accents of deſpair and ſtaring eyes, drawled out ‘Eſt—il po-ſi-ble, qu'on puiſſe è-tre ſi bête!’ She examined the ſervant particularly, ‘Are you ſure ſhe ſaid that ſhe'd come?’ ‘Very ſure, madam,’ replied the fel⯑low. Freſh exclamations followed. "Did you invite her for this day?" ſaid the general. ‘Undoubtedly I did, (re⯑turned the lady) that mark of polite⯑neſs could be no longer delayed; and what then? She is connected with ſome of my relations in the weſt, has been in town a week, and I could do no leſs; but I could not ſuppoſe ſhe was vulgar enough to accept the in⯑vitation. [142]She has, I find; and the horrid woman, with a rudeneſs and ignorance of life without example, ſends me word ſhe'll come.’

‘That ſhe ſhould have miſunderſtood your ladyſhip's kindneſs ſo prodigi⯑ouſly (ſaid one of the abbe's) is ſhock⯑ing.’ ‘Shocking, (returned the lady) it is a barbarous return of civility, and will teach me to be more upon my guard in future. As ſoon as I heard ſhe was in town, I left my name at her door, ſhe returned my viſit the next day, and having charged my Swiſs never to let her in, I have not ſeen her. Cela eſt tout ſimple you know & ſelon les regles, for the wo⯑man [143]is old enough to be my mother, and, of courſe, we muſt be intoler⯑able to each other. Had ſhe had any ideas of good breeding, ſhe muſt have ſeen that my invitation was merely a matter of polite ceremony, and, of courſe, ſhould as politely have refuſed it, as when we preſs a friend to take a diſh of chocolate, we never expect it to be accepted. Had we thus underſtood each other, we might have viſited for years, dined and ſupped together, and been on the moſt agreeable footing imaginable; but this inſtance of groſsîèreté, muſt put an end to all future connexion. —Well—there is no remedy. I muſt ſubmit to the horrid buſineſs.’

[144]Now the reader muſt be told that the counteſs accepted the invitation to dinner, not out of reſpect, or any de⯑ſire to dine with that lady, but par pure malice, and purpoſely to plague her whom ſhe hated. However, ſhe made ſhift to ſhew ſeeming good ſpirits and good humour, by a continued grin the whole time ſhe was with her, and all the next day complained that her face ached with the diſtortion. The dinner was as great a purgatory to the counteſs, as it could poſſibly prove to the other; and they ſpent together the diable of a téte-à-téte.

CHAP. XLII.

THE whole country of Naples is a ſcene of hypocriſy, accompanied with ſuperſtition. It infects all orders of men, not only the upper claſs, but the lower; the gentry, the army, and the church. The military of Naples are as full of ſuperſtition as the monks are of hypocriſy.—The following laughable ſtory happened whilſt Ramble was at Naples, and Flint was a party in it. A capuchin friar, a man of infamous character, who had formerly been one of the banditti in Silicy, and who, tired of a life of danger, fled from that iſland, took the cowl, and became a [146]monk of St. Francis, of one of the con⯑vents in Naples; and to make ſome at⯑tonement for his paſt life, with the hopes of getting again into credit, he put on the maſk of hypocriſy, ſubmitted to ſe⯑verer penance than the reſt of his fra⯑ternity, wore a larger cordon, and put on the ſanctified countenance of a ſaint. But he was an old ſinner, and his fleſh had not left off warring againſt the ſpirit. He therefore was on the look out for a wench in a ſnug corner, where he might carry on his amours unno⯑ticed by the brotherhood. There are not wanting females of that deſcription in every capital, much leſs in the capi⯑tal of Naples; he ſoon fixed his eye on a lady, who lodged on a ground floor in [147]an obſcure part of the city, paid his ad⯑dreſſes to her, and was admitted as an occaſional lover. The monks of St. Francis carry no money; but as the females of eaſy virtue in Naples, are not without their ſuperſtition; by ad⯑mitting this monk, ſhe hoped to do away her offences, and by parcelling out her favours to this man among others, ſhe was in hopes, by partaking of his ſanctity, ſhe ſhould leſſen her ſins. This lady told him, that ſhe was in keeping by a corporal of the life-guards, which was a Spaniſh regiment, that he was a very jealous paſſionate man; but that if he was not afraid of the reſentment of one of ſix feet two inches high, with a ſpada of uncommon length, and who, [148]when angered, was as furious as a tyger, ſhe ſhould be glad to receive him now and then in her keeper's abſence; that he frequently attended the king, after the opera, to Portici, and when he was out on duty, ſhe would let him know.

The monk, with all the impatience of a paſſionate lover, waited her ſummons. At laſt it came, and he hied to her lodgings. Matters were ſoon adjuſted, and the parties were in bed. It ſo hap⯑pened that the life-guard-man deſerted from duty that night, and unexpectedly returned home; finding the door locked, he knocked hard, he thundered. ‘Lord! (ſaid ſhe to the monk), Vengioza is returned; he knocks at the door; [149]ſhould he find us together, he will certainly be the death of us both.’ The capuchin, more alarmed for an apprehended loſs of ſanctity, than fear of death or drubbing, jumped out of bed, gathered up his cloaths, and crept under it. It was ſo near the ground, that it was with difficulty he could ſqueeze beneath it. He was no ſooner concealed, than madam roſe and let her cara ſpoſa in; he made a great noiſe at being kept at the door ſo long, and bid her ſtrike a light. Now the monk's heart fainted within him. At every ſtroke of the flint, his ſpirits ſunk; but the artful minx, in ſearching for the tinder-box, which was under the bed, threw ſome of the water from the cham⯑ber-pot [150]into it. The tinder would not kindle. She ſaid it was wet. The monk's ſpirits revived, and ſhe deſired her lover to go and light the candle at the lamp in the next ſtreet. There are no public lamps in the ſtreets of Naples, but this was a lamp burning under an image of the virgin. No—he would rather go to bed in the dark. Down went the capuchin's ſpirits again. He kept a brandy bottle alſo under the bed, and trying to reach it, very nearly caught hold of the monk's head. The lady, however, relieved the capuchin from this fright, by reaching it herſelf. She and Vengioza were now within the ſheets, and the weight of the two ſo preſſed down the ſacking, as almoſt to [151]ſtifle the prieſt below, who began to conſider how he ſhould eſcape. Firſt he thought of ſqueezing from his confine⯑ment, ſeizing the ſpada, which his rival had laid with his cloaths on the chair, and demanding capitulation for himſelf and the lady. No; that might lead to a diſcovery. Whilſt he was conſider⯑ing how to act, his rival ſnored; all his fears, of courſe, vaniſhed. With ſome difficulty he edged himſelf by little and little from under the bed, dreſſed him⯑ſelf in the ſoldier's cloaths, leſt he ſhould be diſcovered in the ſtreets ſo late in the night, and left his own garments on the chair in the room of thoſe he took. He ſallied thus boldly out, and madam was not unhappy he was gone.

[152]When without the houſe, he began to conſider how he ſhould repay his rival for the fright he had put him into; at laſt the thought ſtruck him, that he would go to the guard-room and tell the officer on guard, that if he was diſpoſed to have ſome mirth at the expence of a capuchin, he could now give him an op⯑portunity. The capuchins being gene⯑rally very ſevere on the conduct of the military men at Naples, the officer was happy in the idea of a retaliation. The monk was not diſcovered in his new dreſs, as the ſoldier whoſe cloaths he had on, wore a wig, and that wig cover⯑ed the monk's bare head. It happened that Flint, who had been ſhut out of his lodgings, had taken himſelf to the guard⯑room [153]with the officers permiſſion, to wait the return of day, and as Flint was a ſoldier, he was readily admitted. The monk aſſured the officer, that he had traced a capuchin friar into the houſe of a woman of ill fame, that he liſtened at the window, and knew they were in bed together; and that if he would go with him, he would conduct him to the place. Flint ſeemed to enjoy the idea; they took a lantern, and the officer, Flint, the monk, and two or three of the guard, haſted to the place of ren⯑dezvous. Flint obſerved, how happy he ſhould be, if they could pop in upon them whilſt the monk was upon his kness, ſaying his prayers. Having reached the houſe, they thundered at the door, [154]and demanded admittance in the king's name. The ſoldier within, apprehen⯑ſive it might be the guard come to ſeize him for running from his duty, ſoon occupied the place the capuchin had left, but not before he had ſcrambled up his cloaths, as he thought, which he took under the bed with him. Thus ſecure, the lady opened the door, and was told by the officer, that he demand⯑ed the body of a capuchin friar, that was in her room. Knowing the monk had eſcaped ſome time before, ſhe aſ⯑ſured him, no capuchin was there. "Look under the bed," ſaid the monk, ſuppoſing him to be there concealed. He accordingly took the lantern, and diſcovering him. ‘You may always [155]find a fox, (ſaid he) by his ſmell. Fah—how he ſtinks, one may ſcent him a mile off.’ ‘By my ſhoul and you may ſay that too, (ſays Flint). He ſmells ſtronger than a pole-cat. Give me the lantern—I'll ſoon ferret him from his ambuſcade.’ The monk now began to pull out the cowl, and the tunic ‘Ecce ſignum, (ſaid he) firſt the rags, then the friar.’ ‘You'll have ſome trouble (ſaid Flint) to diſlodge him; let us lay a train and blow the enemy up, battery and all.’ The monk having pulled out the cloaths and the cordon, next drew out the ſinner. The lady in all this buſtle was raving round the room, ‘Ah mio Dio, Siamo [156]perduti, Siamo perduti ^*.’ ‘Charmed as you have been, (cried Flint) you muſt find ſome other prieſt to per⯑formduty now.’

The ſoldier, who conceived this to have been a judgment on him, for viſit⯑ing his girl on a day of abſtinence, and not bowing to the crucifix in his way to Portici, ſtood trembling and mute before them. At laſt he broke ſilence, with aſſuring them he was no capuchin. The officer obſerved, that he merited caſtigation for denying his order, and Flint took up the cordon, which as I have noticed, was a heavy one, and [157]ſwearing by St. Patrick, ſaid he would give him a dozen for belying his colours. Vengioza, in ſtupid amazement, took it all patiently, was dreſſed by them in the capuchin's garments, his hands tied behind him, and thus conducted to the guard-room, proteſting all the way that he was no capuchin, and receiving ſtripes as he went, as the officer ſaid by the order of St. Francis, Flint called it running the gauntlet.

The monk dreading a diſcovery at the guard-room, excuſed himſelf to the officer, ſaid he was ſorry that he could not accompany them, as he had to mount guard early, and recommended it to him to take good care of the prieſt.— [158]Having left the company, he ſtole into his own convent, and having a ſecond ſuit of monaſtic cloaths, put them on, and carried the ſuit of regimentals he wore and laid them down at the gate of a capuchin convent far diſtant from his own, with a view that when the matter came out, it might not be traced to him.

The life-guard-man, when brought to the guard-room, was known by ſome of his comrades, underwent their ridicule, and for abſenting himſelf from duty without leave, was ſentenced by a court-martial to be flogged. This ſo exaſpe⯑rated the whole Spaniſh regiment to which he belonged, that they determined [159]to be revenged of the capuchin; and it being ſhortly after diſcovered who the author of this deep-concerted plan was, a riot enſued, ſeveral of the fra⯑ternity were ſtiletto'd, and had not the inquiſition taken it up, brought the monk to trial, and ordered him flagel⯑lation in the public ſtreets, an inſurrec⯑tion might have been the conſequence. As it was, matters were brought to a concluſion by the public puniſhment of the friar; he was dreſſed by way of ridi⯑cule in a Spaniſh habit, ſtripped naked to the waiſt, mounted upon an aſs, car⯑ried round the city in proceſſion, amid the jeers of the populace and the whole Spaniſh regiment, and whipped as he went, for denying his order.

CHAP. XLIII.

THE Prince, as I have obſerved, propoſing to entertain his friends with a muſical piece, at his private theatre, ordered Squallini his chapel-maſter to put one up, that is, prepare ſome piece for the purpoſe. It was at a time when there were no female per⯑formers at Naples; but that his highneſs might not be diſappointed, he applied to three gentlemen, whoſe wives ſung very well, and requeſted of them to let their ladies perform the women's parts, which would be but ſhort; and as no one would be admitted but the prince's particular friends, and his highneſs [161]would conſider it as a favour done to him, he hoped they would have no ob⯑jection. They did not chuſe to give him an immediate anſwer, but propoſed giving him the meeting, and talking the matter further over; ſaying, that if they liked the piece, they ſhould have no objection, and having aſked their wives, they conſented upon the ſame terms. The names of theſe gentlemen were, Bavelli, Torriano, and Napioni. On being met for the purpoſe, Bavelli aſked Squallini the ſubject-matter of his piece. ‘What ſignifies the ſubject? (ſaid he) your eyes and ears will ſoon tell you, when the piece is performed.’ Na⯑pioni inſiſted on knowing, for he had given his conſent conditionally, and it [162]was neceſſary they ſhould know what characters the women were to perform, maids, wives, or widows. Squallini told them they were all to be married ladies, and to appear with their huſ⯑bands. ‘Then I am ſure (ſays Napi⯑oni, who was a very jealous man) I ſhall not like it for one. Many im⯑proper liberties are taken with un⯑married women on the ſtage; and if ſo, I don't know what may happen to married ones.’ ‘None (ſaid Tor⯑riano, laughing) but what they are very well acquainted with.’ ‘Be aſſured (replied Squallini) the ſtricteſt decorum will be obſerved. It is a heavenly ſubject, and the ſcene lies among the Gods and Goddeſſes. It [163]is that of the Celeſtial Deities de⯑ſcending upon earth to congratulate mankind on the return of Freedom. Thoſe nations that have emerged from deſpotiſm, as England, France, Holland, and the like, are exhibited as triumphant; thoſe who continue ſtill enthralled as Spain, Turkey, Italy, and ſo on, are ſhewn in ſubjec⯑tion.’ ‘A very high-flown ſubject indeed, (ſays Bavelli) and are your ſongs equal to the ſubject?’ ‘Quite ſo, (anſwered Squallini) I would give the public a ſpecimen of a duet be⯑tween an angel of light and an angel of darkneſs;—But I ſhall be obliged to leave it out, Pluto having ſent the latter on an embaſſy to Spain to [164]inſtigate them to make war with Germany, that he may be revenged of them for aboliſhing the inquiſi⯑tion.’ This occaſioned a broad laugh. But Napioni aſked what parts their three wives were to act? ‘Juno, Proſerpine, and Venus, (anſwered Squallini) as the wives of Jupiter, Pluto, and Vulcan.’ Theſe fellows, obſerved Napioni, are all very liquoriſh dogs, and he ſhould not like to truſt his wife with either of them. ‘What! not in heaven?’ ſays Bavelli. ‘No not in heaven (anſwered Napioni)— I have heard of Jupiter's raviſhing Io in a cloud.’ ‘Don't be alarmed, gentlemen, (ſaid Squallini) there's no harm to be feared. Their ſuppoſed [165]huſbands are all opera-ſingers. Be⯑ſides it will be all in public.’ ‘What of that? (retorts Napioni). The more public they ſay, the more private. Many an intrigue has been carried on in public. Jupiter violated Da⯑nae's honour in form of a ſhower of gold; Leda in the ſhape of a ſwan; and Europa in that of a bull. I may in future have a parcel of ſatyrs in⯑ſtead of children.—Horns, my good friend, have frightened many a man.’ ‘Well, Squallini, (ſaid Torriano) you are welcome to the uſe of my wife. You ſhall have the command of her for one night, and according to the Engliſh proverb, as ſhe can ſing, if ſhe won't ſing, I give you full power to make [166]her ſing.’ ‘I have given my conſent (ſays Bavelli) and ſhall not retract, nor do I ſuppoſe my friend Napioni will.’ ‘Pardon me (replies Napi⯑oni) you can only anſwer for your⯑ſelf.’ ‘Sure (ſaid Squallini) Napi⯑oni, you are not jealous?’ ‘Cer⯑tainly not (returns Napioni)—but as you will naturally introduce an en⯑tertainment for your deities, and the nectar ambroſial will be going about, I don't know what may be the con⯑ſequence. Should my wife get a ſip of this nectar between her lips, her mouth may water for it for ever after. For maſter Pluto, I can't ſay much againſt him; but as to Jupiter and Vulcan, there are not wickeder [167]raſcals in all the ſkies.’ ‘Well, (ſaid Bavelli) the majority is againſt you. Two to one always carry it; ſo you muſt ſubmit.’ ‘Muſt! (re⯑turns Napioni),—If I muſt, I muſt; but take notice, Squallini, teach your gods to be well behaved; I ſhall be preſent, and if I ſee them proceed to the leaſt earthly liberty, I'll put an end to the entertainment at once. I'll take her away in the midſt of it.’—‘You would not ſurely (ſays Torriano) interrupt the performance?’ ‘You would be the laugh and ridicule of the whole audience.’ ‘No matter for that (returns Napioni). Every man ſhould be the guardian, not only of his wife's honour, but his own.’ [168]After this altercation, it was ſettled that the ladies were to perform the parts aſſigned them, and the piece was to be performed. Colonel Ramble and his wife, were not preſent at the repreſen⯑tation. The colonel had buſineſs of greater moment on his hands, as the following chapter will ſhew.

CHAP. XLIV.

THE important day being now ar⯑rived, when the minds of all parties were buſy in their reſpective cares; when Raſpe was anxious for the death of Ramble, Bravo for the death of Raſpe, and Ramble and Brutus for the [169]life of Raſpe. The evening being come, Ramble went to Mr. Raſpe's lodgings, between eleven and twelve at night, armed with a pair of loaded piſtols, and was admitted by Brutus into the apartments. His maſter, whoſe diſturbed imagination made him very unhappy, went to his bed an hour ſooner than uſual, leaving ſtrict orders with Brutus to ſit up, and come and wake him as ſoon as he learned that the deed was done. Raſpe had two rooms, his bedchamber was the inner one, and juſt at the door entering into the inner chamber was a window with a receſs, before which a curtain was let down, ſo that a perſon could ſtand concealed very well behind this curtain; nor could [170]any one approach the inner chamber door, but that perſon could lay hold of him. The colonel was let in here a few minutes before twelve, and took his ſtand behind the window-curtain I have deſcribed.—Raſpe was then aſleep.— After continuing there concealed ſome minutes, he looked at his watch, and found it wanted but five minutes of the time.

Brutus, who ſlept always on the floor by his maſter's bed, did not ſo now— he was more upon the look-out. Raſpe who had laid down in a morning gown, wanted no waking; his thoughts were ſufficient monitors; he toſſed and flung about, and was heard to ſay, Dreadful [171]ſlumbers!—no quiet ſleep, when the mind's in agitation!—hope the buſineſs will be done effectually! The clock ſtrikes twelve. Raſpe riſes from his bed, comes into the outer room, and ſhud⯑ders.— Hark! ſaid he, This is the hour of buſineſs. My heart fails me, I'll to my bed again. He no ſooner re-entered his room, but the aſſaſſin, led in by Brutus, and armed with a dagger, came into the other room. "Tread ſoftly," fays Brutus. "Which is his bed-room?" aſks the fellow. "Dare," anſwered Brutus, pointing to it. "Is he aſleep?" ſaid the aſſaſſin, [all this was in an under voice]. ‘Yes, (replied Brutus) ſnoring as a hog.’ ‘Know you where the money is?’ ſays the fellow. "Yes," [172]anſwered Brutus. ‘Well then, (re⯑turned the aſſaſſin) we'll ſecure him firſt—then the bag.’ The fellow now took out the dagger from his boſom, and paſſing the curtain to go into the cham⯑ber, Ramble ſtarted on him, ſeized him by the wriſt that held the dagger, and preſenting a piſtol to his breaſt, ſaid "Villain! I have thee." They ſtruggled, the colonel threw him down, wreſted the dagger from him, and ſtood over him with the dagger at his breaſt. Raſpe hearing the noiſe, jumped from his bed, came to the door, and ſeeing Ramble and the fellow under him, was ſtruck motionleſs. Brutus on the other hand was as much ſurprized; but his ſurprize was joy. After a pauſe, Raſpe [173]advancing to Brutus, cried ‘Satan! haſt thou betrayed me?’ Ramble an⯑ſwered for him ‘No, Sir—he has not betray'd you, but ſaved your life;’ and bidding Brutus call in the guard from without, with Ramble had brought with him, added, ‘Conſider this, Sir, as the moſt fortunate hour of your life, prevented in the execution of a horrid crime, and ſaved from the deſtruction that awaited you in this world, and the miſeries of a future one.’ Brutus now brought in two armed men; whom he ordered to bind the arms of the aſſaſſin, and take him to the inquiſitor-general, ſaying he would ſoon follow them. The man being bound and taken off, Brutus friſked, [174]rejoicing and crying. ‘Brutus be ſo glad!—no killee Maſſa now!’—and went after them. "Peace, varlet!" roar'd out Raſpe; but Ramble checked him, with ‘Be not angry with your ſlave, to him you owe your life; had he not a heart that ſhudders at the thought of vice, I ſhould have been your victim, and you would have lived a martyr to remorſe. If you ſtill thirſt for my blood, take this dagger, and drink your fill—having ſaved the life of the father of her who is next my heart, I can reſign my own—but know that in the mo⯑ment you deprive me of exiſtence, you kill him who has ſaved you, make your daughter a widow, bring her [175]with ſorrow to the grave, and leave her unborn babe an orphan.’ It is not in the power of words to deſcribe the ſituation of Raſpe's mind. The terror of the act he was about to perpetrate, the uncommon generoſity, of the colo⯑nel, the love he bore his daughter, with the dread of impending juſtice, cauſed ſuch a conflict of ſoul within him, as would have unman'd the hardieſt vil⯑lain. He ſelt the force of Ramble's words, became ſenſible of his own raſh⯑neſs, and ſmitten with the ſincereſt com⯑punction, held out the dagger he had taken from Ramble, blubbered like a child, and with broken accents cried, ‘Whatever animoſity I might have had—it drops with this weapon; [and [176]here he dropped it]. You have taught me, colonel, that anger de⯑prives a man of reaſon, and leads him often to ſuch acts, as in a moment of reflection he would tremble at—Lead me to my child—I'll beg her forgive⯑neſs, and implore her kind intereſt with you, to forget the wrong I meant to do you, and blot the remembrance of it from us all.’

Raſpe was now reconciled to his daughter. They returned to England in harmony together. He gave her a fortune of 20,000l. and, at his death, left her near a hundred thouſand more, to her and her heirs; but in caſe her huſ⯑band ſurvived her, he was to have the in⯑tereſt [177]only for his life, and the principal at his death to be divided among his next of kin. They lived many years happily, but had no iſſue. The colonel ſurvived her, but never married again.

The reader may wiſh to know what be⯑came of Miſs Trevor and Lady Daſhit. The former married well, and the latter fearful of a ſecond ſnare being laid for her, gave the idea of marriage up, and died a widow.