INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE I.
The Fellow-Prentices at their Looms.
THE
Comick Magazine;
OR, COMPLEAT LIBRARY
OF
MIRTH,
HUMOUR,
WIT,
GAIETY,
and
ENTERTAINMENT.
By The Greatest Wits
OF
ALL AGES & NATIONS.
Enriched with
HOGARTH'S
celebrated Humorous, Comick, &.
PRINTS.
These Delights if thou canst give.
MIRTH, with thee I mean to live,
MILTON.
VOL. I.
LONDON: Printed for
HARRISON and Co .
No . 18. Paternoster Row
—
M DCC XCVI.
Apology for a Preface.
"'Tis a Rule among WITS, that a BLOCKHEAD has spoke,
When the Company's promis'd—"a monstrous
good
JOKE;"
And a Bett of full Twenty to One they may hold,
That what follows is
bad,
or will be
badly
told."
SIR JOHN RAMSEA.
A
Preface
to a BOOK, is much the same thing as a
preamble
to a STORY. To say that either will be
good,
is to risque the tremendous
odds
in our MOTTO, of being
arraigned
as BLOCKHEADS, before the
tribunal
of REASON; and, to own that it will be
bad,
and thus fall short of the
sagacity
constantly found even in the
lowest graduates
at the
university
of BILLINGSGATE, who are never known to cry—
"Stinking Fish,"
would be absolutely pleading
Guilty.
To that
middle
line of conduct, frequently adopted by those who are only
cunning,
but wish to be accounted
wise,
we have also our objections. We neither like what is called
lukewarmness
in FRIENDS, nor
mediocrity
in productions of SCIENCE or the ARTS.
THUS circumstanced, we shall merely announce, that we have endeavoured to prepare a rich
mental
FEAST, with an eye to that
variety
which can alone hope to please a
diversity
of PALATES, and gratify the inordinate love of
change
which perpetually persecutes poor human nature!
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—
THE
Table
is
spread.
To shew that you are not GRACELESS,
martyr
no
moral
FORM by mumbling it with an impious indifference, but wear a
chearful
COUNTENANCE, the INDEX of a
contented
HEART, and fall to without
ceremony.
Do not, however, too much rely on
appearances.
MEN and
made-dishes,
WOMEN and
sweetmeats,
are not always what they
seem:
and, if we may credit our immortal SHAKSPEARE—
—"The TOAD,
ugly
and
venomous,
Wears, yet, a
precious
JEWEL in it's head."
Examine,
therefore, every thing, with
all
your SENSES, before you consign any thing to
neglect;
and by no means
dare
to evince such a
depraved
APPETITE, and discover such an utter dereliction of TASTE, as to assert that you have no
relish
for the choicest
intellectual
VIANDS which the
bounty
of HEAVEN has ever gifted it's
prime
FAVOURITES with powers to prepare.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER I.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HOGARTH.
BY MR. HARRISON.
THAT truly original genius, the celebrated WILLIAM HOGARTH, was born in London, in 1697. After receiving a tolerable education, he was apprenticed to an engraver of arms and cyphers on plate, usually called a silver engraver; but the powerful impulse of genius directed his studies to painting.
Much of his early life was past in obscurity. He chiefly employed his talents, in designing and engraving for the booksellers; who were then much worse patrons of the arts than they have since proved. He also painted family pictures and portraits; in all which performances he evinced more ability, than he acquired reward.
But his originality, in the mean time, was maturing to perfection. He pursued Nature through her infinity; and contemplated her not through the opticks of imitation, but with his own sedulous and critical eye. Whenever he beheld a remarkable countenance, or witnessed any striking occurrence, he was accustomed, by the immediate use of his pencil, to preserve it's remembrance.
In 1730, he married the only daughter of Sir James Thornhill. This union was, indeed, a stolen one. But the growing reputation of Hogarth at length effected a reconciliation with his father-in-law; and his Harlot's Progress, published in 1731, announced to the publick the rich acquisition of a Comick Painter.
His merit now became conspicuous; and his pencil acquired, at every exertion, additional reputation. His Marriage A-la-mode, produced in 1745, gave rise to the celebrated comedy of the Clandestine Marriage.
In 1753, he wrote his Analysis of Beauty. In this work, he proves, by a variety of examples, that "a curve is the line of beauty, and that round swelling figures are most pleasing to the eye." An opinion which has been confirmed by subsequent writers.
The close of his life was embittered by a satirical contention with Churchill, and Mr. Wilkes. Hogarth caricatured Churchill, and Churchill sampooned Hogarth. "Never," says Lord Orford, "did two angry men, of their abilities, throw mud with less dexterity."
He was now visibly declining in health; and died, October 25, 1764.
This great artist has the glory of forming a school; and the master remains unrivalled by his scholars. He paints to the understanding, and the heart; and his pictures may serve as annals of the manners of the age. He is, in Painting, what Fielding is in Romance, or Moliere in Comedy.
Hogarth was buried at Chiswick; and the following Epitaph, written by his friend Garrick, is engraved on a neat pyramidical monument—
"Farewel, great Painter of Mankind,
Who reach'd the noblest point of Art;
Whose Pictur'd Morals charm the Mind,
And through the Eye correct the Heart.
If Genius fire thee, Reader, stay;
If Nature touch thee, drop a tear:
If neither move thee, turn away,
For Hogarth's honour'd dust lies here."
When the Memorial on which these elegant lines are inscribed shall have long been crumbled into dust, the Works of Hogarth will be admired, if the love of merit then exists in the world.
With the Description of some Print from these inestimable Works, as well as a faithful Copy of the Print itself, we shall commence our respective Numbers.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE I. THE FELLOW-'PRENTICES AT THEIR LOOMS.
THE design of this Series of Prints is of the first importance to youth in a commercial nation. They are called INDUSTRY and IDLENESS: "exemplified," to use Hogarth's own words, "in the conduct of Two Fellow-'Prentices; where the one, by taking good courses, and pursuing points for which he was put apprentice, becomes a valuable man, and an ornament to his country—the other, by giving way to idleness, naturally falls into poverty, and ends fatally, as is expressed in the last print." He adds that, "lest any print should be mistaken, the description of each is engraved."
The quotations from Scripture applied to the different scenes, are said to have been selected by Hogarth's friend, the Rev. Mr. Arnold King. The passages for this First Plate are—
1.
"The drunkard shall come to poverty, and drowsiness shall cloath a man with rags."
Proverbs xxiii. 21.
2.
"The hand of the diligent maketh rich."
Proverbs x. 4.
This interesting history, to use the language of the drama, opens with a scene, which presents to the spectator our two heroes, the fellow-apprentices, seated in the looms of their master, a respectable silk-manufacturer of Spitalfields. One of them, who is depicted with an ingenuous and pleasing countenance, appears diligently and attentively employed in weaving; while the other, whose features express an abject groveling mind, while his dress denotes neligence and sloth, sits fast asleep, in a seeming state of intoxication. This idea is confirmed by the tankard and tobacco-pipe: and his ruling passions are farther developed, by the ballad of
"Moll Flanders,"
&c. on the wall; by the torn pamphlet of
"The Prentices Guide;"
and by the kitten's apparently familiar acquaintance with the unemployed shuttle, which has dropped from his hand, and serves the animal for a plaything. The Master, who is seen entering, expresses an inclination to correct the idle apprentice with his uplifted cane; but seems restrained by reflecting on the little good to be expected from any chastisement of a lad in whom vicious habits are so deeply rooted. The disposition of the good youth is contrasted with that of his fellow-apprentice, by the choice of those excellent old ballads,
"Turn again, Whittington,"
and
"The Valiant 'Prentice;"
as well as by the clean and perfect state in which he has preserved his copy of
"The 'Prentices Guide."
LAWS OF LAUGHING.
LAUGHING is that noble faculty which distinguishes man from beast, since it shews the rationality of the soul, which can be moved independent of the senses. It is the mark of reason, the badge of good-humour, and the sign of mirth. Shakspeare says—
"The man who hath not Musick in himself,
And is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
And we may with great truth apply the same remark to—
The man who has not Mirth within himself,
And can't be mov'd to laughter by a joke.
It is said of the Roman Cassius, that—
"He seldom smil'd; or smil'd in such a sort,
As if he scorn'd himself, that could be mov'd
To smile at any thing."
Now this fellow Cassius always lived a melancholy life, and at last died a murderer; but the man who lives laughing, generally dies in his bed, as an honest man ought.
With respect to laughing, we should consider three things: first, who laughs; secondly, who is laughed at; and, thirdly, what the laughing is about.
When a man tells a merry tale, he should laugh inwardly, and enjoy the joke in his mind more than in his countenance; for he who laughs aloud at his own joke is in the court of Comus considered as a sool.
When a merry story is ended, you may be allowed to make a little noise in laughing, as it shews your approbation of what was meant for your entertainment; but never break into the middle of a story by loud laughter, such interruptions being very disagreeable to the company, as well as to the speaker; and all the merry ammunition should be preserved for the conclusion.
Laughing not only increases the good-humour of society, and promotes social enjoyment, but it is of infinite service to the health, and has sometimes saved the lives of sick persons.
The famous Doctor Radcliffe was once sent for into the country by a gentleman who was dangerously ill of a quinsey; and soon perceiving that no application would be of service, he desired the cook to make a large hasty-pudding, and let his servant bring it up. While the cook was engaged in this business, he took his man aside, and instructed him. The man accordingly brought up the pudding in great order, and set it on the table in full view of the patient. "Come, John," said the doctor, "you love hasty-pudding; eat some with me, for I believe you came out without your breakfast." Both then fell to with their spoons; but John's going twice to his mouth to his master's once, the doctor took occasion to quarrel with him, by dabbing a spoonful of hot pudding in his face. John threw another at his master; who, apparently in a violent passion, quitted his spoon, took the hasty-pudding up by handfuls, and threw it at his man, who battled him again in the same manner, till they were both all over in a woeful pickle. The gentleman, having a full view of this comical combat, was so delighted at it, that he burst into a most immoderate fit of laughter, which broke the quinsey, and compleatly cured him.
"Laugh, and be fat," is a common saying; therefore I would recommend laughing to the consumptive, ill-conditioned, and splenetick, as the certain cure of their disorders. When we are laughed at, we should never be angry, as that serves only to increase the laughter of those who jeer us. The only way is, to retort jest for jest, and joke for joke: and, when a story is told to expose any of our follies, we should not only take the hint to amend them, but endeavour, at the same time, to expose, by an apposite story, some folly peculiar to the person who attempted to expose us, that he may likewise come in for his share of improvement. Thus laughing will be of mutual benefit, and good-humour and instruction go hand in hand. Besides, a retort has great force: since it not only takes away the sting of a former jest, but establishes our reputation for a ready turn of wit.
Thus, when the pay of a certain regiment in France had been kept back for a long time, and one of the officers being greatly pressed for money, and much discontented, went to the colonel, saying—"Three words with you, Sir—money or discharge." The latter immediately replied—"Four with you, Sir—neither one nor t'other."
But as we may not always be able to parry the sarcasms of wit with success, we should endeavour to gain such an ascendancy over our passions, as to be always in a good humour with ourselves. The tranquillity of our own minds will prove the best desence against the worst attacks.
I shall conclude these remarks with a short story, which every reader may apply as he pleases.
When gods and goddesses made frequent visits to mankind, a beautiful and young roving divinity went into a nation of hunch-back people. On entering the capital, he was surrounded by a multitude of the inhabitants, who derided him most unmercifully for having what they deemed so odious a form; and would have proceeded to still greater violence, had not one, wiser than the rest, suddenly cried out—"My friends and countrymen, consider well what you are doing! Let us not insult this unhappy piece of deformi
y. If Heaven has lavished on us all the gifts of beauty; if it has adorned our backs with a noble mountain of flesh; let us be filled with gratitude, repair to our temples, and return thanks to the immortal Gods!" This is the history of human vanity; for, to succeed in any country, we must carry the hunch of the nation into which we travel.
PLEASURES OF BEING IN DEBT.
BY ARTHUR MURPHY, ESQ.
I Hope you will not refuse place to a correspondent, who means to shew the futility of a maxim, which has gained credit with most people, though extremely ill-grounded, as I think I can fairly evince, from an experimental knowledge of mankind.
You undoubtedly recollect that Ovid has, in one of his Elegies, the following lines—
"Donec eris felix multos numerabis Amicos;
Tempora si fuerint nubila, folus eris."
Now, it is so far from being true, that a man is surrounded with friends in prosperity, and is left destitute under his misfortunes, that I will undertake to prove the very reverse: in doing this, I flatter myself, I shall serve the purposes of virtue, and vindicate the dignity of human nature.
You must know, then, that I came to this town, a few years since, with intent to read the law, having just fortune enough to support me in my studies, until I might fix myself in a tolerable road of business. For this purpose I lodged in one of the Inns of Court; and the oeconomy which I was obliged to observe rendering it impossible for me to go much into company, I soon found out that I led a very muzzy sort of a life. I therefore shifted the scene; and, though in a short time, I found means to run out my little fortune, I cannot say that I was relinquished by the world on this account. It is true that some of my acquaintance totally deserted me; but it was the occasion, at the same time, that others were more earnestly attached than they would otherwise have been. I remember the last word my aunt in the country said to me, was—"Bob, wherever you go, be sure to make friends for yourself." This advice, I will venture to say, I have had the address to conform to, with great success, as will appear from the sequel.
Most of the friendships of the world are leagues in debauchery and intemperance, made in the drawing of a cork, and often ended in the same manner.
"Out of sight out of mind,"
is certainly true, with regard to the generality of connections: but the impressions I have made on the minds of my friends are not so easily effaced; on the contrary, when it happens that I am seldom seen by them, they are known to be in very great solicitude about me, are constantly very earnest in their enquiries after me, and the discourse they usually have with each other is—"Have you seen our old friend lately? I can't think what's become of him; I hope he is not gone out of town—I have not seen him for a long time—Faith, I am very uneasy about him—I wish to God he would see and settle his affairs—He's a very careless young fellow—a great deal too wild—throws away his money like dirt—I have called upon him morning after morning, but all to no purpose—I'd give a bottle of wine I could meet with him—I'd rather that than my dinner—I never longed so much to see any body."
These are the general expressions of anxiety, which my friends express on my account; and there are some of them who are not content to rest here—words cost nothing; they carry the thing to such a length as to employ a couple of fellows, who are daily in all quarters of the town, hunting and prying about for me. As there are few instances of such earnest friendship in the world, I am sensible what I have said may have a romantick appearance; and the reader may suggest to himself, that I am entertaining him all this while with a novel; but, I must take leave to assure you that every word is literally true; and, what may perhaps raise your idea still higher, not one of all these people has ever got a shilling by me; and, I verily believe, few of them ever will. Having said thus much in the praise of these my well-wishers, it will naturally be desired of me, to inform the world who and what they are, who are in such concern about a stranger. Not to keep you any longer in suspence, I will now tell you, that I have experienced all this generosity from my Creditors.
By this it will appear that the pleasure of being in debt, though very common in life, is very little understood by the generality of those who addict themselves to this gratification. The art, in all these cases, is to refine upon the occurrences and disappointments to which our state is liable; and, for my part, the pleasure just mentioned is one of the most valuable enjoyments of my life. My morning levee is as great as any nobleman's; whereas, in the days that I could say I was in possession of a competence, I never had any visitor whatever, except a laundress to make my bed in the Temple. But now the case is perfectly altered: there is a constant crowd of attendants about my doors; and, to those that are admitted, I have the pleasure of making as many promises as a minister of state, besides a losty pride in keeping them much after the same fashion. Upon these occasions, it will now and then happen, that they who best know how to make their court, and have the art of taking a pliant hour, sometimes prevail upon me to appoint a day for the completion of their wishes. As things of consequence cannot be done in a violent hurry, the day agreed upon is generally very distant, may be from six to nine or twelve months; during which space of time, it is observable, that their good-nature never suffers the least abatement, but they remain as solicitous as ever, frequently expressing the most tender regard for my welfare. "My dear Sir, do take a little care of yourself—It goes to my very heart to hear you cough so hard—Why, you'll not live three months at this rate—Be advised by me, and put a stocking about your neck to-night, and take something to sweat you a little and ease your chest. You should not drink so much—Consider, it impairs both constitution and purse—You know it's for your good I speak—You'd be a great loss to your friends—Take up a little: flesh and blood can't hold it always."
Thus, Sir, am I beloved; and that for no other reason, but my address in making friends for myself: and I am so closely watched by these generous creatures, that it is totally out of my power to take any wrong step, that might be detrimental to my affairs. Of this I had a convincing proof about a year ago, when the interposition of my taylor hindered me from committing a very inconsiderate action. I was going with a friend to take a trip to Paris, by which expedient I must certainly have been drained of all my ready-money; but the vigilance of my friend contrived to have me stopped as I was just stepping into the post-chaise, and I was thence conducted to a generous bailiff's house in Gray's Inn Lane, for the sum of three hundred pounds. Here I remained confined till my passion for travel was perfectly cooled; and when I was at length restored to my liberty, my above-mentioned friends, took particular care not to leave me a single shilling, for fear I should have the same unhappy turn a second time.
While I thus enjoy the assiduity and benevolence of such a number, who are kind enough to interest themselves in my affairs, I must own there is a species of Creditors who are an exception to the general rule; for though all those of whom I have hitherto been speaking, are upon every occasion highly pleased to meet me, this last class detest the very sight of me. As I am not conscious that I have ever done any thing to incur their displeasure to so great a degree, their aversion shocks me the more; and, notwithstanding all the pains I have taken to soften them by politeness, they still remain inexorable. Whenever I do not pay them what is due to them, I endeavour to put them off with the handsomest apology in my power: but it is all to no purpose; I have run too far in arrears, and they are not by any means to be satisfied. As I should be glad if you would give them a word of advice, I will just hint to you that the perfonages whom I mean are no other than Gentlemen's Servants. The cry among them all is— "What can a poor serving-man do, if he is robbed of his vales by such scoundrels?" They are all very unwilling to let me run farther in their debt; and therefore it is, I can hardly get any thing out of their hands. If I call for beer at table, they are sure not to hear me till their master orders them to serve the gentleman; then I receive the leavings of the tankard just out of the hands of the most capacious swallow in the company. In short, the peevishness of these my Creditors is a great discount upon my happiness; and, I must confess, there is no kind of pleasure in being in debt to them. However, I must endeavour to bear this inconvenience; and, if you will be pleased to insert this letter, I shall be proud to get into your books; and shall have the farther pleasure of being indebted to you for this act of civility, which will always oblige me to be your most obedient servant, and sincere well-wisher,
ROBERT DUNSCOPE.
DIRECTIONS FOR SERVANTS.
BY DEAN SWIFT.
WHEN your master or lady calls a servant by name, if that servant be not in the way, none of you are to answer, for then there will be no end of your drudgery: and masters themselves allow, that if a servant comes when he is called it is sufficient.
When you have done a fault, be always pert and insolent, and behave yourself as if you were the injured person; this will immediately put your master or lady off their mettle.
If you see your master wronged by any of your fellow-servants, be sure to conceal it, for fear of being called a tell-tale: however, there is one exception in case of a favourite servant, who is justly hated by the whole family; who therefore are bound in prudence to lay all the faults they can upon the favourite.
The cook, the butler, the groom, the market-man, and every other servant who is concerned in the expences of the family, should act as if the whole of his master's estate ought to be applied to that servant's particular business. For instance, if the cook computes his master's estate to be a thousand pounds a year, he reasonably concludes, that a thousand pounds a year will afford meat enough, and therefore he need not be sparing; the butler makes the same judgment, so may the groom and the coachman; and thus every branch of expence will be filled to your master's honour.
When you are child before company, (which with submission to our masters and ladies is an unmannerly practice) it often happens that some stranger will have the good-nature to drop a word in your excuse; in such a case you will have a good title to justify yourself, and may righty conclude, that, whenever he chides you afterwards on other occasions, he may be in the wrong; in which opinion you will be the better confirmed by stating the case to your fellow servants in your own way, who will certainly decide in your favour: therefore, as I have said before, whenever you are chidden, complain as if you were injured.
It often happens, that servants sent on messages are apt to stay out somewhat longer than the message requires, perhaps two, four, six, or eight hours, or some such trifle; for the temptation to be sure was great, and flesh and blood cannot always resist: when you return, the master storms, the lady scolds; stripping, cudgelling, and turning off, is the word. But here you ought to be provided with a sett of excuses, enough to serve on all occasions: for instance, your uncle came fourscore miles to town this morning on purpose to see you, and goes back by break of day to-morrow; a brother-servant, that borrowed money of you when he was out of place, was running away to Ireland; you were taking leave of an old fellow-servant, who was shipping for Barbadoes; your father sent a cow to you to sell, and you could not get a chapman till nine at night; you were taking leave of a dear cousin, who is to be hanged next Saturday; you wrenched your foot against a stone, and were forced to stay three hours in a shop, before you could stir a step; some nastiness was thrown on you out of a garret-window, and you were ashamed to come home before you were cleaned, and the smell went off; you were pressed for the sea-service, and carried before a justice of peace, who kept you three hours before he examined you, and you got off with much ado; a bailiff by mistake seized you for a debtor, and kept you the whole evening in a spunging-house: you were told your master had gone to a tavern, and came to some mischance, and your grief was so great that you enquired for his honour in an hundred taverns between Pall Mall and Temple Bar.
Take all tradesmen's parts against your master; and when you are sent to buy any thing, never offer to cheapen it, but generously pay the full demand. This is highly to your master's honour; and may be some shillings in your pocket; and you are to consider, if your master hath paid too much, he can better afford the loss than a poor tradesman.
Never submit to stir a finger in any business, but that for which you was particularly hired. For example, if the groom be drunk, or absent, and the butler be ordered to shut the stable door, the answer is ready, "An please your honour, I don't understand horses:" If a corner of the hanging wants a single nail to fasten it, and the footman be directed to tack it up, he may say he doth not understand that sort of work, but his honour may send for the upholsterer.
Masters and ladies are usually quarrelling with the servants for not shutting the doors after them: for neither masters nor ladies consider, that those doors must be open before they can be shut, and that the labour is double to open and shut the doors; therefore the best, the shortest, and easiest way, is to do neither. But if you are so often teazed to shut the door, that you cannot easily forget it, then give the door such a clap as you go out, as will shake the whole room, and make every thing rattle in it, to put your master and lady in mind that you observe their directions.
If you find yourself to grow into favour with your master or lady, take some opportunity, in a very mild way, to give them warning; and when they ask the reason, and seem loth to part with you, answer that you would rather live with them than any body else, but a poor servant is not to be blamed if he strives to better himself; that service is no inheritance; that your work is great, and your wages very small. Upon which, if your master hath any generosity, he will add five or ten shillings a quarter rather than let you go; but if you are baulked, and have no mind to go off, get some fellow-servant to tell your master that he hath prevailed upon you to stay.
Whatever good bits you can pilfer in the day, save them to junket with your fellow-servants at night; and take in the butler, provided he will give you drink.
Write your own name, and your sweetheart's, with the smoak of a candle, on the roof of the kitchen, or the servants-hall, to shew your learning.
If you are a young sightly fellow, whenever you whisper your mistress at the table, run your nose full in her cheek; or, if your breath be good, breathe full in her face: this I have known to have had very good consequences in some families.
Never come till you have been called three or four times; for none but dogs will come at the first whistle: and when the master calls, "Who's there?" no servant is bound to come; for Who's There is nobody's name.
When you have broken all your earthen drinking vessels below stairs, (which is usually done in a week) the copperpot will do as well; it can boil milk, heat porridge, hold small-beer, or in case of necessity serve for a jordan: therefore apply it indifferently to all these uses; but never wash or scour it, for fear of taking off the tin.
Although you are allowed knives for the servants-hall at meals, yet you ought to spare them, and make use only of your master's.
Let it be a constant rule, that no chair, stool, or table, in the servants-hall, or the kitchen, shall have above three legs, which hath been the ancient and constant practice in all the families I ever knew, and is said to be founded upon two reasons; first, to shew that servants are ever in a tottering condition; secondly, it was thought a point of humility, that the servants chairs and tables should have at least one leg fewer than those of their masters. I grant there hath been an exception to this rule with regard to the cook, who by old custom was allowed an easy-chair to sleep in after dinner; and yet I have seldom seen them with above three legs. Now this epidemical lameness of servants chairs is by philosophers imputed to two causes, which are observed to make the greatest revolutions in states and empires; I mean, love and war. A stool, a chair, or a table, is the first weapon taken up in a general romping or skirmish; and after a peace, the chairs, if they be not very strong, are apt to suffer in the conduct of an amour, the cook being usually fat and heavy, and the butler a little in drink.
I could never enduce to see maid-servants so ungenteel as to walk the streets with their petticoats pinned up; it is a foolish excuse, to alledge their-petticoats will be dirty, when they have so easy a remedy as to walk three or four times down a clean pair of stairs after they come home.
When you stop to tattle with some crony servant in the same street, leave your own street-door open, that you may get in without knocking when you come back; otherwise your mistress may know you are gone out, and you must be chidden.
I do most earnestly exhort you all to unanimity and concord; but
istake me not; you may quarrel with each other as much as you please, only always bear in mind, that you have a common enemy, which is your master and lady, and you have a common cause to defend. Believe an old practitioner; whoever, out of malice to a fellow-servant, carries a tale to his master, shall be ruined by a general confederacy against him.
The general place of rendezvous for all the servants, both
winter and summer, is the kitchen; there the grand affairs of the family ought to be consulted; whether they concern the stable, the dairy, the pantry, the laundry, the cellar, the nursery, the dining-room, or my lady's chamber: there, as in your own proper element, you can laugh, and squall, and romp, in full security.
When any servant comes home drunk, and cannot appear, you must all join in telling your master, that he is gone to bed sick; upon which your lady will be so good-natured as to order some comfortable thing for the poor man or maid.
When your master or lady go abroad together to dinner, or on a visit for the evening, you need leave only one servant in the house, unless you have a black-guard boy to answer at the door, and attend the children, if there be any. Who is to stay at home is to be determined by short and long cuts, and the stayer at home may be comforted by a visit from a sweetheart, without danger of being caught together. These opportunities must never be missed, because they come but sometimes; and all is safe enough while there is a servant in the house.
When your master or lady comes home, and wants a servant who happens to be abroad, your answer must be, that he had but just that minute stept out, being sent for by a cousin who was dying.
If your master calls you by name, and you happen to answer at the fourth call, you need not hurry yourself; and if you be chidden for staying, you may lawfully say, you came no sooner because you did not know what you were called for.
When you are chidden for a fault, as you go out of the room and down stairs, mutter loud enough to be plainly heard; this will make him believe you are innocent.
Whoever comes to visit your master or lady when they are abroad, never burden your memory with the person's name, for indeed you have too many other things to remember: besides, it is a porter's business, and your master's fault he does not keep one, and who can remember names? and you will certainly mistake them, and you can neither write nor read.
If it be possible, never tell a lye to your master or lady, unless you have some hopes that they cannot find it out in less than half an hour. When a servant is turned off
ll his faults must be told, although most of them were never
own by his master or lady; and all mischiefs done by others charge to him. [Instance them.] And when they ask any of you, why you never acquainted them before? the answer is, "Sir," or "Madam, really I was afraid it would make you angry; and besides, perhaps, you might think it was malice in me." Where there are little masters and misses in a house, they are usually great impediments to the diversions of the servants; the only remedy is to bride them with Goody Goodies, that they may not tell tales to papa and mamma.
I advise you of the servant
, whose masters live in the country, and who expect vales, always to stand rank and file when a stranger is taking his leave; so that he must of necessity pass between you, and he must have more confidence, or less money than usual, if any of you let him escape; and according as he behaves himself, remember to treat him the next time he comes.
If you are sent with ready-money to buy any thing at a shop, and happen at that time to be out of pocket, sink the money, and take up the goods on your master's account. This is for the honour of your master and yourself; for he becomes a man of credit at your recommendation.
When your lady sends for you up to her chamber to give you any orders, be sure to stand at the door, and keep it open, fiddling with the lock all the while she is talking to you, and keep the button in your hand, for fear you should forget to shut the door after you.
If your master or lady happen once in their lives to accuse you wrongfully, you are a happy servant; for you have nothing more to do, than for every fault you commit while you are in their service to put them in mind of that false accusation, and protest yourself equally innocent in the present case.
When you have a mind to leave your master, and are too bashful to break the matter for fear of offending him, the best way is to grow rude and saucy of a sudden, and beyond your usual behaviour, till he finds it necessary to turn you off; and when you are gone, to revenge yourself, give him and his lady such a character to all your brother servants who are out of place, that none will venture to offer their service.
Some nice ladies, who are afraid of catching cold, having observed that the maids and fellows below-stairs often forget to shut the door after them, as they come in, or go out into the back-yards, have contrived that a pulley and a rope, with a large piece of lead at the end, should be so fixed, as to make the door shut of itself, and require a strong hand to open it, which is an immense toil to servants, whose business may force them to go in and out fifty times in a morning: but ingenuity can do much; for prudent servants have found out an effectual remedy against this insupportable grievance, by tying up the pulley in such a manner, that the weight of lead shall have no effect; however, as to my own part, I would rather chuse to keep the door always open by laying a heavy stone at the bottom of it.
The servants candlesticks are generally broken, for nothing can last for ever. But you may find out many expedients; you may conveniently stick your candle in a bottle, or with a lump of butter against the wainscot, in a powder-horn, or in an old shoe, or in a cleft-stick, or in the barrel of a pistol, or upon it's own grease on a table, in a coffee-cup, or a drinking glass, a horn-cann, a tea-pot, a twisted napkin, a mustard-pot, an inkhorn, a marrow-bone, a piece of dough, or you may cut a hole in the loaf and stick it there.
When you invi
e the neighbouring servants to junket with you at home in an evening, teach them a peculiar way of tapping or scraping at the kitchen-window, which you may hear, but not your master or lady, whom you must take care not to disturb or frighten at such unseasonable hours.
Lay all faults upon a lap-dog, or favourite cat, a monkey, a parrot, a child, or on the servant who was last turned off; by this rule you will excuse yourself, do no hurt to any body else, and save your master or lady from the trouble and vexation of chiding.
When you want proper instruments for any work you are about, use all expedients you can invent, rather than leave your work undone. For instance, if the poker be out of the way, or broken, stir the fire with the tongs; if the tongs be not at hand, use the muzzle of the bellows, the wrong end of the fire-shovel, the handle of the fire-brush, the end of a mop, or your master's cane. If you want paper to singe a fowl, tear the first book you see about the house. Wipe your shoes, for want of a clout, with the bottom of a curtain, or a damask napkin. Strip your livery-lace for garters. If the butler wants a jordan, he may use the great silver cup.
There are several ways of putting out candles, and you ought to be instructed in them all: you may run the candle-end against the wainscot, which puts the snuff out immediately; you may lay it on the ground, and tread the snuff out with your foot; you may hold it upside-down, until it is choaked with it's own grease; or cram it into the socket of the candlestick; you may whirl it round in your hand till it goes out; when you go to bed, after you have made water, you may dip the candle-end into the chamber-pot; you may spit on your finger and thumb, and pinch the snuff till it goes out. The cook may run the candle's nose into the meal-tub, or the groom into a vessel of oats, or a lock of hay, or a heap of litter; the house-maid may put out her candle by running it against a looking-glass, which nothing cleans so well as candle-snuff; but the quickest and best of all methods is, to blow it out with your breath, which leaves the candle clear, and readier to be lighted.
There is nothing so pernicious in a family as a tell-tale, against whom it must be the principal business of you all to unite: whatever office he serves in, take all opportunities to spoil the business he is about, and to cross him in every thing. For instance, if the butler be a tell-tale, break his glasses whenever he leaves the pantry-door open; or lock the cat or the mastiff in it, who will do as well; or mislay a fork or a spoon, so as he may never find it. If it be the cook, whenever she turns her back, throw a lump of soot, or a handful of salt, in the pot, or smoaking coals into the dripping-pan, or daub the roast-meat with the back of the chimney, or hide the key of the jack. If a footman be suspected, let the cook daub the back of his new livery; or when he is going up with a dish of soup, let her follow him softly with a ladle-full, and dribble it all the way up stairs to the dining-room, and then let the house-maid make such a noise that her lady may hear it. The waiting-maid is very likely to be guilty of this fault in hopes to ingratiate herself: in this case, the laundress must be sure to tear her smocks in the washing, and yet wash them but half; and, when she complains, tell all the house that she sweats so much, and her flesh is so nasty, that she souls a smock more in one hour, than the kitchen-maid doth in a week.
SPEECH OF LAWYER BRIEF.
MY LORDS, AND GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY,
THERE are a set of men in the world, of such a tedious, tiresome, trifling, troublesome habitude, temper, and disposition of mind, that they perplex, confound, entangle, and puzzle, every circumstance in every cause which they undertake, protect, defend, and justify. Instead of coming to the point, matter, business, or debate, they deviate, vary, waver, and fly off therefrom. When we expect truth, satisfaction, conviction, and decision, we find, perceive, observe, and remark, nothing but uncertainty, ambiguity, doubtfulness, and difficulty. This, my lord, I humbly apprehend, conceive, think, presume, and furmise, is owing to tediousness and prolixity; the nature, genius, and extent of which, I shall consider, weigh, examine, explicate, and scrutinize. In the first place, then, I shall shew, prove, and demonstrate, the nature of tediousness and prolixity, by shewing, proving, and demonstrating, that there is nothing so unnatural; for the business of a tongue, utterance, speech, or language, is to come to the point, argument, contemplation, or question, at once, point-blank, slap-dash, and concisely, without any prevarication, equivocation, retardation, or circumbendibus whatsoever. And now, in the second, succeeding, following place, point, and preliminary, I come to promulgate the genius of tediousness and prolixity; which is done, effected, performed, and brought about, by manisesting that they have no genius at all: and so far from any men of genius making use of them, none but your egregious, absurd, ridiculous dolts, dunderheads, and blockheads, ever admit, acknowledge, receive, or embrace, any such notions, ideas, maxims, principles, or tenets. Thirdly, my lord, I beg leave, according to order, form, series, and succession, to animadvert upon the extent of tediousness and prolixity; and this is managed by demonstrating that it is infinite and without bounds, and consequently can have no extent at all. And now, my lord, I will open the cause, spring, origin, fountain, rise, and foundation, of these vices, which is Tautology; which is the speaking, saying, delivering, uttering, pronouncing, divulging, declaring, remarking, observing, repeating, or expressing, the same identical, individual thing, an hundred, and an hundred, and an hundred, and an hundred, and an hundred hundred hundred times over. And now, my lord, I beg leave, pardon, permission, and sufferance, to lay down only six and fifty particulars: every particular, my lord, shall consist of only seventy-two divisions; every division shall comprehend, contain, and consist of only eighty-two sub-divisions; every sub-division shall be concluded with the six and fortieth article; and every article shall consume, expend, and cost, no more than an hour and an half.
[Here the court was out of all manner of patience; and the judge, with great indignation, put a period to a discourse which, if the lawyer's tongue had heen immortal, might have lasted to all eternity.]
TRUTH AT COURT. A FRENCH STORY.
BY MR. HARRISON.
IN France, where Kings, though now despis'd,
Were long, 'twas thought, too highly priz'd,
Louis XIV.—like Charles the Gay,
Our hare-brain, who the nation curs'd,
For basely killing Charles the First—
Would with his courtiers idly play.
Whether he play'd them fair, or foul,
I cannot tell you, on my soul!
But, surely, 'twas a thing most rare,
If they, at all times, play'd him fair.
Nor would it seem less strange to me,
When I espy
The bets run high,
For gamblers ever to agree:
And griev'd I own my fears that, then,
Kings are no more than common men.
Gaming, the deadly source of woe,
To those who love it, high or low,
A medley makes of great and small;
Like Death, and Democrats, it levels all.
It chanc'd, one day,
While thus at play,
A move at chess the King had made,
Which much he swore was just the thing;
The courtiers, though to swear afraid,
Bending with noses to the ground,
And venting first a sigh profound,
Begg'd leave to differ from the King!
Louis, true gamester, will persist;
And they, true courtiers, wont resist:
For, now his stubbornness they found,
Each mother's son soon chang'd his ground;
And, that their sovereign must be right,
Were almost certain—but not quite.
While thus the matter doubtful stood,
Grammont, a courtier wise and good,
Such as have, now and then, been known,
Not often, to attend the throne,
Ent'ring the room, the monarch spies,
And loudly thus, exulting cries—
"Grammont, come here! you shall decide;
By your opinion we'll abide.
The move I've made gives me the game;
And you, I know, will say the same.
Though dubious all around appear,
Justice, from you, has nought to fear.
Approach, and see!"—"There is no need,"
Blunt Grammont cries, "for I've decreed,
Your Majesty has lost the game."—
"Morblieu! you have not look'd—for shame,
Unseen to judge! Is that the thing?"—
"Yes, when one party is a King!
Had you the shadow of a right,
Doubtless, these gentlemen polite,
Would ev'ry man, before I came,
Have own'd the justness of your claim:
But, when they know their monarch wrong,
Tho' doubts may venture from the tongue,
Courtiers, and courts, too well I know,
To hope they'll ever tell him so!"
Tho' Kings but ill bear contradiction,
Truth flash'd, and Louis felt, conviction!
And all the court, who now withdrew,
By shrugs confess'd the thing was true.
THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. A TRUE STORY.
BY PETER PINDAR, ESQ.
A Brace of sinners, for no
good,
Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine;
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
And in a fair white wig look'd wond'rous fine.
Fifty long miles had these sad rogues to travel,
With something in their shoes much worse than
gravel:
In short, their toes so gentle to
amuse,
The PRIEST had order'd Peas into their shoes.
A
nostrum
famous, in old Popish times,
For purifying souls that stunk of crimes:
A sort of apostolick salt,
That Popish parsons for it's pow'rs exalt,
For keeping souls of sinners
sweet,
Just as our kitchen salt keeps
meat.
The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray;
But very different was their speed, I wot:
One of the sinners gallop'd on,
Light as a bullet from a gun;
The other limp'd, as if he had been
shot.
ONE saw the VIRGIN soon—
peccavi
cried—
Had his soul white-wash'd all so clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,
Made fit with saints above to live
for ever.
In coming back, however, let me say,
He met his brother rogue about halt way—
Hobbling, with outstretch'd bum, and bending knees,
Damning the souls and bodies of the Peas:
His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.
"How now," the light-toed, white-wash'd Pilgrim broke—
"You lazy lubber!"—
"Ods curse it," cried the other, "'tis no
joke
—
My feet, once hard as any rock,
Are now as soft as
blubber.
"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear—
As for Loretto, I shall ne'er get there;
No! to the Dev'l my sinful soul must go,
For damme if I ha'n't lost ev'ry toe!
"But, brother sinner, do explain
How 'tis that you are not in pain?
What Pow'r hath work'd a wonder for
your
toes;
While
I,
just like a snail, am crawling,
Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
While not a rascal comes to ease my woes?
"How is't that
you
can like a greyhound
go,
Merry, as if that nought had happen'd, burn ye!"
"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must
know,
That, just before I ventur'd on my journey,
To walk a little more at ease,
I took the liberty to boil
my
Peas."
THE FASHIONABLE PAIR.
BY RICHARD CUMBERLAND, ESQ.
DORINDA and her spouse were join'd,
As modern men and women are,
In matrimony, not in mind,
A Fashionable Pair.
Fine cloaths, fine diamonds, and fine lace,
The smartest vis-a-vis in town,
With title, pin-money, and place,
Made wedlock's pill go down.
In decent time, by Hunter's art,
The wish'd-for heir Dorinda bore:
A girl came next; she'd done her part,
Dorinda bred no more.
Now education's care employs
Dorinda's brain—but, an! the curse,
Dorinda's brain can't bear the noise—
"Go, take 'em to the nurse!"
The lovely babes improve äpace,
By dear Ma'amselle's prodigious care;
Miss gabbles French with pert grimace,
And master learns to swear.
"Sweet innocents!" the servants cry,
"So natural he, and she so wild—
Laud, nurse, do humour 'em"—for why?
"'Twere sin to snub a child."
Time runs—"My God!" Dorinda cries,
"How monstrously the girl is grown!
She has more meaning in her eyes
Than half the girls in town."
Now teachers throng; Miss dances, sings,
Learns ev'ry art beneath the sun;
Scrawls, scribbles, does a thousand things,
Without a taste for one.
Lapdog, and parrots, paints, good lack!
Enough to make Sir Joshua jealous;
Writes rebuses, and has her clack
Of small-talk for the fellows:
Mobs to the milliners for Fashions,
Reads ev'ry tawdry tale that's new;
Has fits, opinions, humours, passions,
And dictates in
Virtù.
Ma'amselle to Miss's hand conveys
A
Billet-doux;
she's
tres commode:
The Dancing-master's in the chaise;
They scour the northern road.
Away to Scottish land they post;
Miss there becomes a lawful wife:
Her frolick over, to her cost,
Miss is a wretch for life!
Master, meanwhile, advances fast
In modern manners, and in vice;
And, with a school-boy's heedless haste,
Rattles the desp'rate dice.
Travels, no doubt, by modern rules,
To France, to Italy, and there
Commences adept in the schools
Of Rousseau and Voltaire.
Returns in all the
dernier goût
Of Brussels point, and Paris cloaths;
Buys antique statues vampt anew,
And busts without a nose.
Then hey! at Dissipation's call,
To ev'ry club that leads the
ton;
Hazard's the word! he flies at all;
He's pigeon'd and undone.
Now comes a wife, the stale pretence,
The old receipt to pay new debts:
He pockets city-madam's pence,
And doubles all his betts.
He drains his steward, racks his farms,
Annuitizes, fines, renews;
And ev'ry morn his levee swarms
With swindlers and with Jews.
The guinea lost that was his last,
Desp'rate at length the maniack cries—
"This through my brain!" 'Tis done! 'tis past!
He fires—he falls—he dies!
THE HERMIT. AN EXTEMPORANEOUS MOCK PARODY.
BY DR. JOHNSON.
"HERMIT hoar, in solemn cell,
Wearing out life's ev'ning grey;
Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell,
What is bliss, and which the way?"
Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd,
Scarce repress'd the flowing tear;
When the Hermit quick replied—
"
Come, my lad! and drink some
BEER."
THE LAW OF THE ROAD.
THE law of the road is a paradox quite:
For, in orderly driving along,
If you drive to the left, you are sure to drive right;
And, if you drive right, you drive wrong.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE II.
The Industrious Prentice performing the Duty of a Christian.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER II.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE II. THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE PERFORMING THE DUTY OF A CHRISTIAN.
THOUGH this print may seem, to a cursory observer, less striking and important than any of the whole series, it is in fact of the very first consequence. It is, by attending the publick worship of the Supreme Being, with becoming piety, that virtue is strengthened; and it is by the neglect of this duty, that vice gains ground of it's victim. From this scene Tom Idle is excluded. With him it was no favourite place; for, during the hours of devotion, it will in the next print be seen that he was far differently employed.
The industrious youth, Francis Goodchild, is in this print represented at Spitalfields church, assisting in the performance of divine worship; and he is honoured with the company of Miss West, his master's daughter, in the same pew, to whom his features bear a not very distant resemblance. They have both a sweet placidity of countenance. Piety and simplicity are manifest in their deportment; and they seem, at first sight, evidently made for each other.
Notwithstanding the solemnity of the place, Hogarth has contrived to give us some ludicrous figures, without any violent departure from nature. The fat grotesque female in the upper corner; the man near her, accompanying the organ with his deep-toned vocal exertions; and him beneath, "between sleeping and waking," who joins in the sonorous chorus;
are all, though ludicrous, such characters as every spectator must recognize. The pew-opener, with her keys, is also happily sketched, aiding the solemn vociferations.
The rules of perspective are, in this print, purposely violated, to give an idea of a crouded congregation; but the figures, in general, are so minute, that their merits are imperceptible. Where they are visible, character is to be traced in each.
On a slight examination of this print, we felt a little inclined to censure Hogarth for neglecting to present us with the worthy Mr. West attending divine worship with his family, and thus strengthening the moral effect. But we soon discovered that this, far from being an error, was a merit beyond vulgar view, since the absence of the master the better accounts for that of his vicious apprentice.
The motto of this print is from the Royal Psalmist.
"O how I love they law; it is my meditation all the day."
Psalm cxix. 97.
THE TAYLOR'S SOLILOQUY.
BY MR. HARRISON.
TO be, or not to be—a Taylor? That is the question. Shall I, who feel myself a man; yes, every inch a man! have but one-ninth of my just claim allowed, as if it were my bill, taxed by too rigid Justice; who, being blind, sees not the risque I run? Forbid it, Heaven! I am a man; and a man of consequence too, for no man is a man without me. Even kings would be Sans Culottes, if I turned traitor, and refused to make them breeches; and who would reverence their bench of judges, and their bench of bishops, if I did not manusacture furred gowns and lawn sleeves? Yes! law, divinity, and physick too, all stand indebted to me for their importance: I am, therefore, not only a man, but a man of importance. What would our sailors do, those brave fellows to whom we chiefly owe the safety of our country itself, without jackets and trowsers? why, they would be as bare-bottomed as so many Mounseers, and then we should see that they had no more bottom neither. The soldiers, too, they would cut a very pretty figure, to be sure, without me! Why, zounds! it's enough to make a man swear; but, as I am a man—damme! I must be a man, for no animal on earth but a man ever swears—yes, surely as I am a man, the very reason that the girls all run to the parade, to the parks, to every review, to the camps, and to all places after the soldiers, where soldiers are to be seen, is because they are so smartly cloathed by me. What makes soldiers, in their eyes, look so handsome, but the scarlet cloth, the buff, and the blue, in which I dress them; the gold lace, and the worsted lace, the gold epaulets, and the worsted epaulets, with which I trim the most valiant dogs in the world? A taylor, then, is not only a man, but a man of valour, since he trims them all. At court, who would be introduced into the royal presence, without my preparing them for a good reception? Does it signify one farthing what is within, provided as how I have the management of the outside. In courting, too, as well as at court, are not ninety-nine women out of every hundred, more governed in their choice by my part of the object, than any other consideration whatever. "A good
coat,
" as the old song
should
say, "and a light pair of breeches, go through the world." If a man has no credit with his taylor, he has none elsewhere; nobody will admit a man of merit out at elbows into his house; nobody will speak to genius cloathed with rags in the street. But let me have the dressing of the vile
t rascal in the universe, and see if he is not welcomed like a prince in every fashionable circle. Is it not dress that makes him a gentleman? Is it not me that regulates the fashions? I, therefore, must be a gentleman, as well as a man of fashion. Can any man, who is not well cloathed by me, cloath the best story in the world so as to be reckoned wit in polite company? And will not the most threadbare joke, uttered by one whom I have thus qualified, convulse the very same circle with laughter. I am, therefore, the maker of wit; and must, of course, be a man of wit. Shall I, then, who can do all these great things, be cast off, and despised, like an old garment, the instant I quit my shop-board? Shall I, who am not only a man, but a man of consequence; not only a man of consequence, but a man of importance; not only a man of importance, but a man of valour; not only a man of valour, but a gentleman; not only a gentleman, but a man of wit; be bawled after, by every shabby, ragged rascal, whenever I fetch a walk with Mrs. Snip, my daughter Dolly, or some favourite girl—"Look! there goes Snip, the taylor; the ninth part of a man!" and, when I mount my nag, just to take an airing in the dust of Hyde Park, like my customers, see every one turning singer-post, and hear them cry, "Twig the taylor riding to Brentford!" while a wag slily contrives to make a slip of paper resembling a measure dangle from my pocket? Shall I, who know so well how to live, and how to live well too, be thus made weary of my life, or even of my livelihood, by a set of ragamussios? Poets and philosophers prate that a bare bodkin will
quiet us;
a bare breech! I was going to say. It might quiet us, but would it quiet the devil? He, I am told, will not be cheated out of his own, like a poor taylor by his bad customers: and I should chuse, since I am obliged to give long credit, to have as long allowed me as possible. They may talk of shuffling off life, but I had rather shuffle through life. Conscience, they say, makes cowards of us all: but a taylor has no conscience; ergo, a taylor is no coward. Shall I, who am a man of so many functions, submit to be thus treated, without reply? No if they could cut me as small as cabbage, put me in the fire like my goose, freeze me into the coldness of my favourite cucumbers, or send me to hell itself, I will speak—while I am a man. The world shall hear of my ill-usage; and, if I do not experience more respect, each mother's son shall be reduced to the primitive fig-leaf apron—or, I will make them all pay swingeingly for every article of dress they get from me; and thus, in my turn—laugh in my sleeve! Damme, who's afraid!
HUMOROUS ESSAY ON ERRORS OF THE PRESS.
ORIGINALLY SENT TO A MORNING PAPER.
BY CALEB WHITEFOORD, ESQ.
MR. EDITOR,
WHILE you and your correspondents are so laudably employed in watching over the welfare of the state, keeping a jealous eye on our ministers, and pointing out the
errors
of government, I wish, (if you could but find time for it) that you would pay some little attention to your own
errors.
Perhaps it will appear the highest degree of presumption to offer advice to a person in
your
eminent station;
one
who every day (Sundays excepted) dictates to ministers, and counsels kings;
one
who is read and admired in every part of the British dominions.
It is for this very reason, Sir, that I think it incumbent on me to tell you of your
mistakes;
for you cannot say with
Job,
Albeit that I have erred, mine
ERROR
remaineth with
MYSELF.
No, Mr. Editor,
your
errors circulate far and wide; they misrepresent many, and mislead more; in short, the errors I mean, are
errors of the press,
or, as my
learned
friend
Sir James Hodges
expresses them, in
one
English-Latin-singular-plural word,
erratums.
Of all errata, the most
harmless
are those which make starkstaring
nonsense.
These are never imputed to the writer, but are corrected by the reader, in his own mind, as he goes along; but the
dangerous
ones are those which make a kind of half-sense, and pass current as the sense of the
author,
until the day following, when your list of errata transfers the blame from the writer to the printer. However, I must say that printers (with all their professions of candour) are as little apt to acknowledge
their
errors as the rest of mankind: for not one erratum in ten is ever acknowledged; and, indeed, I suppose they very seldom would, unless at the particular desire of the writer.
As I have said much about the
errors of the press,
it may naturally be expected that I should produce some proofs of what I have asserted. This I am enabled to do, having paid particular attention to them for some time past, and having looked more sharply after them, than the promotions civil or military, the prices of corn or of stocks, the list of ships or bankrupts, or of those paragraphs which inform who is dead, who is married, or who is hanged.
But now for the particulars of the charge—I have known you throw an injurious reflection on all the crowned heads in Europe at one stroke; for, instead of
potentates,
you have called them
potatoes,
as if they had been
mere vegetables.
As to the King of Prussia, you talk of
him
in a different stile; for, instead of the
Hero
of Prussia, you have made him the
Nero.
Next day comes your apology, or
erratum,
which sometimes, instead of mending matters, makes things worse; and, like an arch-tinker, in stopping one hole makes two: as, I remember, my old friend Alderman Faulkner of Dublin, corrected an error in
his
Journal, "Erratum in our last, for
his
Grace the
Dutchess
of Dorset, read
her
Grace the
Duke
of Dorset." Indeed, a blunder seems to be something of the nature of a
bog.
the more you struggle, the deeper you get into it. But, to proceed. You have, on several occasions, used the
Doge
of Genoa extremely ill, and never have made him the least apology for omitting the last letter in his title; though, if you
had
desired your readers, next day, instead of
Dog
to read
Doge,
I do confess that it would have been no great reparation.
I remember the Irish parliament, some time ago, were offended at something in your paper; and took up the matter so
warmly,
that they ordered the paper to be burnt. Now, whether
you,
Mr. Editor, have taken umbrage also and like-
wise,
or whether it proceeds from negligence, I know not; but certain it is, that several unlucky mistakes have happened relative to that respectable body. At their first meeting, you told us, (instead of a
bili
) that a motion would be made for leave to bringin a
bull;
and, afterwards, another motion, that the order of the
Dey
be read, as if it was an assembly on the coast of
Barbary
—You told us, one day, that
Lord
—, of the kingdom of Ireland, had been safely delivered of a daughter; and we were all very anxious on my lord's account, till the day following, when you delivered his lordship of the burden, and brought the child into the world a more natural way.
In a late scuffle under the Piazza, Covent Garden, you informed us that an Irish officer had got a
confusion
in his head; and you made no apology afterwards, thinking, I suppose, there was no occasion for any, as you were right to a
t.
Not long ago you advertised a speedy cure for
raptures;
and I am afraid it gave some wicked batchelor occasion to scoff at the holy state of matrimony; for, as the devil would have it, (I mean one of
your
devils) the very next advertisement to it was from a gentleman who wanted a wife, and over it was printed MATRIMONY in capitals; consequently, it appeared, that
matrimony
was the most speedy and effectual cure for
raptures,
though of ever so long standing, &c. &c.
I have known you advertise, instead of a
never
-failing remedy, an
ever
-failing remedy: now, Sir, though this might be strictly true, "yet I hold it not proper that it should be so set down," as I suppose the quack-doctor paid you his money for conveying a very different sense to the publick. In a receipt lately published for the cure of the plague, instead of
rue,
you put
rice;
and so made a
pudding
of it; and in advertising a course of lectures, you turned a
syllabus
into a
syllabub;
and called the perpetual
motion
a perpetual
notion.
I wish you would be a little more cautious in advertising
Salivation not necessary;
for it happened, by omitting the
i
in salivation, you gave great offence to some very good christians in my neigbourhood; and also gave occasion to some wicked
punsters
to observe, that it was not the
first
time an
eye
had been lost in salivation; nay, that some people had been so unlucky as to lose a
couple.
There is another advertisement which frequently occurs, beginning with—
"Whereas several evil-minded persons, &c."
—One day you made it evil-minded
parsons,
which was extremely unlucky; for, in these times of
infidelity,
people are too apt to scoff at the clergy, and indeed at all serious subjects: as to myself, I must confess that I am particularly hurt at those
impertinent levities
with which some people indulge themselves, being a person of a serious turn of mind, and of a disposition rather saturnine and grave.
It too often happens, Mr. Editor, that "what should be
grave
you turn to
farce.
" I remember, in your paper, a sensible pathetick letter, signed a
Citizen;
he laments the
internal
state of this country, and
you
made it the
infernal
state; when he exclaimed, sad
reverse!
you made him cry our, sad
reverie:
he disapproved of all
national
reflections, you made him disapprove of all
rational
reflections; and, talking of the
fate
of empires, you made him say the
fat
of empires. Now, as there are so many standing jokes about citizens being fond of
fat
— whether turtle fat or venison fat—this unlucky mistake quite spoiled the letter, disobliged my friend the
Citizen,
and "all the fat was in the fire." And here I cannot help taking notice of a paragraph some time since, containing an account of the election of a a worthy alderman for a certain ward, when instead of saying he was
duly
elected, you say he was
dully
elected, and thereby afforded a handle for breaking some commonplace jests on that respectable body of men the Court of Aldermen. Another time, in the account of an entertainment given by a worthy alderman to the deputy and common-council of his ward, where they
dined
on the turtle, you said they
died
on the turtle; as if they had all eat till they choaked or burst; whereas, on the contrary, it was extremely remarkable, that none either over-eat themselves, or caught a surfeit that day.
From several articles, Mr. Editor, one would be apt to conclude, that you were no great
geographer;
for you tell us of corsairs fitted out from
Turin,
instead of
Tunis;
and that the
Chinese
had revolted against the Spaniards, instead of the
Chilese:
now, though these two nations are on different sides of the globe, I suppose you thought they were near neighbours, being within an
ell
of each other. Last year, when the Russian fleet took the Isle of
Lemnos,
you told us that part of the squadron remained at the Isle of
Candy,
and the rest were going to attack the Isle of
Lemons:
you supposed, no doubt, that
Candy
was a sugar island, and that they were going to the Isle of
Lemons
for fruit, and so between them to supply the fleet— pro bono publico—with
punch.
You have sometimes treated the
Russians
very injuriously, by calling them
Russians;
and one day you told us the combined armies of the Turks and Tartars (instead of a
Kam
) was commanded by a
Ram;
as if they had been a parcel of sheep: and when it was expected the two armies were coming to
Action,
you said they were coming to
Acton;
and, as there was a considerable fall of Stocks at that time, I have reason to think it was owing to the above report, or to some other equally alarming.
I trembled for you during the whole time of the congress at
Fockzany;
it is a ticklish word in the hands of a careless compositor, and one does not know what terrible work he might make of it. Apropos, it is not long since you advertised a view of the canal of
Venice,
and you made it the canal of
Venus:
and, in the account of a housebreaking, instead of the rogues broke in at the
window,
you said they broke in at the
widow.
When you informed us that a certain lady was gone to pass the holiday: at her country-seat near
Corydon,
every reader supposed that some
scandal
was meant, till the next day, when we learned that there was no Corydon in the case, and that her ladyship was only gone to her country-seat hear
Croydon.
One day you told us, that some English lord (whose name I have forgot) was arrived at Naples with his
tabor;
travelling with a
tabor
seemed to be an odd kind of conceit; but his lordship
(apparement)
was soud of musick, though the tabor and pipe seemed more adapted to a
lugged bear
than a lord on his travels: thus
we
reasoned till the
erratum
of the next day desired us, for
tabor
to read
tütor.
If your compositors are bad geographers, they are at least as bad
arithmeticians:
wherever sums occur, they are sure to make a bad
figure.
I remember, at difierent times last year, they made the
compulsatory
India loan 14,000, 140,000 and sometimes 14,000,000: in short, they have no adequate ideas of figures; and as to
cyphers,
they consider them as
mere nothings,
and that adding or taking away two or three of them from a sum makes no difference at all.
I have known you turn a matter of
bearsay,
into a matter of
heresy; Damon,
into a
Daemon;
a
delicious
girl into a
delirious
girl; the comick
muse,
into a comick
mouse;
a Jewish
Rabbi,
into a Jewish
Rabbit;
and when a correspondent, lamenting the corruption of the times, exclaimed—
"O Mores!"
you made him cry—
"O Moses!"
You should consider, Mr. Editor, that there is a material difference between acting with the utmost
lenity,
and utmost
Levity;
between
factious
and
facetious; fellow
and
felon; imprudent
and
impudent; resolution
and
revolution; Runney mead
and
running mad; loud professions
and
lewd professions; words
and
works; souring
and
roaring; Thavies Inn
and
Thieves Inn; minutes
and
minuets; rubies
and
bubbies;
a
tube
and a
tub;
all of which words I have observed you, Sir, at times, use
indiscriminately.
I know you will say, that people ought to consider the constant hurry which attends the publication of a daily paper; that your paper is in so
great
request, and people are so eager to get it,
"with all it's imperfections on it's head,"
that you really have not time to be more correct. Ah, Mr. Editor! it would be well for mankind if reformation, like charity, were always to begin at
home;
and that people would try to mend
themselves,
instead of bestowing so much fruitless and thankless pains in admonishing their neighbours. You, Sir, have bestowed much time and labour, and oil, floods of ink, and reams of paper, in advising ministers of state, and correcting the measures of government; and, after all, I dare say
you yourself
will allow that they are at this moment not one bit better or wiser than when you first undertook to mend them.
Therefore take an old man's advice; set a pattern to thy brother editors; leave for a while the care of the state to those who are
paid
for it—look at home; begin a reformation
there,
and
"correct thyself for the example of others."
I am,
Thy sincere well-wisher, EMENDATOR.
CONJUGAL AFFECTION. FROM THE GERMAN.
THE tender-hearted Araminta loved her husband sincerely; for they had been but two months married. He constituted her sole felicity. Their desires and aversions were the same. It was Araminta's study, by diligent attention, to anticipate her husband's wishes. "Such a wife," says my male reader who entertains thoughts of matrimony, "such a wife would I desire." And such a wife mayest thou enjoy. Araminta's husband sell sick of a very dangerous malady. "No hope!" said the physician, and shook his awful wig. Bitterly wept Araminta—"O Death! might I prefer a petition. Spare, O spare my husband, and let me be the victim in his stead." Death, to her astonishment, straight appeared. "And what," cried the grim tyrant, "is thy request?"—"There," said Araminta, trembling with fear and amazement, "there he lies, pierced with intolerable agony; he implores thy speedy relief: for Heaven's sake, put him instantly out of his misery!"
CURIOUS CRITIQUE ON ROUSSEAU, WITH A PROPHECY FOUND IN AN OLD MANUSCRIPT.
IT has been remarked, that a bad book ought as much to be guarded against as a bad companion. There certainly is nothing more true, and yet the most dangerous are daily published uncensured; and a mean, ignorant, and mercenary, or unprincipled publisher, may spead poison daily more detrimental than arsenick. Some books, like men, acquire great reputation by some brilliant points, while the general tendency, like the general character, is never investigated.
In no instance is this more remarkable than in the writings of the celebrated Rousseau. The annals of literature never exhibited to the world a more paradoxical, whimsical, ingenious, eloquent, weak, and dangerous author.
This author's works have been much read, whise few have examined the truth of his pictures, or analized the consistency or tendency of his doctrines. In the preface to his novel, he says—"Chaste girls never read romances; and the girl who reads four pages of this is undone."
Yet no books are more called for at Circulating Libraries than romances, and none more than his. With such sentiments he gives his book to the world, and then presumes to write on education.
The following fragment, which I lately met with, said to be sound among some old manuscripts, it is believed, will convey, in a strong and true light, what is said of his writings; and may, perhaps, lead some people to think when they read.
THE PROPHECY.
IN those days a strange person shall appear in France, coming from the borders of a lake, and he shall cry to the people—"Behold I am possessed by the demon of enthusiasm; I have received the gift of incoherence; I am a philosopher and a professor of paradoxes."
And a multitude shall follow him, and many shall believe on him.
And he shall say to them, "You are all knaves and fools; and your wives and daughters are debauched; and I will come and live among you." And he shall abuse the natural gentleness of the people by his foul speeches.
And he shall cry aloud, "All men are virtuous in the country where I was born; but I will not live in the country where I was born."
And he shall maintain, that arts and sciences necessarily corrupt the manners; and he shall write on all arts and sciences.
And he shall declare the theatre a source of prostitution and corruption, and he shall write operas and comedies.
And he shall affirm savages only are virtuous, though he has never lived among savages, but he shall be worthy to live among them.
And he shall say to men, "Cast away your fine garments, and go naked," and he himself shall wear laced cloaths when they are given him.
And he shall say to the great, they are more despicable than their fortunes; but he shall frequent their houses, and they shall behold him as a curious animal brought from a strange land.
And his occupation shall be to copy French musick, and he shall say there is no French musick.
And he shall declare romances destructive to morality, and he shall write a romance; and, in his romance, the words shall be virtuous, and the morals wicked, and his characters shall be outrageous lovers and philosophers.
And he shall say to the universe, "I am a favourite of fortune; I write and receive love-letters:" and the universe shall s
the letters he received were written by himself.
And in his romance he shall reach the art of suborning a maiden by philosophy; and she shall learn from her lover to forget shame, and become ridiculous and write maxims.
And she shall give her lover the first kiss upon his lips, and shall invite him to lie with her, and he shall lie with her, and she shall become big with metaphysicks, and her billet-doux shall be homilies of philosophy.
And he shall teach her that parents have no authority in the choice of a husband, and he shall paint them barbarous and unnatural.
And he shall refuse wages from the father, because of the delicacy natural to men, and receive money underhand from the daughter, which he shall prove to be exceedingly proper.
And he shall get drank with an English Lord, who shall insult him; and he shall propose to fight with the English Lord; and his mistress, who
a
lost the honour of her own sex, shall decide upon that of men: and she shall teach him, who taught her every thing, that he ought not to fight.
And he shall receive a persion from the Lord, and shall go to Paris, where he shall not frequent the society of well-bred and sensible people, but of flirts and petit-maities, and he shall believe he has seen Paris.
And he shall write to his mistress that the women are grenadiers, go naked, and refuse nothing to any man they chance to meet.
And when the same women shall receive him at their country-houses, and amuse themselves with his vanity, he shall say they are prodigies of reason and virtue.
And the
petit-maitres
shall bring him to a brothel, and he shall get drunk like a fool, and lie with strange women, and write an account of all this to his mistress, and she shall thank him.
And he shall receive his mistress's picture, and his imagination shall kindle at the sight; and his mistress shall give him obscene
ssons on solitary chastity.
And this mistress shall marry the first man that arrives from the world's end; and, notwithstanding all her craft, she shall imagine no means to break off the match; and she shall pass intrepidly from her lover's to her husband's arms.
And her husband shall know, before his marriage, that she is desperately in love with and beloved by another man; and he shall voluntarily make them miserable: but he shall be a good man; and, moreover, an atheist.
And his wife shall immediately find herself exceedingly happy, and shall write to her lover that, were she still free, she would prefer her husband to him.
And the philosophick lover shall resolve to kill himself.
And he shall write a long dissertation, to prove that a man ought to kill himself when he has lost his mistress; and his friend shall prove the thing not worth the trouble; and the philosopher shall not kill himself.
And he shall make the tour of the globe, to give his mistress's children time to grow, that he may return to be their preceptor, and teach them virtue, as he taught their mother.
And the philosopher shall see nothing in his tour round the globe.
And he shall return to Europe.
And the husband of his mistress, though acquainted with their whole intrigue, shall bring his good friend to his house.
And the virtuous wife shall leap upon his neek at his entrance, and the husband shall be charmed; and they shall all three embrace every day; and the husband shall be jocose upon their adventures, and shall believe they are become reasonable; and they shall continue to love with extasy, and shall delight to remember their voluptuousness; and they shall walk hand in hand, and weep.
And the philosopher being in a boat, with his mistress alone, shall be inclined to throw her over-board, and jump after her.
And they shall call all this virtue and philosophy.
And while they talk of virtue and philosophy, no one shall be able to comprehend what is either virtue or philosophy.
And they shall prove virtue no longer to consist in the fear of temptation, but in the pleasure of being continually exposed to it; and philosophy shall be the art of making vice amiable.
And the philosopher's mistress shall have a few trees, and a stream in her garden; and she shall call her gardens Elysium, and no one shall be able to comprehend her.
And she shall feed the wanton sparrows in her Elysium; and she shall watch her domestick male and female, lest they should be as amorous as herself.
And she shall sup with her day-labourers, and hold them in great respect; and shall beat hemp with her philosopher at her side.
And her philosopher will determine to beat hemp the next day, the day after, and every day of his life.
And the labourers shall sing, and the philosopher shall be enchanted by their melodies, although not Italian.
And she shall educate her children with great care, and shall not let them speak before strangers, nor hear the name of God.
And she shall gormandize; but she shall eat beans and pease seldom, and only in the temple of Apollo, and this shall be philosophick forbearance.
And she shall write to her good friend, that she continues as she began; that is, to love him passionately.
And the husband shall send the letter to the lover.
And they shall not know what is become of the lover.
And they shall not care what is become of the lover.
And the whole romance shall be useful, good, and moral; for it shall prove that daughters have a right to dispose of their hearts, hands, and favours, without consulting parents, or regarding the inequality of conditions.
And it shall shew that, while you talk of virtue, it is useless to practise it.
And that it is the duty of a young girl to go to bed to one man, and marry another.
And that it is sufficient for those who deliver themselves up to vice, to feel a temporary remorse for virtue.
And that a husband ought to open his doors and his arms to his wife's lover.
And that the wife ought to have him for ever in her arms, and take in good part the husband's jokes and the lover's whims.
And she ought to prove, or believe she has proved, that love between married people is useless and impertinent.
And this book shall be written in an emphatick stile, which shall impose upon simple people.
And the author shall abound in words, and shall suppose he abounds in arguments.
And he shall heap one exaggeration upon another, and he shall have no exceptions.
And he shall wish to be forcible; and he shall be extravagant; and he shall always industriously draw general conclusions from particular c
ses.
And he shall neither know simplicity, truth, or nature; and he shall apply all his force to explain the easiest and most trifi
ng things; and sarcasm shall be thought reason, and his talents shall caricature virtue, and overthrow good sense; and he shall gaze upon the phantoms of his brain, and his eyes shall never see reality.
And, like empiricks, who make wounds to shew the power of their specificks, he shall poison souls, that he may have the glory of curing them: and the poison shall act violently on the mind and on the heart; but the antidote shall act on the mind only, and the poison shall prevail,
And he shall vaunt that he has dug a pit, and think himself free from reproach, by saying, "Woe be to the young girls that fall into my pit; I have warned them of it in my preface." And young girls never read prefaces.
And when, in his romance, he shall have mutually degraded philosophy by manners, and manners by philosophy, he shall say, a corrupt people must have romances.
And he shall also say, a corrupt people must have rogues.
And he shall leave the world to draw the conclusion.
And he shall add, to justify himself for having written a book where vice predominates, that he lived in an age when it was impossible to be good.
And, to excuse himself, he shall calumniate all mankind.
And he shall threaten to despise all those who do not believe in his book.
And virtuous people shall consider his folly with an eye of pity.
And he shall no longer be called a philosopher, but the most eloquent of all the sophists.
And they shall wonder how a pure mind could conceive such an impure book.
And those who believed in him shall believe in him no more.
HUMOROUS ANECDOTE OF HOGARTH AND A NOBLEMAN.
IN the early part of Hogarth's life, a nobleman, who was uncommonly ugly and deformed, came to fit to him for his picture. It was executed with a skill that did honour to the artist's abilities; but the likeness was rigidly observed, without even the necessary attention to compliment or flattery. The peer, disgusted at this counter-part of his dear self, never once thought of paying for a reflector that would only insult him with his deformities. Some time was suffered to elapse before the artist applied for his money; but afterwards many applications were made by him (who had then no need of a banker) for payment, without success. The painter, however, at last hit upon an expedient, which he knew must alarm the nobleman's pride, and by that means answer his purpose. It was couched in the following card—
"Mr. HOGARTH's dutiful respects to Lord —, finding that he does not mean to have the picture which was drawn for him, is informed again of Mr. Hogarth's necessity for the money; if, therefore, his Lordship does not send for it in three days, it will be disposed of, with the addition of a tail, and some other little appendages, to Mr. Hare, the famous wild-beast man; Mr. Hogarth having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it for an exhibition of pictures, on his Lordship's refusal."
This intimation had the desired effect: the picture was sent for home, and committed to the flames.
ACCOUNT OF A MOST AWEFUL CHANGE, IN A YOUNG LADY OF EIGHTEEN. ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I Shall rouze your tenderest feelings, when I inform you that you will no more behold the lovely and beloved Miss Singlehand. She departed her state of trial on Sunday last, in the eighteenth year of her age.
That which brought her to her present situation has long preyed on her vitals. On the day just mentioned, the conqueror came with irresistible authority, as a king of terrors indeed, but in his mildest form, and laid his victorious hand on her about ten o'clock in the morning; from which time till night she held a state of uncertain existence: at last, about midnight, that amiable countenance, which used to glow with sweet modesty, was shrouded in darkness, and the spoiler triumphed over beauties which were once the desire or the envy of both sexes.
The first attack of her disorder was at a review in the Park; where Colonel Scarlet, whose manly and polite address is so well known, commanded the regiment near which she stood. A sweetly-painful palpitation on a sudden seized her till then peaceful bosom: but this gave her little alarm, ignorant as she was of the nature of her malady, and by no means expecting the consequences which it has now produced. When she came home, she felt anxiety and restlessness; yet it did not appear that she had caught cold. She was fond of solitude, and apt to tremble and change colour: she complained, but that only when alone, of an uneasiness in her breast; was observed to lean her cheek on her hand, and frequently to wipe the trickling tear which accompanied the involuntary half-broken sigh.
Some of her friends were apprehensive for her senses; and, indeed, several of her actions appeared destitute of that prudence, good-sense, and gaiety, for which she was before remarkable. To study long at her looking-glass; to be angry with her head-dress; to talk to herself, like one delirious, of groves and fountains, soldiers, parents, and wrinkled old age, with a thousand other incoherent subjects; were circumstances very suspicious, indeed. But, whatever her disorder was, she was very shy of giving any intimation which might lead to a discovery of it.
It is proper you should know, that Colonel Scarlet was by this time pretty intimate at her father's, and from him was learned what chiefly led her friends to a knowledge of her complaint. They endeavoured to administer such remedies as were calculated to remove her disease, but in vain; it evidently increased. A jaunt into the country, a round of elegant amusements, solitude, or company, seemed each to feed her complaint, rather than remove it. The attention of the colonel to her situation, at this time, was exceedingly diligent and tender; be professed the utmost concern for her welfare, and interested himself in all that was done for her: his country-feat, his coach, and his fortune, were all at her service; and he seemed willing to give even himself for her happiness.
In this situation of things, and as the last resource—all other advice proving ineffectual—recourse was had to a clergyman. He spoke to her very seriously concerning the change of state before her; enquired into the situation of her mind, with respect to the approaching awful period; informed her of the new birth to be expected, the remedy against sin, and the society and comfort of the blissful mansions, quoting several texts to the purpose. He gave her many suitable exhortations to love her lord with all her heart, and obey his will; and directed her concerning the endowment of wordly goods, and such other subjects as are common on these occasions. During all which exhortations she seemed in great agitation, and made answer with a faltering tongue; hope and tear, shame, joy, and trembling apprehension, alternately possessing her breast.
Her father gave her up with great composure, but her mother not without many tears. The colonel, who was present, and much interested in all that passed, gave her several tokens of his high esteem and good wishes, which she accepted with down-cast eyes and a scarcely audible voice. The spectators seemed to think her exceedingly well prepared, and whispered to each other about her uprightness, faith, virtue, constancy, and a thousand other amiable qualifications for a state of happiness.
When this scene was over, she appeared somewhat more composed, and tasted a little, and but a little, refreshment. She seemed to have forebodings of her fate, and expected that night to commence her state of lasting misery or bliss.
Some of her young female acquaintance helped her to undress, and endeavoured to console her. They told her, that it was what they must all come to; that they doubted not she would be happy; and sympathetically wished, that their time was also come. This afforded but little allay to her anxious expectation; she expressed great backwardness to depart, and trembled to think what torments she might ere long endure. Then, turning her thoughts to the brighter scenes, she expressed her hope, that however sharp the struggles of nature might be, she should nevertheless experience all beyond them to be delight and joy. Taking, therefore, an affectionate farewel of her young companions, she composed herself to meet her destiny; and, with a groan, was received into the bosom of her lord.
LOVE-LETTER, FROM AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY TO A WIDOW WHOM HE HAD NEVER SEEN.
THOUGH I never, Madam, had the happiness to see you—no, not so much as in a picture—and consequently can no more tell what complexion you are of than one who lives in the remotest parts of China, I am nevertheless most passionately in love with you; and this affection has taken such deep root in my heart, that, on my conscience! I could die a martyr for you with as much chearfulness as thousands have done for their religion, who were as ignorant of the truth for which they died as I am of your ladyship.
This declaration, Madam, may surprize you; but you will cease to wonder, when I have acquainted you what it was that not only gave birth to my passion, but has effectually confirmed it. Last week, having occasion to ride into Surry, about some particular business, I noticed, not far from the road, a most magnificent seat. My curiosity was instantaneously raised to know the owner of so beautiful a pile; and, being informed that it belongs to your ladyship, I began that very moment to have a very strong inclination for you. When, therefore, I was farther assured that some two thousand acres of the best ground in England appertained to this noble fabrick, together with a fine park, delightful gardens, variety of fish-ponds, and other desirable conveniences, I then fell up to the ears in love, and resolved to enlist myself among the number of your humble servants and sincere admirers.
"The owner of so many fine things," said I to myself, "must needs be the finest women in the world. What though she be old—her trees are green! What though she may have lost the lilies and the roses in her cheeks—she has enough left in her gardens! What though she should be barren—her fields are sufficiently fruitful."
With these thoughts in my head, I alighted from my horse, and at once became so enamoured of your ladyship, that I told my passion to every tree in your park: and, by the bye, they are the tallest, straightest, loveliest, finest shaped-trees, I ever beheld in my life.
I now appeal to your ladyship, whether any lover was ever influenced by more solid motives than your devoted humble servant. Those who are wholly captivated by beauty, will infallibly find their passion decay with the transitory charm which at first attracted their regard; and those who pretend to admire a woman merely for the qualities of her mind, must consider her soul as abstracted from her body: but he who loves not a woman in the flesh, as well as in the spirit, is only fit, in my opinion, to make love to a spectre; whereas my passion, the sincerity of which you cannot possibly doubt is built on the same foundation with your house, grows with your trees, and will daily increase with your estate.
For any thing I know to the contrary, you may be the handsomest woman in the kingdom; but, whether you are so or not, signifies little, while you have fortune enough to six my affection. I am a soldier my profession; and, as I have fought for pay, by Heaven's blessing! I mean to love for money.
All your other suitors would speak the same language, if they were equally honest; and, should you favour this blunt address, by making choice of me, I can add, for your comfort, that you will be the first woman on record, from the creation to the present hour, who ever loved a man for telling her the truth.
THE WIDOW's ANSWER.
THOUGH, Sir, I have never had the satisfaction of seeing you, and my fancy cannot possibly form an idea of your person, from the ingenuous frankness of your epistle, and the matchless impudence of your address, I am equally inclined to love and to despise you. That you could die a martyr for me, with as much chearfulness as thousands have done for their religion, I can by no means believe; for, in the next world, I have neither a house, nor a tree, that I can call my own; and, were such a tragi-comical event to take place, I much question whether I should have the smallest reason to wish it otherwise. This declaration, Sir, may surprize you: but you will cease to wonder, when I tell you, that I have no very favourable opinion of a soldier. My last husband was an officer in the army, young, handsome, intelligent, and blest with every requisite, save one, to render me perfectly happy.—"Save one!" you will reply; "What could that be?"—CONSTANCY, Sir; the basis of felicity in a conjugal state. He loved the women indiscriminately; me, apparently, more than the rest, because it was more to his interest. My personal property became his the moment we were married; but my real estate, with which you are so much enamoured, he could not touch without my consent. This kept him in good humour; for he well knew, that if he displeased me, I should at my decease bequeath the whole to a poor relation, and leave him the pill of disappointment, to carry off the dregs of insolence. Thus happily fortified against the tyranny of his natural disposition, I lived in tolerable ease with him for the space of three years; when a lingering intermittent brought on a consumption, which soon closed the career of his life, and made me an inheritor of liberty at large. This sudden reversion of my fate, from subjection to freedom, was the grand desideratum of my wishes; and, as I have known a deprivation of liberty, I shall now set the higher value on that inestimable blessing. Instead, therefore, of giving you the encouragement you solicit, I must tell you frankly, that having known the joys of matrimony, as well as it's inconveniences, I am not inclined to purchase a moment's pleasure with an age of pain. I am now my own mistress; subject to no controul; and above the censure of the impertinent. Whatever may be your opinion of me, after the perusal of this letter, be assured it is not in your power, however specious your arguments, or captivating your person may be, to disturb for one moment the tranquillity of her who, having known the duplicity and inconstancy of one, will never entrust to another that happiness which she now finds in her own bosom. I am, Sir, with as much sincerity, your lover, as I wish you to be mine.
SIR SIMON AND HODGE; OR, THE ADDITIONAL WRINKLE.
BY MR. HARRISON.
AS Hodge, one day, was swelt'ring in the sun,
A dry old dog, yet a true child of fun;
Sir Simon came, to see his man so blithe,
Panting beneath the labour of his scythe:
For Hodge had risen ere the early dawn,
'Twas now high noon, nor yet clean shav'd the lawn.
Much had he done, which he was pleas'd to view,
But curs'd the little that remain'd to do.
His arms were weary, and his aged back
Seem'd ev'ry sinew, at each bend, to crack;
At ev'ry stroke, the drops of sweat fast pace
Down the rough furrows of his time-plough'd face.
And still he stops, though he can scarcely stand,
To sweep his dewy forehead with his hand;
With frequent rubbings whets his ling'ring blade,
And sighs for ev'ning, and the fresh'ning shade.
Now old Sir Simon was as queer a soul,
As Hodge himself, but nothing like so droll:
He had some wit, and thought that he had more,
As many a greater wit has done before;
And many another, we may well maintain,
Has done so since, and will do so again.
"Hodge," says Sir Simon, "you can't well be dry,
For you are wet enough, I see, to fry;
Now had you been but dry enough to burn,
A jug of ale had done you no ill-turn!"
Hodge smil'd at very mention of the nappy;
But, at the sight, was wondrously more happy:
For now Sir Simon, having had his joke,
Drew the full pitcher from beneath his cloak.
Hodge seiz'd, with eager hand, the foaming prize;
And, heav'n-ward raising both his grateful eyes,
Fast down his throat the welcome liquor pours,
Nor heeds his master, loudly though he roars—
"Stop, Hodge! why, Hodge; zounds! Hodge, why don't you stop?
I'm thirsty too; zounds! Hodge, leave me a drop!"
Sir Simon bawl'd as loud as he could bawl,
But Hodge ne'er stopp'd, till he had swallow'd all.
As flowly, now, he panting gains his breath,
That seem'd awhile o'ermatch'd by struggling death—
"Hodge," says Sir Simon, "pry'thee canst not hear?
Why, zounds! I bade thee not drink all the beer!
Deuce take thy throat, mine's hoarse with so much bawl;
I've half a mind to ram down jug and all.
I told thee I was dry as well as thee;
But not a drop, plague take thee, 's left for me!"
Hodge now affected wonderful surprize,
And like a pig's just stuck appear'd his eyes—
"Lord, Sir," says Hodge, seemingly vast contrite,
Though bent by trick to pacify the knight—
"Ise be main sorry thus to give offence;
But, to a person of your worship's sense,
Ise need not say, for that would be absurd,
While a man drinks he ne'er can hear one word."—
"Not hear while drinking?" straight Sir Simon cries,
Fill'd, in his turn, with a stuck pig's surprize;
"Why, sure—why, sure, Hodge—that can never be!
Egad, I'll fetch another jug, and see."
Away the knight, with his best speed, then went,
To find the truth, as told by Hodge, intent;
And Hodge, mean time, contriv'd the means to make
Sir Simon, what he said, for Gospel take.
"Now, Hodge," the knight, returning, cried, "we'll try
If what you tell me truth be, or a lye.
I'll drink, and you must bellow—"Stop, stop, stop!
Do, pray, Sir," you may add, "leave me a drop."
This, when I hear, I certainly will do;
So, as I drink, remember, Hodge, bawl you."
Sir Simon heav'd the pitcher to his head;
Hodge op'd his mouth, but not a word he said:
Yet gap'd so wide, there seem'd abundant fear
The fellow meant to tear from ear to ear.
"This truth, so strange," to Hodge Sir Simon cried,
"I ne'er would have believ'd, had I not tried.
Thus, Hodge, it is, though life wears fast away,
Wiser and wiser, we grow ev'ry day!
This time thou hadst, I fairly own, most brains,
So freely take the liquor for thy pains."
Hodge thus got paid for playing off his wit;
And pleas'd his master was, though he was bit:
Convine'd that he had gain'd a wrinkle more,
No matter where—than e'er he had before.
THE RAZOR-GRINDER, A COMICK TALE.
BY PETER PIKDAR, ESQ.
A Fellow in a market fown,
Most musical cried razors up and down,
And offer'd twelve for eighteen pence;
Which certainly seem'd wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,
As ev'ry man would buy with cash and sense.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard:
Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black beard,
That seem'd a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose;
With chearfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,
And proudly to himself, in whispers said—
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose!"
"No matter if the fellow
he
a knave,
Provided that the razors
shave;
It certainly will be a monstrous prize!"
So home the clown, with his good fortune, went,
Smiling in heart and soul content,
And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes.
Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze:
'Twas a vile razor!—then the rest he tried—
All were impostors—"Ah!" Hodge sigh'd,
"I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse."
In vain, to chace his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut, and dug, and winc'd, and stamp'd, and swore;
Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd, and made wry faces,
And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er.
His MUZZLE, form'd of
opposition
stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose it's rough;
So kept it—laughing at the steel and suds:
Hodge in a passion, stretch'd his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd claws,
On the vile CHEAT that sold the goods.
"Razors! a damn'd confounded dog,
Not fit to scrape a hog!"
Hodge sought the fellow—sound him, and begun—
"P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
"That people flea themselves out of their lives;
You rascal! for an hour I have been grubbing,
Giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster knives:
Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't
shave.
"
"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I am no knave;
As for the razors you have bought,
Upon my soul, I never thought
That they would
shave."
"Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with won'ring eyes,
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;
"What were they made for then, you dog!" he cries:
"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile—
"to sell."
THE DERNIER RESORT. A FAMILIAR EPISTLE.
NO! no! by all the powers above,
My heart's as little touch'd by love,
As ever in my life:
Full well, dear Hal, to thee is known,
Whom Fortune to my lot has thrown,
To be my wedded wife.
But why I wed, should any ask;
To answer, is an easy task—
Want! Want! my honest Harry:
What can a man, whose fortune's spent,
Who has mortgag'd to his utmost rent,
But drown, or shoot or marry?
Of these, the best is, sure, the bride:
For when one's plung'd beneath the tide,
Adieu to all our figure!
Full sudden is the pistol's fate;
When once 'tis touch'd, alas! too late,
We wish undrawn the trigger.
'Tis thus resolv'd, then, honest boy!
To-morrow, thou may'st wish me joy;
Joy will I buy by wiving:
Soon to her mansion, far from town,
Six rapid bays shall whirl us down,
As if the de'el were driving.
There shall the brisk, capacious bowl,
Drown every care that haunts the soul,
And rouze me to a new life:
And, ha! for all that she can say,
Some blooming village queen of May
Shall—wait upon my true wife.
When all the tedious farce is o'er,
And spouse has crown'd me with her dow'r;
Should sudden ruin meet her—
E'en tho' her coachman broke her neck,
Unmov'd I'd stand, amidst the wreck,
Nor swear at heedless Peter.
THE APRIL FOOL.
BY MR. HARRISON.
"TO-day," says Dick, "is April-day,
And, though so mighty wife you be,
A bett, whate'er you like, I'll lay,
Ere night, I make a fool of thee!"
"A fool I may be made, 'tis true:
But, Dick," cries Tom, "ne'er be afraid;
No man can make a fool of you,
For you're a fool already made."
DESCRIPTION OF HOLLAND.
A Country that draws fifty foot of water,
In which men live as in the hold of nature;
And when the sea does in upon them break,
And drown a province, does but spring a leak;
That always ply the pump, and never think
They can be safe, but at the rate they stink;
That live as if they had been run aground,
And when they die, are cast away and drown'd;
That dwell in ships, like swarm of rats, and prey
Upon the goods all nations fleets convey;
And, when their merchants are blown up and crackt,
Whole towns are cast away in storms, and wreckt;
That feed, like Cannibals, on other fishes,
And serve their cousin-germans up in dishes:
A land, that rides at anchor, and is moor'd;
In which they do not live, but go aboard.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE III.
The Idle 'Prentice at Play in the Church Yard during Divine Service.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER III.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE III. THE IDLE 'PRENTICE AT PLAY IN THE CHURCH-YARD DURING DIVINE SERVICE.
IN this admirable Print, a fine contrast is afforded to the preceding one. Here, while the virtuous and industrious youth is performing the duty of a pious Christian, his indolent and vicious fellow-apprentice lies stretched on a tomb-stone, and gambling with the vilest associates. They are playing at hustle-cap; and Tom Idle is in the act of cheating, by a concealment of some of the half pence under the broad brim of his hat.
A Shoe-black, distinguished by his stool, basket, and brushes, challenges the fraud; and their prosligate Companion, with a black patch over his eye, is resolutely insisting on fair play.
So deeply are they engaged in the dispute, that the Beadle, summoned by the noise of their quarrel, approaches unperceived to chastise them with his cane. The first intimation of the Beadle's presence is obviously signified by a smart application of the rattan on the culprit's back.
That the filthiest and most slothful wretches are under the necessity of continually employing their hands, however reluctantly, is manifest in the active search of the Shoe-black beneath his rags, as well as the similar diligence of the Lad with his hat scratched more than half off his head, who are both evidently infested by an enemy that compels them to be busy with their singers.
HERE LIES THE BODY OF —, is inscribed, with the peculiar felicity of Hogarth, on the tomb where lazy Tom is seen stretched at full-length.
The skulls and other bones near the open grave, are not only characteristick of the scene, but serve to increase, as it were, the turpitude of the offenders, by displaying their hardened and abominable insensibility to objects which cannot be surveyed without a degree of aweful horror by all who possess the common feelings of humanity.
The fatality of associating with such miscreants will be abundantly demonstrated in the succeeding series; where the fellow with a black patch over one eye, first encountered at a sort of gaming-table in a church-yard, leads Tom Idle, a not unwilling votary, into the depths of iniquity, and then, like the arch-betrayer of mankind, compleatly abandons him.
The motto is literally appropriate to the scene—
"Judgments are prepared for scorners, and stripes for the back of fools."
Proverbs xix. 29.
PROFESSIONAL SPEECHES AT A BRUISING MATCH.
BY MR. HARRISON.
AS I was a few days ago crossing Moorfields, I perceived a large crowd of people gathered together, making a noise to the full as confused, and generally speaking to the full as unintelligible, as could possibly be heard at the famous building of the Tower of Babel.
I am naturally averse to such assemblies: but, as I was at a loss to know with certainty from what cause it originated, curiosity prompted me to visit the scene of action; where I beheld one of the most stubborn battles, between a coalheaver and a carman, that perhaps ever was seen, at the trifling expence of a tolerable handkerchief, and an old memorandum-book of no use to any one but the right-owner.
What struck me most forcibly, during this conflict, was the jargon which flew about on the occasion; and in which, as the company probably consisted of almost every different species of artificers and labourers, I thought I could discover striking traits of their respective professions.
If the reader possesses himself of the same idea, he may probably peruse the following minutes of such parts of the colloquy as I could distinguish, with a satisfaction nearly equal to that which I myself felt.
Smite my eyes, Jack, why don't you get to windward! splice me, if I wouldn't soon knock out the lubber's starboard-eye. Box his compass; run in under his guns; get into his wake; never mind lee-shores; bring him to-his moorings; pepper his round-top; shiver his bowsprit; get the weathergage; strike his top-gallant; batter his hull; give him a broadside.
Keep to your post, Dick; fire away, my lad; flank him to the right; work his buff; thrust home; wheel about; rally again.
Hit the right nail on the head; teach him to play with edgetools; ply your jack-plane; level him with your mallet; drill his gimlet-eye; glue him up neatly.
Trowel the dog; keep your line; give it him in his upperstories; strike his scaffold.
Hammer away; nail him; ply briskly, my lad; make his anvil ring again; don't let the iron grow cold; blow him up; make the sparks fly out of him; cool his courage; make his bellows head hiss like a hot horse-shoe.
Now, my lad of wax! peg away; tan the dog's hide; curry him well; that's my good soul; bristle up to him again, Jack; leather him well; now, my fine fellow, you have him fast in the stocks.
Lather away, Dick; shave him close; work him a good two penny-worth; oil the dog's wig for him; dress him; dust him well; grind him to powder; that's the barber.
Stick to his skirt; trim his jacket; Iace him; spoil his shapes; bring down his buckram; don't mind him a louse; sew him up neatly; aim at his fifth button; cut him into cabbage; at him again, as cool as a cucumber; don't be such a goose as to give out; have t'other brush; let him see you are a man; send the dog to hell.
Throw your shuttle nimbly, my hearty; tumble him out of the loom; give it him in the warp; work away with both hands and feet; mind your eye; make a neat finish.
Peg his dough; hit him in the bread-basket; give it him in the crumb; shove the cake into his last oven; let him have a hot birth.
Have a good heart; come Ben Boozle over his jaw-bone; hamstring the dog; give him a cross-buttock; knock him down; set his claret afloat; flea the dog alive; cut out his liver; brain him; break every bone in his skin.
Darken his day-lights; that's my diamond; work his pate into putty; make the sun shine through him; close his peepers, my hearty.
These are the chief speeches which occur to me, but they will probably bring many similar ones to the remembrance of most readers.
With respect to the event of the battle, it is only necessary to observe, that after the combatants had bruised each other till neither of them was able to see or stand, it was agreed that a final decision of their dispute should be deferred till another opportunity. In the mean time, I found, that the contest was of a very important nature, being intended to decide no less a question, than whether a coalheaver or a carman was the most respectable profession.
ADDRESS TO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.
AND really a good sort of people ye are, when ye are pleased. The task is not difficult to bring ye into goodhumour, neither; but I defy all the artists in Europe to keep you so.
Ye love to find fault; nay, to make faults: and, if you cannot quarrel with your neighbours, you will fall out with yourselves; like the greyhound, who used to grow angry at his own tail.
You may say that I am guilty of injustice; and that ye are affable, humane, friendly, charitable, social, sweet-tempered, self-denying, beings: if every person was to draw his own picture, the pen-and-ink portrait would appear so; but I, who have looked upon life for above twenty years, as an unconcerned spectator of all the fantasticalness with which mankind have fatigued themselves—to me ye appear selfish, stubborn, querulous, conceited, discontented, existences; and ever enjoy more than ye deserve, yet are daily wishing for more enjoyments, and to do less to deserve them.
I dined yesterday at Mr. Fineer's; and his eldest son being introduced, according to the ancient family custom of shewing the visitors how much wit the heir has, one of the guests addressed his papa with—"I suppose, Sir, you will bring master up to your business."—"Bring him up to be a hangman, rather!" was the parent's answer. "No, no; he shall never be brought up to work all his life-time for nothing, as I have done." And yet this person has gained, by his own industry and success in trade, upwards of four thousand pounds. But thus it is; we covet to enjoy still more than we do, and want still to do less for it.
Epictetus says, mankind are dissatisfied; Senecca says, they are discontented: and this is what, both before and since Seneca, every person has been saying, who could say any thing.
With your leave, good people, I shall present you with a couple of characters: as it is common for those who suppose themselves to be artists, to exhibit specimens of their performances, I offer these with submission; and tell me, if you please, how you like them.
They are sketches of a Farmer and a Hop-planter.
In the harvest season, that particular month of Providence's bounty, when all the animal creation appears chearfully industrious, and we may even fancy approaching Winter to bear a smile on his weather-worn wrinkles, when he views the store that is gathering in to comfort him while he visits us; yet, even then, congratulate the Farmer on the noble prospect of his well-covered acres, he will shake his head; and, between a sigh and a grunt, he will answer you with—"Ah, but the straw is short!"
If the straw is long, then he will tell you there is no substance in the grain.
If there is but an indifferent crop, he laments that it will not pay the expence of housing and threshing.
If a plentiful crop, then he grumbles, corn will be so cheap, it will not be worth carrying to market.
Just so the Hop-planter: he rises, lifts up the sash, and looks over the horizon; if the morning happens to be cloudy, he pulls down the window with an oath, saying—"It will rain to-day, and all the blossoms will be washed off!"
If there should be a pleasant air abroad, then the poles will be all blown down.
If the sun shines, "O Lord! the plants will be burned up."
If it is a close, dry day, without much sunshine, or wind, then he wishes for rain to destroy the vermin, or else they will eat all the buds up.
The reader, who neither owns hop-grounds, nor rents cornlands, will wonder how these persons can be so discontented. Yet it is an even bett, that those who seem to be amazed at such grumblers, are as dissatisfied themselves: the symptoms of the distemper may be different, but the disease is the same in almost all.
Half the cure is supposed to be performed when the physician knows, the patient's disorder. Indeed, my good people, neighbours, countrymen, and choice spirits, I do know, bonâ fide, that you are disordered, and know that you disorder is; nay, would prescribe for you, but imagine my medicines will be thrown away.
Suppose I order you a few grains of self-knowledge, half a drachm of patience, and a scruple of self-denial, mixed up with a tea-spoonful of the syrup of humanity, will any of you take such an electuary? Ye might taste it, indeed, for the novelty's sake; but I will bett a handful of integrity, against all court ceremonies, that ye spit it out again.
Folly has thrown your heads into hystericks; and I will say opinion against common-sense, which are the greatest odds that can be offered, not one man in many dozens knows what is the matter with himself.
Last week I called on an old acquaintance: his lady told me her spouse was disturbed and disordered at something, she could not tell for what; and that she was happy at my calling, because she hoped I would get him into spirits again.
I went to him into his study; there he sat, discontented as an undone gamester. I took him by the hand, and enquired if he was ill. He replied that, thank God, he enjoyed as good a state of health as any man in the world. I desired to know if his affairs were any way complicated, which might make him uneasy. His reply was—"Sir, I do not owe any person a shilling; and my income greatly exceeds my out-sets."— "I hope, Sir, no words have happened betwixt your lady and you?"—"There is not a better woman breathing, Sir; and we live in continued harmony."—"How does your daughter, Sir?"—"Married, Sir, and as happy as I am."—"Your son at college?"—"My son, Sir, contributes to my happiness; I hear every body praise him."—"What then, Sir, can you be uneasy about?"—"See there, Sir!" my friend replied, raising his voice at the same time, and pulling some printed papers out of his pocket. "There, Sir! read there! There is the Gazetteer, and the General, and the Ledger, and the Herald, and the Chronicle, and the Morning Post. Who can enjoy themselves when we read such terrible accounts as they give us; not only of the government, but also of themselves; Mercy upon us! but we are a bought-and-sold nation!"
With some difficulty I persuaded him to come into company again, and once more be himself; and leave the study of politicks alone to those who loved to be imposed on.
I told him, all that a man of sense ought to do, was to conform to the laws of God and his country; to take things as they were; use them as they should be; act with as much integrity to mankind as the customs of the world would suffer; and, independent and contented, enjoy the pleasures of domestick society, and wait with patience for that awful, that all-interesting event, when empire breaks his sceptre, and beauty ceases to be amiable, when faction is dissipated, the phantom of pride vanished, and all the worldly distinctions are buried in a death-bed dissolution.
CHARACTER OF A. HARE, ESQ. A VERY EXTRAORDINARY COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
PERMIT this letter to inform you, that there is coming up to town by the Norwich coach, one who has lived most part of his time in our neighbourhood; if, indeed, he is not a native of this county: but of that I cannot be positive, neither is it very material, as I can, notwithstanding, give you a sufficient account of him for your conduct respecting the reception and treatment which it will be proper to give him, having furnished him — for he never was in town before—with a direction to your house. His conduct in time past has been, though not totally irreprehensible, as innocent, at least, as that of most others. Some few complaints I have heard of his depredations in the gardens, if not in the orchards, of his neighbours; but yet they have been ready to acknowledge, at the same time, they believe he thought no harm. It is true, he was rather wild in his youth, but never extravagant or gay in dress. Living wholly in the country, he has no notion of the amusements of the town; but, being remarkably light of foot, has not been able entirely to absent himself from field diversions; nor yet has he indulged himself in them. Upon such occasions he has been much sought; and, when he has been only just seen, or, as it were, had in view, it is surprizing how the rest of the company have exulted; and much has been, in the words of the poet, on other joyous occasions, "the clamour of men, of boys, and dogs." But, though every body else has appeared highly delighted, I have reason to believe he never enjoyed peace of mind at such riotous doings; for he has always endeavoured to leave them as soon as he could, and sometimes he has stolen away, and left them at a fault for want of his company. But how forcible is unprofitable company! At other times, a more select party have compelled him to take the lead, and go greater lengths than he approved: which has still been attended with uneasiness of mind, and frequently has he been turned: but lately, on an occasion of that sort, he received so severe a check in the midst of his career, that it entirely put a stop to his progress in that way; and, to tell you the truth, is the cause of his leaving the country at this time. Though much altered in that respect, I believe he is still what may be called hare-brained, which I suppose you will discover before he has been long in your company. Unaccustomed to being frequently in much company, as well as naturally timid and shy, even in the country, it is not to be expected he will ever be capable of entertaining a very large company; but a few select friends, I believe, will be very well satisfied with what they can obtain from him, or pick out of him. And, let me tell you, however unlikely it may seem, he will bear a roasting as well as most; only take this information along with you, as he is a mere rustick, and has indulged his appetite in the country without scruple, though with strict temperance, it may not be amiss to fill his belly with pudding, and perhaps a glass of wine may not be ill-bestowed, before you try that experiment upon him. Of the family of the Hares you have doubtless heard. I have some notion, one of them attained to considerable dignity in the national church; but the subject of this letter, though of the same name, is not of that family, but of one more ancient; nor did ever one of these profess with them: not but that I lately read an account in the newspapers of one of this family, who went to a place of publick worship in time of service, but I believe with no more devotion than some others whom I have heard called Thorough Churchmen, from their going, as it is most likely he did, in at one door and out at the other. Though this family cannot boast of places or pensions from the court, they have not been totally disregarded by the legislature. The nobility and gentry having put it out of the power, as far as acts of parliament, with united associations to enforce them, can do it, of the small vulgar, to exercise their merciless tempers upon them; as they were too apt to do, if they could only extort from them a meal's meat by it, and sometimes merely for the diversion of following them from place to place: and yet, I believe, if they were to speak all the truth, we should find themselves more frequently injured, and more wantonly persecuted, by their professed protectors, than any other men; and, may I not add, perhaps they are not alone in that predicament. But, as this letter is not intended to be a vehicle for political or disaffected reflections on men and measures, I shall conclude with wishing the subject of it may arrive safe at your house, and give your wife and yourself as much satisfaction as it gives me pleasure to have such an opportunity of subscribing myself,
Your affectionate friend, RIGDUM FUNNIDOS.
SPECIMEN OF BEAU NASH'S MANNER OF TELLING A STORY.
I Will tell you something to that purpose—that, I fancy, will make you laugh. A covetous old parson, as rich as the devil, scraped a fresh acquaintance with me several years ago at Bath. I knew him when he and I were students at Oxford, where we both studied damnationly hard; but that is neither here nor there. Well, very well. I entertained him at my house in John's Court—no, my house in John's Court was not built then—but I entertained him with all that the city could afford; the rooms, the musick, and every thing in the 'world. On his leaving Bath, he pressed me very bard to return the visit; and desired me to let him have the pleasure of seeing me at his house in Devonshire. About six months after, I happened to be in that neighbourhood; and was resolved to see my old friend, from whom I expected a very warm reception. Well, I knocks at his door: when an old queer creature of a maid came to the door, and denied him. I suspected, however, that he was at home; and, going into the parlour, what should I see but the parson's legs up the chimney, where he had thrust himself to avoid entertaining me. This was very well. "My dear," says I to the maid, "it is very cold, extreme cold, indeed; and, I am afraid, I have got a touch of my ague: light me the fire, if you please."—"La, Sir!" says the maid, who was a modest creature, to be sure, "the chimney smokes monstrously; you would not bear the room for three minutes together." By the greatest good luck there was a bundle of straw on the hearth, and I called for a candle. The candle came. "Well, good woman," says I, "since you will not light me a fire, I will light one for myself:" and in a moment the straw was all in a blaze. This quickly unkennelled the old fox: there he stood in an old rusty night-gown, blessing himself, and looking like—a—hem— egad!
Here I stand, gentlemen, who could once leap forty-two feet upon level ground, at three standing-jumps, backward or forward: one, two, three—dart like an arrow out of a bow— but I am old now. I remember, I once leaped for three hundred guineas with Count Clopstock, the great leaper, leapingmaster to the Prince of Passau: you must all have heard of him. First he began with the running-jump; and a most damnable bounce it was, that is certain. Every body concluded that he had the match hollow: when, only taking off my hat, stripping off neither coat, shoes, nor stockings—mind me!—I fetches a run, and went beyond him one foot, three inches, and three quarters; measured, upon my soul! by Captain Pately's own standard.
THE SPEAKING DOG. A PERSIAN STORY.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
A King of Persia, who was in the sixty-third year of his age, grew so doating fond of one of his concubines, a fair Circassian, named Roxana, that he obliged himself, by a solemn oath, never to refuse her any thing she should request of him. The lady made her advantage of this monarch's weakness; and every day, by some new and extravagant demand, took occasion to gratify her ambition, her avarice, or her revenge. During the career of her power, a certain European merchant, who had sold her some jewels, in order to engage her interest and protection at court, made her a present of a beautiful little dog, which had been taught to dance, and play a thousand antick tricks. In a short time, Roxana became as fond of her dog as the king was of her; only she lamented, that the little creature was not endowed with speech, and could not, therefore, make a proper reply to those endearing expressions she used as often as she caressed him. One of her eunuchs then present, told her she need not grieve on this account; for he knew a philosopher, named Hali, then living in the suburbs of Ispahan, who could teach her dog to speak the Persian language as articulately as he spoke it himself: that he had learned this art from a Grecian sage, who had not only given speech to dogs, and other animals of his country, but had rendered them as learned and knowing as those great men among the ancients who had been bred in the schools of Athens. Hali was immediately sent for, made acquainted with this business, and required to attend the next morning to give the dog his first lesson. It was in vain for the poor man to remonstrate against the possibility of such an undertaking; he was answered, it was the king's command, and must not be disputed: that, if he performed what was enjoined him in the space of thirty days, he should be amply rewarded; if he failed, he should lose his head.
Hali, we may imagine, considered the king's command as the artifice of his enemies, and as a trap which they had laid for his life. He communicated his distress to his eldest son, a youth of nineteen, who had a ready wit, and excellent parts, which had been well cultivated and improved by his wise father's instructions. He had, besides, a most engaging manner of address, a great sweetness of temper, and a beautiful person. Mirza—for that was the young man's name—burst into tears when he heard the king's orders; but, immediately recovering himself, he told his father that he had thought of a certain method to divert the danger which threatened their family.
For this purpose he desired Hali to present him the next morning to the chief eunuch as his daughter, and as a person well instructed in her father's art, and who would engage, at the hazard of her own life, as well as his; to execute the king's injunction, and thereby merit his grace and favour. Hali looked upon his son with amazement; and persuading himself that he spoke by the inspiration of the Prophet, who had taken their house under his protection, he made no difficulty of complying with young Mirza's request.
Accordingly, next morning, Mirza, disguised in a virgin's habit, was conducted to the chief eunuch, and by him led into Roxana's apartment; where he performed his part so well, that, before the month expired, it was reported all over the seraglio, that the philosopher's daughter had taught the little dog not only to speak, but to speak like a wise man, and answer pertinently to every question. The king would needs be assured of the truth of this prodigy. He made a visit to his favourite; she confirmed the report; and the dog being presented to him, was commanded to give a proof of his ex
raordinary talents, by answering respectfully whatever the king should be pleased to ask him.
The monarch seated himself on a sopha; and, taking the dog in his arms, gently stroked his head—(and he stroked it, and she stroked it; and she stroked it, and he stroked it
I have translated this parenthesis word for word. It seems to have some alleg
ical sense which I do not comprehend. The gentlemen who are le
ned in the doctrine of in
endoes may probably discover the author's meaning.
)— and then he proposed this question: "Say, thou pretty animal, who am I?" After a short silence, Roxana entreated the king to tell her if he was not highly delighted with the answer which the little beast had made him, and whether he could ever have believed the thing if he had not heard it. The king protested he had not heard a word; at which Roxana seemed much concerned; and, looking earnestly in the king's face, demanded again, if his majesty had not heard the dog answer him in the words following—"You are the son of the sun, the lieutenant of the prophets, and the king of kings; you are dreaded by your enemies, adored by your subjects, and passionately beloved by my fair mistress."
The King of Persia rose up amazed and confounded; but, still insisting he did not hear the dog speak, Roxana lifted up her hands, and thus addressed herself to Mahomet—"Thou messenger of God, protect and defend the king; increase his honour, lengthen his life, preserve his understanding, and open his ears; and, O never—never let him feel the infirmities of old age!" Then the dog being ordered to speak a little louder, she begged the king to make a second trial, which he did with great success; for he now declared he heard the little creature distinctly utter every word, just as Roxana had before repeated.
This occasioned an universal joy in the seraglio. Nothing was talked of for some days but the speaking dog. His answer to the king was written in letters of gold, and preserved in the archives of the empire. The pretended daughter of Hali was dismissed with a noble reward, and her father was soon afterwards promoted to one of the best governments in Persia.
The author of this tale concludes it with the following reflection.
Old age very seldom proves a blessing to great men, especially to these who have any share in the government of the world. The Persian monarch, who ruled so many nations, and esteemed himself a favourite of the gods, and the first man in the universe, was not permitted the use of his eyes or his ears. He was the dupe of his slave, and the jest of his whole court; but no one durst tell him so, and he died without knowing it.
THE RIVAL ORATORS.
ONE Sunday during last summer, while the weather was extremely hot, the windows of a certain parish church in the diocese of Gloucester were set open to admit more air, while the congregation was assembled for divine service. Just as the clergyman was beginning his weekly discourse—who, by the bye, is not much celebrated for his oratorial powers—a Jack-ass, which had been grazing in the church-yard, popped his head in at the window, and began braying with all his might. as if in opposition to the reverend preacher. On this, a wag present, immediately got up from his seat; and, with great gravity of countenance, exclaimed—"One at a time, gentlemen, if you please!" The whole congregation set up a loud laugh; when the Jack-ass took fright, and gave up the contest—though, from the clergyman's chagrin and confusion, he would probably not have proved the worst orator.
HUMOROUS ANECDOTE OF DR. SOUTH, AND AN OLD COUPLE WHO WANTED TO BE MARRIED.
DR. South, when he resided at Caversham in Oxfordshire, was called out of bed on a cold winter's morning by his clerk, to marry a couple who were then waiting for him. The doctor hurried up, and went shivering to church: but, seeing only an old man of seventy, with a woman about the same age, and his clerk; he asked the latter, in a pet, where the bridegroom and bride were, and what that man and woman wanted. The old man replying, that they came there to be married! The doctor looked sternly at him, and exclaimed—"Married!" "Yes, married!" said the old man, hastily; "better marry than do worse."—"Go, get you gone, you silly old souls!" said the doctor; "get home, and do your wor
?" And then hobbled out of church, in a great passion with his clerk for calling him out of bed on such a ridiculous errand.
STATESMEN LIKE SWINE; OR, THE FARMER'S POLICY.
A Patriotick candidate applied to a yeoman of a certain county for his vote, promising to exert his influence to turn out the ministry, and procure a fresh s
t "Then I won't vote for you," cried the farmer. "Why not!" said the p
riot; "I thought you was a friend to your country?"—"So I am," replied the yeoman; "and, for that reason, I am not for a change in the ministry. I know how it is with my hogs! when I buy them in lean, they eat the devil and all; but when they have once got a little fat, their keep is not near so expensive. I am, therefore, for keeping the present set, as they will devour much less than a new one."
EVERY TUB ON IT'S OWN BOTTOM.
A Sailor passing by a cooper's shop, and seeing a number of tubs piled above each other at the door, began to kick and tumble them about the street. The master coming out, and desiring to know the reason of this strange proceeding—"Damn it," replied Jack, "why should not every tub stand upon it's own bottom!"
SMART REPARTEE OF A LOMBARDY LASS.
A Country girl in Lombardy, running after her she-ass, which was in haste to get up to her foal, passed a gentleman on the road; who, seeing her look very buxom, and having a mind to be witty, called out—"Whence do you come, sweetheart?"—"From Villejuiff, Sir," said she. "From Villejuiff!" answered the gentleman: "and do you know the daughter of Nicholas Guillot, who lives there?"—"Very well!" replied the girl. "Be to kind, then," returned he, "as to carry her, a kiss from me:" and, throwing his arms round her neck, was about to salute her. "Hold, Sir," cried the wench, disentangling herself from his rude embrace, "since you are in such a hurry, it will be better to kiss my ass, as she will be there some time before me."
ART OF KILLING WIVES.
BY BISHOP THOMAS.
BISHOP Thomas, who was a man of great wit and drollery, was observing at a
visitation, that he had been four times married; and, should his present wife die, he declared he would take another, whom it was his opinion he should also survive. "Perhaps, gentlemen," continued the Bishop, "you do not know the art of getting quit of your wives: I will tell you how I do. I am called a good husband: and so I am; for I never contradict them. But do not you know that the want of contradiction is fatal to women? If you contradict them, that alone is exercise and health,
et optima medicamenta
—the best medicine in the world—for all women: but, if you constantly give them their own way, they will soon languish and p
nc, or become gross and lethargick for want of exercise."
THE FISHERMAN. AN ITALIAN TALE.
BY R. K. PORTER, ESQ.
BRIGHT was the setting sun, that, in the west,
Prepar'd the gentry for th' ensuing feast,
Order'd by Scala's lord, of high renown
Among th' Italians—I know not the town:
My brains have not as yet the secret heard,
Which caus'd the guttling of this busy herd.
If, on the subject, I my thoughts may tell,
'Twas this that made their appetites to swell—
The flesh, the fowl, and fricasees so nice,
The high ragouts, so pepper'd all with spice:
In short, all dainties that were ever seen,
To please the tastes of all, both fat and lean.
The guests assembled in the sumptuous hall,
All shapes and sorts, plump, slender, short, and tall.
Most came before the time, they long'd so much
Their maws to open, and the meats to touch:
Each minute was an hour, each hour a day,
So slow the eaters drawl'd their time away;
And, till the instant for the cram appear'd,
Nothing but flying compliments were heard.
The civil sayings of this hungry crowd,
Were interrupted by the speaking loud
Of my Lord's Major Domo, in a haste—
"My Lord," said he, "as you're a lord of taste,
And know full well what forms a dainty dish;
I come to tell you—there is such a fish!
Brought by a man—it's equal ne'er can be,
Throughout all Italy, nor in the sea!
But, then, so strange a price he does demand—"
"Pho!" cried the Marquis; "pay him, I command,
Whate'er he asks, and let the man be gone."—
"I would, my Lord, but money he'll take none!"—
"What would the fellow, then?" the Marquis cried.
"A hundred lashes—on his naked bide!
Nor will he bate, he swears, a single blow:
Say, shall he have the price, or must he go?"
The Marquis smil'd; then, calling ev'ry guest,
Chagrin'd, and angry, from the untouch'd feast,
Through the long galleries took his jocund way,
Resolv'd to gain the fish, whate'er the pay.
Now, in the court, to see the man of eels,
On march'd the Count, with hunger at his heels—
"Well, friend," he cried, "what ask you for the fish?
Ask what you will, speak but the price you wish,
And I will give it."—"Humbly, then, my Lord,
And on a poor man's low, but sacred word,
I cannot bate a stroke from what I've told;
For strokes, to me, are dearer, now, than gold!"—
"Here, Paulo, then!," the mighty Scala cried,
"Pay this good man, but pity his poor hide.
His humour's droll; and always I pursue
The plan of giving e'en the Devil his due."
The fellow stripp'd; and Paul began to whack
A mighty strappado on his bare back;
Whose brawny blades the thumps resounded loud,
In the hollow maws of this our hungry-crowd.
Had a great genius, who could tell, by face,
The soul of each, been witness at this place,
That such a change could instantly be wrought,
Where would have been his art! what had he thought!
To see, so soon, such alteration made,
As in the faces that were here display'd?
But, to my tale; for near the tale I am,
Of this my story, that delays the cram:
A cram most happy, when it did begin;
Where, with his plate, and napkin at his chin,
Each gorm'd and guzzl'd, in a woeful hurry,
Lest he should lose his share of buck or curry.
"Mind," said the Fishman, "friend, I'll only have
As many stripes as I at first did crave;
For, by the mass! these blows are not so sweet,
To make me greedy of such poignant meat."
At length, when on his back the fiftieth came—
"Hold," straight he cried, "here we must change the game!
The rest, my lord, are to another due,
And justice I revere, as well as you;
A partner in this business I have got,
Nor would I rob him of a single jot.
The man, your lordship, too, soon as you see,
Will own, deserves his share, as well as me."—
"A partner!" cried the Marquis, "this is droll;
Thou art a curious fellow, on my soul!
Nor can I penetrate thy strange design;
But speak thy will, to grant it shall be mine."—
"The man I mean, my lord, fore'd me to vow,
Ere through your lordship's gate he let go,
That, whatsoe'er I got for my reward,
The price, with him, should instantly be shar'd:
This man's your porter; and, my lord, I pray,
The promis'd debt your sturdy groom may pay."—
"Now, by the Holy Mother!" cried my lord,
Strong Paul shall his full share of stripes afford.
Call in the rascal! he shall have his due;
Aye, that he shall, with swingeing interest too!"
His look commanded; and the servants ran,
To bring, with many a shout, the guilty man!
Who, now, all frighten'd, all beset, and bound,
The lusty lashes of young Paul
sound.
When these with might and main were well laid on,
The Marquis sternly bade the wretch be gone!
Then, turning to the Fisherman, thus spoke—
"For thy most sage revenge, thy pleasant joke,
A yearly pension, on this very day,
To thee, my friend, I gratefully will pay.
Call at my gate; nor fear, now searr'd his skin,
He'll ever hesitate to let thee in."
The Fisherman, low bowing, straight withdrew,
And faster still return'd the hungry crew:
Gabbling, they posted back, with hasty pace,
But found no leisure for a word of grace;
Eager to mingle in the guttling fray,
And greedily devour the various prey.
There, while with pleasure, they o'erload their maws,
And clog their senses, while they tire their jaws;
Be our great care the mind, the maw the least,
For health and bliss attend the moral feast.
JOHN GILPIN.
BY W. COWPER, ESQ.
JOHN Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown;
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear—
"Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.
"To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.
"My sister and my sister's child,
Myself and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we."
He soon replied—"I do admire
Of womankind but one;
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.
"I am a linen-draper hold,
As all the world does know;
And my good friend, the callender,
Will lend his horse to go."
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin—"That's well said;
And, for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish'd with our own,
Which is so bright and clear."
John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wise;
O'erjoy'd was he to find,
That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allow'd
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.
So three doors off the chaise was staid,
Where they did all get in,
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folks so glad;
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were made.
John Gilpin, at his horse's side,
Seiz'd fast the flowing mane,
And up he got in haste to ride,
But soon came down again.
For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,
When, turning round his face, he saw
Three customers come in.
So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it griev'd him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would grieve him ten times more.
'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind,
When Betty scream'd into his cars—
"The wine is left behind!"
"Good lack!" quoth he; "yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword
When I do exercise."
Now Mistress Gilpin—careful soul!—
Had two stone-bottles found,
To hold the liquor which she lov'd,
And keep it safe and sound.
Each bottle had two curling cars,
Through which the belt he drew;
He hung one bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be
Equipp'd from top to too,
His long red cloak, well-brush'd and neat,
He manfully did throw.
Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed;
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.
But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which gall'd him in his seat.
"So! fair and softly," John did cry,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb or rein.
So stooping down, as he needs must
Who cannot sit upright,
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.
Away went Gilpin, neek or nought,
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig.
The horse, who never had before
Been handled in this kind,
Affrighted fled; and, as he flew,
Left all the world behind.
The wind did blow, the cloak did sly,
Like streamer long and gay;
Till loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.
Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;
A bottle swinging at each side,
As has been said or sung.
The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
Up flew the windows all;
And ev'ry soul cried out—"Well done!"
As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin—who but he!
His fame soon spread around—
"He carries weight!—he rides a race!—
'Tis for a thousand pound!"
And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view,
How, in a trice, the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw.
And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain, behind his back,
Were shatter'd at a blow.
Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,
And made his horse's flanks to smoke,
As he bad bas
ed been.
But still he seem'd to carry weight,
With leathern-girdle brac'd;
For still the bottle-necks were left,
Both dangling at his waist.
Thus, all through merry Islington,
These gambols he did play,
And till he came unto the Wash
Of Edmonton so gay.
And there he threw the Wash about
On both sides of the way;
Just like unto a trundling-mop,
Or a wild-goose at play.
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wond'ring much
To see how he did ride.
"Stop, stop, John Gilpin! here's the house!"
They all at once did cry;
"The dinner waits, and we are tired!"—
Said Gilpin—"So am I!"
But, ah! his horse was not a whit
Inclin'd to tarry there;
For why?—his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.
So like an arrow swift he flew
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly—which brings me to
The middle of my song.
Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
And sore against his will;
Till at his friend's, the callender's,
His horse at last stood still.
The callender, surpriz'd to see
His friend in such a trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him—
"What news, what news?—the tidings tell;
Make haste, and tell me all!
Say, why bare-headed you are come,
Or why you come at all?"
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And lov'd a timely joke;
And thus unto the callender,
In merry strains, he spoke—
"I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road."
The callender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return'd him not a single word,
But to the house went in:
Whence straight he came with hat and wig,
A wig that droop'd behind,
A hat not much the worse for w
ca,
Each comely in it's kind.
He held them up; and, in his turn,
Thus shew'd his ready wit—
"My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.
"But let me scrape the dirt away
That hangs about your face;
And stop and eat—for well you may
Be in a hungry case!"
Said John— "It is my wedding-day;
And folks would gape and stare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware."
Then; speaking to his horse, he said—
"I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine."
Ah! luckless word and bootless boast,
For which he paid full dear;
For, while he spoke, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear:
Whereat his horse did snort, as if
He heard a lion rour;
And gall
'd off, with all his might,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin—and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig;
He lost them sooner than at first:
For why?—They were too big.
Now Gilpin's wife, when she had seen
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,
She pull'd out half-a-crown;
And thus unto the youth she said
That drove them to the Bell—
"This shall be yours, when you bring back:
My husband sase and well."
The youth did ride, and soon they met;
He tried to stop John's horse
By seizing fast the flowing rein,
But only made things worse:
For, not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
He thereby frighten'd Gilpin's horse,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin—and away
Went post-boy at his heels;
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumber of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear,
They rais'd the hue-and-cry.
"Stop thief!—stop thief!—a highwayman!"
Not one of them was mute;
So they, and all that pass'd that way,
Soon join'd in the pursuit.
But all the turnpike-gates again
Flew open in short space;
The men still thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race:
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he first got up
He did again get down.
Now let us sing—"Long live the king;"
And Gilpin, long live he,
And when he next does ride abroad,
May I be there to see!
ALLIANCE WITH FORTUNE.
BY MR. HARRISON.
ONCE, in an evil hour of pride,
I would to FORTUNE be allied:
Straight to the
Dame
I broke my mind,
But sound she would not be confin'd!
My virtuous suit could never move,
Freely and frailly would she love;
And, bent to play the wanton's part,
Vow'd no one should possess her heart.
Chagrin'd I was, but not dismay'd;
So, turning from the slipp'ry jade,
I made her
eldest girl
my wife,
And now MISS FORTUNE's mine for life!
THE POET'S FAME.
BY MR. W. HOLLOWAY.
"I Write for
Fame!
" Tom Tagrhyme cried;
Fame is my mistress, Fame's my pride!"
"I give thee joy!" return'd a wit,
"For thou the glorious mark hast hit:
To future times, wherever nam'd,
Thy Verse for
nonsense
shall be
fam'd.
"
EXALTATION. A LESSON FOR ELECTORS.
BY MR. HARRISON.
"GIVE me your vote," Sir Canvass cries,
And I'll take care your son shall rise!"
The promise made, he quits the door,
Nor thinks of boy or promise more.
The youth, meanwhile, to learning bred,
G
ts lofty notions in his head:
But when his patron he assails,
And
in
s each golden prospect fails;
To beg asham'd, to work untaught,
He takes a purse, is fairly caught,
And soon rewarded with a halter!
Thus proves the knight his kind
exalter.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE IV.
The Industrious 'Prentice a Favourite, and entrusted by his Master.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER IV.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE IV. THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE A FAVOURITE, AND ENTRUSTED BY HIS MASTER.
THIS Print exhibits the consequence resulting from the practice of virtue and piety, in the confidence and esteem which it naturally inspires.
While Tom Idle's depravity leads him to become the profligate associate of abject and vicious wretches, who prepare his mind for the commission of higher crimes; the virtuous inclinations of his fellow-apprentice, Francis Goodchild, introduce him to the confidential friendship of his respectable master, and lead him onward to opulence and fame. He appears, in this Print, as presiding over the counting-house, and entrusted with the management of the entire business. The day-book is in his hands; the purse and keys are committed to his care; and the amiable familiarity with which his master leans on his shoulder, bearing a placid smile on his intelligent countenance, demonstrates the entire satisfaction with which he confides in this favourite youth, whose aspect and attitude speak equally his evident desert. The union of the gloves, though laying as by accident, are finely figurative of the existing friendship, and point to the future partnership of the parties; while the emblematical head-piece on the top of the London Almanack, ingeniously presents, under the form of an ANGEL, the Industrious Youth
taking
TIME
by the Forelock.
The looms, and spinning-wheels, at work, in the background, assist to give an idea of the magnitude of Mr. West's trade; which is also aided by the approach of the City Porter, who enters the warehouse loaded with bales. The grotesque physiognomy of this Porter with a Bardolphian nose, and the ghastly grin of his four-footed attendant, in momentary dread of the cat, who is plainly collecting all her energies, in the elevated contour of her back, to desend her domestick domains, and drive away the unwelcome invader of her conceived rights, are admirably depicted, and form a pleasing contrast to the amiable simplicity which pervades the rest of the design.
The Scripture Motto for this Print is judiciously chosen—
"Well done, thou good and faithful servant! thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things."
MATHEW XXV. 21.
A CURE FOR VULGAR PREJUDICES AGAINST DRESS.
BY MR. HARRISON.
THE absurd prejudices of the Vulgar are in nothing more conspicuous than in their affected contempt of Dress, to which so many thousands of those who are most industriously disposed owe their entire subsistence.
In Spitalfields, for example, a few years ago, till every porter's knot began to cover a pig-tail, when any person of tolerable decency happened to pass through one of the many populous streets of that district with his hair queued, he was insulted by myriads of men, women, and children, swarming at the doors and windows, with—"Look at his tail!"—"Only see there!"—"La, what a tail our cat has got!"—"Well, I wish I had but a tail!"—and a hundred such speeches; till he happily got into the somewhat more civilized regions of Whitechapel, Shoreditch, or Bethnal Green, where he was only liable to occasional attacks from stragglers: the poor thoughtless wretches never once considering, that they should perhaps the next day be obliged to quit their habitations, and solicit charity from the person they were then insulting, for want of that very employ, which the fashion they thus rudely discouraged was in some measure calculated to promote; with the additional disadvantage of having steeled one, who might otherwise have felt for their distres
, against Spitalfields weavers in general, by the indignities so universally received in that quarter, and which must still be green in his remembrance.
Chairmen, Hackney-coachmen, and Watermen, have also a large share of this disposition, though they all owe much of their support to causes which could not exist without dress, the necessary concomitant of visits and parties of pleasure: and, with respect to the last class of beings, in particular, it is absolutely impossible, at present, for any well-dressed person to walk on the southern banks of the Thames, or on the opposite shore highter than London Bridge, without many salutations in what is emphatically stiled Water Language, as promulged in the neighbouring university of Billingsgate. Indeed, from that famous seminary, abuse is so plentifully disseminated among all the stall-keepers and basket-carriers in our markets and publick streets, and their respective connections, that it bids fair for becoming, what philosophers have long wanted, a universal dialect: nor can this universality be at all wondered at, by those who consider that the venders of sprats, oysters, and other fish, in the winter—the season when they take their academical degrees—are retailers of strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, cucumbers, cabbages, and other fruits and vegetables, in the summer; and that they carry all their original learning, vastly improved by practice, into every new prosession, which is more than can be said of many professors in other arts and sciences.
But though the several respectable personages included in the classes just mentioned, have powers of speech at least equal to those of any other callings or professions whatever, calculated to express their antipa
to what they chuse to consider as something more than s
rsiuous attention to dress; there are other tribes nearly as well qualified in these respects, from their constant intercourse with those proficients, and who have the additional advantage of being abundantly better furnished, generally speaking, from the nature of their occupations, with implements capable of giving the most convincing proofs of their aversion to any thing like gaiety, or even decency, in apparel. It is true that a basket-woman may knock a lady down, o
even a gentleman, by running wilfully against them; or she may content herself with only carrying off the head-dress of the former, or hat and wig of the latter, to take their chance in the cleanliness of the street—a barrow-girl may dispose the handles of her barrow, and a chairman his poles, so as to throw down any person whose dress gives them offence; or, at least, tear a gown, a cloak, or the skirt of a coat—and a coachman, and a waterman, most of my readers have probably had frequent opportunities of observing, know perfectly well how to splash, in the exercise of their respective vocations, any similar offender who happens to be passing by them; the one by making his horses suddenly plunge in a full kenned, and the other by a dextrous manoeuvre with his oars. But these contrivances, excellent as they all undoubtedly are, and highly to the credit of the several ingenious inventors, as well as to the excellent police which encourages, by not discouraging, such laudable endeavours to increase the consumption of our manufactures, are of little or no consequence, when compared with the very superior exertions of lamplighters, link-boys, chimney-sweepers, scavengers, dust-men, butchers, porters, and a variety of others; who are armed at all points to burn, oil, black, cover with mud, blind, bruise, and maim: so that all genteel persons, who never fail to excite their attention, may esteem themselves extremely fortunate, if they walk in the publick streets for ten minutes without meeting with some accident, as it is called, either in person or dress.
The success of these gentry, in what seems to have become a part of their pr
fessions, is indeed most astonishingly great: and the proofs they so abundantly give seldom fail to m
et with universal approbation from the surrounding spectators, who cordially join in the laugh which practices of this kind commonly inspire; not always considering at whose expence some future mirth of the same kind may chance to be furnished. So natural is it for man to enjoy the present; without any retrospect of the past, or much concern about the future.
A circumstance, however, some time since came to my knowledge—for I was, unfortunately, not a spectator of the transaction—where a very laudable design of this nature was not taken in such good part as usual, by the person on whom the intended favour was conferred. To say the truth, the gentleman, who turned out the hero in the business to which I allude, appears to have been rather too conversant in certain arts of the vulgar; though few, I apprehend, will greatly blame his conduct on the present occasion, when they have heard the whole story, which I shall now endeavour to relate.
A gentleman from the West-end of the town, who not only approved of putting on clean stockings, but who was desirous to preserve them so as much as possible while they were on, was one dirty day hastening to his banker's, in Cornhill, with a very considerable sum in his pockets. At the north-east corner of St. Paul's Church Yard, exactly in the crossing to Cheapside, stood a seavenger's cart, attended by three or four begrimed myrmidons, who had wilfully blocked up the way, and waited the approach of a fit object for their mirth. The gentleman's white silk stockings, and his evident caution in walking, instantly attracted their notice: they accordingly set him down as a proper instrument, and made the usual disposition to receive him; spreading a large bed of mud across the way, and wai
ing his approach with their scoops and besoms; while one went forward to the horses, that he might either ba
k them, or make them spring forward among the filth, as occasion served, so as to produce the most mischievous effect. A single hastly glance of the gentleman's eye, however, soon informed him what they meant to be at; and, in order to avoid them he kept to the left, intending to cross by the end of Newgate—formerly called Blowbladder—Street. But the game was in view, and they resolved not to lose their sport: one of the fellows, therefore, running round the cart, where he had clearly no other business, met the gentleman as he passed the top of Paternoster Row; and fixed the dirty scoop with so much adroitness, that it not only made an ample spot on his stooking, but very nearly threw him down. It was with the utmost difficulty that the gentleman's spirit enabled him to bear for a moment this insolent attack: but he wisely considered, that he had more property about him than he should chuse to lose; that he had but a little way to go; and, that it would be impossible for them to have finished, had they been more disposed to work than they evidently were, before he should return. He therefore hastened on, without appearing to regard the universal roar of laughter against him; and, having dispatched his business, was back in about twenty minutes, at one trunk-maker's, the corner of St. Paul's, froin whence he was about to cross by the other's. The fellow, who had before met with such success and applause, had observed him returning, and was resolved to have a stroke at the other stocking. He accordingly placed himself at the edge of the pavement, with his back towards Cheapside; ready to turn round the instant the gentleman should come up, with such an application of the muddy implement in his hand as could not well fail effectually to do the business. Thus stationed, his grim features wore the aspect of vast self-complacency, and those of his companions grinned their approbation. The gentleman had expected some similar arrangement; and, having determined on the part which it would be proper for him to act, took no pains to avoid the assailant, but went fairly into his clutches. The fellow, however, had very little time to congratulate himself on the good effect of his stratagem: for the gentleman, being fully prepared, instantly fastened on his collar, and with a single blow felled him to the earth. The others now came round; and, with the ulmost liberality—of abuse, were about to convince him that four men are more than a match for one: but the temporary stoppage had in the mean time formed a crowd; and, several persons of genteel appearance being among them, the gentleman addressed himself to one in particular, and entreated him to deposit his hat, coat, and watch, at the trunk-maker's, and to see that he had no foul play, as he had determined to fight the blackguard who had insulted him in his own way. This proposal gave universal satisfaction: for even the aggressor himself, little as he relished the specimen he had received from his antagonist, entertained no sort of doubt that his own superior strength and skill, joined to a pretty extensive practice, would soon enable him to repay with interest the blow under which he still smarted; and, at any rate, it was no small honour to box with a gentleman —while, on the contrary, any thing like a refusal to accept such a challenge would brand him with all the infamy of an eternal imputation of cowardice among his companions; nor, perhaps, after all, save him from a drubbing fully equal to what he should receive in fair fighting. Which of these reasons operated most powerfully, or whether all of them acted in concert, it is not by any means easy to decide: however, he lost no time, in what bear-garden phraseology denominates
pecling,
and in a few minutes he was quite
uncased;
in more refined language, stripped to the skin.
The ring was formed, and the combatants took their stations. The gentleman waited coolly to receive the fellow, who advanced with great fury: but the former dextrously avoided a most tremendous blow; and, at the same instant, nimbly darting forward, gave his antagonist a most severe stroke under the ribs, which drove him breathless to the ground. He rose again, and was again treated precisely in the same manner, with the addition of a deep cut in his skull, received from a large stone on which he this second time fell. He was now asked if he had enough; and loud were the plaudits of the mob, in praise of the gentleman's prowess, which all declared they had never seen exceeded. The fellow, however, was by no means satisfied; for he had not once struck his antagonist, and he confided that a single blow from his powerful arm could not fail to terminate the contest: that blow, therefore, he determined in his own mind to give; and approached for this purpose with much caution, not forgetting to pay particular attention to the protection of his own ribs, which had been twice so severely handled exactly in the same place. The gentleman saw what was passing, and took his measures accordingly: he was round the fellow in a moment; and, darting a blow, from which he instantaneously recoiled, hit him exactly between the eyes, with a violence which made them both swell to an enormous size, and brought a torrent of blood from his nostrils. He was now wild with anguish and disappointment; and, though he could hardly stand—for the blow had made him stagger, though he was kept from quite falling—he rushed on with prodigious force and fury. But extreme passion had now thrown him quite off his guard; and another smart application to his ribs again beat him to the earth, from whence he appeared in no condition speedily to arise without assistance. Indeed, it was for some time doubted that he would ever again recover. The gentleman, however, who had as much humanity as courage, desired a surgeon might be sent for before he quitted the spot; observing, that it was his wish only to cure, not to kill; the fellow who had want only insulted him. The mob felt that the gentleman's heart was good; and, with their usual attachment to what they think right, they idolized his generosity, as well as his courage, and would almost to a man have now lost their lives in his defence. What a pity that minds so well disposed should be ever misled! what a pity that they do not always discover what is just! Had the gentleman been incapable of at first taking his own part, the very same persons might have seen him treated with every indignity, and indeed cruelty, with the utmost unconcern; or even, perhaps, with a thoughtless appearance of brutal satisfaction!
The poor wretch being at length sufficiently recovered to stand on his legs, he begged to shake hands with the gentleman; and acknowledged he was sorry that he had ill-treated a better man than himself. The tears gushed from the gentleman's eyes, at hearing this manly confession: he gave the poor fellow his hand, and with it a guinea; telling his companions, at the same time, that they all deserved chastisement, but that he hoped they would profit by what they had seen, without the experience of a similar fate, which must doubtless some time or other attend all who pursue such disgraceful practices. They then severally protested that they were sorry for what they had done: and, though they evidently did not deserve any reward, he generously gave half a crown among them, which they declared they would spend in drinking his honour's health; and I dare venture to add, that they most religiously kept their word.
It happened, some time after, that the same gentleman—whose extreme neatness was very apt to give the filthy such offence as his size and appearance were not calculated to prevent them from resenting in their way—was passing down Fish-Street Hill, when a tall chimney-sweeper, with his two lads, literally brushed by him on each side, and soiled his coat most egregiously. This was an insult not to be borne; he seized the biggest immediately, and complimented him with just such another blow as he had formerly given the scavenger. The fellow rose, pretended the injury was quite accidental, and insisted on receiving some satisfaction for the assault. A crowd gathered round; and the gentleman, as before, offered the aggressor battle. The challenge was accepted, and the sweep stripped in what is called
buff,
but which did not, in this case at least, give any great idea of that colour. The ring was now formed, and the combat was about to commence; when a fellow rushed in, stripped for the fight, swearing heartily that the gentleman should not lessen himself by engaging in such a contest, for that he himself would fight any man who offended him. He gave no time for parley; but instantly attacked the chimney-sweeper, and to it they went thoroughly in earnest. In a few minutes, Victory declared herself against the chimney-sweeper, whose eyes were in a fair way for emulating the colour of his cloth; and the gentleman soon recognized, in his present champion, the scavenger whom he had a few months before so severely drubbed.
"There, you dog!" cried the exulting victor, to the discomfited sweep, "down on your marrow-bones, and thank me for your life! By the Lord Harry, if you had fought with that gentleman, you would now have been in the other country: for he licked me, a little while ago, twice as much as I have beat you. So, you dog, I have saved your bacon, and you ought at least to give me a guinea."
"Well," cried the gentleman, "my old friend, you are fairly entitled to the guinea, and you shall have it."
He accordingly gave him that sum, desiring him to afford the poor devil he had beaten a draught of beer out of it: and away the combatants jogged cordially together, to the next publick-house; where they related pretty fairly what had happened— to the great edification of many of their assembled brethren, who have since been considerably more cautious of wantonly giving offence to gentlemen, though some of the most mean and dastardly still occasionally gratify the native malevolence of their dispositions by making their dirty attacks on ladies. However, as no person who deserves the name of a gentleman —or, indeed, of a man—can tamely see any female thus insulted, it is hoped that such practices, as we become more polished and accomplished, will soon totally decline, and render unnecessary the administration of a remedy which, though rough, is not so dangerous as the timid are apt to suppose, and which, when properly applied, never fails to give at least a temporary relief, and seldom to effect a compleat and lasting cure, in that strange malady, so peculiar to the vulgar—a loathing of decency in dress.
STORY OF A DISABLED VETERAN. SUPPOSED TO BE TOLD BY HIMSELF.
BY DR. GOLDSMITH.
AS for my misfortunes, master, I cannot pretend to have gone through any more than other folks; for except the loss of my limb, and my being obliged to beg, I don't know any reason, thank Heaven, that I have to complain. There is Bill Tibbs, of our regiment, he has lost
both
his legs, and an eye to boot; but, thank Heaven, it is not so bad with me yet. I was born in Shropshire; my father was a labourer, and died when I was five years old: so I was put upon the parish. As he had been a wandering sort of a man, the parishioners were not able to tell to what parish I belonged, or where I was born; so they sent me to another parish, and that parish sent me to a third. I thought in my heart, they kept sending me about so long, that they would not let me be born in any parish at all; but at last, however, they fixed me. I had some disposition to be a scholar, and was resolved at least to know my letters; but the master of the workhouse put me to business as soon as I was able to handle a mallet; and here I lived an easy kind of life for five years. I only wrought ten hours in the day, and bad my meat and drink provided for my labour. It is true, I was not suffered to stir out of the house; for fear, as they said, I should run away. But what of that! I had the liberty of the whole house, and the yard before the door; and that was enough for me. I was then bound out to a farmer; where I was up both early and late, but I eat and drank well, and liked my business well enough, till he died, when I was obliged to provide for myself; so I was resolved to go and seek my fortune. In this manner I went from town to town; worked when I could get employment, and starved when I could get none: when, happening one day to go through a field belonging to a justice of peace, I spied a hare crossing the path just before me, and I believe the devil put it into my head to fling my stick at it. Well! what will you have on't? I killed the hare, and was bringing it away in triumph, when the justice himself met me. He called me a poacher, and a villain; and, collaring me, desired I would give an account of myself. I fell on my knees, begged his worship's pardon, and began to give a full account of all I knew of my breed, seed, and generation; but though I gave a very good account, the justice would not believe a syllable I had to say: so I was indicted at the sessions; found guilty of being poor, and sent up to London to Newgate, in order to be transported as a vagabond. People may say this and that of being in jail; but, for my part, I found Newgate as agreeable a place as ever I was in, in all my life. I had my belly-full to eat and drink, and did no work at all. This kind of life was too good to last for ever; so I was taken out of prison after five months, put on board a ship, and sent off to the plantations. We had but an indifferent passage; for, being all confined in the hold, more than a hundred died for want of sweet air; and those that remained were sickly enough, God knows! When we came ashore, we were sold to the planters, and I was bound for seven years more. As I was no scholar—for I did not know my letters—I was obliged to work among the negroes; and I served out my time as in duty bound to do. When my time was expired, I worked my passage home; and glad I was to see Old England again—because I loved my country. I was afraid, however, that I should be indicted for a vagabond once more; so did not much care to go down into the country, but kept about the town, and did little jobs when I could get them. I was very happy in this manner for some time; till one evening, coming home from work, two men knocked me down, and then desired me to stand. They belonged to a press-gang; I was carried before the justice; and, as I could give no account of myself, I had my choice left whether to go on board a man of war, or list for a soldier. I chose the latter; and in this post of a gentleman I served two campaigns in Flanders, was at the battles of Val and Fontenoy, and received but one wound through the breast here; but the doctor of our regiment soon made me well again. When the peace came on, I was discharged; and as I could not work, because my wound was sometimes troublesome, I listed for a landman in the East India Company's service. I here fought the French in six pitched battles; and, I verily believe, that if I could read or write, our captain would have made me a corporal. But it was not my good fortune to have any promotion; for I soon fell sick, and so got leave to return home again, with forty pounds in my pocket. This was at the beginning of the late war; and I hoped to be set on shore, and to have the pleasure of spending my money: but the government wanted men; and so I was pressed for a sailor before ever I could set a foot on shore. The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate fellow. He swore that he knew that I understood my business well, but that I
hammed Abram merely to be idle: but, God knows, I knew nothing of sea business; and he beat me without considering what he was about. I had still, however, my forty pounds, and that was some comfort to me under every beating; and the money I might have had to this day, but that our ship was taken by the French, and so I lost all. Our crew was carried into Brest, and many of them died because they were not used to live in a jail; but for my part it was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. One night, as I was sleeping on the bed of boards, with a warm blanket about me—for I always love to lie well— I was awakened by the boatswain, who had a dark-lanthorn in his hand. "Jack," say he to me, "will you knock out the French sentries brains?"—"I don't care," says I, striving to keep myself awake, "it I lend a hand!"—"Then follow me," says he; and I hope we shall do their business." So up I got, and tied my blanket, which was all the cloaths I had, about my middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen. I hate the French, because they are all slaves, and wear woodenshoes. Though we had no arms, one Englishman is able to beat five French at any time: so we went down to the door where both sentries were posted; and, rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, and knocked them down. From thence nine of us ran together to the quay; and, seizing the first boat we met, got safe out of the harbour, and put to sea. We had not been here three days, before we were taken up by the Dorset privateer; who were glad of so many good hands, and we consented to run our chance. In three days we fell in with the Pompadour privateer, of forty guns, while we had but twenty-three; so to it we went, yard-arm, and yard-arm. The fight lasted for three hours; and I verily believe we should have taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men left behind; but, unfortunately, we lost all our men just as we were going to get the victory. I was once more in the power of the French, and I believe it would have gone hard with me had I been brought back to Brest; but, by good fortune, we were retaken by the Viper. I had almost forgot to tell you, that in that engagement I was wounded in two places; I lost four fingers of the left-hand, and my leg was shot off. If I had had the good fortune to have lost my leg, and the use of my hand, on board a king's ship, and not on board a privateer, I should have been entitled to cloathing and maintenance during the rest of my life; but that was not my chance. One man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden-ladle. However, blessed be God, I enjoy good health; and will for ever love Liberty and Old England. Liberty, Property, and Old England, for ever!
GRADATION FROM A GREENHORN TO A BLOOD. EXTRACTED FROM THE ADVENTURER.
THOUGH the characters of men have, perhaps, been essentially the same in all ages, yet their external appearance has changed with other peculiarities of time and place, and they have been distinguished by different names as new modes of expression have prevailed: a periodical writer, therefore, who catches the picture of evanescent life, and shews the deformity of follies which in a few years will be so changed as not to be known, should be careful to express the character when he describes the appearance, and to connect it with the name by which it then happens to be called. You have frequently used the terms. Buck and Blood, and have given some account of the characters which are thus denominated; but you have not considered them as the last stages of a regular progression, nor taken any notice of those which precede them. Their dependence upon each other is, indeed, so little known, that many suppose them to be distinct and collateral classes, formed by persons of opposite interests, tastes, capacities, and dispositions: the scale, however, consists of eight degrees; Greenhorn, Jemmy, Jessamy, Smart, Honest Fellow, Joyous Spirit, Buck, and Blood. As I have myself passed through the whole series, I shall explain each station by a short account of my life, remarking the periods when my character changed it's denomination, and the particular incidents by which the change was produced.
My father was a wealthy farmer in Yorkshire; and when I was near eighteen years of age, he brought me to London, and put me apprentice to a considerable shopkeeper in the city. There was an aukward modest simplicity in my manner, and a reverence of religion and virtue in my conversation. The novelty of the scene that was now placed before me, in which there were innumerable objects that I never conceived to exist, rendered me attentive and credulous: peculiarities which, without a provincial accent, a slouch in my gait, a long lank head of hair, and an unfashionable suit of drab-coloured cloth, would have denominated me a Greenhorn; or, in other words, a country put very green.
Green, then, I continued, even in externals, near two years; and in this state I was the object of universal contempt and derision: but being at length wearied with merriment and insult, I was very sedulous to assume the manners and appearance of those who, in the same station, were better treated. I had already improved greatly in my speech; and my father having allowed me thirty pounds a year, for apparel and pocketmoney, the greater part of which I had saved, I bespoke a suit of cloaths of an eminent city-taylor, with several waistcoats and breeches, and two frocks for a change; I cut off my hair, and procured a brown bob periwig of Wilding, just of the same colour, with a single row of curls round the bottom, which I wore very nicely combed, and without powder: my hat, which had been cocked with great exactness in an equilateral triangle, I discarded, and purchased one of a more fashionable size, the sore corner of which projected near two inches father than those on each side, and was moulded into the shape of a spout: I also furnished myself with a change of white-thread stockings, took care that my pumps were varnished every morning with the new German blacking-ball; and when I went out, carried in my hand a little switch, which, as it had been long append
nt to the character that I had just assumed, has taken the same name, and is called a Jemmy.
I soon perceived the advantage of this transformation. My manner had not, indeed, kept pace with my dress; I was still modest and diffident, temperate and sober, and consequently still subject to ridicule: but I was now admitted into company from which I had before been excluded by the rusticity of my appearance; I was raillied and encouraged by turns; and I was instructed both by precept and example. Some offers were made of carrying me to a house of private entertainment, which then I absolutely refused; but I soon found the way into the play-house, to see the two last acts and the farce: here I learned that by breaches of chastity no man was thought to incur either guilt or shame; but that, on the contrary, they were essentially necessary to the character of a fine gentleman. I soon copied the original, which I found to be universally admired, in my morals; and made some farther approaches to it in my dress: I suffered my hair to grow long enough to comb back over the foretop of my wig; which, when I sallied forth to my evening amusement, I changed to a queue. I tied the collar of my shirt with half an ell of black ribband, which appeared under my neckcloth; the fore-corner of my hat was considerably elevated and shortened, so that it no longer resembled a spout, but the corner of a minced pye; my waistcoat was edged with a narrow lace, my stockings were silk, and I never appeared without a pair of clean gloves. My address, from it's native masculine plainness, was converted to an excess of softness and civility, especially when I spoke to the ladies. I had before made some progress in learning to swear; I had proceeded by fegs, faith, pox, plague, 'pon my life, 'pon my soul, rat it, and zookers, to zanns and the devil. I now advanced to by Jove, 'fore ged, ged's curse it, and demme: but I still uttered these interjections in a tremulous tone, and my pronounciation was feminine and vicious. I was sensible of my defects, and therefore applied with great diligence to remove them. I frequently practised alone, but it was a long time before I could swear so much to my own satisfaction in company, as by myself. My labour, however, was not without it's reward; it recommended me to the notice of the ladies, and procured me the gentle appellation of Jessamy.
I now learned, among other Grown Gentlemen, to dance, which greatly enlarged my acquaintance. I entered into a subscription for country-dances, once a week at a tavern, where each gentleman engaged to bring a partner: at the same time, I made considerable advances in swearing. I could pronounce damme with a tolerable air and accent, give the vowel it's full sound, and look with confidence in the face of the person to whom I spoke. About this time, my father's eldest brother died, and left me an estate of near five hundred pounds per annum. I now bought out the remainder of my time; and this sudden accession of wealth and independence gave me immediately an air of greater confidence and freedom. I laid out near one hundred and fifty pounds in cloaths, though I was obliged to go into mourning: I employed a court-taylor to make them up; I exchanged my queue for a bag; I put on a sword, which, in appearance at least, was a Toledo; and in proportion as I knew my dress to be elegant, I was less solicitous to be neat. My acquaintance now increased every hour; I was attended, flattered, and caressed; was often invited to entertainments, fupped every night at a tavern, and went home in a chair; was taken notice of in publick places, and was universally confessed to be improved into a Smart.
There were some intervals in which I found it necessary to abstain from wenching; and in these, at whatever risque, I applied myself to the bottle: a habit of drinking came insensibly upon me, and I was soon able to walk home with a bottle and a pint. I had learned a sufficient number of fashionable toasts, and had got by heart several toping, and several bawdy songs, some of which I ventured to roar out with a friend hanging on my arm as we scoured the street after our nocturnal revel. I now laboured with indefatigable industry to increase those acquisitions: I enlarged my stock of healths; made great progress in singing, joking, and story-telling; swore well; could make a company of staunch topers drunk; always collected the reckoning, and was the last man that departed. My face began to be covered with red pimples, and my eyes to be weak; I became daily more negligent of my dress, and more blunt in my manner; I professed myself a foe to starters and milksops, declared that there was no enjoyment equal to that of a bottle and a friend, and soon gained the apellation of an Honest Fellow.
By this distinction I was animated to attempt yet greater excellence; I learned several feats of mimickry of the under players, could take off known characters, tell a staring story. and humbug with so much skill as sometimes to take-in a knowing one. I was so successful in the practice of these arts, to which, indeed, I applied myself with unwearied diligence and assiduity, that I kept my company roaring with applause, till their voices sunk by degrees, and they were no longer able either to hear or to see. I had now ascended another scale in the climax; and was acknowledged by all who knew me, to be a Joyous Spirit.
After all these topicks of merriment were exhausted, and I had repeated my tricks, my stories, my jokes and my songs, till they grew insipid, I became mischievous; and was continually devising and executing Frolicks, to the unspeakable delight of my companions, and the injury of others, For many of them I was prosecuted, and frequently obliged to pay large damages: but I bore all these loses with an air of jovial indifference. I pushed on in my career; I was more desperate in proportion as I had less to lose; and being deterred from no mischief by the dread of it's consequences, I was said to run at all, and was complimented by the name of a Buck.
My estate was at length mortgaged for more than it was worth; creditors were importunate; I became neglectful of myself and others; I made a desperate effort at the gaming-table, and lost the last sum that I could raise; my estate was seized by the mortgagee; I learned to pack cards, and to cog a die; became a bully to whores; passed my nights in a brothel, the street, or the watch-house; was utterly in sensible of shame; and lived upon the town as a beast of prey in a forest. Thus I reached the summit of modern glory; and had just acquired the character of a blood, when I was arrested for an old debt of three hundred pounds, and thrown into the King's Bench Prison.
These characters, Sir, though they are distinct, yet do not at all differ, otherwise than as shades of the same colour; and, though they are stages of a regular progression, yet the whole progress is not made by every individual: some are so soon initiated in the mysteries of the town, that they are never publickly known in their Green-horn state; others six long in the Jemmyhood, others are Jessamys at fourscore, and some stagnate in each of the higher stages for life. But I request that they may never hereafter be confounded, either by you or your correspondents. Of the Blood, your brother adventurer, Mr. Wildgoose, though he assumes the character, does not seem to have a just and precise idea as distinct from the Buck, in which class he should be placed, and will probably die; for he seems determined to shoot himself just at the time when his circumstances will enable him to assume the higher distinctions.
But the retrospect upon life, which this letter has made necessary, covers me with confusion, and aggravates despair. I cannot but reflect that, among all these characters, I have never assumed that of a Man. Man is a Reasonable Being; which he ceases to be, who disguises his body with ridiculous fopperies, or degrades his mind by detestable brutality. These thoughts would have been of great use to me if they had occurred seven years ago. If they are of use to you, I hope you will send me a small gratuity for my labour, to alleviate the misery of hunger and nakedness: but, dear Sir, let your bounty be speedy, lest I perish before it arrive.
I am, your humble Servant, KING'S BENCH, COMMON-SIDE. NOMENTANUS.
A RECRUITING SERJEANT'S SPEECH.
GOOD PEOPLE,
YOU have heard my drum, and now it is my turn. It is a common saying, that the king cannot make a gentleman: but, look you, he that uttered it first, whether herald to Tom Thumb, or Jack the Giant-Killer, lyed in his throat; for whoever can bestow arms, can make a gentleman. Now, simple as I stand here, the king has bestowed arms on me, wherefore I am a gentleman; and, if it is my good will and pleasure, I can translate a score or two of you to the same honour. And what can you do better? You are now a pack of dirty, meagre, ragamuffin scoundrels; slaves to your masters, drudges to your wives, and the property of gin-shops, alehouses, pawn-brokers, and excisemen: whereas, take but this piece of gold, and handle this brown musket, your debts are discharged, the king's your pay-master, your wives may hang themselves, and you may live at free quarter upon other people's. To make short of my story, you become as good gentlemen as I am: and, on the strength of your sword, may take the wall of a better man when you please. But, perhaps, you have no great stomach for fighting; you may fancy the Spaniards season their oglios with Englishmen's ears, and soforth. Never fear! threatened folks live longest. And I myself have been in the service, man and boy, these five and twenty years, and never once looked an enemy in the face. Lord help you! if Chelsea College was to be filled with none but such as had lost their eyes, ears, or noses, in the field of battle, the income might, in time, be turned over to Greenwich Hospital, and the building itself be occupied by nurses and foundling children! Do not be afraid of sighting, then: my life for yours, you will have no reason. The Power above, to whom we owe our being, has taken us into his protection and favour; and has determined that not a hair of our heads shall fall to the ground. Nay, if we seem to be in danger, he makes it his business to deliver us; and if our enemies plot our destruction, he never fails to confound them. Oh! but the wags make themselves merry with musters and reviews, powder and cockades, and so-forth. Why let them; they pay dear enough for their jokes, God knows! And, if they have wit and common sense on their side, we have abuse and Billingsgate on ours: among friends, a whole legion of Garreteers, gentlemen, who indite curiously, are bound, by their articles, to defend us; to defend us from being disbanded in time of peace, and from being employed in time of war; nay, more, to pen chronicles of our exploits, and take their Bible oaths that a cockle-shell is a Spanish pistole.
But, good people—gentlemen I would call you; but, as I said before, you must first bear arms—not to lead you beyond your depth, fleece or be fleeced is the word! and, whether it is best to be the sheep or the shearer, judge for yourselves. You see, we land-officers do not press people into the service, nor clap them under hatches, or stow them in infirmaries: but I say no more. Step to the parade! attend a review! there you will see us in our glory! Let clean spatterdashes, powdered hair, drums and colours, speak for themselves; and, if you have a mind to whet your whistles with his Majesty's double beer in the mean while, follow me. Huzza! God save the King!
THE LONG-HEADED LAWYER.
A Student of the Middle Temple being just called to the bar, sent for the peruke-maker to measure him for a new tye-wig. The peruquier, on applying his apparatus in one direction, was observed to smile. On which the young barrister desiring to know what ludicrous circumstance gave rise to his mirth, the barber replied, that he could not ba
remark the extreme length of his honour's head—"That's well," said the student; "we lawyers have occasion for long heads." The barber, who had by this time compleated the dimensions, now burst out into a sit of laughter; and, an explanation being insisted on, at last declared, that he could not possibly contain himself, when he discovered that his honour's head was just as thick as it was long.
ANECDOTE OF STERNE AND THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.
THE Duke of Newcastle, being one day engaged in conversation with the late witty author of Tristram Shandy, and observing that men of genius were unfit to be employed, being generally incapable of business; the wit sarcastically replied—" They are not incapable, my lord duke, but above it; a sprightly generous horse, is able to carry a pack-saddle as well as an ass, but he is too good to be put to the drudgery."
ANECDOTE OF MR. FOX AND A WESTMINSTER ELECTOR.
MR. Fox, on his first canvas for Westminster, having accosted a tradesman, whom he solicited for his vote; the blunt elector replied—" I cannot give you my support; I admire your abilities, but d—n your principles!" Mr. Fox instantly retorted—" My friend, I applaud your sincerity, but d—n your manners!"
MARGARET TIMBERTOE AND PHELIM O'GIMBLET. AN IRISH PASTORAL BALLAD. IN FOUR PARTS.
ARGUMENT.
A certain shepherdess, yeleped Margaret Timbertoe, had the misfortune to be born without the sense of hearing, and was consequently dumb; she had likewise, by accident, lost the use of one leg and one eye: in other respects, she was not without some very powerful attractions; at least, in the eye of a neighbouring shepherd—by name Phelim O'Gimolet—who being in the same situation as to the two latter particulars, became enamoured of the nymph, and thus he spake his passion.
ADMIRATION.
DEVIL burn 'em! these wits are jack-asses!
Tumble down their vile books from my shelves;
They goddesses make of their lasses,
And simpletons make of themselves.
Away with their nonsense—away!
Moggy Timbertoe let me indite;
Whose eye is as bright as the day,
And whose tongue is as still as the night.
With storms should the elements crack,
How fearless is Virtue the while!
Let the brave be dismay'd at the smack;
Her face wears an ever-green smile.
So gracefully Phillida moves,
So lightly she trips o'er the ground,
Each shepherd that looks at her loves;
Each shepherdess envies the wound.
But how would the blunderers stare,
To see little Timbertoe run!
Or how would Miss Phillida bear
To foot it for ever on one?
I knew that her fortune was noble;
I was smit with her presence behind;
And, bless'd with a similar hobble,
I worte her a piece of my mind—
"I've seen a complexion as fair,
Jenny Twinkle has one eye as fine;
But where shall we meet with a pair
So bright as that twinkler of thine?
"My passion in vain I would stifle;
Like a cinder, I'm burnt black and blue;
Nor can I be cur'd by a trifle,
Unless I've that trifle from you.
"We have two pretty legs here between us,
And a very compleat pair of eyes;
The folks that on one side have seen us,
Have seen nothing there to despise.
"It is not your cottage I want,
'Gainst an old oak's body reclin'd;
With a wide-gaping window in front,
And a snug little peep-hole behind.
"It is not the smell of your kitchen,
Where plenty and cleanliness please;
With a whole ham, and half of a flitch, in
Reserve for potatoes and peas.
"It is not your mare, to ride double,
Berest, like ourselves, of one eye;
No, nor twenty far geese in the stubble,
Nor a sow with nine pigs in the stye.
"It is not, dear Moggy, your purse,
But your person, I Phelim adore;
And I'll take you for better, for worse,
Will any man take you for more?"
HOPE.
KIND Nature had thrown off the load
Which in winter she commonly bore,
And the sun jogg'd along the same road
He had travelled some thousand times o'er.
Mother Earth had put on her new cloaths;
'Twas, in English, the sweet month of May;
When Love led me forth by the nose,
Where dear Moggy Timbertoe lay.
On the marge of a river reclin'd,
I trembled to see her asleep!
Left she wake on the side that was blind,
And roll adown into the deep.
Young Zephyr play'd roguishly by,
And whistled quite up to her knee;
I respectfully shut my one eye,
And the devil a bit did I see.
Thrice I roar'd out—"Arise, pretty maid!"
But she could not have heard the last trump;
Yet thrice to get up she essay'd,
And thrice she fell down again plump.
Then quick to assist her I went,
She was pleas'd my affection to see;
Her single eye shone with content,
And doubly it shone upon me.
She drew from her bosom my letter;
Love drew from his quiver a dart—
"Ah!" thought I, "she can't have a better,
To trip up the heels of her heart."
She smil'd when I kiss'd her dear hand—
"Do your pleasure," as much as to say;
Yet so sweetly the bids me command,
By my faith, that she makes me obey!
Oh! what pleasure to see her lips jabber
About something that nobody knows;
And their taste is just like bonny-clabber;
While 'tatoes bob up to one's nose!
Ye scenes of nonsensical noise,
Where often with pleasure I strove,
I fly from your bumpkinly joys,
To the bosom of beauty and love.
No Longer the cudgel I wield;
The glories of wrestling I shun—
Ye shepherds, the cock of the field
Is content with the fame he has won.
Gentle Hope, like an owl on her nest,
Stretch over my soul thy soft wing!
And the raptures that can't be express'd,
Get up, little Gimblet, and sing.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
YE clouds of a dirt-colour'd dye,
Besmut the bright face of the sun;
And let not the moon's silver eye
Make game of a lover undone.
Brown, brown be the earth; and, ye floods,
Tumble back your rude streams, or lie still!
Ye beasts of the field, to the woods;
Ye feather'd fowls, fly where you will!
Plague take it! this love's a vile passion,
'Tis not worth an honest man's care;
It begins with a world of vexation,
It ends in disgust and despair.
These girls are so full of vagary,
One never knows when one is right;
They'll lead you a dance till you're weary,
Then marry another in spite.
I pity those poor honest fellows,
Tied fast to their aprons for life;
They first give them cause to be jealous,
Then—" Dare you suspect your own wise?"
I thought I'd secur'd my dear Moggy
As safe as a thies in a mill;
But I'm popt in a hole that is boggy,
And there I may lie if I will.
I found out a gift for my lass,
I found out the maker at York;
'Twas an eye neatly fashion'd of glass,
'Twas a leg nicely finish'd of cork!
"Special good are the members I bring,"
Said I; and, to please her the more—
"My dear, you will find 'em the thing,
For I've tried and I've proved them before.
"Look here, my sweet creature to grace,
How charming this eye-ball doth shine!
It will give a new bloom to your face;
See! it's fellow illuminates mine!
"Here's a limb! your acceptance I beg;
Oh! 'tis better than that log of wood:
'Tis a brother to this little peg!"
And I caper'd as high as I could.
How false are the pleasures we know!
How severe is the pang of disgrace!
When I offer'd them both, and bow'd low,
Why, she gave me a kick in the face.
Disappointment so blinded my eye,
So confus'd the fine things I'd to say;
That my path I could hardly espy,
As in dudgeon I hobbled away.
SUCCESS.
THERE be lovers of life so profuse,
If a mistress but happens to frown,
That will give their wise heads to a noose,
Or take to the water and drown.
Now, why should we quarrel with life,
Since life is, at best, but a span?
Is the loss of a termagant wife
Such a horrid misfortune to man?
A termagant wife is the dee'l;
And can Moggy a termagant prove?
Her foot, to be sure, made me reel;
But, perhaps, 'twas a proof of her love.
"Ah, Phelim!" said I to myself,
"Why will not thy vanity see,
That a lady, possess'd of such pelf,
May buy a much better than thee!"
Then I call'd myself dastardly devil,
And thought upon all I'd been told;
How that beauty despises a snivel,
And yields to the touch of the bold.
He's a knave, and a noddy to boot,
That's abash'd when a maiden says Nay;
And hastily gives up his suit,
Because he can't have his own way.
I knew that the gists would allure,
And I follow'd, the issue to see;
But, scarce had I gone from the door,
Little Moggy came hopping to me.
On her lips I imprinted a kiss,
And another intended; but, oh!
She caught such a soretaste of bliss,
That she quak'd from her top to her too.
I fear'd that an ague had seiz'd her,
Her colour so went and so came:
But soon I perceiv'd that it pleas'd her;
And, pleas'd, I repeated the same.
Toward church I observ'd her eye squint,
Certain proof that she meant to be kind;
So I quickly improv'd on the hint,
And I silently told her my mind.
But when her compliance I guess'd,
I thought that my heart would run wild;
By St. Patrick! it bump'd in my breast,
Like the kicks of a never-born child!
To the parson I artfully stray'd,
Who knew our perfections to scan;
He vow'd, so accomplish'd a maid
Never wedded so finish'd a man.
He declar'd we were form'd for delight;
Though—to give honest Levi his due—
Time and stingo so bother'd his sight,
That he scarce knew a P from a Q.
He bless'd us again and again,
In hopes I would double his pay;
But, before the clerk snuffled Amen,
We hopp'd, like two magpies, away.
A FRAGMENT OF CHAUCER.
RIGHT wele of lerned clerkis is it sed,
That womenhud for manis' use is made;
But naughty man liketh not one, or so,
He lusteth aye unthriftily for mo:
And whom he whilome cherished, when tied
By holy church he cannot her abide.
Like unto dog which lighteth of a bone,
His tail he waggeth, glad thereof y-grown;
But thilke same bone if to his tail thou tye,
Pardie, he fearing it away doth fly.
THE PEASANT'S SIMILE FOR CUCKOLDOM.
THOSE folks—quoth Hodge—men cuckolds call,
Three beasts will represent them all.
See, yonder, in that plat of grass,
My shaggy Goat, my Kam, my Ass:
Old greybeard bears behind his horns,
And the reproach he sees not scorns;
Giddy in vain from scandal flies,
His horns hang ever in his eyes;
But Jack the greatest wretch appears,
Who takes for horns his lopping ears.
THE POET'S RETORT.
BY SIR JOHN RAMSEA.
"I'VE seen your verses," Smatter cries,
"And duller stuff I never read!"—
"Are you quite sure," the bard replies,
"No fault was in my reader's head?"
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE V.
The Idle 'Prentice turn'd away, and sent to Sea.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER V.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE V. THE IDLE 'PRENTICE TURNED AWAY, AND SENT TO SEA.
THE good Mr. West, wearied with the vain expectation of seeing any amendment in his vicious apprentice, Thomas Idle, and finding, on the contrary, that he grew still worse and worse; as a last effort to save the youth from total destruction, by dividing him from his profligate companions, he procured him to be sent on board a man of war. The discipline of the navy; he well knew, must in some measure correct indolent habits; and he hoped that the youth might yet be made a useful member of society. This print accordingly presents our unpromising hero, in the ship's boat, accompanied by his mourning mother, whose dress denotes her widowhood; and gives rise to the reflection, that she is thus resigning her last hope, the once fondly cherished solace and support of her declining years!
In the mean time, while the waterman is rowing coolly along, and smoking the pipe of indifference, with all a Dutchman's frigidity, one man in the boat sarcastically points to a pirate hanging in chains on a gibbet, as an emblem of Tom's future destiny; and the other, with an elevated cat-o'-nine-tails, displayed in a menacing way to the culprit, bespeaks the previous chastisement he may expect at sea. These hints he receives without emotion; and, to evince his equal talent for raillery, displays two fingers held up as horns, and calls the married man's attention to Cuckold's Point, which at that instant
appears in view, where those symbols, "unpleasing to a married eye," salute every spectator. Amidst the ridicule of his present companions, and wholly unmoved by the distress of his mother, Tom Idle has thrown away his forfeited indenture, which is seen floating on the waves, and speaks most forcibly his disdain of i
's salutary restraints.
The celebrated Lavater, in his Essays on Physionomy, where he has introduced this excellent Print, emphatically exclaims— "Can perverseness be more manifest than in the middle profile!"
All the characters, in fact, are forcibly expressed, and the scenery is well selected. The roughness of the water, with the gibbet, windmills, &c. descriptive of the Thames, give birth to ideas in unison with the subject.
The sacred motto is literally just—
"A foolish son is the heaviness of his mother."
PROV. X. Y,
SERMON ON THE WORD MALT. PREACHED BY THE REV. MR. DODD, IN A HOLLOW TREE.
THE Rev. Mr. Dodd, a very worthy minister, who lived a few miles from Cambridge, had rendered himself obnoxious to many of the Cantabs by frequently preaching against drunkenness; several of whom meeting him on a journey, they determined to make him preach in a hollow tree which was near the road-side. Accordingly, addressing him with great apparent politeness, they asked him if he had not lately preached much against drunkenness. On his replying in the affirmative, they insisted that he should now preach from a text of their chusing. In vain did he remonstrate on the unreasonableness of expecting him to give them a discourse without study, and in such a place; they were determined to take no denial, and the word MALT was given him by way of text: on which he immediately delivered himself as follows—
"BELOVED, let me crave your attention—I am a little man, come at a short warning, to preach a short sermon from a small subject, in an unworthy pulpit, to a small congregation. Beloved, my text is MALT: I cannot divide it into words, it being but one; nor into syllables, it being but one: I must, therefore, of necessity, divide it into letters, which I find to be these four, M—A—L—T.
"M, my beloved, is Moral—A, is Allegorical—L, is Literal—T, is Theological. The Moral is set forth to teach you drunkards good-manners; therefore, M, Masters—A, All of you—L, Listen—T, to my Text. The Allegorical is when one thing is spoken, and another thing is meant. The thing spoken of is Malt: the thing meant, is the juice of Mait; which you Cantabs make—M, your Master—A, your A pparel —L, your Liberty—and T, your Trust. The Literal is, according to the Letter—M, Much—A, Ale—L, Little—T, Trust. The Theological is according to the effects that it works; and these I find to be of two kinds: first, in this world; secondly, in the world to come. The effects that it works in this world are, in some—M, Murder—in others, A, Adultery —in all, L, Looseness of Life—and, in some, T, Treason. The effects that it works in the world to come—are, M, Misery—A, Anguish—L, Lamentation—and T, Torment. And so much for this time and text.
"I shall improve this: first, by way of exhortation—M, Masters—A, All of you—L, Leave off—T, Tipling; or, secondly, by way of excommunication—M, Masters—A, All of you—L, Look for—T, Torment. Thirdly, by way of caution, take this: A drunkard is the annoyance of modesty, the spoil of civility, the destruction of reason, the brewer's agent, the alehouse benefactor, his wife's sorrow, his children's trouble, his own shame, his neighbour's scoff, a walking swill-bowl, the picture of a beast, and the monster of a man.
"Now to," &c.
He then concluded in the usual form; and the young men, pleased with his ingenuity, not only sincerely thanked him, but absolutely profited more by this short and whimsical sermon, than by any serious discourse they had ever heard.
PROPOSED HOSPITAL FOR DECAYED AUTHORS.
I Sit down to write in behalf of a set of gentlemen in this town, called Authors; whose appearance in publick, for many prudent reasons, being seldom, and their habitations far above the common level with the rest of mankind, they pass unnoticed by the generality of the world, and are looked upon by others as a name without a being,
From whence this want of respect for so considerable a body of men proceeds, I will not take upon me to say; but, certain it is, that many worthy wits by profession are starving in garrets, while the gravitation of dulness daily brings hundreds to and from the Exchange, and the neighbouring alleys, in their chariots.
What a sad reflection it is, that the most beautiful ode in Horace will not raise sixpence in the city, when an ordinary knowledge of the multiplication-table will accumulate estates I This unaccountable humour in the nation, of preferring the writings of the Bank directors to those of the sons of Parnassus, has reduced many a fine poetical genius to darn his own stockings.
A friend of mine, who accidentally became acquainted with two or three of these great men, who nobly defy poverty for the sake of exhibiting their extraordinary talents, took me one day to visit them in their occupation. We were led by the master of the house where they lodged, a bookseller by trade, up a very handsome pair of stairs, where I imagined we should have been introduced to the literati on the first floor; but, how great was my surprize, to be conducted up two or three stories more, and then up a ladder into a cock-loft! where eight or nine of these illustrious spirits were amusing themselves with compositions of various sorts: not, as our guide seemed to insinuate, for the lucre of porter and pudding, but from the noble motive of benefiting mankind by their lucubrations. I must own, their unsuitable situation made me feel some concern for them, though they seemed to have very little for themselves. But my attention to their deplorable circumstances was interrupted by a mistake, that my ignorance of their trade led me into; for, after the first introductory salutations were over, they fell again to their former employments, without taking any farther notice of us; and, as I was very attentive, out of curiosity, I heard one of them call softly across the table to another who sat opposite to him—"Pr'ythee, Matt. Prior, lend me thy simile of the bird's-nest."
On my expressing some surprize at the name of Matt. Prior, my friend whispered me, that every one of the gentlemen personated some poet of note, and imitated, as well as they were able, his stile; and that such compositions were published under the titles of Remains, Posthumous Works, &c. I cannot say, but my indignation began to be kindled at a proceeding so injurious to the deceased, had not an object of a different nature excited my laughter; for while these deputy harmonists were coupling their rhimes together, an old woman of a venerable aspect mounted the ladder, and informed the company that the milk-porridge was ready: the pens were instantly sluck behind their ears, the ink remained in peace, and the sound of beams, purling streams, loves, doves, and groves, was heard no more.
I imagined, as soon as the visit was over, that my acquaintance with these sons of the Muses would be so too: but I very soon after found my error; for, as I was walking in St. James's Park the next Sunday, I observed three gentlemen in rusty philosophical black coats, brass-hilted swords, and tye-wigs, rising up from one of the benches to meet me. When they were come a little nearer, I perceived one of them to be my old friend the simile-lender, the worthy representative of Matt. Prior, who accosted me with the most obliging condescension.
As our conversation, during my stay in the Park, was pretty long, I shall not trouble you with a particular account of it, any farther than to acquaint you that it began with animadverting on the damned taste of the town, as they called it; and concluded with their borrowing half a crown apiece of me. Such is the condition of many a great soul in this kingdom; who, magnanimously scorning to engross, to pound in a mortar, or live like any other vile mechanick, has rather chose to confine himself six days in seven, feeling the inward call of a poetical spirit, than breathe the same air with the illiterate multitude! As many hundreds, therefore, are led into great inconveniences, not by their own faults, but by this writing devil that possesses them, I think it would be a charity altogether worthy of the present publick spirit, to found an hospital for necessitous authors; such, I mean, as are not quite furious; for those, of course, will be admitted into that founded by the late Dean of St. Patrick's for lunaticks; and, as no scheme of this sort has hitherto been laid before the publick, I beg leave to insert the following in your Miseellany.
The first thing to be considered is a proper spot to build an hospital on; for which I think Tothill Fields would be very convenient, as they lie contiguous to the banks of the fertile Thames, whose streams have been the subject of so many fine compositions, and may serve to recal, even in old age, the ideas of their former rapture. The structure should be of the old Gothick collegiate architecture, containing about two hundred apartments; not regular and uniform, but of different sizes, &c. according to the different geniuses and dispositions of those that are to be admitted.
In this point, too, the situation of the chambers ought to be observed; for instance, the compilers of vade-mecums, abridgement-makers, &c. should be stationed in the cellars under-ground; the ode-writers, next to the sky-light; the translators, on the ground-floor; and the epick and dramatick authors, on the first and second stories. In the midst of the whole I would have a large hall, where the whole society should meet three times a day, to be provided at every meal with dishes adapted to their constitutions; for care must be had, that the gentlemen who soar "above the visible diurnal sphere," do not eat of beef, or any other meat that is subject to clog the intellects; but be fed, as Pindar and the bards of old were, with food that elates and puts the fancy on the wing.
This college should be governed by a president and twelve directors; all of whom should have been booksellers in London for the space of seven years before the time they are elected such, that they may be thereby qualified to judge properly of the pretensions of the candidates to this charity. Every candidate must have the recommendation of one or more of the directors, and a certificate under the hands and seals of four of the company of Stationers, that he has been muse-rid for ten years, in such a manner as to be entirely incapacitated for any other vocation in life. If these things seem clear, the person shall be admitted without farther trouble, except he is proved to be worth money; for a rich man must be as incapable to enter this hospital "as the kingdom of heaven."
We next come to the choice of proper servants and attendants. Now, as there are in the three kingdoms innumerable footmen and chambermaids, who spend best part of their time with Lee and Otway, and daily condemn Fate for having placed people of their uncommon talents in such a situation, as to be subject to be called every moment from the heroick company of Alexander and Roxana, and sent to converse, much against their inclination, with the dregs of the people; I would have such as are disposed to live retired, and to have frequent opportunities of conversing not only with dead poets, but living wits, come and offer their service to the hospital, where they shall be furnished with every thing necessary for life, and be allowed, after the little labour that shall be required of them is over, stated hours for their favourite studies.
When these things are all settled, and a handsome subscription is opened, the legislature, no doubt, will give encouragement to so noble, useful, and charitable a foundation, by establishing the lands and funds raised for it's support by parliamentary authority; and, if it would not be looked on as presumption to give a hint to so wise and august an assembly, a tax might be laid, which would bring in vast sums annually, and at the same time be no burden to the industrious subject, but tend, on the contrary, to promote every branch of trade in the nation.
The tax I mean, should be laid on that unprofitable commodity which abounds so much in these kingdoms, commonly called Scribbling. There should be in every parish an inspector into this manufactory—the parson, for instance—who should take his rounds once a week, like the exciseman, to visit those who are dealers, and receive the limited duty: and, in order to obviate any fraud, very large penalties might be laid on all such as should clandestinely make verse or prose, or a mixture of both, which I think is most in request at present, without previously acquainting the ecclesiastical officer, or at least informing him immediately after. This expence would hinder many an attorney's clerk and apprentice from Philising away his time, and keep him from being reduced at last to the hospital.
Should it be objected by the proprietors of other periodical miscellanies, that such tax would deprive them of many ingenious performances, both in verse and prose; the grievances may be redressed by applying to the directors, and compounding with them at so much a year for all their authors in a lump, as those people do with commissioners of turnpikes who live near the gate.
Having thrown together these loose thoughts, I leave the publick to improve my project, and shall be happy to subscribe my mite for the establishment of so necessary an institution.
THE CHOICE SPIRIT.
THAT a tradesman has no business with humour, unless, perhaps, in the way of his dealing, or with writing, unless in his shop-book, is a truth which I believe nobody will dispute with me. I am so unfortunate, however, as to have a nephew who, not contented with being a grocer, is in danger of absolute ruin by his ambition of being a Wit; and having forsaken his counter for
Comus's Court,
and dignified himself with the appellation of a
Choice Spirit,
is on the point of becoming a bankrupt. Instead of distributing his shopbills as he ought, he wa
tes a dozen in the morning, by scribbling shreds of his nonsense on the backs of them; and, a few days since, affronted an alderman, his best customer, by sending him a pound of prunes wrapped up in a ballad he had just written, called,
The Citizen outwitted, or a Bob for the Mansion-house.
He is, likewise, a regular frequenter of the play-houses; and, being acquainted with every underling of each theatre, is at an annual expence of ten pounds in tickets for their respective benefits. They generally adjourn together from the play to the tavern; and there is hardly a watchman, within a mile of Covent Garden, but has had his head, or his lantern, broke by one or other of the ingenious fraternity.
I turned into his shop this morning, and had no sooner set my foot on the threshold, than he leaped over the counter, threw himself into an attitude, as he calls it; and asked me, in the words of some play that I remember to have seen formerly, whether I was
a spirit of health, or a goblin damn'd?
I told him he was an undutiful young dog, for daring to accost his uncle in that irreverent manner; and bade him speak like a Christian, and a reasonable person. Instead of being sensible of my rebuke, he took off his wig; and, having very deliberately given it two or three twirls on his fist, and pitching it on his head again, said, I was a dry old quiz, and should certainly afford them much entertainment at the club, to which he had the impudence to invite me: at the same time, he thrust a card into my hand, containing a bill of fare for the evening's entertainment; and, as a farther inducement, assured me that Mr. Twister himself would be in the chair; that he was a wonderful creature, and so prodigiously droll, that though he had heard him sing the same songs, and repeat the same stories, a thousand times, he could still attend to him with as much pleasure as at first. I cast my eye over the list, and can recollect the following items—
"To all true Lovers of Fun and Jocularity.
"Mr. Twister will this evening take off a cat worried by two bull-dogs; ditto, making love in a gutter; the knife-grinder and his wheel; High-Dutch squabble; and a hog in a slaughter-house."
I assured him that, so far from having any relish for these detestable noises, the more they resembled the originals, the less I should like them: and, if I could ever be fool enough to go, should at least be wise enough to stop my ears till I came out again.
Having lamented my deplorable want of taste, by the elevation of his eye-brows, and a significant shrug of his shoulders, he thrust his fore-finger against the inside of his cheek, and plucking it out of his mouth with a jerk, made a noise that very much resembled the drawing of a cork. I found that, by this signal, he meant to ask me if I chose a whet? I gave my consent, by a sulky kind of nod, and walked into the back room, as much ashamed of my nephew as he ought to have been of himself. While he was gone to fetch a pint of Mountain from the other side of the street, I had an opportunity to minute down a few of the articles of which the litter of his apartment consisted; and have selected these, as the most material, from among them—
On one of the sconces by the chimney, a smart grizzle bobwig, well oiled and powdered, feather topped, and bag-fronted.
On the opposite sconce, a scratch.
On the window-seat, a Nankin waistcoat, bound with silver-twist, without skirts or pockets, stained with red wine, and pretty much shrunk.
Item,
A pair of buckskin breeches, in one pocket a cat-call, in the other the mouth of a quart-bottle, chipped and ground into a smooth ring, very fit to be used as a spying-glass by those who never want one.
Item,
A red plush frock lappelled with ditto, one pocket stuffed with orange-peel, and the other with square bits of white paper ready cut and dried for a shower.
In the corner, a walking-staff, about eighteen inches long.
Item,
A small switch.
On the head of the bureau, a letter-case, containing a playbill, and a quack-bill; a copy of verses, being an encomium on Mr. Twister; another of four lines, which he calls a distich; and a third, very much blotted and scratched, and yet not finished, entitled,
An Extempore Epigram.
Having taken this inventory of his goods and furniture, I sat down before the fire, to devise, if possible, some expedient to reclaim him; when, on a sudden, a sound like the braying of an ass, at my elbow, alarmed me to such a degree, that I started from my seat in an instant; and, to my farther astonishment, beheld my nephew, almost black in the face, covering his eat with the hollow of his hand, and exerting the whole force of his lungs in imitating that respectable animal. I was so exasperated at this fresh instance of his folly, that I told him hastily, he might drink his wine alone, and that I would never see his face again, till he should think proper to appear in a character worthy himself and family. He followed me to the door without making any reply; and, having advanced into the middle of the street,
ell to clapping his sides, and crowing like a cock with the utmost vehemence, and continued his triumphant ejaculations till I was fairly out of hearing.
Having reached my lodgings, I immediately resolved to send you an account of his absurdities, and shall take this opportunity to inform him, that as he is blessed with such a variety of useful talents; and so compleatly accomplished as a
Choice Spirit,
I shall not do him the injury to consider him as a tradesman, or mortify him hereafter by endeavouring to give him any assistance in his business.
CURIOUS CLAIM OF KINDRED.
A Portley and well-dressed man, lately walking along the Strand, suddenly dropped down in an apoplectic fit; and though no less a man than his Majesty's Phy
ician in ordinary was coming by at the time, and was willing to give every assistance the Materia Medica could afford, it was all in vain; the body was dead beyond the reach of any physician, except the last trumpet. A corpse in the Strand unowned, soon drew a crowd; among whom came a well-dressed, good looking young gentleman, who was curious to see the dead man. He had no sooner made his way through the mob, so as to get a full view of the corpse, than he was struck with amazement; he remained fixed, his countenance changed, and the tears began to flow down his cheeks. As soon as he could recover himself so far as to gain utterance, he exclaimed—"O God, my poor uncle! Is he gone! Is he!—Well." said he, with a deep sigh, "so perish my hopes! I am happy, however, that I luckily passed at this awful moment, to rescue his poor remains, and see them decently interred." Accordingly, the sorrowful youth called a coach; and the charitable mob, who pitied the disconsolate nephew, assisted to put the corpse in the coach: where the pious young man soon stripped the body; and, desiring to be set down at a famous surgeon's, very conscientiously sold his pretended uncle for two guineas.
IMPROVEMENTS ON THE CAT-ORGAN. ADDRESSED TO THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
GENTLEMEN,
I Need not inform persons of your infinite experience and erudition, that the Cat-Organ, as it has hitherto been made use of, was no more than what followeth, viz. A plain harpsichord; which, instead of having strings and jacks, consists of Cats of different sizes, included in boxes, whose voices express every note in the gamut, which is extorted from the imprisoned animals by placing their tails in grooves, which are properly squeezed by the impression of the organist's fingers on the keys. This instrument, unimproved as it was, I have often heard with incredible delight, but especially in the grand and plaintive. This delight grew upon me every time I was present at it's performance. At length I shut myself up for seven years, to study some additions and improvements, which I have at length accomplished, agreeable to my warmest wishes; and which I with all due submission now lay before you.
In the first place, then, it is universally known and acknowledged, that these animals, at the time of their amours, are the most musical creatures in nature; I would therefore recommend it to all and singular Cat-Organists, to have a most especial regard to the time of caterwauling, particularly if they have anything very august or affecting to exhibit.
Secondly, it is also very well known that the best voices are improved by castration; I therefore never have less than eight geldings in my treble clef. And here I cannot help informing you of an experiment I lately made on an Italian boar-cat, and and English one of the same gender; and I solemnly protest that, after the operation, my country animal had every whit as delicate, piercing, and comprehensive a tone, as the foreigner: and I make no sort of doubt that some of our harmonious Englishmen would shine with an equal lustre, if they had the same advantages as the Italians. This may be worth the consideration of people in power: for, if this experiment had been tried with success, how many thousand pounds would it have saved this nation!
Thirdly. Of the Forte and Piano. I must not omit to tell you, gentlemen, that my Cat-Organ resembles a double harpsichord; for, as that has two rows of keys, so mine has two layers of Cats, both of a lesser size, and whose tails are squeezed by a much less pressure; that is, by nothing but the bare extremity of the key. But the lower row, on which I play forte, or loudly, contains an harmonious society of banging grimalkins; and whose tails are severely pricked by brass pins, inserted at the end of the key for that purpose.
Fourthly, Of the Shake. There was one enormous defect in this instrument, before I took it in hand, and that was in the shake; the imperfection of which gave me great offence. But, as it is now managed, it has the most ravishing effect in the world. There are between all the keys little wires fixed almost imperceptibly; these go underneath till they reach each puss's throat: at the extremity of these wires are placed horizontally wrens quills, about the length of a quarter of an inch. When the artist, therefore, has a mind to form his shake, he touches the wires, which soon send the quills in a tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle, up to the Cat's throat, and causes the most gurgling, warbling, shaking, quaking, trembling, murmuring sound, in the world.
Fifthly. Of the Staccato, and an infallible method of keeping the four-footed performers under proper regulations.
This most intolerable deficiency of the old Cat-Organ was as follows: some of the Cats were apt to continue their mew after the proper note was expressed, to the great confusion of the tune, and vexation of the organist. This I have entirely cured; and, I think, I can play the most perfect staccato in the world. I have underneath my instrument a treddle, like that of a spinning-wheel, which I work with my foot: this treddle actuates a certain number of forceps or pincers, which open and shut, at my pleasure, upon the noses and chins of all the Cats; and if any of them over-act their part, I tip St. Dunstan upon Mrs. Puss, and she is obliged of necessity to be silent.
Sixthly. Of the education of Cats for the Organ. My predecessors were egregiously out in this article, as well as many others; which, whatever it may appear to the incredulous or incurious, is a matter of importance. With regard to their diet, milk and flummery, fried mice and fish, have the best effect; I mean, for the trebles and tenors: as for the bases, I have fed them with good success on bullock's liver, hog's harslet's, and sometimes with viands of a much less delicate nature. As for exercise, moderate mousing, and being well tugged and hauled about by the children, will very well suffice.
Mr. Collier, in his Essay on Musick, says—that he makes no doubt that there might be a warlike instrument contrived, of such an hideous sound, that instead of inspiring men with courage, it would strike the most undaunted with dismay. This may be effected by the above-mentioned instrument: for though the Cat-Organ, when accurately in tune, is incomparably melodious, yet it may be so managed, as to utter shrieks very little inferior to the cries of the infernals themselves. Happy that instrument, where terror and transport, ornament and utility, are so exquisitely blended! which, by it's persuasive harmony, can at one time draw St. Cecilia from the spheres; and, at another, with proper alteration, would frighten away the devil himself in propriâ personâ!
THE WOODEN SWORD. A POPISH MIRACLE.
WHEN Naples was once closely besieged, the viceroy issued a severe order, that no man, above or under such an age, should appear in the streets without a sword, on pain of death. That he might be sure this order was strictly obeyed, he and his officers rode up and down the city to see that none offended. During their progress, they perceived a gentleman without his sword; who, being brought to the viceroy, was immediately condemned to be hanged on the next signpost. The gentleman pleaded hard for his life, but to no purpose. He then entreated that, at least, he might not suffer so ignominious a death, but die like a gentleman as he was; humbly desiring that the next gentleman who came by with a sword, might be permitted to run him through the body, This being granted, presently came along one who had just quitted a gaming-house, where he had lost all, even to the very blade of his sword, which was of choice Spanish steel, and durst not go home till he had got a wooden one fitted to the hilt and scabbard. Being now stopped, he was told the case, and what office he was appointed to perform. Conscious of his own insufficiency to execute the business, he was so confounded, that he scarcely knew how to reply. "What!" exclaimed he, "would you make a common executioner of me! Alas, shall I stain my blood to eternity! Heaven defend my honour from such baseness!" All his remonstrances, however, proving quite fruitless, he prepared himself for the work; and, keeling down, prayed—" O Just and Almighty Ruler of Heaven, if this man ought not to die, convert this my faithful sword into wood!" Then, plucking it out, and it appearing plainly to be a wooden blade, the condemned gentleman was immediately released with abundance of joy; and the sword was carried with great solemnity to the cathedral church, where it was hung up as a true link to the chain of Popish miracles.
LEGAL INTERPRETATION OF A WILL.
THE "glorious uncertainty of the law," extends itself over every state where any regulated code exists. Ingenuity of counsel in the explanation of periods and interpretation of meanings, is exercised with as much success in the courts of our Gallick neighbours, as in those of our own country. Some time before the abolition of the Jesuits, a gentleman of Paris died, and left all his estate from an only son, then abroad, to that body of religious men, on condition that, on his return, the worthy fathers should give him
"la partie qui leur plairoit;"—whatever they chose.
When the son came home, he went to the convent, and received but a very small share indeed; the wise sons of Loyola
chasing
to keep the greatest part to themselves. The young gentleman consulted his friends, and all agreed that he was without remedy. At last a barrister, to whom he happened to mention his case, advised him to sue the convent, and promised to gain him his cause. The gentleman followed his advice, and the suit terminated in his favour, through the management of the advocate, who grounded his plea on this reasoning—' The tellator," said the ingenious barrister, "has left his son
that
share of the estate which the fathers should
chuse; "la partie qui leur plairoit,"
are the express words of the will. Now it is plain what part they have
chose,
by what they keep to themselves. My client, then, stands on the words of the will: Let me have," says he, "
the part they chose,
and I am satisfied." It was accordingly awarded to him, without hesitation.
KING RICHARD's THREE DAUGHTERS.
ONE Fulk, a Frenchman, of high repute for sanctity, told King Richard the First, that he kept Three Daughters who would certainly bring on him the wrath of God, if he did not part with them. "Why, you hypocrite," exclaimed Richard, "all the world knows I never had a child in my life."—"Yes," replied the monk, "you have, as I asserted, three; and their names are, Pride, Covetousness, and Lewdness."—" Well," retorted the king, since it is so, I will soon dispose of them: the Knights Templars shall have the first, the White Friars the second, and the third shall be given to the secular Clergy."
THE SOLDIER'S SALVO; OR, THE CARDS SPIRITUALIZED
BY A PRIVATE SOLDIER.
ONE Richard Middleton, a private soldier, attending divine service with the rest of the regiment, at a church in Glasgow, instead of pulling out a bible, like his brother soldiers, in order to search for the text, spread a pack of cards before him. This singular behaviour did not long pass unnoticed, either by the minister, or the serjeant of the company to which he belonged: the latter, in particular, commanded him to put up his cards; and, on his refusal, conducted him, after divine service, before the chief magistrate, to whom he preferred a formal complaint of Richard's irreverend behaviour. "Well, soldier," said the magistrate, "what excuse have you to offer for this strange and scandalous behaviour? If you can make any apology, or assign any reason for it, 'tis well; if you cannot, assure yourself that I will cause you to be severely punished."—" Since your honour is so good," replied Richard, "as to permit me to speak for myself, an't please your worship, I have been eight days on the march, with a bare allowance of sixpence a day, which, your honour will surely allow, is hardly sufficient to find a man in meat, drink, washing, and other necessaries; and, consequently, he may want either a bible, prayer-book, or any other book." On saying this, Richard pulled out his cards, presented one of the aces to the magistrate, and continued his address to him as follows—"When I see an ace. may it please your honour, it reminds me that there is only one God; and when I look on a two, or a three, the former puts me in mind of the Father and Son, and the latter of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. A four calls to my remembrance the four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; a five, the five Wise Virgins who were ordered to trim their lamps—there were ten ordered, but five, your worship may remember, were wise, and five were foolish—a six, that in six days God created heaven and earth; a seven, that on the seventh day he rested from all he had made; an eight, of the eight righteous persons preserved from the Deluge, viz. Noah and his wife, with his three sons and their wives; a nine—of the lepers cleansed by our Saviour—there were ten, but one only returned to offer his tribute of thanks; and a ten, of the ten commandments." Richard took the knave, and placed it by him; and then passed to the Queen, on which he observed as follows—"This queen, your worship, reminds me of the Queen of Sheba, who came from the uttermost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; as her companion, the king, does of the Great King of Heaven, and of King George the Third."—"Well," replied the magistrate, "you have given me a very good description of all the cards except the knave."—"If your honour will not be angry with me," replied Richard, "I can give you the same satisfaction as to that, as of any card in the pack."—"I will not," said the magistrate. "Well," returned the soldier, "the greatest knave I know is the serjeant who brought me before you."— "I don't know," replied the magistrate, "whether he is the greatest knave, or not, but I am sure he is the greatest fool or the two." The soldier then proceeded—"When I count the number of dots in a pack of cards, there are 365; so many days are there in a year. When I count how many cards there are in a pack, I find fifty two; so many weeks are there in a year. When I reckon how many tricks are won by a pack of cards, I find there are thirteen; so many months are there in a year. So that this pack of cards is both bible, almanack, and prayer-book, to me."
The magistrate then called his servants, ordered them to entertain the soldier well, gave him a piece of money, and said he was the cleverest fellow in the whole regiment.
THE WELCH PARSON'S CURSE.
A WELCH vicar being to read the curses, as the custom is, on Ash-Wednesday, when the people say Amen; turning over the leaf, and finding them to be many, said—"Dearly beloved brethren, I am to read here a great many curses to you; but, because I am loth to trouble myself, and tire your patience, I will end them all in one—" The curse of God light upon you all! Amen!
THE SCOTCH CROW. AN ANECDOTE OF DR. JOHNSON.
DR. Johnson, travelling in the north of Scotland, could not see a house or tree in riding a great many miles, nothing but desolation and barrenness every where presenting themselves to his view; till at last he cast his eyes on a crow that was perched on the stump of an old tree, gnawing with great violence, and kawing for want of food; which the doctor observing, could not help crying out—" Kaw, kaw, kaw, and be damn'd! if you will stay in such a country as this, when you have wings to fly away."
THE CONSIDERATE DEBTOR; OR, A CRUST FOR CRUEL CREDITORS.
A Prisoner in the King's Bench lately sent to his creditor, to let him know that he had a proposal to make, which he believed would be for their mutual benefit. Accordingly, the creditor calling on him to hear it—" I have been thinking," said he, "that it is a very idle thing for me to lie here, and put you to the expence of seven groats a week. My being so chargeable to you has given me great uneasiness; and God knows what it may cost you in the end! Therefore, what I would propose is this—You shall let me out of prison; and, instead of seven groats, you shall allow me only eighteen-pence a week, and the other ten-pence shall go towards the discharge of the debt."
THE STAMMERERS. A TALE.
BY MR. LONSDALE.
WHILE others fluent verse abuse,
And prostitute the Comick Muse,
In less indecent manner I
Her comick-ladyship will try.
Oh! let my prayer, bright maid, avail!
Grant inspiration to my tale!
A tale both comical and new,
And with a swingeing moral too.
In a small, quiet, country town;
Liv'd Hob, a blunt, but honest clown,
Who, spite of all the school could teach,
From habit stammer'd in his speech;
And second nature soon, we're sure,
Confirm'd the case beyond a cure.
Ask him to say hot rolls and butter,
"A hag-a-gag,' and 'splitter-splutter,"
Stopp'd every word he strove to utter.
It happen'd once upon a time—
I word it thus, to suit my rhyme;
For all our country neighbours know
It can't be twenty years ago—
Our sturdy ploughman, apt to strike,
Was busy delving at his dyke;
Which, let me not forget to say,
Stood close behind a publick way;
And, as he lean'd upon his spade,
Reviewing o'er the work he'd made,
A youth, a stranger in the place,
Stood right before him, face to face:
"P-p-p-p-p-pray!" says he,
"How f-f-f-f-far may't be
"To o-"—(the words would not come out)
"T-o Borough-Bridge, or there about?"
Our clown took huff; thrice hemm'd upon't,
Then smelt a kind of an affront.
Thought he—" This bluff, fool-hardy fellow,
A little crack'd, perhaps, or mellow,
Knowing my tongue an inch too short,
Is come to fleer, and make his sport:
Wauns! if I thought he meant to quarrel,
I'd hoop the roynish rascal's barrel!
If me he means, or dares deride,
By all that's good, I'll tan his hide!
I'll dress his vile calf's skin in buff,
And thrash it tender where 'tis tough."
Thus, full resolv'd, he stood aloof,
And waited mute for farther proof;
While t'other, in a kind of pain,
Apply'd him to his tongue again.
"Speak, friend; c-c-c-c-can you, pray,
Sh-sh-sh-show me—on my—way?
Nay, spe-e-eak!"—" I'll smoak thy bacon!"—
"You have a t-tongue, or I'm mistaken."
"Yes—that, th-that I-I-I-have;
But not for y-y-you—you knave!"—
"What!" cry'd the stranger; "wh-wh-what!
D'ye mock me? T-t-take you that!"—
"Huh! you mock—me!" quoth Hob, amain;
"So t-t-take you—that again!"
Then to't they fell, in furious plight,
While each one thought himself i'th' right;
And, if you dare believe my song,
They likewise thought each other wrong.
The battle o'er, and somewhat cool,
Each half suspects himself a fool;
For when to choler folks incline 'em,
Your argumentum baculinum,
Administer'd in dose terrifick,
Was ever held a grand specifick.
Each word the combatants now utter'd,
Conviction brought, that both Dolts stutter'd;
And each assum'd a look as stupid,
As, after combat, looks Dan Cupid:
Each scratch'd his silly head, and thought
He'd argue ere again he fought.
Hence I this moral shall deduce—
Would Anger deign to sign a truce,
Till Reason could discover truly,
Why this mad Madam were unruly,
So well she would explain their words,
Men little use could find for swords.
TYTHE IN KIND; OR, THE SOW'S REVENGE ON THE PARSON. A TALE.
BY MR. FISHER.
NOT far from London liv'd a boor,
Who fed three dozen hogs, or more;
Alike remote from care and strife,
He crack'd his joke, and lov'd his wife.
Madge, like all women, fond of sway,
Was pleas'd whene'er she had her way;
And wives will think I deal in fiction,
But seldom met with contradiction:
Then, stubborn as the swine she fed,
She neither would be driven nor led;
And Goodman Hodge, who knew her whim,
Was kind, nor row'd against the stream.
Subdu'd by Nature's primal law,
Young sows are ever in the straw:
Each week, so genial Fate decreed,
Produc'd a new and numerous breed.
Whene'er they came, sedate and kind,
The vicar was not far behind;
Of pigs the worth and prime he knew,
And, parson like, would have his due.
He watch'd the hour with anxious ken;
His heart grew warm at number ten:
The younger pigs he vow'd the sweeter,
And scarce allow'd them time to litter.
One morn, with smile and bow polite,
From Hodge he claim'd his custom'd right;
But first enquir'd, in accents mild,
How far'd the darling wife and child;
How apples, pears, and turnips grew,
And if the ale were old or new.
Hodge, who from custom took the hint,
Knew 'twas in vain a priest to stint;
And, while his rev'rence took his swig,
Hodge stepp'd aside, and brought the pig.
"Humph!" cried the parson, "let us see
This offering to the church and me:
I fear, my friend, 'twill never do;
Methinks 'tis lean, and sickly too.
Time out of mind 't has been confess'd,
Parsons should ever claim the best."
This said, he ey'd it o'er and o'er;
Stamp'd, set his wig, and all but swore.
"Such pig for me! why, man alive,
Ne'er from this moment hope to thrive:
Think you for this I preach and pray?
Hence! bring me better tythes, I say"
Hodge heard; and, and tho' by nature warm,
Replied— "Kind Sir, I meant no harm:
Since what I proffer you refuse,
The stye is open, pick and chuse."
Pleas'd with the offer, in he goes—
His heart with exultation glows;
He rolls his eyes, his lip
he licks,
And scarce can tell on when to fix:
At length he cries—"Heav'n save the king!
This rogue in black is just the thing!
Hence shall I gain a rich regale!"
Nor more; but seiz'd it by the tail.
Loud squeak'd the pig; the sow was near—
The piercing sound assail'd her ear:
Eager to save her darling young,
Fierce on the bending priest she sprung;
Full in the mire his rev'rence cast,
Then seiz'd his breech, and held him fast.
The parson roar'd, surpriz'd to find
A foe so desp'rate close behind:
On Hodge, on Madge, he calls for aid;
But both were deaf to all he said.
The scene a numerous circle draws,
Who hail the sow with loud applause:
Pleas'd they beheld his rev'rence writhe,
And swore 'twas fairly tythe for tythe.
"Tythe!" cried the parson—"Tythe, dy'e say?
See here—one half is rent away!"
The case, 'tis true, was most forlorn;
His gown, his wig, his breech was torn:
And what the mildest priest might ruffle,
The pig was lost amid the scuffle.
"Give, give me which you please!" he cried:
"Nay, pick and chuse." still Hodge replied.
"Chuse! honest friend; alas! but how?
Heav'n shield me from your murd'ring sow.
When tythes invite, in spite of foes,
I dare take Satan by the nose!
Like Theseus, o'er the Styx I'd venture;
But who that dreadful stye would enter?
Yet, while there's hope the prize to win,
By Heav'n! to leave it were a sin."
This said, he arms his breast with rage,
And half resolves the foe t'engage.
Spite of the parson's angry mood,
The fearless sow collected stood;
And seem'd to wait the proffer'd war,
With—"Touch them, scoundrel, if you dare!"
His last resource the parson tries;
Hems, strokes his chin, and gravely cries—
"Ye swains, support your injur'd priest;
Secure the pig, and share the feast."
Staunch to his friend, was ev'ry swain;
Strange tho' it seem, the bribe was vain:
And Hodge, who saw them each refuse,
Exclaim'd in triumph—"Pick and chuse!"
The parson's heart grew warm with ire;
Yet pride forbade him to retire.
What numbers can his spleen declare,
Denied, for once, his darling fare!
How shall he meet the dreadful frown
Of Madam in the grogram gown;
Who, eager for her promis'd treat,
Already turns the useless spit?
"Wretch!" he exclaims, with voice profound,
"Can no remorse thy conscience wound?
May all the woes th'ungodly dread,
Fall thick on thy devoted head!
May'st thou in ev'ry wish be cross'd;
May all thy hoarded wealth be lost!
May'st thou on weeds and offals dine,
Nor ale, nor pudding, e'er be thine!"
Hodge, who with laughter held his sides,
The parson's wrath in sport derides:
"No time in idle preaching lose;
The stye is open—pick and chuse!"
Loud plaudits rose from ev'ry tongue;
Heaven's concave with the clamours rung;
Impatient of the last huzza,
The tytheless parson sneak'd away.
THE NUT-BROWN MAID; OR, GINGERBREAD WIFE.
AS marriage often causes woeful strife,
And once the die is cast, 'tis cast for life,
Well it behoves each provident young man
To watch, observe, take all the heed he can.
In this our age the golden days are fled,
And iron ones are risen in their stead!
Money is money—that's a well known truth—
Tho' squander'd much by giddy headstrong youth:
What are those darts of which so much we're told?
Poor harmless things—unless they're tipp'd with gold!
Mock the sly urchin, baffle all his power,
If he descend not in a golden shower.
Bravely resolv'd! and see the wish'd-for fair:
Mark well her presence! what a shape, an air!
Her flowing robe with shining ore is spread,
And the gay crescent glitters on her head;
Listen!—O list! to me, your faithful friend,
And view the damsel well I recommend.
What tho' the lily her fair gloss deny,
The sweet jonquil can richer tints supply;
What tho' the rose deny her glowing shade,
Yet is she still a comely Nut-Brown Maid:
So mild her manners, such bewitching grace,
E'en children gaze with rapture on her face;
And then her virtues are so very rare,
Trust me, good Sir, she'll suit you to a hair.
First, as to temper—not fam'd Hybla's hill,
Where bees their honey sip, more sweets can fill;
Sweets mix with sweets, in mind, in form, in feature;
In short, you never met—so sweet a creature.
Few are her words: she'll never contradict;
But meekly bear, whatever you inflict.
If storms of anger should sometimes arise,
And terror flash indignant from your eyes;
Tho' o'er her head the threat'ning tempest roll,
No words can shake the firmness of her soul:
Fix'd and unmov'd, she'll patiently abide;
Perchance may tremble, but will never chide.
Indeed, her taciturnity is such,
She rather talks too little than too much.
Her shape Matt. Prior justly doth express,
"Fine by degrees, and beautifully less;"
Her yellow tresses charming to behold,
Bound with a fillet of the purest gold▪
In other nymphs, of gay and careless mien,
Oft times a wild disorder may be seen;
But here each soft attractive charm's display'd.
And sweetly centres in my Nut-Brown Maid.
Frugal in diet, nor in beverage less,
She never eats or drinks to an excess;
Indeed, she tastes no cordial, tea, or beer,
And half a lark will serve her half a year:
Besides, those dangers ne'er prevail in her,
Which many a cautious wight may well deter;
No idle longings can her husband dread,
Nor squalling brats, nor decorated head.
No tatler she, no trifling gadabout;
She'll never stir, unless you take her out:
And as to neatness, you can never blame,
Come when you please, she'll always be the same.
Bless your kind stars for sending such a wife,
Whose present garb will serve her all her life.
One quality remains, by no means small;
Perhaps you'll think claims precedence of all:
Tho' last, not least; tho' yet unsung, as fam'd
As each and every excellence I've nam'd.
Full many a silly wife will sigh and pine,
If spousy out, and from his deary, dine:
Then many a one calls passion to her aid;
This they oft do—not so my Nut-Brown Maid!
No jealous fears contract her placid brow;
No questions ask'd, as—"Sir! When! Where! What! How!"
Howe'er abroad for pleasure you may range,
Ne'er will you find her words or manners change.
More could I urge—ah, wou'd but time permit!
I own, my pen reluctantly I quit:
Weigh what I've said; and, married, kindly treat her;
Hundreds, I vow, are ready now—to eat her.
THE PENANCE. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF ROUSSEAU.
A YOUTH to his confessor went,
His absolution to obtain,
And undergo the punishment
The holy father should ordain.
"Father," says he, "six times I've been
By carnal passion led astray."—
"Six times! O fie, so oft to sin;
A rosary for your penance say.'
Another came; and he confess'd
That he nine times had done so too;
His penance with his guilt increas'd,
A rosary and a half his due.
But puzzling more than all the rest,
Was the last penitent who came;
For he eleven times confess'd
He'd play'd at that same carnal game.
"Eleven times! vile wretch! by Heav'n
I've no such number on my roll:
Do it once more, to make it even,
Then say two rosa
ies for the whole!"
THE GOOD FELLOW'S GRAVE. AN ANACREONTICK.
BY MR. HARRISON.
WHEN, on the bliss I long have known,
The pale-fac'd tyrant dares to frown;
Uplifted holds his fatal dart,
That menaces my chearful heart;
The threaten'd stroke unmov'd I'll bear,
Let not his empty glass appear:
Or, if he fills it to the brim,
I'll fairly drink it off to him;
And, as the last drop I view,
Contented bid the world adieu!
Then, lov'd companions! when no more
I join the table's mirthful roar,
But in the silent earth am left,
Of friends; of liquor too, bereft;
To my cold sod for once adjourn;
I will not ask you there to mourn;
But round my grave your liquor quaff,
And gaily sing, and joke, and laugh:
Nor let a tear escape the eye,
Nor let the bosom heave a sigh;
Save only when excess of mirth
Shall give the liquor crystal birth;
Or the calm breast respire profound,
To raise the fragrant cloud around.
THE ORDER OF THE DAY; OR, MODERN ANARCHY. AN EPIGRAM.
BY THE LATE REV. MR. BISHOP, MASTER OF MERCHANT TAYLORS SCHOOL.
IN modern Anarchy's reign absurd,
Whene'er the maggot bites th
herd,
The
Order of the Day's
the word,
Throughout Confusion's border:
But Heav'n, the wise and worthy pray,
May soon turn things another way;
And, for the order of the day,
Restore the
days of order.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE VI.
The Industrious Prentice out of his Time, & Married to his Masters Daughter.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER VI.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE VI. THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE OUT OF HIS TIME, AND MARRIED TO HIS MASTER'S DAUGHTER.
IN this print, Francis Goodchild, the Industrious Apprentice, receives what may be denominated commercial as well as poetical justice. His worthy master, Mr. West, at the completion of his apprenticeship, has not only taken him into partnership, as appears from the union of their names— "West and Goodchild," on the sign, but he also receives from his master's hand, the still superior blessing of an amiable, virtuous, and beloved daughter.
The residence of these respectable citizens is situated near the Monument; part of which stately column, as well as the first lines of the Inscription, is sufficiently visible. The point of time, is the morning after the happy nuptials, while the newly married pair are at breakfast. The cavalcade of drummers, butchers with marrow-bones and cleavers, the man with the bass-viol, &c. form the then usual concert on such occasions, and which is not remarkably figurative of the harmony that ought to follow the ceremony it pretends to celebrate. The wretched cripple in the corner, who is adding to the Hymeneal musick, by vociferating the ballad of Jesse, or the Happy Pair, represents a well known beggar, of that period, commonly called Philip in the Tub; and who, within the memory of some persons still living, is recollected to have been a usual attendant at
most weddings in the metropolis. The poor wretch—who has, perhaps, too feminine an aspect—appears to have lost both legs above the knee, and to have shuffled along in his tub, by the aid of a low stool for the right-hand. There is much sentiment even in the attitude and aspect of this mendicant's dog; and the irascibility of one of the butchers, with the mixed personal terror, and anxiety about his instrument, manifested by the bass vi
l performer, who has good reason for the concern thus depicted in his countenance, at once gives forcible action, and a striking contrast, to the general intended harmony of the scene. While Mr. Goodchild is generously presenting a piece of mo
ey to the principal drummer, his servant is employed in charitably distributing some remains of the marriage-feast to a poor woman and her infant. The Bride is also at the window, but in the back ground; modestly gratifying the curiosity of the spectators with a sight of her agreeable person, and not any vanity of her own, by an ostentatious display of gaudy dress, or the smallest degree of personal affectation.
The motto is exactly what it ought to be—
"The virtuous woman is a crown to her husband."
PROVERBS xii. 4.
HUMOROUS SPECIMEN OF ALLITERATION. IN AN EPISTLE FROM PAUL PHILIP PRICE, ESQ. AT PEMBROKE, TO MR. PETER PETTIWARD, AT PUTNEY.
DEAR SIR,
PERCEIVING you particularly desirous to know how I pass my time in Pembrokeshire, I here present you with particulars of my proceedings in a progress I lately made to a gentleman's house, purely to procure a plan of it.
I proceeded in a party of pleasure with Mr. Pratt of Pickton Castle, Mr. Powell of Penally, and Pugh of Purley, to go and dine with Mr. Pritchard of Postmain; which was readily agreed to, and soon put in practice. However, I thought it a proper precaution to post away a person privately to Mr. Pritchard's, that he might provide for us; and we proceeded after him. The town where Mr. Pritchard lives is a poor, pitiful, paltry place, though his house is in the prettiest part of it, and is a prince's palace to the rest. His parlour is of a lofty pitch, and full of pictures of the prime pencils; he hath a pompous portico, or pavilion, prettily paved, leading to the parterre; from whence you have a prodigious prospect, particularly pointing towards Percilly Hill, where he propagates a parcel of Portuguese and Polish poultry. The name of his house is Prawfenden, which puzzled me most plaguily to pronounce properly. He received us very politely, and presented us with a plentiful dinner. At the upper-end of the table was a pike, with fried perch and plaise; at the lower end pickled pork, pease, and parsnips; in the middle a pigeon-pye, with puff-paste; on the one side a potatoe-pudding; and on the other side pigs pettytoes. The second course was a dish of pheasants, with poults and plovers, and a plate of preserved pine and pippins; another with pickled podd pepper; another with prawns; another with pargamon for a provocative; with a-pyramid pears, peaches, plums, pippins, philberts, and pislachi
. After dinner, there was a profusion of port and punch, which proved too powerful for poor Mr. Peters, the parson of the pari
; for it pleased his palate, and he poured it down by pints, which made him prate in a pedantick and pragmatical manner. This displeased Mr. Price the parliament-man, a profound politician; but he persisted, and made it a prolix preamble, which proved his principles prejudiced and pa
tial against the present people in power. Mr. Price, who is a potent party-man, called him a Popish parson; and said, he prayed privately in his heart for the Pretender; and that he was a presumptuous priest, for preaching such stuff publickly. The parson puffed his pipe passively for some time, because Mr. Price was his patron; but, at length, losing all patience, he plucked off Mr. Price's perriwig, and was preparing to push it with the point of the poker into the fire; upon which Mr. Price, perceiving a pewter piss-pot in the passage, presented the parson with the contents in his phizz, and gave him a pat on the pate, the percussion of which prostrated him plump on the pavement, and raised a protuberance on his pericranium. This put a period to our proceedings, and patched up a peace; for the parson was in a piteous plight, and had prudence enough to be prevailed upon to cry—
"Peccavi!"
with a—
"Parce, precor!"
and in a plaintive posture to petition for pardon. Mr. Price, who was proud of his performance, pulled him out of the puddle, and protested he was prodigiously sorry for what had passed in his passion, which partly proceeded from the provocation, produced by some of his preposterous propositions, which he prayed him never to presume to advance again in his presence. Mr. Pugh, who practised physick, prescribed phlebotomy and a poultice to the parson, but he preferred wetted brown-paper to any plaister; and then placed himself in a proper position, that the power of the fire might penetrate his posteriors, and dry his purple plush-breeches. This pother was succeeded by politicks; as Mr. Pulteney, the patriot's patent for the peerage, the Kings of Poland and Prussia, Prague, the Palatines, Pandours, and par izans, Portsmouth pa
ades, and the presumption of the privateers picking up prizes in our very ports, with places and pensions, pains and penalties. Next came on plays and poetry, the picture of Mr. Pope petched on a prostistute, the price of the play-houses, the pit, pantomimes, prudes, the pox, the primate of Ireland, printers, paupers, preferments, pick-pockets, pensioners, pointers, puppies, and the pranks of that prig the poet lauret's progeny, though his papa is the perfect pattern of paternal piety. To be brief, I prophesy you perceive I am prolix. We parted at last, but had great difficulty to procure a passage from Mr. Pritcuard: for he had placed a padlock on the stable-door on purpose to prevent us, and pretended his servant was gone out with the key; but, finding us peremptory, the key was produced, and we were permitted to go. We pricked our palfreys a good pace, although it was as dark as pitch; which put me in pain, because I was purblind, lest we should ride plumb against the posts, which are prefixed to keep horse-passengers from going the path that is pitched with pebbles.
Mr. Price, who was our pilot, had a very providential escape, for his pad fell a prancing, and would no pass one step farther; which provoked him much, for he piques himself on his horsemanship. I propo
ed to him to dismount, which he did; and, peeping and peering about, found he was upon the point of a perpendicular precipice, from which he might probably have pitched pate forward, had not his ho
se plunged in that particular manner. This put us all into a palpitation, and we plodded on the rest of the progression,
pian piano,
as the Italians say, or
pazz à pazz,
as the French phrase has it. I shall postpone other particulars, till I have the pleasure of passing a day with you at Putney, which shall be as soon as possible. I am, Sir, your most humble Servant,
PAUL PHILIP PRICE.
To Mr. Peter Pettiward, at Putney, (Penny-post paid.)
SCHEME FOR A WHISTLING ACADEMY.
WE have often compassionated the great uneasiness numbers of young gentlemen at this day labour under, for want of knowing how to spend their time; which seems to hang heavy on their hands, being destitute of a proper employment. To see so many distressed mortals sauntering about from coffee-house to coffee-house, or from ale-house to alehouse, tiring themselves, and those about them, must certainly afford a melancholy prospect to every good natured man living. Read, they cannot; to think, is a task more difficult. Unable, therefore, to be one moment alone, they run into any sort of company that first occurs; talking, without sense; laughing, without wit; and by this means become the ridicule of all their acquaintance. In this wretched state, despised by men, and made the laughing-stock of women, they have recourse to the bottle. With this they regale; and in a short time become the most whimsical, impertinen
, and rattle-headed, fellows in the world.
If this species of mortals did not think themselves too wise, and too happy, to stand in need of advice, or to wish a change in their condition, it would certainly be worth while to consider, if some easy accomplishment, suited to their capacities, might not be found out; the learning and practice of which might serve to render them supportable to themselves, and not altogether insupportable to those who are so unhappy as to fall into their bad company.
To answer both these good purposes, I can think of nothing so likely as their learning to
whistle.
It is an attainment perfectly suited to their genius; equal to their abilities; and, in all likelihood, superior to any of their accomplishments. I would, therefore, teach these untutored gentlemen to apply themselves instantly to the making at least one acquisition, that may raise them to a level with something in the animal creation. If they could but
whistle
w
ll, they might be able to converse with the blackbird and thrush, almost on an equality: an advantage they seldom enjoy in human conversation; unless a prostitute, a horse, or the cut of a coat, &c. happen to be the subject. Besides their endeavouring to attain an accomplishent, that may serve as an innocent amusement, in the midst of a world where so many pernicious ones abound, will be an instance of their singular virtue, and supply the want of thought, which want they seem to labour under, in the most easy or natural way.
How happy had it been for young Hazard, if instead of attempting what he is by no means equal to, namely, the art of gaming, he had applied himself to the attainment of this amusing science! He might then, with a merry heart, have been
whistling
for his diversion; whereas now, he may, in bitterness of soul, go
whistle
for his estate!
If some of those creatures, also, who call themselves poets, were wise enough to apply their talents to
whistling,
they might fairly pretend to some sort of harmony; but now they are not only destitute of that, but of every thing else that might atone for the want of it.
The description of Cymon, in that beautiful tale of Mr. Dryden, has ever been esteemed a natural and agreeable picture. There is something in him so undesigning, that one is assured he must be possessed of an honest heart; and cannot help conceiving an affection for him, merely in seeing him walk, and hearing him
whistle
—
"He trudg'd along, unknowing what he sought;
And
whistled
as he went, for want of thought."
How harmless is his employment! how inoffensive his behaviour! Now, I should be heartily glad to see any of our sauntering fellows make so unexceptionable a figure as this honest clown. But these gentlemen's want of thought generally leads them into a thousand impertinences; and, instead of learning to
whistle,
they are frequently making ridiculous pretensions to taste, learning, or politicks: and there is not a coffeehouse in London but will furnish us with melancholy instances of this strange misapplication of talents.
To prevent such fatal mistakes for the future, I humbly propose that a WHISTLING ACADEMY be founded, for the use of such gentry, &c. whether young or old, as shall be judged properly qualified to be admitted members of this new musical society; contributions for which will no doubt be chearfully and liberally made by the innumerable persons of respectability who are at present continually pestered by the impertinence of such coxcombs.
AMOROUS EPISTLE, FROM AN ATTORNEY ON THE CIRCUIT, TO THE OBJECT OF HIS AFFECTIONS IN TOWN.
DEAREST CHARMER!
THE circuit it now at an end, and the judges and lawyers are on their return home; but no felon, sentenced at the assizes to transportation, could have been in a more wretched plight than your humble servant; for I can safely make affidavit, that each day that I behold not your lovely face, is to me
Dies non.
Cupid the tip-staff has served me with an attachment from your bright eyes, more dreadful than a green wax process; he has taken my heart into custody, and will not accept of bail: unless you allow of my plea, I must be nonsuited in a cause I have set my heart on. Why will you, while I pine in hopes of a speedy rejoinder, hang me up term after term, by f
olous delays, which serve only to gain time?
I filed my bill as of last Michaelmas term on the morrow of All Souls, in hopes ere this to have joined issue with you: it is now fifteen days from Easter-day; and, by your demurring, I am as far from bringing my cause to a hearing, as before I commenced my suit. You still delay giving in your answer, which is absolutely against the practice of all the courts. I would willingly quit the fattest client there, to attend your business, would you submit to a reference; and should prefer an attendance at your chambers to those of a master in chancery.
I stand in great need of an able counsel to move my suit while I am absent; that sly slut, Dolly, your chamber-maid, has taken my fee, yet I fear betrays my cause; she is ever preferring some cross-bill which protracts matters, and yet I do not sue in
forma pauperis,
being ready and willing to infeoff you in a good jointure, and to this I will bind myself, my heirs, executors, administrators and assigns, by a deed in which you shall nominate trustees.
To save expences, my clerk shall engross it, and it shall be perused by your own lawyer; it being left as a quere, how vastly preferable the title of a Feme Covert is to that of a spinster; but you still answer short to all my interlocutory interrogatories. If I could but once obtain a leading order to try my title by even a jury of your own friends, I am certain I should obtain a verdict in my favour, and recover costs against you: for I have a good action for attendance, and loss of time, though upon the Postea I do not think I could find in my heart to issue a
ca. sa.
against you, or put you into any other court than that of Hymen.
You have equity in your own breast, and from thence I hope for relief; decree but for me, and the day of essoign shall be that of your own nuptials, and the eve of the lasting felicity of, dearest creature, your humble supplicant, and faithful orator.
PEREGRINE PARCHMENTICKLE.
HEREDITARY DISEASE OF A MENDICANT.
DINING lately with a convivial party, a few miles from town, the following adventure happened.
The cloth being removed, and the glass beginning to circulate, a man very slovenly as well as raggedly dressed, introduced himself cap in hand to the company. Surprized at the conduct of our host, in permitting such a person to intrude himself, we were about to call in the landlord for an explanation; when the man undertook to apologize for himself, and exculpate. the people of the house, who he declared had not seen him enter.
The singular impudence of the fellow, added to the peculiar stile of his address, so superior to that of the vulgar, excited our curiosity; and we were anxious to be informed of the motives that could induce a person of his athletick form, and youthful appearance, to submit to the humiliating and precarious profession of a common beggar.
"An hereditary disorder, gentlemen," replied he, "which has brought several of our family to their graves, even before they arrived at my age. I have myself been discharged as incurable from every hospital appropriated to my malady. This, gentlemen, obliges me to adopt this disagreeable method of supporting a miserable existence."—"But your complaint?" replied one of the company. "My delicacy, gentlemen," returned the mendicant, "will not permit me to disclose the nature of my disease in so publick a manner; but if any gentleman will retire with me into another apartment, I doubt not that I shall give him such satisfaction, as cannot fail to operate in my favour."
It was accordingly agreed that a wag of the faculty should attend him into the next room; who, returning in a few minutes, exclaimed, with much apparent concern—"Poor fellow! I do, indeed, recommend him as a real object of your benevolence; and shall begin with subscribing a shilling for his relief." The fellow then went round with his hat; and, the collection being pretty successful, he retired, uttering a thousand benedictions on the kind-hearted gentlemen. as soon as he was gone, some of the company became very importunate with the young surgeon respecting the man's complaint, which it was unanimously agreed he was now bound to reveal; and, as he was convinced that the fellow had by this time taken care to secure his retreat, he immediately informed us, that LAZINESS was the incurable disease which had afflicted this man from his infancy; that he gave him a shilling to open the subscription; and that, in fact, we were all bit!
INFALLIBLE PRESERVATIVE AGAINST DUELLING.
BY MR. HARRISON.
THE practice of duelling has of late become so frequent, that most persons who have any brains to lose, think it not at all unlikely, if they mix much in what is called polite life, that they may some day or other be deprived of them by a pistol-bullet.
For my own part, I am one of those old-fashioned mortals who, being convinced that they have none to spare, are desirous of preserving what they have as long as possible: and this disposition, as my inclinations lead me a good deal into company, has sometimes subjected me to considerable difficulties. However, as I have hitherto continued to "sleep in a whole skin," and am now ne
rly arrived at my first grand climacterick —an age when it may be supposed I need not be under any great apprehensione of being called out—a sketch of the manner in which I have so long preserved myself alike unwounded in person and eputation—I mean; reputation for courage, all other kinds of reputa ion being foreign to the present subject—may not be unserviceable to those who, from motives similar to my own, are led to mingle with society, but who may occasionally feel themselves under some degree of constraint.
A few years ago, when duelling was much less fashionable than at present, I happened to be at a coffee-house, where two young fellows, both ensigns in the army, sat discoursing of their preceding night's pretended amours, in a stile of such grossness, and in tones of such vociferation, that the company in general was greatly scandalized; and a very decent young woman, in particular, who officiated in the bar, and for whose ear it was evident their loose conversation was peculiarly intended, blushed so immoderately, and was so greatly confused, that her situation pained me more than I can easily describe. I waited a short time, in expectation that some man of spirit would interfere, for I am myself naturally averse to quarrelling; but, to my surprize, though I could perceive the eye, of the whole room were occasionally on the two striplings, and most of them with looks of disgust, when either of the obnoxious parties looked round for applause, which they very often seemed to do, many of the company were mean enough to assume a sort of grin of approcation, and the rest, to a man, hastily turned away their heads. This universal cowardice arouzed me. I felt myself bold, and a glow of conscious superiority animated my cheek. I rose from my seat, and took my station at the fire; facing about to the youths who sat opposite, and eyeing them with contempt. The increased sternness of my visage soon attracted their attention; it had, probably, not pleased them before: and one of them, after whispering the other, had the audacity to address me with —"Sir, I shall look as sulky as you do, if you continue to stand before the fire."—"Sir," replied I, "you are an impertinent scoundrel! and, having grossly infulted the whole room with impunity, you are, I suppose, beginning to offend every one individually."
In an instant the heroes were both on their legs; and a scene of confusion and altercation enfued, easy to conceive, but impossible to be expressed.
It was insisted by the companion of him who had affronted me, that I should submit to ask pardon of the gentleman whom I had denominated a scoundrel, or meet him the next day in Hyde Park. He appealed, with great vehemence, to the company, if the word scoundrel was proper to be used by a gentleman, or if any man of honour could tamely put up with the application of it to himself. The extorted answer was almost universally—"Certainly not!" And it seemed the general opinion that the difference could only be accommodated in one of the ways proposed.
Elated with his success, he turned to me with great serocity, and demanded to know whether I chose to make the necessary concessions, or to meet his friend in the field.
"I alike despise," hastily returned I, "your friend, and yourself: and so far am I from acceding to your proposals, or being convinced that I have bestowed an improper appellation on your infamous companion, that I repeat, he is a base scoundrel, and that you are as shabby a rascal as himself!"
His sword was now out in a moment: and, though I was unarmed, the dastardly villain actually made a lunge at me; swearing bitterly that he would run me through the body, if I did not immediately entreat his forgiveness. But I snatched, instantaneously, the poker from the fire, and with a single stroke shivered his sword: at the same moment driving him to the wall, by thrusting the red-hot weapon close to his face, which appeared evidently pale with fear, notwithstanding the rubicund reflection of the poker. In the mean time, his companion was not idle: but, having likewise drawn, he was advancing to salute me
à posteriori;
when the company, perceiving I was more likely to quiet the young sparks than they had at first dared to hope, very manfully interposed, and prevented the attack in my rear.
Having obliged the young gentleman to ask my pardon, instend of my asking his, under pain of a more intimate acquaintance with the still red poker, I turned to the other, who had by this time been compelled to deliver up his weapon, and exacted from him a similar apology. He, however, continued obstinately to refuse, though every body was now clamorous against him, till a slight application of the poker to his chin convinced him that I was not to be trifled with, and he also acknowledged the impropriety of his behaviour.
As I was disgusted with the profusion of compliments which were now bestowed on my spirited conduct by the company, I soon quitted the room: and was the next day informed, by a friend, who happened to step in a short time after my depareure, that the discomfited champions, and all the company, joined very cordially together in censuring the grossness of my behaviour, particularly my total disregard to good manners in the choice of my expressions.
Thus ended a business, which seemed to threaten something more serious; for though the young gentlemen protested vehemently that they would have their revenge whenever they should meet with me, they took great care to avoid visiting every place where it was likely I might be found. Yet these youths were said to have actually seen service, and to have each killed his man; certain it is, that they had for a long time over-awed the company which usually frequented the coffee-house where I accidentally encountered them, and had totally driven away no inconsiderable number of customers.
It would fill a volume of no contemptible size, to recount minutely the various skirmishes in which I have at different times been engaged; and yet, if I know myself, I am as much disposed to treat every one with civility, and as studious in avoiding all occasions of offence, as any person living.
Indeed, I am not unwilling to believe that I am constitutionally what the world calls a coward: for I really have never been able to discover in myself the pleasing sensation which some men of spirit seem to feel in taking a waiter by the nose or ears, or kicking a footman's posterios, for accidentally treading on my toes, running against me on entering or quitting a room, when I have chanced to stand in their way, or any similar offence. I may, on such occasions, have been prompted to use very intemperate language; but I have usually been afterwards weak enough to think, that my resentment was even then more than adequate to the crime.
But, it will be said—"What has this to do with duelling? There is no danger, at least for the present, of being challenged by a waiter or footman!" I am afraid, however, that the same irascible spirit which leads a gentleman to delight in tweaking the nose of the former, or kicking the breech of the latter, will sometimes make him so far forget himself as to take a "wrong pig by the ear."
The inference is plain: A man of spirit—that is, one who has long enjoyed the supreme felicity of seeing every one approach him with fear and trembling—suddenly finding a strong opposition to his high behests, ventures to try the force of personal threats: he challenges his antagonist; and, borne up by that enthusiasm which is always denominated courage, though it should sometimes have a very different appellation, he goes to the field, where he pronably leaves an existence which has too long been offensive to society.
So far duelling may be said to be rather serviceable than prejudicial to mankind; and, if it always happened that the aggressor was not the survivor, the practice would be much less liable to objection. But for this material property, I believe, it's warmest advocates have not attempted to contend.
I shall, however, avoid entering into the rationality of the custom; of that, every one who has common understanding is perhaps full as able to judge as myself, and any arguments would be thrown away on persons of inferior capacity.
I have already given some reasons for the suspicion I have ever entertained, that I am myself naturally a coward: I really never enjoyed personal contests; for though, when a lad, I had now and then manual struggles for supetiority, and was always fortunate enough to prove the victor, I never engaged but with reluctance.
This antipathy, however, to decisions by combat, has never prevented me from giving my sentiments freely on any subject, in whatever company I have fallen; and, though I am not wholly unacquainted with
he art of verbal retreat, it is perhaps the only species of defence I have ever been afraid of adopting.
That I have, from the various disputations in which I have been engaged, received at least twenty challenges, and more than twice as many menaces, will not be greatly wondered at by those who know life, when I inform them, that I have now and then sat for a whole hour together with young sunaltern offi
ers, both of the army and navy; gamesters of all the different species; fortune-hunters; men of gallantry; great wits; led captains; and politicians. Indeed, I doubt not, that many young men of the town, who associate constantly with such companions, have at half my age had at least double the number.
In extricating myself from these difficulties, I have never once had occasion to apply for redress to the laws of my country; though, as they certainly are as well calculated to preserve the weak, the infirm, the aged, and the meek, from the personal insults of the stouter, the younger, and more turbulent, as human sagacity can possibly contrive, I should by no means have felt myself degraded by appealing to those institutions, which were planned by our progenitors when national bravery was not at it's lowest ebb, with much less folly and absurdity than seems to be generally imagined by their abundantly wise successors, had no quicker and equally efficacious remedies presented themselves.
I have constantly found, that the most boisterous heroes have been soon tranquilized, when they were once thoroughly convinced that a man would not
fight fair:
for though, after positively refusing a challenge. I have been often violently threatened with personal chastisement, on my giving the parties to understand that I was not very delicate in my choice of weapons, their menaces, which I always treated with the most resolute defiance, were seldom attempted to be put in execution. Once, indeed, a young Hibernian raised his cane, which was intended to salute my head or shoulders; but, on my seizing a candlestick which stood before me, he thought proper to defer the discharge of his anger, till he met with one who was less disposed to make him a suitable return.
If this method be invariably pursued, with becoming resolution, it will, I apprehend, prove to others, as it has long done to me, an infallible preservative against duelling.
SUBSTITUTE FOR THE DOG-TAX.
IN A LETTER FROM FARMER TRUEMAN'S TOWZER, TO SQUIRE HEAVISIDE'S PONTO.
DEAR PONTO,
I Went home with Philis, the parson's speckled bitch, last Tuesday; and, to my great amazement, I heard the doctor declare, that there is actually a scheme on foot to tax us poor dogs; the consequence of which will be, that three parts in four of our species will be knocked on the head. I profess I am not in any dread for myself, nor for you, my dear Ponto; for our usefulness will preserve us, since men, though they are by far the most ungrateful of all other animals, seldom chuse to destroy what is of real benefit to themselves. I am not, therefore, alarmed out of any selfish view: no, it is a noble spirit of patriotism that inflames me; and, though I say it, there is not a dog in the nation that will fight more desperately, or bark louder, in a good cause, than your old friend Towzer. Let your sneaking puppies follow low mercenary views; let them wag their tails at every scoundrel, and nuzzle in dunghills for hall a bone; I am a British mastiff, and scorn such paltry actions. I will venture to say, that almighty Love itself cannot make me do a little thing; and though I like a pretty bitch as well as another dog, yet it is not in the power of the most charming of that bewitching sex, either by day to make me kill a neighbour's sheep, or by night to desert my post, and leave my master's house unguarded. "But why all these professions of honesty to me," my Ponto will say, "who have had long experience of Towzer's worth and imtegrity?" True; but at this conjuncture it is highly requisite thou shouldest think the best of me, since I am about to engage thee in an affair, the seriousness and importance of which cannot be too strictly at
ended to; and the greater opinion thou hast of the proposer, with the more alacrity wilt thou enter on the affair.
One must be a stupid dog indeed, not to know that, notwithstanding our almost innumerable taxes, the ministry want money damnably. Therefore this act will certainly take place, unless we can start some other scheme, from which more cole may be expected. Such a scheme I have in my head, but I am sensible is not to be brought to bear without thy assistance.
Thy intimacy with Miss Biddy's lap-dog will forward thee in the way that I shall chalk out to thee. Thou must engage Shock to communicate my proposals to his fair mistress, and at the same time back them with his interest; and if she stands our friend, we have nothing to fear; for Sir Nathan Nimbletongue, the member for the county, is her slave; and she has a pair of eyes that would dazzle a Roman senate into blindness to the common cause, and corrupt the integrity of a Cato. I have inclosed a copy of the scheme; and rest, ever thine, most affectionately,
TOWZER.
TOWZER'S SCHEME FOR A POLL-TAX ON THAT PART OF THE HUMAN SPECIES, WHO ARE DISTINGUISHED BY THE APPELLATIONS OF SAD DOGS, LAZY DOGS, AND PUPPIES.
1. The family of the Sad Dogs has ever been reckoned, without controversy, the most ancient and most numerous of any in the kingdom; if, therefore, they were taxed at the easy rate of one shilling per head, they would bring in to the government annually at least four hundred thousand pounds sterling.
2. The Lazy Dogs are those expletives of Nature, which seem only formed to devour her works, and prevent her from being burdensome to herself with her own exuberancy; and would, at sixpence a head, produce the same sum at least.
3. And lastly, the Puppies; that is to say, the numerous tribe of Fops, Coxcombs, Witlings, Pedants, Poetasters, Criticasters, and Grammaticasters, with many more of that strain, would, at threepence a Puppy, bring in, at an average, the same sum. So there will be one million two hundred pounds sterling by these means redound from a soil which has hitherto brought forth nothing; but has been buried in the weeds of corruption, and the dearth of barrenness.
THE KING'S COUSIN AND COUNSELLOR. AN ANECDOTE OF GEORGE II. AND THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.
SOON after the late Earl of Chesterfield was made a member of the Cabinet, a place of great trust became vacant, to which the Earl and the Duke of Dorset recommended two very different persons. His Majesty contended for his own recommendation with much warmth; and, finding he was not likely to succeed, he left the council-chamber in great anger, protesting that he would be obeyed. The king being retired, a violent contest ensued; but at length it was carried against him, lest he should expect the same implicit obedience on other occasions, when it might rise into a dangerous precedent. The difficulty now was, who should wait on the king, in his present humour, with the grant of the office for his signature; a task which fell to the lot of Lord Chesterfield. As his Lordship expected to find the king very little disposed to execute the business, he prudently took care not to incense him by abruptly making the request; but asked, in accents of great humility, with whose name his Majesty would be pleased to have the blanks filled up. "With the Devil's!" answered the king, with all the vehemence of passion. "And will your Majesty," coolly replied the Earl, "permit the instrument to run, as usual—
"Our trusty and well-beloved Cousin and Counsellor?"
The King, laughing very heartily, immediately put his hand to the appointment, and related to every body the success with which the noble Earl's wit had attacked his ill-humour.
APOLOGY FOR CORPOREAL COWARDICE. A MILITARY ANECDOTE.
A Gascon soldier being asked by his comrade, what made him tremble so excessively while they were marching to the attack—"My body," replied he, "trembles to think on the dangers to which it knows it will soon be exposed by the bravery of my soul."
BEST METHOD OF DESTROYING ENEMIES.
THE Emperor Sigismund being reproached for rewarding, instead of destroying, his enemies, and thus giving them the power again to injure him—"What," said the nobleminded monarch, "do not I destroy my enemies, when I make them my friends?"
This exalted sentiment is well worthy of being adopted by subjects as well as sovereigns, by nations, and by individuals!
THE FARMER'S BLUNDER. A TALE.
A Farmer once to London went,
To pay t
e worthy squire his rent:
He comes, he knocks, soon entrance gains;
Who at the door such guests detains?
Forth struts the squire, exceeding smart—
"Farmer, you're w
lcome to my heart!
You've brought my rent, then?"—"To a hair!"
"The best of tenants, I declare!"
The steward was call'd, th' accounts made ev'n,
The money paid, receipt was giv'n.
"Well," quoth the squire, "now you shall stay
And dine with me, old friend, to-day:
I've here some ladies, wondrous pretty,
And pleasant sparks, I'll warr'nt will fit ye."
He scratch'd his ears, and held his hat,
And said—"No, Zur; two words to that—
For look! d'ye zee! when Ize do dine
With gentlefolks zo cruel fine,
Ize use to make—and 'tis no wonder—
In deed, or word, some plaguy blunder:
Zo, if your honour will permit,
I'll with your servants pick a bit."
"Pho!" says the squire, "it sha'n't be done!"
And to the parlour push'd him on.
To all around he nods and scrapes,
Nor waiting-maid, nor butler scapes;
With often bidding takes his seat,
But at a distance mighty great:
Though often ask'd to draw his chair,
He nods, nor comes an inch more near.
By Madam serv'd, with body bended,
With knife and fork, and arms extended,
He reach'd, as far as he was able,
To plate that over-hung the table;
With little morsels cheats his chops,
And in the passage much he drops.
To shew where most his heart inclin'd,
He talk'd and drank to John behind.
When drank to in the modish way,
"Your love's sufficient, Zur!" he'd say;
And, to be thought a man of manners,
Still rose to make his aukward honours.
"Pish!" says the Squire, "pray keep your sitting."—
"No, no," he cries; "Zur! 'tis not fitting:
Tho' I'm no scholard, vars'd in letters,
I knaws my duty to my betters."
Much mirth the farmer's ways afford,
And hearty laughs go round the board.
Thus the first course was ended—well!
But at the next—ah, what befel!
The dishes now were timely plac'd,
And table with fresh lux'ry grac'd.
When drank to by a neighbouring charmer,
Up, as was usual, stands the farmer.
A wag, to carry on the joke,
Thus to his servant softly spoke—
"Come hither, Dick: step gently there,
And pull away the farmer's chair."
'Tis done; his congee made, the clown
Draws back, and stoops to sit him down;
But by posteriors over-weigh'd,
And of his trusty seat betray'd,
As men at twigs in river sprawling,
He catch'd the cloth to save his falling:
In vain—sad fortune! down he wallow'd;
And, rattling, all the dishes follow'd.
The foplings lost their little wits;
The ladies squall'd, some fell in fits.
Here tumbled turkies, tarts, and wigeons,
And there minc'd pies, and geese, and pigeons.
A pear-pye on his belly drops,
A custard-pudding met his chops.
Lord what ado, 'twixt belles and beaux!
Some curse, some cry, and rub their cloaths;
This lady raves, and that looks down,
And weeps and wails her spatter'd gown.
One spark bemoans bespatter'd waistcoat;
One—"Rot him!" cries, "he has spoil'd my lac'd coat."
Amidst the rout, the farmer long
The pudding suck'd, and held his tongue;
At length, he gets him on his breech,
And scrabbles up to make his speech:
First scrapes eyes, mouth, and nostril twangs,
Then smacks his fingers, and harangues—
"Plague tak't! Ize told you how 'twould be!
Luck! here's a pickle, Zurs, d'ye see!
And some, I'll warrant, that makes this chatter,
Have cloathers daub'd with grease and batter,
That cost—" He had gone on, but here
Was stopp'd at once in his career.
"Peace, brute! be gone!" the ladies cry:
The beaux exclaim—"Fly, rascal! fly!"—
"I'll tear your eyes out!" squeaks Miss Dolly;
"I'll pink his soul out!" roars a bully.
At this the farmer shrinks for fear;
And, thinking 'twas ill tarrying here,
Shabs off, and cries—"Aye, kill me, then,
Whene'er you catch me here again!
So home he jogs, and leaves the squire
To cool the Sparks and ladies ire.
Thus ends my tale; and now I'll try,
Like Prior, something to apply.
This may teach rulers of a nation,
Ne'er to place men above their station;
And this may shew the wanton wit,
That, while he bites, he may be bit.
THE TEST OF PATIENCE; OR, THE HOGS IN THE PARSON'S CELLAR.
A Parson, who had a remarkable foible,
In minding the bottle much more than the bible;
Was deem'd by his neighbours to be less perplex'd,
In handling a tankard, than handling a text.
Perch'd up in his pulpit, one Sunday he cried—
"Make patience, my dearly beloved, your guide;
And, in all your trouble, mischances, and crosses,
Remember the patience of Job in his losses."
Now this parson had got a stout cask of strong beer;
A present, no doubt—but no matter from where;
Suffice it to say, that he reckon'd it good,
And valu'd the liquor as much as his blood.
While he the church-service in haste mutter'd o'er,
The hogs found their way thro' the old cellar door;
And, by the sweet scent of the beer-barrel led,
Had knock'd out the spigot or cock from it's head.
Out spouted the liquor abroad on the ground,
And the unbidden guests quaff'd it merrily round;
Nor from their diversion or merriment ceas'd,
Till ev'ry hog there was a true drunken beast.
And now, the grave lecture and prayers at an end,
He brings along with him a neighbouring friend;
To be a partaker of Sunday's good cheer,
And taste his delightful October-brew'd beer.
The dinner was ready, and all things laid snug—
"Here, wife," says the parson, "go fetch up a mug."
But a mug of what liquor he'd scarce time to tell her,
When—"Lord, husband!" she cried, "there's the hogs in the cellar!
To be sure they've got in whilst we were at pray'rs."—
"To be sure you're a fool; so get you down stairs,
And bring what I bid you—Go, see what's the matter;
For now I myself hear a grunting and clatter!"
She went; and, returning with sorrowful face,
In suitable phrases related the case:
He rav'd like a madman; and, snatching a broom,
First belabour'd his hogs, then his wife r
und the room.
"Was ever poor mortal so pester'd as I!
With a base slut who keeps all my house like a stye:
How came you to have your damn'd hogs in the kitchen?
Is that a fit place to keep cattle, you bitch, in!"—
"Lord, husband!" said she, "what a coil you keep here,
About a poor beggarly barrel of beer;
You should, in "your troubles, mischances, and crosses,
Remember the patience of Job in his losses."—
"A pox upon Job," cried the priest, in a rage;
"That beer, I dare say, was near three years of age:
But you are a poor stupid fool, like his wife;
For Job never had such a cask in his life!"
THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION. A MATRIMONIAL TALE.
BY MR. ROBERT LLOYD.
THE very silliest things in life
Create the most material strife;
What scarce will suffer a debate,
Will oft produce the bitterest hate.
"It is," you say—I say, "'Tis not."
—Why, you grow warm—and I am hot.
Thus each alike with passion glows,
And words come first, and after blows.
Friend Jerkin had an income clear,
Some fifteen pounds, or more, a year;
And rented, on the farming plan,
Grounds at much greater sums per ann.
A man of consequence, no doubt,
'Mongst all his neighbours round about:
He was of frank and open mind,
Too honest to be much refin'd;
Would smoke his pipe, and tell his tale,
Sing a good song, and drink his ale.
His wife was of another mould;
Her age was neither young nor old;
Her features strong, but somewhat plain;
Her air not bad, but rather vain;
Her temper neither new nor strange,
A woman's—very apt to change:
What she most hated was conviction;
What she most lov'd, flat contradiction.
A charming housewife, ne'ertheless—
Tell me a thing she could not dress:
Soups, hashes, pickles, puddings, pyes;
Nought came amiss—she was so wife!
For she, bred twenty miles from town,
Had brought a world of breeding down,
And Cumberland had seldom seen
A farmer's wife with such a mien.
She could not bear the sound of dame;
No—Mistress Jerkin was her name.
She could harangue with wondrous grace,
On gowns, and mobs, and caps, and lace;
But, though she ne'er adorn'd his brows,
She had a vast contempt for spouse;
As being one who took no pride,
And was a deal too countryfied.
Such were our couple, man and wife;
Such were their means and ways of life.
Once on a time, the season fair,
For exercise and chearful air,
It happen'd, in his morning's roam,
He kill'd his birds, and brought them home.
"Here, Cicely, take away my gun:
How shall we have these starlings done?"
—"Done! what, my love?—Your wits are wild—
Starlings, my dear! they're thrushes, child!"—
"Nay, now, but look, consider, wife,
They're starlings."—"No, upon my life!
Sure I can judge as well as you;
I know a thrush and starling too."—
"Who was it shot them, you or I?—
They're starlings!"—"Thrushes!"—"Zounds, you lye!"—
"Pray, Sir, take back your dirty word,
I scorn your language as your bird;
It ought to make a husband blush,
To treat a wife so 'bout a thrush."—
"Thrush, Cicely!"—"Yes."—"A starling!"— "No."
The lye again, and then a blow.
Blows carry strong and quick conviction,
And mar the powers of contradiction.
Peace soon ensued, and all was well;
It were imprudence to rebel,
Or keep the ball up of debate,
Against these arguments of weight.
A year roll'd on in perfect case,
'Twas—"As you like!" and—"What you please!"
Till, in it's course and order due,
Came March the twentieth, fifty-two.
Quoth Cicely—"Ah, this charming life!
No tumults now, no blows, no strife!
What fools we were this day last year!
Lord, how you beat me then, my dear!
Sure it was foolish and absurd,
To wrangle so about a bird;
A bird not worth a single rush."—
"A starling!"—"No, my love, a thrush!
That I'll maintain."—"That I'll deny."—
"You're wrong, good husband."—"Wife, you lye!"
Again the self-same wrangle rose;
Again the lye, again the blows.
Thus ev'ry year—true man and wife—
Ensues the same domestick strife:
Thus ev'ry year their quarrel ends,
They argue, fight, buss, and are friends!
'Tis starling, thrush; and thrush, and starling;
"You dog!"—"You bitch!"—"My dear;"—"My darling!"
BACCHUS; OR, THE DRUNKEN METAMORHOSIS.
BY DEAN PARNELL.
AS Bacchus, ranging at his leisure,
(Iö Bacchus, king of pleasure)
Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,
And all his thousand airy fancies;
Alas! he quite forgot, the while,
His favourite vines in Lesbos' isle.
The god returning ere they died—
"Ah! see, my jolly Fauns," he cried;
"The leaves, but hardly born, are red,
And the bare arms for pity spread.
The beasts afford a rich manure;
Fly, my boys, to bring the cure,
Up the mountains, o'er the vales,
Through the woods, and down the dales!
For this, if full the clusters grow,
Your bowls shall doubly overflow!"
So chear'd, with most officious haste,
They bring the dung of ev'ry beast:
The loads they wheel, the roots they bare,
And lay the rich manure with care;
While oft he bids them labour hard,
And names as oft the red reward.
The plants refresh'd, new leaves appear,
The thick'ning clusters load the year;
The season swiftly purple grew,
The grapes hung dangling, deep with blue.
The vineyard ripe, a day serene,
Now calls them all to work again;
The Fauns through every furrow shoot,
And load their flaskets with the fruit;
And now, the vintage early trod,
The wines invite the jolly god.
Strew the roses, raise the song,
See, the master comes along;
Lusty Revel, join'd with Laughter,
Whim and Frolick follow after.
The Fauns besde the vats remain,
To shew the work, and reap the gain.
All around, and all around,
They sit to riot on the ground.
A vessel stands amid the ring,
And there they laugh, and there they sing;
Or rise, a jolly, jolly band,
And dance about it hand in hand;
Dance about, and shout amain,
Then sit to laugh and sing again.
Thus they drink, and thus they play,
The sun, and all their wits, away.
But, as an ancient author sung,
The vines, manur'd with ev'ry dung,
From e'ery creature strangely drew
A tang of brutal nature too:
'Twas hence, in drinking on the lawns,
New turns of humour seiz'd the Fauns.
Here one was crying out—"By Jove!"
Another—"Fight me in the grove!"
This wounds a friend, and that the trees:
The Lion's temper reign'd in these.
Another grins, and leaps about,
And keeps a merry world of rout;
And talks impertinently free,
While twenty talk as well as he;
Chattering, idle, airy kind:
These take the Monkey's turn of mind.
Here one, who saw the nymph that stood
To peep upon them from the wood,
Skulks off, to try if any maid
Be lagging late beneath the shade;
While loose discourse another raises,
In naked nature's plainest phrases;
And ev'ry glass he drinks enjoys,
With change of nonsense, lust, and noise:
Mad and careless, hot and vain,
Such as these the Goat retain.
Another drinks, and casts it up;
And drinks, and wants, another cup;
Is very silent and sedate,
Ever long, and ever late;
Full of meats, and full of wine:
This takes his temper from the Swine.
There some, who hardly seem to breathe
Drink, and hang the jaw beneath;
Gaping, tender, apt to weep:
Their nature's alter'd by the Sheep.
'Twas thus, one Autumn, all the crew,
If what the poets say be true,
While Bacchus made the merry feast,
Inclin'd to one or other beast.
And since, 'tis said, for many a mile,
He spread the vine's of Leshos' isle.
HEAD AND FEET. A DIALOGUE.
WRITTEN WHILE CONFINED BY THE GOUT IN BOTH FEET.
SAYS my Head to my Feet—"I have waited thus long,
In hopes that your duty you would not prolong;
But my patience worn threadbare, and I in a fever,
I'll never be serv'd so in future, no never."—
"Hey-day!" answer'd Feet, "why, how now, Mr. Bluff!
Fair and soft, if you please; an't we punish'd enough?
We feel for your follies, and suffer our part;
'Tis you've had the pleasure, while we've had the smart."—
"Say you so!" exclaims Head: "Oh! you insolent elves,
You know you are wholly wrapp'd up in yourselves.
How oft have I serv'd you by writing and reading;
Such wretches deserve not to live by good feeding."—
"But, hold!" cries my Heart, "Mr. head, you're to blame:
Henceforward be wiser, nor publish your shame;
Had you not liv'd so fast, as you deal in abuse,
Want of exercise, merely, had been your excuse."
PROEM. IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.
BY MR. HARRISON.
THO' in his offspring many a fault appears,
For two alone the partial parent fears!
Good ghostly criticks, grant him absolution,
They only lie in Plan and Execution!
THE DEBT OF LIFE.
OUR life is like a winter's day,
Some only breakfast, and away;
Others to dinner stay, and are full fed;
The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed:
Large is his debt who lingers out the day;
Who goes the sooness, has the least to pay,
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE VII.
The Idle 'Prentice returnd from Sea, & in a Garret with a common Prostitute.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER VII.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE VII. THE IDLE 'PRENTICE RETURNED FROM SEA, AND IN A CARRET WITH A COMMON PROSTITUTE.
WHILE the preceding print represents the good youth rewarded by the possession of a virtuous woman, in the present appears the sad contrast of his profligate fellow-apprentice associated with one of those wretched outcasts of society, who disgrace not only their sex, but human nature. With this loathsome being, the tenant of a miserable garret, he is now seen in bed. He may be supposed to have deserted from the sea-service, in consequence of the severe chastisement to which his idleness, his vices, and perhaps his cowardice—for the most profligate are by no means the most brave—have there continually subjected him. The mode of life which he has subsequently pursued, is sufficiently demonstrated by the pistols and other implements of the robber's trade; as well as by the watches and trinkets which form his booty, or rather that of the artful prostitute with whom he has formed the illicit connection. This wretch, whose filthy and diseased state is implied by the gallipot and phials on the mantle-piece, surveys with composure a rich ear-ring, part of the precious spoil; while her paramour, conscious of the guilt by which it was obtained, and in momentary dread of pursuing justice, starts up, petrified with horror, on the falling of some loose bricks down the crazy chimney, over which a cat was passing,
and is at the same time headlong precipitated. The expression of the two faces affords an admirable characteristick contrast. The harlot partakes not, like a virtuous woman, in whatever may alarm the man who takes her to his bosom, but constantly meditates on the means of attaining the to utmost benefit herself. His joys are not her joys, nor his griefs her griefs!
Though this print is by no means crouded with objects, every tittle it contains is descriptive of the wretchedness, and disorder attendant on vicious life. The precaution of continual apprehension, has occasioned them to barricade the door with planks sloping from the floor; the shattered plaster demonstrates the wretchedness of the place; the broken-down bedstead is not without meaning; the hoop, hung over the bed's-head, sarcastically conveys to the imagination what filthy beings may be occasionally covered with a fashionable article of dress; and the dram-bottle with a broken glass, the jug and pipe both likewise broken, and the fractured bason on the mantle-shelf, all assist to display the consequences of indolence and ebriety. Nor is the moral unassisted by the precipitate retreat of the rat, scared at the noise, from it's clandestine feast, on the fragments left in the single plate lying with a knife by the bedside.
In short, the whole forms a print of admirable interest; and makes us forcibly exclaim, with the poet, that—
Vice, to be hated, needs but to be seen!
The motto is most excellent—
The sound of a shaken leaf shall chase him.—
LEVITICUS xxvi. 36.
COMPARISON FOR A WIFE; OR, NONE BUT THE WEARER CAN TELL WHERE THE SHOE PINCHES.
A Roman being about to repudiate his wife, among a variety of other questions from her enraged kinsmen, was asked—"Is not your wife a sensible woman? Is she not a handsome woman? Has she not borne you fine children?" In answer to all which questions, slipping off his shoe, he held it up, and interrogated them in his turn—"Is not this shoe," said he, "a very handsome one? Is it not quite new? Is it not extremely well made? How, then, is it, that none of you can tell me where it pinches?"
THE MODERN MAN OF HONOUR.
THOSE who attack the fundamental laws of virtue and morality, urge the uncertainty of them, and alledge their variations in different countries, and even in different ages in the same countries. "Morality," say they, "is local, and consequently an imaginary thing; since what is rejected in one climate as a vice, is practised in another as a virtue." And, according to them, the voice of nature speaks as many different languages as there are nations in the world.
The dangers and ill consequences of this doctrine are obvious; but, surely, the falsity of it is not less so: and the most charitable opinion one can entertain of those who propagate it is, that they mistake fashion and custom for nature and reason. The invariable laws of justice and morality are the first and universal emanations of human reason, while unprejudiced and uncorrupted; and we may as well say that sickness is the natural state of the body, as that injustice and immorality are the natural situation of the mind. We contract most of the distempers of the one by the irregularity of our appetites, and of the other by yielding to the impetuosity of our passions; but, in both cases, reason, when consulted, speaks a different language.
I admit, that the prevailing customs and fashions of most countries are not founded on reason; and, on the contrary, are too frequently repugnant to it: but then the reasonable people of those countries contemn and abhor them, though it may be they too wittingly comply with, or at least have not courage openly enough to oppose them.
The people of rank and distinction, in every country, are properly called the people of fashion; because, in truth, they settle the fashion. Instead of subjecting themselves to the laws, they take measure of their own appetites and passions, and then make laws to fit them; which laws, though neither sounded in justice, nor enacted by a legal authority, too often prevail over and insult both justice and authority. This is fashion!
In this light I have often considered the word Honour in it's fashionable acceptation in this country; and must confess, that, were that the universal meaning of it throughout this kingdom, it would very much confirm the doctrine I endeavour to confute; and would be so contrary to that honour which reason, justice, and common-sense, point out, that I should not wonder if it inclined people to call in question the very existence of honour itself.
The character of a Man of Honour, as received in the
beau monde,
is something so very singular, that it deserves a particular examination; and, though easier observed than described, I shall endeavour to give my readers a description of it, illustrated with some original pieces, which have luckily fallen into my hands.
A Man of Honour is one who peremptorily affirms himself to be so; and who will cut any body's throat that questions it, though on the best grounds: he is infinitely above the restraints which the laws of God or man lay on vulgar minds, and knows no other ties than those of Honour; of which word he is to be the sole expounder. He must strictly adhere to a party denomination, though he may be utterly regardless of it's principles. His expence should exceed his income considerably; not for the necessaries, but for the superfluities of life; that the debts he contracts may do him Honour. There should be a haughtiness and insolence in his deportment, which is supposed to result from conscious Honour. If he be cholerick, and wrong-headed into the bargain, with a good deal of animal courage, he acquires the glorious character of a man of nice and jealous Honour: and, if all these qualifications are duly seasoned with the genteelest vices, the Man of Honour is compleat; any thing his wife, children, servants, or tradesmen, may think to the contrary, notwithstanding.
Belville is allowed to be a man of the most consummate Honour that this or any other age ever produced. The men are proud of his acquaintance, and the women of his protection; his party glories in being countenanced by him, and his Honour is frequently quoted as a sanction for their conduct. But some original letters, which I shall give my readers, will let them more intimately into the particulars of so shining a character, than mere description would do.
He had run out a considerable fortune by a life of pleasure, particularly by gaming; and, being delicately scrupulous in points of Honour, he writ the following letter to his attorney, after an ill run at play—
"SIR,
"I HAD a damned tumble last night at hazard, and must raise a thousand within a week: get it me on any terms; for I would rather suffer the greatest incumbrance on my fortune, than the least blemish on my Honour. As for those clamorous rascals the tradesmen, insist on my privilege, and keep them off as long as possible: we may chance to ruin some of them before they can bring us to trial. Your, &c.
"TO MR. GOOSETREE, ATTORNEY, IN FURNIVAL'S INN." "BELVILLE.
But, lest the endeavours of Mr. Goosetree should prove ineffectual, Belville, from the same principle of Honour, resolved, at all events, to secure that sum collaterally; and therefore wrote the following letter to the First Minister—
"SIR,
"I WAS applied to yesterday in your name by *** to vote for the great point which is to come into our House to-morrow; but, as it was extremely contrary to my opinion and principles, I gave him no explicit answer, but took some time to consider of it. I have therefore the honour now to acquaint you, that I am determined to give my concurrence to this affair; but must desire, at the same time, that you will immediately send *** to me, with the fifteen hundred pounds he offered me yesterday, and for which I have a pressing occasion this morning. I am persuaded you know me too well to scruple this payment beforehand, and that you will not be the first person that ever questioned the Honour of, Sir, your most faithful humble servant,
"BELVILLE."
I find another letter of the same date, to a lady, who appears to be the wife of his most intimate friend—
"MY DEAR,
"I HAVE just now received yours, and am very sorry for the uneasiness your husband's behaviour has given you of late: though I cannot be of your opinion, that he suspects our connection. We have been bred up together from children, and have lived in the strictest friendship ever since; so that I dare say he would as soon suspect me of a design to murder, as wrong him this way: and, you know, it is to that considence and security of his that I owe the happiness that I enjoy. However, in all events, be convinced that you are in the hands of a Man of Honour, who will not suffer you to be ill used; and, should my friend proceed to any disagreeable extremities with you, depend on it I'll cut the cuckold's throat, for him. Yours, most tenderly,
"B—."
The fourth and last letter is to a friend, who had, probably, as high notions of Honour as himself, by the nature of the affair in which he requires his assistance—
"DEAR CHARLES,
"PR'YTHEE come to me immediately, to serve me in an affair of Honour. You must know, I told a damned lye last night in a mixed company, and a formal odd dog, in a manner, insinuated that I did so; on which I whispered him to be in Hyde Park this morning, and to bring a friend with him, if he had such a thing in the world. The booby was hardly worth my resentment; but you know my delicacy where Honour is concerned. Yours,
"BELVILLE."
It appears, from these authentick pieces, that Mr. Belville, filled with the noblest sentiments of Honour, paid all debts but his just ones, kept his word scrupulously in the flagitious sale of his conscience to a minister; was ready to protect, at the expence of his friend's life, his friend's wife, whom, by the opportunities that friendship had given him, he had corrupted: and punished truth with death, when it intimated, however justly, the want of it in himself.
This person of refined Honour, conscious of his own merit and virtue, is a most unmerciful censor of the lesser vices and failings of others; and lavishly bestows the epithets of Scoundrel and Rascal on all those who, in a subordinate rank of life, seem to aspire to any genteel degree of immorality. An aukward country gentleman, who sells his silent vote cheap, is with him a sad dog. The industrious tradesmen are a pack of cheating rascals, who should be better regulated, and not suffered to impose on people of condition; and servants are a parcel of idle scoundrels, that ought to be used ill, and not paid their wages, in order to check their insolence.
It is not to be imagined how pernicious the example of such a creature is to society: he is admired, and consequently imitated; he not only immediately corrupts his own circle of acquaintance, but the contagion spreads itself to infinity; as circles in water produce one another, though gradually less marked out, in proportion as they are remoter from the cause of the first.
To such practice, and such examples in higher life, may justly be imputed the general corruption and immorality which prevail through this kingdom; but when such is the force of fashion, and when the examples of people of the first rank in a country are so prevalent as to dignify vice and immorality, in spite of all laws, divine and human, how popular might they make virtue, if they would exert their power in it's cause? And how must they, in their cooler moments, reproach themselves, when they come to reflect that, by their fatal examples, they have beggared, corrupted, and, it may be, enslaved, a whole nation!
THE PLURALIST'S DINNER; OR, THE CURATE A MATCH FOR THE DEAN.
A Dean of Canterbury, remarkable for holding a great number of church-preferments, travelling slowly in his chariot to that city, was overtaken by a poor parson, who had procured the loan of a good horse. The parson,
en passant,
bowed most respectfully to the dean; who, desiring him to stop, begged he would call at the Mermaid at Rochester; and order him a dinner, to be ready at a certain hour. The parson accordingly called on the host, and told him that he would be honoured with a visit at such a time, and must provide a good dinner. "For how many, and please your honour?" says Boniface.
"Why," replies the parson, "I can't well say how many persons the whole company will consist of; for I only saw the Dean of Canterbury, the Canon of Winchester, the Provost of Litchfield, the Rector of Orpington, the Vicar of Romney, and one of the King's Chaplains."
The parson then proceeded to his own home, which was within a few miles; and the landlord began to make ample provision for the numerous guests he expected to entertain. Accordingly, when the Dean arrived, a large table was spread, and the cloth laid. "How's this!" cries his reverence; "you have shewn me the wrong room! This, surely, is intended for a large company!"
"And pleasure your honour," replied the landlord, "Parson Singlechurch called about an hour and a half ago, and told me I must provide for your honour, and the Canon of Winchester, and the Provost of Litchfield, and the Rector of Orpington, and one of the King's Chaplains too, and I don't know how many more; and so I thought, and please your honour, I'd get enough."
"Oh, very well!" coolly answered the dean, who now recollected himself; "I ought to have asked Mr. Singlechurch to have staid and dined with me."
SPOILED CHILDREN. A MIRROR FOR MOTHERS.
I Am engaged in a visit at a friend's house in the country, where I promised myself much satisfaction. I have, however, been greatly disappointed in my expectations; for, on my arrival, I found a house full of children, who are
humoured
beyond measure, and indeed absolutely spoiled, by the ridiculous indulgence of a fond mother. This unlucky circumstance has subjected me to many inconveniences; and, as I am a man of a grave reserved disposition, has been a perpetual source of embarrassment and perplexity.
The second day of my visit, in the midst of dinner, the eldest boy, who is eight years old, whipped off my perriwig with great dexterity, and received the applause of the table for his humour and spirit. This lad, when he has reached his fourteenth year, and is big enough to lie without the maid, is to be sent to a school in the neighbourhood, which has no other merit than that of being but seven miles off. Six of the children are permitted to sit at table, who entirely monopolize the wings of fowls, and the most delicate morsels of every dish, because the mother has discovered that her children have not
strong
stomachs.
In the morning, before my friend is up, I generally take a turn on the gravel-walk, where I could wish to enjoy my own thoughts without interruption; but I am here instantly attended by my little tormentors, who follow me backwards and forwards; and play at what they call
Running after the Gentleman.
My whip, which was a present from an old friend, has been lashed to pieces by one of the boys who is fond of horses, and the handle is turned into a hobby-horse. The main-spring of my repeating-watch has been broke in the nursery; which, at the mother's request, I had lent to the youngest boy, who was just breeched, and who cried to wear it.
The mother's attention to the children entirely destroys all conversation: and once, as an amusement for the evenings, we attempted to begin reading
Tom Jones;
but were interrupted, in the second page, by little
Sammy,
who is suffered to whip his top in the parlour. I am known to be troubled with violent head-aches; notwithstanding which, another of the boys, without notice given, or any regard paid to the company, is permitted to break out into the brayings of an ass, for which the strength of his lungs is commended; and a little miss, at breakfast, is allowed to drink up all the cream, and put her singers into the sugar-dish, because she was once
sickly.
I am teazed with familiarities, which I can only repay with a frown; and pestered with the petulance of ludicrous prattle, in which I am unqualified to join. It is whispered in the family, that I am a mighty good sort of a man, but that I cannot
talk to children.
Nor am I the only person who suffers from this folly: a neighbouring clergyman, of great merit and modesty, and much acquainted in the family, has received hints to forbear coming to the house, because little
Sukey
always cries when she sees him, and has told her mamma, she can't bear that
ugly parson.
Mrs. Qualm, my friend's wife, the mother of this hopeful offspring, is perpetually breeding; or rather her whole existence is spent in a series of great-bellies, lyings-in, visitings, churchings, and christenings. Every transaction of her life is dated from her several pregnancies. The grandmother, and the man-midwife, a serious, sensible man, constantly reside in the house, to be always ready on these solemn occasions. She boasts, that no family has ever sent out more numerous advertisements for nurses
with a fine breast of milk.
As her longings have of late been in the vegetable way, the garden is cultivated for this purpose alone, and totally filled with forward peas, and melon-glasses, in hopes that she may luckily long for what is at hand. She preserves, to the utmost the prerogative of frequent pregnancy; and, conscious of the dignity and importance of being often
big,
exerts an absolute authority over her husband. He was once a keen fox-hunter, but has long ago dropped his hounds; his wife having remonstrated, that his early rising disturbed the family unseasonably, and having dreamed that he broke his leg in leaping a ditch.
I revere Mrs. Qualm as the mother, and only wish I could recommend her as the manager, of children. I hope this letter may fall into her hands, to convince her how absurd it is to suppose, that others can be as much interested in her own children as herself. I would teach her, that what I complain of as matter of inconvenience, may one day prove to her a severe trial; and that early licentiousness will, at last, mock that parental affection from whose mistaken indulgence it arose.
THE MISER'S MISTAKE; OR, ALL COVET ALL LOSE.
A Miser, having lost a hundred pounds, promised ten pounds reward to any one who should bring it him. An honest poor man, who found it, brought it to the old gentleman, demanding the ten pounds. But the miser, to baffle him, alledged there were a hundred and ten pounds in the bag when lost. The poor man, however, was advised to sue for the money; and, when the cause came on to be tried, it appearing that the seal had not been broken, nor the bag ripped, the judge said to the defendant's counsel—"The bag you lost had a hundred and ten pounds in it, you say?"—"Yes, my Lord," says he. "Then," replied the judge, "according to the evidence given in court, this cannot be the money; for here were only a hundred pounds: therefore the plaintiff must keep it till the true owner appears."
HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF A CITIZEN AND HIS FAMILY AT VAUXHALL.
I Was greatly diverted, last Saturday evening, at Vauxhall, with the shrewd remarks of an honest citizen, whose wife and two daughters had prevailed on him to carry them to the Garden. As I thought there was something curious in their behaviour, I went into the next box to them, where I had an opportunity of seeing and over-hearing every thing that passed.
After some talk—" Come, come," said the old don, "it is time, I think, to go to supper." To this the ladies readily assented; and one of the Misses said—" Do let us have a chick, papa."—" Zounds!" said the father, "they are half a crown a-piece, and no bigger than a sparrow." Here the old lady took him up—" You are so stingy, Mr. Rose, there is no bearing you. When one is out upon pleasure, I love to appear like somebody: and what signifies a few shillings once and away, when a body is about it?" This reproof so effectually silenced the old gentleman, that the youngest Miss had the courage to put in a word for some ham likewise. The waiter was called, and dispatched by the old lady with an order for a chicken and a plate of ham. When it was brought, our honest cit twirled the dish about three or four times, and surveyed it with a very settled countenance; then, taking up a slice of ham, and dangling it to and fro on the end of his fork, asked the waiter, how much there was of it. "A shilling's worth, Sir," said the fellow.—" Pr'ythee," said the don, "how much dost think it weighs?"—" An ounce."—" A shilling an ounce! that is sixteen shillings per pound!—A reasonable profit, truly!—Let me see—suppose, now, the whole ham weighs thirty pounds; at a shilling per ounce, that is sixteen shillings per pound: why, your master makes exactly twenty-four pounds of every ham; and, if he buys them at the best hand, and salts them and cures them himself, they don't stand him in ten shillings a-piece." The old lady bade him hold his nonsense, declared herself ashamed for him, and asked him if people must not live: the, taking a coloured handkerchief from her own neck, she tucked it into his shirt-collar, "whence it hung like a bid," and helped him to a leg of the chicken. The old gentleman, at every bit he put into his mouth, amused himself with saying—" There goes two-pence—There goes three-pence— There goes a groat. Zounds! a man at these places should not have a swallow so wide as a tom-tit."
This scanty repast, we may imagine, was soon dispatched; and it was with much difficulty our citizen was prevailed on to suffer a plate of beef to be ordered. This, too, was no less admired, and underwent the same comments with the ham. At length, when only a very small bit was left, as they say, for manners, in the dish, our don took a piece of an old newspaper out of his pocket; and, gravely wrapping up the meat in it, placed it carefully in his letter-case. "I'll keep thee as a curiosity to my dying day; and I'll shew thee to my neighbour Horseman, and ask him if he can make as much of his steaks." Then rubbing his hands, and shrugging up his shoulders— "Why, now," says he, "to-morrow night I may eat as much cold beef as I can stuff in any tavern in London, and pay nothing for it." A dish of tarts, cheese-cakes, and custards, next made their appearance, at the request of the young ladies, who paid no sort of regard to the sather's remonstrance, that they were four times as dear as at the pastrycook's.
Supper being ended, Madam put her spouse in mind to call for wine. "We must have some wine, my dear, or we shall not be looked upon, you know."—"Well, well," says the don, "that's right enough. But do they sell their liquor too by the ounce?—Here, drawer, what wine have you got?" The fellow, who by this time began to smoke his guests, answered — "We have exceeding good French wine of all sorts, and please your honour. Would your honour have a bottle of Champagne, or Burgundy, or Claret, or—?"— "No, no, none of your wishy-washy outlandish rot-gut for me!" interrupted the citizen. "A tankard of the Alderman beats all the red Claret wine in the French king's cellar.—But, come, bring us a bottle of sound old Port: and, d'ye hear? let it be good."
While the waiter was gone, the good man most sadly lamented, that he could not have his pipe; which the wife would not allow, because, she said, it was ungenteel to smoke, where any ladies were in company. When the wine came, our citizen gravely took up the bottle; and, holding it above his head— "Aye, aye," said he, "the bottom has had a good kick!—And mind how confoundedly it is pinched on the sides.—Not above five gills, I warrant. An old soldier at the Jerusalem would beat two of them. But let us see how it is brewed." He then poured out a glass; and, after holding it up before the candle, smelling to it, sipping it twice or thrice, and smacking his lips, drank it off: but, declaring that second thoughts were best, he filled another bumper; and tossing that off, after some pause, with a very important air, ventured to pronounce it drinkable. The ladies, having also drank a glass round, affirmed it was very good, and felt warm in the stomach: and even the old gentleman relaxed into such good humour by the time the bottle was emptied, that, out of his own free will and motion, he most generously called for another pint, but charged the waiter to pick out an honest one.
While the glass was thus circulating, the family amused themselves with making observations on the Garden. The citizen expressed his wonder at the number of lamps; and said, it must cost a great deal of money every night to light them all: the eldest Miss declared that, for her part, she liked the dark walk best of all, because it was solentary; little Miss thought the last song mighty pretty, and said she would buy it, if she could but carry home the tune: and the old lady observed, that there was a great deal of good company indeed; but the gentlemen were so rude, that they perfectly put her out of countenance by staring at her through their spy-glasses. In a word, the tarts, the cheese-cakes, the beef, the chicken, the ounce of ham, and every thing, seemed to have been quite forgot, till the dismal moment approached, when the reckoning was called for. As this solemn business concerns only the gentlemen, the ladies kept a profound silence; and, when the terrible account was brought, they left the paymaster undisturbed, to enjoy the misery by himself: only the old lady had the hardiness to squint at the sum-total, and declared it was pretty reasonable considering!
Our citizen bore his misfortunes with a tolerable degree of patience. He shook his head as he run-over every article, and swore he would never buy meat by the ounce again. At length, when he had carefully summed up every figure, he bade the drawer bring change for sixpence: then pulling out a leathern purse from a snug pocket in the inside of his waistcoat, he drew out slowly, piece by piece, thirteen shillings; which he regularly placed in two rows on the table. When the change was brought, after counting it very carefully, he laid down four halfpence in the same exact order; then calling the waiter— "There," says he, "there's your damage—thirteen and twopence.—And, hearkye, there's three-pence over for yourself." The remaining penny he put into his coat-pocket; and, chinking it—"This," says, he, "will serve me to-morrow to buy a paper of tobacco."
The family now prepared themselves for going; and, as there were some slight drops of rain, Madam buttoned up the old gentleman's coat, that he might not spoil his laced waistcoat; and made him flap his hat, over which she tied his pocket-handkerchief, to save his wig: and as the coat itself, she said, had never been worn but three Sundays, she even parted with her own cardinal, and spread it, the wrong side out, over his shoulders. In these accoutrements he sallied forth, accompaned by his wife with her upper-petticoat thrown over her head, and his daughters with the skirts of their gowns turned up, and their heads muffled up in coloured handkerchiefs. I followed them quite out of the garden: and, as they were waiting for their hack to draw up, the youngest Miss asked—"When shall we come again, papa?"—"Come again!" said he, "what a pox would you ruin me? Once in one's life is enough; and I think I have done very handsome. Why, it would not have cost me above four-pence-halfpenny to have spent my evening at Sot's Hole; and what with the cursed coach-hire, and all together, here's almost a pound gone, and nothing to shew for it!"—"Fie, Mr. Rose! I'm quite ashamed for you," replies the old lady. "You are always grudging me and your girls the least bit of pleasure; and you cannot help grumbling, if we do but go to Little Hornsey to drink tea. I am sure, now they are women grown up, they ought to see a little of the world; and they shall!" The old don was not willing to pursue the argument any farther; and, the coach coming up, he was glad to put an end to the dispute, by saying—"Come, come, let us make haste, wife, or we shall not get home time enough to have my best wig combed out again; and to-morrow, you know, is Sunday."
COLLEY CIBBER'S WAGER.
CIBBER was engaged in a paper war with Pope; and being told one day that Pope intended to prosecute him for making too free with his character, Cibber happened to be in a peevish temper, and replied—"He may kiss my arse!" On this, one of his friends, who were all on the banter, observed, that it was not language for a gentleman, and that he was sure that Cibber would not dare say so to Pope's face.—"By God, Sir," says Colley, "I would tell him so, or any puppy that should take his part!"—This assertion was what they were fishing for, as they now perceived that he was in a right cue to be worked up to any pitch. And so it proved; for, before they parted, they provoked him to a bett of one hundred guineas, that he would bid Pope kiss his arse in the publick play-house; bid the company he sat with kiss his arse, let them be who they would; bid box, pit, and gallery, separately, kiss his arse likewise; and, in conclusion, bid the whole house kiss his arse all together. This mad wager soon got wind; and it was generally known that Pope was to be at the play the next night. When the time came, the house was crouded. Now, as it was the beginning of term, the solicitor and attorney-general were both in the stage-box, according to an ancient custom; and who should be perched plump between them, but Alexander the Little. Well, Colley had bought the collar, and he was resolved to go through with it: so just as the last musick was playing, and the curtain ready to be drawn up, he rang the bell, and pushed boldly on the stage. Cibber bowed, the house clapped; he bowed again: all was attention; and thus he began—"Ladies and gentlemen, I have a story to tell you; to which, if you do not honour me with an indulgent hearing, I shall lose one hundred guineas." On this a universal clap ensued, and a general cry of—"The story! The story!" He then proceeded thus—"You must know, ladies and gentlemen, that there lived in this city an honest old trencher-maker, who had saved a very considerable fortune; and, having two sons, called Kill 'em All and Kiss my Arse, he left all his landed estate to his eldest son Kill 'em All, and all his business and stock in trade to his youngest son Kiss my Arse. Now it happened, ladies and gentlemen, that Kill 'em All in a few years prodigally spent his patrimony; and, what does he do, but set up his business of trencher-making directly under the nose of his brother Kiss my Arse. It is an old saying, that two of a trade can never agree, and I am sure it is a true one; for no sooner was this opposition began, than the two brothers began to hate the sight of each other; so that if they both chanced to be at the play on the same night, you would see Kill 'em All in the pit, and Kiss my Arse in the gallery; or else Kill 'em All in the gallery, and Kiss my Arse in the pit. Indeed, sometimes you might see Kill 'em All in the pit, or gallery, and Kiss my Arse in the boxes. By and by, they got into a paper war; but, as neither of them could write themselves, they employed scribblers on each side to do it for them; so Kill 'em All chose your humble servant, and Kiss my Arse Mr. Pope," bowing to him. "Soon after the commencement of the paper war, they went to law with each other about defamation. Kill 'em All chose for counsel the Solicitor-General, and Kiss my Arse Mr. Attorney-General: no, I mistake; Kill 'em All chose the Attorney-General, and Kiss my Arse Mr. Solicitor;" bowing occasionally to both. "At last, by the interposition of friends, they agreed to submit to an arbitration; and then it was finally settled, that, to obviate all subsequent disputes, Kill 'em All's trenchers should for the future be made all square, and those of Kiss my Arse all round."
This piece of humour was received with great applause, and Cibber fairly won his wager.
POLITENESS; OR, THE CAT-O'-NINE-TAILS. A TALE.
BY MR. JOHN MARTIN.
ONCE on a time, as I've heard say
—I neither know the year nor day—
The rain distill'd from many a cloud,
The night was dark, the wind blew loud;
A country squire, without a guide,
Where roads were bad, and heath was wide,
Attended by his servant Jerry,
Was travelling tow'rds the town of Bury.
The squire had ne'er been bred in courts,
And yet was held, as fame reports,
Though he to wit made no pretence,
A squire of more than common sense.
Jerry, who courage could not boast,
Thought every sheep he saw a ghost;
And most devoutly pray'd he might
Escape the terrors of that night.
As they approach'd the common's side,
A peasant's cottage they espied;
There riding up, our weary squire,
Held it most prudent to enquire,
Being nothing less than wet to skin,
Where he might find a wholesome inn.
"No inns there are," replied the clown,
"'Twixt this and yonder market-town,
Seven miles Nor-west, across the heath;
And wind and rain are in your teeth:
But if so be, Sir, you will go
To yon old hall upon the brow,
You'll find free entertainment there,
Down beds, and rare old English fare,
Of beef and mutton, fowl and fish,
As good as any man need wish;
Warm stabling, too, and corn, and hay;
Yet not a penny will you pay:
'Tis true, Sir, I have heard it said,"
—And here he grinn'd, and scratch'd his head—
"The gentleman that keeps the house,
Though ev'ry freedom he allows,
And is o'er-night so woundy civil,
You'd swear he never dreamt of evil,
Orders, next morn, his servant John,
With cat-o'-nine-tails to lay on
Full twenty strokes, most duly counted,
On man and master, ere they're mounted."
"With cat-o'-nine-tails! Oh!" cried Jerry,
"That I were safe at Edmund's Bury!"
Our squire spurr'd on, as clown directed;
This offer might not be rejected:
Poor Jerry's pray'rs could not dissuade.
The squire, more curious than afraid,
Arrives, and rings: the footman runs:
The master, with his wife and sons,
Descend the hall, and bid him enter;
Give him dry cloaths, and beg he'll venture
To take a glass of Coniack brandy!
And he, who hated words to bandy,
In idle, compliment'ry speeches,
The brandy took, and eke the breeches.
The liquor drank, the garments chang'd,
The family round the fire arrang'd,
The mistress begg'd to know, if he
Chose coffee, chocolate, or tea?
The squire replied, sans hesitation,
Or teazing trite expostulation—
"A dish of coffee, and a toast!"
The mistress smil'd: th' enraptur'd host
Cried—"Sir, I like your frankness much!
This house is yours; pray, think it such,
While here you stay; 'tis my request,
And you shall be a welcome guest!
Sans ceremony I would live;
And what I have I freely give."
Tea ended, once again our host
Demanded—"Sir, of boil'd or roast,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, do you prefer
For supper?"—"Why, indeed, good Sir,
Roast duck I love."—"With good green pease?"—
Yes, dearest Madam, if you please."
"Well said! Now, while it's getting ready,
We two, my eldest son, and lady,
Will take a hand at Whist?"—"Agreed!"
And soon they cut for deal, and lead.
But now, to crimp my lengthen'd tale,
Whether the squire drank wine or ale,
Or how he slept, or what he said,
Or how much gave to man or maid;
Or what the while became of Jerry,
'Mong footmen blithe, and maidens merry;
Description here we can't admit,
For "brevity's the soul of wit."
Suffice to say, the morn arriv'd,
Jerry of senses half depriv'd,
Horses from stable saw led out,
Trembled, and skulk'd, and peer'd about,
And felt already ev'ry thwack
Of cat-o'-nine-tails on his back.
Each word, each action, was a blunder;
But O how great his joy and wonder,
The stirrups held, the horses cross'd,
When forth the hostess, and the host,
With smiles, instead of lashes smarting,
Came out to take a cup at parting;
Bestowing a thousand welcomes on 'em,
Unfeign'd, for all the honour done 'em!
Of thanks, what language could afford;
Of cat-o'-nine-tails, not one word!
Mutual civilities repaid,
The squire had turn'd his horse's head,
To gallop off; yet his desire
Grew ev'ry moment higher and higher,
While bidding thus his last adieu,
To ask if what he'd heard were true:
For not alone the clown had said
The reckoning must in stripes be paid;
But one o'th' footmen, whom he slily
O'er night interrogated, drily
Confirm'd the aforesaid peasant's tale;
And said his master would not fail,
Next morn, to bid, in furious passion,
Strong John lay twenty times the lash on,
Determin'd, then, to ease his doubt,
E'en though it bred a flogging bout—
Of that, howe'er, to be sincere,
He was not very much in fear—
Once more he turn'd his horse's head,
And to his host thus smiling said—
"Last night, a peasant told me, here,
As I have found, was noble cheer;
But added, ere this morn I went,
You'd drub me to my heart's content;
Yet this you have not put in act:
Is it a fiction, or a fact,
After the kindness you've express'd,
You take your leave thus of each guest?
And how, if still a rule you've kept it,
Have I deserv'd to be excepted?"—
"Sir," answer'd he, "'tis very true;
No stranger e'er went hence, but you,
Who bore not, on his well carv'd bark,
Of cat-o'-nine-tails many a mark.
None yet deserv'd, or I'm mistaken,
That I should spare the blockhead's bacon:
A set of tiresome, troublesome knaves;
Of bowing, fawning, lying slaves!
If a man ask'd what they'd prefer—
"Oh, I love any thing, good Sir!"
Would you chuse coffee, Sir, or tea?
"Dear Ma'am, it's all the same to me!"
For beef or mutton give your voice—
"Upon my honour, I've no choice!"
There's Cheshire, Sir, and Gloster cheese;
Which shall I send you?—"Which you please."
Curse on their cringing complaisance!
I've tutor'd some of them to dance,
Such steps as they ne'er learn'd in France.
But you, good Sir, or I misdeem,
Deserve an honest man's esteem.
Your frankness, Sir, I call polite;
I never sp
nt a happier night!
And whensoe'er this road you come,
I hope you'll make my house your home:
Nay, more; I likewise hope, henceforth,
To rank a man of so much worth
Among my friends."—"Sir," said the squire,
"'Tis what I ardently desire:
Not twenty miles from hence my house,
At which your sons, yourself, and spouse,
Shall find such hospitality
As kindly here you've shewn to me."
The bargain struck, the squire and Jerry,
Again proceed for town of Bury.
And now the reader may, with ease,
Extract this moral, if he please:
Politeness cannot e'er become
Impertinent and troublesome;
His breeding good he soonest proves,
Who soonest tells you what he loves;
And who, in rapid eloquence,
Their wordy compliments dispense,
Have more civility than sense.
THE CIT'S COUNTRY BOX.
BY MR. ROBERT LLOYD.
THE wealthy cit, grown old in trade,
Now wishes for the rural shade,
And buckles to his one-horse chair
Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare;
While, wedg'd in closely by his side,
Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
And out they jog in due decorum.
Scarce past the turnpike half a mile—
"How all the country seems to smile!"
And, as they slowly jog together,
The cit commends the road and weather:
While Madam doats upon the trees,
And longs for ev'ry house she sees;
Admires it's views, and situation;
And thus she opens her oration—
"What signifies the loads of wealth,
Without the richest jewel, health?
Excuse the fondness of a wife,
Who doats upon your precious life!
Such ceaseless toil, such constant care,
Is more than human strength can bear:
One may observe it in your face—
Indeed, my dear, you break apace!
And nothing can your health repair,
But exercise, and country air.
Sir Traffick has a house, you know,
About a mile from Cheny Row:
He's a good man, indeed, 'tis true,
But not so warm, my dear, as you;
And folks are always apt to sneer—
One would not be out-done, my dear!"
Sir Traffick's name, so well applied,
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride;
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confess'd her arguments had reason;
And, by th' approaching summer season,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his Country-Box.
Some three or four miles out of town—
An hour's ride will bring you down—
He fixes on his choice abode,
Not half a furlong from the road;
And so convenient does it lay,
The stages pass it ev'ry day:
And then so snug, so mighty pretty,
To have a house so near the city!
Take but your places at the Boar,
You're set down at the very door.
Well, then, suppose them fix'd at last,
White-washing, painting, scrubbing, past;
Hugging themselves in ease and clover,
With all the fuss of moving over;
Lo! a new heap of whims are bred,
And wanton in my lady's head!
"Well! to be sure, it must be own'd▪
It is a charming spot of ground:
So sweet a distance for a ride,
And all about so countrified!
'Twould come to but a trifling price,
To make it quite a paradise!
I cannot bear those nasty rails;
Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales.
Suppose, my dear, instead of these,
We build a railing all Chinese?
Although one hates to be expos'd,
'Tis dismal to be thus enclos'd:
One hardly any object sees—
I wish you'd fell those odious trees.
Objects continual passing by,
Were something to amuse the eye;
But, to be pent within the walls,
One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house beholders would adore,
Was there a level lawn before,
Nothing it's views to incommode,
But quite laid open to the road:
While ev'ry trav'ller, in amaze,
Should on our little mansion gaze;
And, pointing to the choice retreat,
Cry—"That's Sir Thrifty's country feat!"
No doubt her arguments prevail,
For Madam's TASTE can never fail.
Bless'd age! when all men may procure
The title of a connoisseur;
When noble and ignoble herd
Are govern'd by a single word:
Though, like the royal German Dames,
It bears a hundred Christian names—
As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Godt,
Whim, Caprice, Je ne scai quoi, Virtu:
Which appellations all describe
TASTE, and the modern tasteful tribe.
Now bricklay'rs, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wondrous reformation.
The useful dome, which secret stood,
Embosom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The traveller, with amazement, sees
A temple Gothick or Chinese,
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon;
A wooden arch is bent astride
A ditch of water four feet wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs:
In front, a level lawn is seen,
Without a shrub upon the green;
Where Taste would want it's first great law,
But for the skulking, fly ha! ha!
By whose miraculous assistance,
You gain a prospect—two fields distance.
And now from Hyde-Park Corner come
The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Here squab by Cupids take their places,
With Venus, and the clumsy Graces;
Apollo there, with aim so clever,
Streches his leaden bow for ever;
And there, without the pow'r to fly,
Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.
The villa thus compleatly grac'd,
All own that Thrifty has a taste;
And Madam's female friends and cousins,
With common-council men by dozens,
Flock ev'ry Sunday to the seat,
To stare about them—and to eat.
THE RUBBER AT WHIST.
BY CAPT. COLLINS.
THE hour employ'd at tea being o'er—
The noisiest in the twenty-four—
Scandal and politicks suspended,
And each as charming converse ended,
John sets the table, cards appear,
And enter—Int'rest, Hope, and Fear.
The different lots are drawn, to shew,
In this strange combat, friend from foe.
Their parties made, they take their seats,
Declare their play, and name their bets.
All mov'd by Int'rest, now proceed—
And—"You're to deal."—"Then I'm to lead."—
I would invoke my gentle muse,
To explain each quaint-coin'd phrase they use;
But, know, my pray'r would not be heard,
My gentle muse ne'er touch'd a card.
The cards are dealt—the trump display'd—
Signal for sight—"Who led the spade?"—
"Those clubs have answer'd!"—"Aye, a curse."—
"I hope those hearts will do no worse."—
"How hot the room! my face is burn'd."—
"That trick again, before it's turn'd."—
"I'm puzzled now—I do protest—
(And up he casts his eyes, appealing—
To what? Why—look again—the ceiling.)
"We've got the trick—Had you an honour?"—
"Yes, I'd the queen; for, fie upon her!
I almost blush at, what I tell,
She fell, alas! to your king fell!"—
"Well, how are honours? Equal, say you?
Then deal again—and, Madam, play you."
The other party now advance,
As fav'rites of the goddess Chance;
For they who lost the trick before,
Now
a
e their luck, and add two more.
This
a
s'
their hope, dispell'd their fear,
Express'd b
laughter, noise, and sneer.
short their glory short their fame,
win a sigle game.
est waxes warm apace—
Th
are shuffled—"Cut! an ace!"—
An a
e!—'fore gad!—'tis ve
y plain,
You
cards—le
's deal again."—
The
right, attend your pl
y."—
"S'death
Ma'am! you throw the game away—
And
is worse, my money too!
I ne'
gain, will play with you."—
"Be pa
ien
, Sir; for, had you play'd—"
"Patient, indeed! see what they've made!
They'll call next time, and will be out:
You ne'er had luck—'tis past a doubt."
Would it not have been wrong, to balk
One who could thus prophetick talk?
The card, were dealt—the hounours came—
They triumph in a double game.
The Patient did the Peevish drub,
A single, double, and the rub.
Allow, nor think me too severe,
To add one short reflection here.
E'en
a game at Whist, we find,
How
nt'
est warps the human mind:
Small though the stake, ah! see we not,
Politeness, decency, forgot!—
Sel
leaves at distance manners, sense,
Whether they play for pounds or pence.
THE PROGRESS OF PUPPYISM.
BY MR. S. COLLINGS.
ROUGH as his native clods, to town
Young Bruin came, a country clown;
His hair, that still defied the comb,
Stood like the bristles of a broom▪
His coat, of cut, behind, before,
The same as that his father wore,
Was honest drab of Yorkshire growth,
With brazen buttons, and so forth;
The cuffs, pull'd lower down, betray'd
How worldly beauty blooms to fade;
His buckskin short, and eke too strait,
His toes turn'd in, a slouching gait;
With hob-nails fortified his feet,
He struck a light along the street.
Now, station'd at a Ludgate door,
The Natty Prig succeeds the Boor;
Like spigot in a cask of beer,
The dawnings of a tail appear;
His locks, with many a fiery twirl,
Assume a kind of stubborn curl;
He cleans his teeth, collects a grin,
While frequent soap manures his chin;
To angle ninety strains his feet,
And geometrick trips the street,
Lest stockings white receive a smear,
And none but worsted else to wear:
Now, soon as shut his evening shop,
He figures at a half-crown hop;
The ladies leering—well they may—
To see him wriggle it away;
For sure their little hearts must warm,
At so much youth, with such a form.
"What sinewy legs and thighs!—O lack!
And what a lovely breadth of back!"
Now vegetates a nobler tail,
Of substance like his father's flail;
While flakes of powder down his waist,
Bespeak the man of growing taste.
His frock Balloon or Emperor's eye,
With narrow skirts, and collar high,
A button like a full-fac'd moon,
Succeeds the coat of Yorkshire brown;
And now he struts among the belles,
At Dog and Duck, or Bagnigge Wells:
In boots, perhaps, to hide the dirt,
And justify a coarser shirt;
Or, as more Cynick bards suppose,
With stockings torn, and want of shoes.
But no such reasons I adduce,
Th' equestrian is a dress of use;
Where folks may see, or think they see,
Me and my horse, my horse and me!
His hat abridg'd from cock'd to round,
With velvet band, and velvet-bound,
Shall live, that fashion on the wane,
To be, perhaps, a square again,
With golden girdle and cockade,
Though hat decay, and binding fade.
And now the finish'd youth aspires
To breathe a critick's nobler fires:
The playhouse his nocturnal hobby,
A half-price lounger in the lobby;
He damns, by proxy, o'er his chop,
At Jupp's or Merry field's old shop,
A piece at which he ne'er appear'd,
Or hawks the song he never heard:
And still to whores and knaves submits,
Presuming on the fate of wits;
Till all his pence reduc'd to pills,
His thread-bare dress to doctor's bills;
A dupe to those, and these unpaid,
The prodigal returns to trade,
Abjures the vanities of life,
And makes some ruin'd girl his wife.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE VIII.
The Industrious Prentice grown rich, & Sheriff of London.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER VIII.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE VIII. THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE GROWN RICH, AND SHERIFF OF LONDON.
WHILE the pursuits of Thomas Idle, the vicious Apprentice, are conducting him to ignominy and disgrace, Francis Goodchild, by perseverance in virtuous and industrious habits, acquires opulence and fame, which render him an object of his fellow-citizens notice, and elevate him to the honour of being chosen Sheriff of London.
In this character, the present Print exhibits him, seated at the festive table in Guildhall.
Hogarth here gives us a good general idea of a city-feast. The principals, that they might be separated as much as possible from the burlesque of the scene, are judiciously kept in the back-ground. The minutest figures, however, are characteristically delineated, though the female dresses in particular are now become obsolete. The glutton, Time, swallows nothing with more voracious expedition than Fashion; she alone affords him a continual feast.
The group, in the fore-ground, on the left, is admirably brought forward.
The figure gnawing a bone, with a napkin tucked under his chin; the fat citizen by his side, with a napkin in his buttonhole, whose eagernes
once to carve and to eat, seems to have made him take too
amouthful; the meagre and sickly-looking
picture of Famine, in a black wig, seated next, by way of contrast, and languidly holding his spoon, which he seems scarcely able to heave; the wine-bibber on the other side; the soup-swallowing divine, said to be a French clergyman, named Patell, and once curate of Barnet; and the two side faces, both with loaded forks; but of characters widely different; form, all together, a very forcible display of civick gluttony.
While the cooks are busily engaged, in bringing new supplies for the mouth, the musicians, in an elevated gallery, are still more actively employed in regaling the citizens ear.
That part of the hall, which is comprehended in this print, displays the whole-length figures of King William the Third; the heroick Sir William Walworth, who killed Wat Tyler in Smithfield; and one of the many Judges whose pictures cover the walls.
In the midst of festive scene, however, Hogarth has introduced, at the right corner of the Print, a morose Beadle, with all the consequential insolence of a beggar in office, holding up and reading a letter, directed to Francis Goodchild, Esq. Sheriff of London; while at the bar, among other figures, there appears a strait-haired culprit, whose humble simplicity presents a very forcible contrast. It naturally reminds us of Shakspeare's—
—"Insolence of office; and the spurns,
Which patient merit of th' unworthy takes."
The Motto to this Print, though perhaps not the most happily chosen, being from the wisest of men, can hardly fail to be good—
"With all thy gettings, get understanding. Exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her."
PROVERBS iv. 7, 8.
GOOD BLOOD; OR, THE DOCTOR'S MISTAKE. AN HIBERNIAN REPARTEE.
AN Irish fishwoman who was accustomed to charge her veins rather too freely with her favourite whisky, having been one day blooded, the apothecary told her that her blood was very bad. "By Jasus," says she, "Mr. Doctor, but it is a great big lye! for I was always reckoned to have the best blood of any woman in the parish."
THE ART OF EAR-TICKLING.
HUMAN nature, though every where the same, is so seemingly diversified by the various habits and customs of different countries, and so blended with the early impressions we receive from our education, that they are often confounded together, and mistaken for one another. This makes us look with astonishment upon all customs that are extremely different from our own, and hardly allow those nations to be of the same nature with ourselves, if they are unlike us in their manners; whereas, all human actions may be traced up to these two great motives, the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain; and, upon a strict examination, we shall often find that those customs which at first view seem the most different from our own, have in reality a great analogy with them.
What more particularly suggested this thought to me, was an account which a gentleman, who was lately returned from China, gave, in a company where I happened to be present, of a pleasure held in high esteem, and extremely practised by that luxurious nation. He told us that the Tickling of the Ears was one of the most exquisite sensations known in China; and that the delight administered to the whole frame, through this organ, could by an able and skilful Tickler be raised to whatever degree of extasy the patient should desire.
The company, struck with this novelty, expressed their surprize, as is usual on such occasions, first by a silly silence, and then by many silly questions. The account, too, coming so far as from China, raised both their wonder and their curiosity, much more than if it had come from any European country, and opened a larger field for pertinent questions. Among others, the gentleman was asked, whether the Chinese ears and fingers had the least resemblance to ours; to which having answered in the affirmative, he went on thus: "I peceive I have excited your curiosity so much by mentioning a custom unknown to you here, that I believe it will not be disagreeable if I give you a particular account of it.
"This pleasure, strange as it may seem to you, is in China reckoned almost equal to any that the senses afford. There is not an ear in the whole country untickled; and the Ticklers have, in their turn, others who tickle them; insomuch that there is a circulation of Tickling throughout that vast empire. And if by chance there be some few unhappy enough not to find Ticklers, or some Ticklers clumsy enough not to find business, they comfort themselves at least with self-titillation.
"This profession is one of the most lucrative and considerable ones in China, the most eminent performers being either handsomely requited in money, or still better rewarded by the credit and influence it gives them with the party tickled; insomuch that a man's fortune is made as soon as he gets to be Tickler to any considerable Mandarine.
"The Emperor, as in justice he ought, enjoys this pleasure in it's highest perfection; and all the considerable people contend for the honour and advantage of this employment, the person who succeeds the best in it being always the first favourite and chief dispenser of his imperial power. The principal Mandarines are allowed to try their hands upon his Majesty's sacred ears; and, according to their dexterity and agility, commonly rise to the posts of first ministers. His wives, too, are admitted to try their skill; and she, among them, who holds him by the ear, is teckoned to have the surest and most lasting hold. His present imperial Majesty's ears, as I am informed, are by no means of a delicate texture, and consequently not quick of sensation; so that it has proved extremely difficult to nick the tone of them: the lightest and finest hands have urterly failed; and many have miscarried who, from either fear or respect, did not treat the royal ears so roughly as was necessary. He began his reign under the hands of a bungling operator, who for his clumsiness he soon dismiffed; he was afterwards attempted by a more skilful Tickler, but he sometimes failed too; and, not being able to hit the humour of his majesty's ears, his own have often suffered for it.
"In this publick distress, and while majesty laboured under the privation of auricular joys, the Empress, who by long acquaintance, and frequent little trials, judged pretty well of the texture of the royal ear, resolved to undertake it; and succeeded perfectly, by means of a much stronger friction than others durst either attempt or could imagine would please.
"In the mean time, the skilful Mandarine, far from being discouraged by the ill success he had sometimes met with in his attempts upon the Emperor's ears, resolved to make himself amends upon his imperial consort's: he tried, and he prevailed; he tickled her majesty's ear with such perfection, that as the Emperor would trust his ear to none but the Empress, she would trust her's to none but this light-fingered Mandarine, who by these means attained to unbounded and uncontrouled power, and governed ear by ear.
"But as all the Mandarines have their Ear-Ticklers too, with the same degree of influence over them, and as this Mandarine was particularly remarkable for his extreme sensibility in those parts, it is hard to say from what original titillation the imperial power now flows."
The conclusion of the gentleman's story was attended with the usual interjections of wonder and surprize from the company: some called it strange, some odd, and some very comical; and those who thought it the most improbable, I found by their questions were the most desirous to believe it. I observed, too, that while the story lasted, they were most of them trying the experiment upon their own ears, but without any visible effect that I could perceive.
Soon afterwards, the company broke up, and I went home; where I could not help reflecting, with some degree of wonder, on the wonder of the rest; because I could see nothing extraordinary in the power which the ear exercised in China, when I considered the extensive influence of that important organ in Europe. Here, as in China, it is the source of both pleasure and power; the manner of applying it is only different. Here the titillation is vocal; there it is manual: but the effects are the same; and, by the bye, European ears are not always unacquainted, neither, with manual applications.
To make out the analogy I hinted at, between the Chinese and ourselves in this particular, I will offer to my readers some instances of the sensibility and prevalency of the ears of Great Britain.
The British ears seem to be as greedy and sensible of titillation, as the Chinese can possibly be; nor is the profession of an Ear-Tickler here any ways inferior or less lucrative. There are three sorts: the Private Tickler, the Publick Tickler, and the Self-Tickler.
Flatrery is of of all methods the surest to produce that vibration of the air which affects the auditory nerves with the most exquisite titillation: and, according to the thinner or thicker texture of those organs, the flattery must be more or less strong. This is the immediate province of the Private Tickler, and his great skill consists in tuning his flattery to the ear of his patient: it were endless to give instances of the influence and advantages of those artists who excel in this way.
The business of a Publick Tickler is to modulate his voice, dispose his matter, and enforce his arguments, in such a manner as to excite a pleasing sensation in the ears of a number or assembly of people: this is the most difficult branch of the profession, and that in which the fewest excel; but to the few who do, it is the most lucrative, and the most considerable. The bar has at present few proficients of this sort; the pulpit none: the ladder, alone, seems not to decline.
The Self-Tickler is as unhappy as contemptible: for, having none of the talents necessary for tickling of others, and consequently not worth being tickled by others neither, he is reduced to tickle himself; his own ears alone receive any titillation from his own efforts. I know an eminent performer of this kind, who, by being nearly related to a skilful publick Tickler, would fain set up for the business himself; but has met with such repeated discouragements, that he is reduced to the mortifying resource of self-titillation, in which he commit
the most horrid excesses.
Besides the proofs above-mentioned of the influence of the ear in this country, many of our most common phrases and expressions —from whence the genius of a people may always be collected—demonstrate, that the ear is reckoned the principal and most predominant part of our whole mechanism. To have the ear of one's prince, is understood by every body, to mean the having a good share of his authority, if not the whole; which plainly hints how that influence is acquired.
To have the ear of the first minister, is the next, if not an equal, advantage; I am therefore not surprized, that so considerable a possession should be so frequently attempted, and so eagerly solicited, as we may always observe it is. But I must caution the person who would make his fortune in this way, to confine his attempt strictly to the ear in the singular number; a design upon the ears, in the plural, of a first minister, being for the most part rather difficult and dangerous, however just.
To give ear to a person, implies giving credit, being convinced, and being guided by that person; and all this by the success of his endeavours upon that prevailing organ.
To lend an ear is something less, but still intimates a willingness and tendency in the lender to be prevailed upon by a little more tickling of that part. Thus, the lending of an ear is a sure presage of success to a skilful Tickler. For example, a person who lends an ear to a minister seldom fails of putting them both in his power soon afterwards; and when a fine woman lends an ear to a lover, she shews a disposition at least to farther and future titillation.
To be deaf and stop one's ears, are common and known expressions to signify a total refusal and rejection of a person or proposition; in which case I have often observed the manual application to succeed by a strong vellication or vigorous percussion of the outward membranes of the ear.
There cannot be a stronger instance of the great value that has always been set upon these parts, than the constant manner of expressing the utmost and most ardent desire people can have for any thing, by saying they would give their ears for it: a price so great, that it is seldom either paid or required; witness the numbers of people actually wearing their ears still, who in justice have long since forfeited them.
Over head and ears, would be a manifest pleonasmus, the head being higher than the ears, were not the ears reckoned so much more valuable than all the rest of the head, as to make it a true climax.
It were unnecessary to mention, as farther proofs of the importance and dignity of those organs, that pulling, boxing, or cutting off the ears, are the highest insults that cholerick men of honour can either give or receive: which shews that the ear is the seat of honour, as well as of pleasure.
The anatomists have discovered that there is an intimate correspondence between the palm of the hand and the ear, and that a previous application to the hand communicates itself instantly, by the force and velocity of attraction, to the ear, and agreeably prepares that part to receive and admit of titillation. I must say, too, that I have known this practised with success upon very considerable persons of both sexes.
Having thus demonstrated, by many instances, that the ear is the most material part in the whole mechanism of our structure, and that it is both the seat and source of honour, power, pleasure, and pain; I cannot conclude without an earnest exhortation to all my country-folks, of whatsoever rank or sex, to take the utmost care of their ears. Guard your ears, O ye princes, for your power is lodged in your ears!—Guard your ears, ye nobles, for your honour lies in your ears!—Guard your ears, ye fair, if you would guard your virtue!—And guard your ears, all my fellow-subjects, if you would guard your liberties and properties!
THE NINE LIVES OF A CAT.
BY BONNEL THRONTON, ESQ.
"HE has as many Lives as a Cat," said a gentleman the other day in company, speaking of his friend, who had run through a perpetual course of riot and debauchery, and had just recovered from a violent fever occasioned by his intemperance. The thought struck me, that too many, indeed, seem to be as regardless of their present existence as if they imagined they could die more than once. I pursued my thought still farther; and concluded, that the greatest part of mankind, were they even possessed of as many Lives, we will say, as a Cat, would be indifferent to them all; at least, they would wantonly throw away the eight, however careful and studious some of them might be to preserve the last.
Suppose a man, then, to have as many Lives as a Cat: let us see what glorious use he would make of this extraordinary privilege. Must it not be a great incitement to him to hazard them repeatedly upon honourable and virtuous occasions? I grant it: and it must likewise be granted to me, that they would equally be lavished away upon trivial, dishonourable, and wicked occasions.
Alexander, had he had nine times Nine Lives to lose, would have risqued every jot of them to conquer as many worlds. Let me ask, whether the King of Prussia, or the Marquis of Granby, would not as chearfully run the same hazard? But would— and — (O that Englishmen could not fill the blanks up!) have done the same? Perhaps they might have ventured some portion of their precious Lives; perhaps they might have poured out some part of the vapid mixture, drop by drop, still careful of the last dregs: they, perhaps, like the miser who plays for gain, might have been tempted to stake a little of their fortune; but could never have been prevailed on, like the bold and generous gamester, to throw for, the whole. They, in fine, would scarcely have set (to borrow an expression of Shakespeare) "even one of their Nine Lives on the hazard of the die."
On the other side, let us take a view of these brethren of the blade, to whom the one Life, which is sparingly bestowed on us mortals, seems scarce worth the having. I suppose it to appear so to them, from their readiness to resign it themselves, or to take it away from others, upon any occasion; or, if you will, (in the Hibernian phrase) upon no occasion at all. One instance shall serve for all. Suppose there are eighteen Lives between us: I tread upon your toe; satisfaction is demanded, and is honourably given by your firing at my brains, which are missed. We have Lives enough to spare; and you have a nose lest for me to pull: I handle it; in consequence, I fire at your brains, and cannot hit them. What, then, is to be done? Why, nothing is to be done: only you are to kick me; that is all. I turn about, draw my sword; and, like men of honour, we must each of us lose one of our Nine Lives before we part friends. I am, indeed, sensible, that the punctilios of nice honour would induce the professors of it to ask this genman-like question before the engagement—"Pray, Sir, how many Lives have you to lose?" And there is no doubt, upon a disparity, that the seconds would take care that the principals should be so far upon an equality, that the longest-to-be-liver should be first put to death, as often as was necessary, till the combatants were in that respect at par.
It must, undoubtedly, be allowed me, where the antagonists are equal, or made equal by the foregoing method, that one or other of the parties would Nine times kill, or Nine times be killed, provided he has reason to cry out, with Othello—
"Though all his hairs were Lives,
My great revenge has stomach for them all!"
The bravery of a man fighting a duel with himself, without second or antagonist, vulgarly called self-murder, is frequently manifested even in our present state of existence, where we have but one Life to lose. It must therefore be granted, on the supposition of our Lives being multiplied to Nine, that suicide would become a general fashion among us; though, in eight instances out of Nine, it would betray a meanness of spirit. We should never be induced to believe a man was tired of himself in real earnest, though he had got rid of himself ever so often, except he fairly sent himself out of the world for the Ninth and last time.
Let us suppose, for instance, that a man of quality has
ad a run of ill-luck at the hazard-table, to be sure he would shoot himself through the head directly. Upon his reviving, he tries his fortune a second time; and is reduced to the necessity of running himself through the heart. After his recovery, he is obliged repeatedly to make use of the same, or other methods, that the losses of his Lives may be even with the losses of his estate. Would not this unhasty behaviour shew a love for his precious Lives, since he would not put an end to all Nine of them directly, one after another?
To prove such behaviour to be quite mean and vulgar, let us farther suppose that a cobler jerks his awl up between the third and fourth rib—(I kill my heroes with the same precision as is used by Homer)—a barber takes a clean stroke just under the chin; a taylor "makes his quietus with a bare bodkin:" I shall have my shoes heel-pieced, my beard shaved, and my doublet mended, notwithstanding. The allusion is too obvious about the end and the last: but I hope to be indulged on this subject in considering my taylor, not without propriety, as only the Ninth part of a man.
Many, many instances, might be thought of, to evince that a man, endowed with the Lives of a Cat, would get quit of the incumbrance of supernumerary ones as fast as possible. Take a lover, for example: without a metaphor, he would be so much enamoured as, literally, to die many times for the same or some other mistress. We will suppose (what is mere supposition) a constant enamorato—upon the least flight or indifference, such as a frown, or a box on the ear, my swain hurries away to Rosamond's Pond: after drowning, he rises up tolerably cooled. On another occasion, he surveys the trees in the Dark Walk at Vauxhall, picks out a stout branch, and with the leisure of your true lover's melancholy unties his garters; at the last he tucks himself up, and dangles till a happy pair comes in his way, and he is cut down. The lady, after all this proof of his affection, is still stony hearted. He dies, and dies on, for her; and, having put himself out of eight of his existences, can he be blamed if he reserves the precious one still remaining for a beauty, or a fortune, or a woman of quality—or his maid?
Suppose again, (for there can be no end of such-like suppositions) that I am an author: my works, indeed, I flatter myself, will live after me; but, though I had all the Lives of a Cat, through each of them I might lead the life of a dog. My garret (we will say) has inspired me to soar so high as to attempt a sublime ode, or epick poem. I am let down by it's want of sale. The beam across my chamber is very inviting; and, at least, the bed-cords are remaining. I am afterwards lowered to humble prose. My publisher will not afford me small-beer; and I chuse to have my fill of water by a plunge into the River Thames. After sinking and soaring for eight times alternately, I at last sit down contented in a gaol, to supply copy, scrap by scrap, as the printer's little imp calls for it; since, as the proverb has it, "he must needs go whom the Devil drives."
I shall say very little of the bold methods which bucks and bloods would take delight in to shorten their Lives, were they ever so many; for these are obvious, and continually practised, even in the present narrow space of their existence. How often would a choice spirit, for example, be literally dead drunk; Would he scruple to lay his Lives down one after the other, under the table, as long as he could be certain he should rise up, and stand upon his legs again? The debauchee of every character would, doubtless, be as hasty to get rid of his load of Lives, as he is at present neglectful in preserving his single one.
Upon this principle of each individual enjoying a multiplicity of Lives, let us farther consider, how a nation, or society, or community of them, might exist. It may, I know, be urged, that Fielding himself, and all the sitting aldermen put together, would not be sufficient to support the police. A man, you will say, would risque being hanged eight different times for eight different capital offences, resolving to be very honest afterwards for the remainder of his Lives. Granted. But in such a case, it is most probable, that the wisdom of the legislature would direct that a convict should be sentenced to be hanged, like a Cat, till he were dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead!
I went to bed, after having written thus far, reflecting, that no man should be entitled to a second existence—I mean in our mortal state—without having made a proper use of the first. This reflection was so strongly impressed upon my mind, that T'was able to employ the succeeding morning in setting down the particulars of a dream occasioned by it.
I imagined that every one was indulged with a privilege, after death, of having his existence renewed; but with this restriction, that he could prove that he had not forfeited his former Life by not setting a proper value on it. I accordingly conceived myself in a sort of court of claims; where a number of us were brought by Death, in order to be examined about our pretensions to be revivified. The sight of the crowd struck me with horror: some appeared to be covered with blains and blotches; some quite emaciated; and some with bloated carcases. One bore the marks of a tight knot under the left ear; another had his scull shattered to pieces; and another had a great gash in his side. Milton's description of a lazar-house falls far short of what I then thought I saw.
Truth and Justice were the examinants; and the candidates for a new life underwent a strict scrutiny. The first that I observed was called before them, stepped up with a bold air, and claimed a new existence on account of his having died for his country. The plea was not approved of; for a common soldier, who had fallen in the same battle, deposed that he himself shot him in an engagement where the enemy was inferior, at the instant that this commander had ordered a retreat. The soldier was directly reinstated into Life.
A jolly personage was next examined; and he pretended that he was accidentally choaked by a turtle-fin; though the newspapers had falsely attributed his death to an apoplectick sit. It being proved upon him that he had dined the day before, and eat heartily upon turbot and venison, and that he had drank plentifully of old hock and claret, the court
ecreed that he died of a surfeit, and refused to indulge him in any more good living.
A mere skeleton crawled up next, and declared that he only wished to be made alive again for the service of the fair sex. From his examination it was manifest that he had spent his life in and about Covent-Garden. He was adjudged, upon his own plea, unfit to exist again.
The next was an old decrepid figure, seemingly worn down with age and cares. His
uit for the renewal of his Life was, in compassion to him, rejected; because it plainly appeared that he had already dragged out a most miserable one, and had actually died of want in the midst of abundance. His son put in a petition for his re-existence at the very same time; setting forth, that he was reduced, by the mean spirit of his father, to die an untimely death at Tyburn. The compassion of the court in not suffering him to live again was also extended to the young gentleman, on account of his tender years; there being little doubt but that he would come to the same untimely end, let his Lives be renewed ever so often.
A blunt young fellow, not less than six feet high, next insisted upon being restored to Life. Another of the same make, and for the same reason, insisted upon the like. They had each of them, in the honourable way, put each other to death. It was determined, upon hearing both parties separately, that neither of them should run the risque of being put to death again, as neither of them would allow that the other deserved to live.
A horrid spectacle next presented itself: he most earnestly requested to enjoy again that being which, he confessed, he had rashly and desperately got rid of. His request was not granted; because it was certain that the same would be repeated upon the slightest occasion.
I observed, in imagination, even some ladies of quality, who wished to have their beauty renewed, together with their Lives: most of them had died at publick places, where they went for the recovery of their health.
My dream was put an end to all of a sudden, by being myself summoned up to give a reason why I should be glad to exist again. I pleaded guilty; and awaked, upon sentence being pronounced, that I should starve again as an author.
A MODERN JUSTICE OF PEACE. DRAWN FROM THE LIFE.
"Pray send me the Ax re Latin to Augustus Peas."
MY motto is a true and genuine specimen of the profound learning of a modern Justice; and to whom Shakspeare's Shallow was not fit to hold a candle: it was an order from one of that learned body to his bookseller, to send him the acts relating to a Justice of Peace; and doth sufficiently display his capacity of judging of the laws, and deciding the differences and disputes among his Majesty's good subjects. And there can be, I think, no doubt, but as soon as he got the Ax, he hewed the laws with wonderful skill and ability. How many such worshipful magistrates there are in the kingdom, I cannot pretend to say; but whoever will look back for thirty years past, will confess, that there hath, within that time, been a very extraordinary alteration in the general justiceship of this kingdom.
Gentlemen of honour and fortune, in their several counties, used to be appointed, and thought it no disgrace to act as Justices: but since faction hath shed it's baneful inflúence, and every thing hath been carried by the current of corruption; since party-zeal, and a ready subserviency to ministerial measures, have been thought the most necessary qualifications for a magistrate; and since a lower set of people, as being properest for such sinister purposes, have been advanced to the seat of justice, gentlemen of honour and fortune have, in general, not caring for such work, or such company, declined acting. And it is very remarkable that, as within that period the general administration of Justice throughout the kingdom hath sunk into the hands of a lower class of people; so, within that time also, the power of a Justice hath rose and been proportionably increased.
Great power being, on such principles, and for such purposes, thus lodged in little minds, is it to be wondered at, if many of them should turn Justice into a trade; or if some of them should be so illiterate as not to be able to read? What a droll scene it must be, and what a fund of mirth it must afford, to see his worship, Augustus Peas, sitting in the chair of magistracy, and hear him learnedly discussing the laws, and deciding Justice! While I was considering what a comical farce it would make, and was musing on the drollery of the scene, I insensibly fell asleep; when mimick Fancy, ever busy, pursued the subject, and presented to me the following sarce.
Methought I saw his worship, Augustus Peas, sitting in an elbow-chair, at the head of a long table, with a book, pen, ink, and paper, thereon; and a group of people, men and women, attending at the lower end thereof; when his worship bade a boy step to the stable, and tell John Scrub to come immediately: John, with his short cropt hair and dirty frock, presently came in, took his seat by his worship, and laid hold of the pen and ink. Then Mr. Augustus, with great solemnity, said—"Master Constable, what defence hath been committed? What crime hath been disturbed? And how hath his Majesty's peas been broke and vindicated?"
An please your honour's worship, here is one Mary Blabtruth hath lost a smock; and says that Dorothy Lightfinger hath stolen it: an so, an please you, I have brought them both before your worship.
A smock stolen! Why, that's downright forjury by law. Bring the complainant, Dorothy Lightfinger, before me.
This is the woman, an please your worship.
Hussy! how came you to have the sire of God before your eyes, and steal the woman's smock? You are an equitous baggage, and will be hanged!"
An please your worship, I did not steal her smock.
Why, how now! here's the woman confesses she did not steal the smock. Where's the defendant, Mary Blabtruth?
Here she is, an please your worship.
How came you to discharge Dorothy Lightfinger with stealing your smock? for she denies her innocence of it.
An please your worship, my smock was hanging on a gooseberry-bush in the garden, and I saw Dorothy Lightfinger take it off with my own eyes."
An please your worship, there's no belief in what she says; for—
Peas, woman! peas! I forbid you to hold your tongue!
Indeed, an please your worship, what I say is true: I looked through the kitchen-window, and saw her take it; for I was, at that very time, frying bacon for my husband's dinner.
Frying bacon, woman! Was you frying bacon.
Yes, an please your worship, and some cabbage, for my husband's dinner; he desired me.
Where is this woman's husband?
Here, an please your worship.
Did you desire your wife to fry bacon for your dinner?
Yes, an please your worship, with some cabbage.
Here's a plot found out! Here's a miscovery! Why, frying bacon is a high misdammer by law; and you shall both go to the girlhouse, and be hanged!—Master Constable, take them into cursetoday.—And do you, John Scrub, make out their mittamouse; for they shall go to goal this instance!
What would your worship please to have done with Dorothy Lightfinger?
O charge her, and let her go about her baseness.
Methought John made out the mittimus, and the constable carried off the bacon-friers, and the rest of the company were sent away; and while I was wondering what his worship could mean by committing the man and his wife for frying bacon, the scene changed, and a court of judicature, with all it's formalities, presented itself: the judge was sitting on the bench, and a numerous body of black gowns, and others, attending; and Mr. Augustus Peas came into court, and seated himself not far from his Lordship; when the trial of Thomas and Mary Blabtruth, for frying bacon, was called. "For frying bacon!" quoth the judge. "What is the meaning of this? I never heard that frying bacon was a crime, or against law, before! Who committed these persons?"
I committed them, my lord; it is against law, and a high misdammer.
Pray, Mr. Justice, shew me that law; for I never heard of such a one in all my life.
Here is the book, my lord, and here is the place! Giving the book to his lordship.
The Judge, having cast his eye upon the page, burst out into a loud laugh; and, with much ado for laughing, acquainted the court, that the law, which Mr. Augustus had taken to be against frying bacon, was that against firing a beacon; which put the whole court into such a loud "Ha, ha!" as awaked me.
CURIOUS INVESTIGATION OF THE RIGHT TO EAT. FOUNDED ON PAINE'S RIGHTS OF MAN.
BY SIR BROOKE BOOTHBY, BART.
WHETHER from timidity or prudence, the author of "Rights of Man" has not carried his principles to their fair extent. He has left untouched a thousand rights necessarily flowing from the imprescriptible and unalienable equality of man in society. The right to
eat,
for example, is at least as natural and imprescriptible as the right to legislate; it is somewhat more necessary, and of as ancient and divine original; and when dressed out in a philosophical uniform, makes, in my opinion, just as good a figure. Man is an organized entity whose vitality consists in the action and re-action of solid and fluid parts according to the laws of animal motion, which require to be frequently supplied and renewed by the adscitition of elements taken into the mouth, masticated by the teeth, ingurgitated by the gullet, received into the stomach; and there, by trituration, fermentation, and the rest of the chemico-mechanical process of digestion, prepared and assimilated for the purpose of continuing animality; and without which, by the natural and imprescriptible laws of animation, life must cease; the right therefore to
eat
is "one of those natural rights which appertain to man in right of his existance;" "one of those which he must retain in society, because the power to execute it is as perfect in the individual as the right itself. It is also as ancient and of as divine original as that greatest of all truths the unity or equality of man," and certainly as "advantageous to cultivate."—"And God said, Behold I have given you every herb bearing seed which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree on the which there is the fruit of a tree yielding seed: to you it shall be for meat."—" Here we are got at the origin of man, and the origin of his rights: how the world has been governed from that day to this is no concern of ours; every civil right grows out of a natural right, and
cannot invade
those natural rights in which the power to execute is as perfect as the right itself." Hence it follows, that the man who appropriates to himself a greater quantity of the food given by God equally to all, than is necessary for his own consumption, acts in defiance of the natural imprescriptible equal rights of man; and that he who goes into the kitchen or larder of this invader of his natural rights, and seizes upon what he wants, acts in strict conformity to those rights which
society cannot invade;
and as to the laws against theft or burglary, they are not only in contradiction with the unalienable equal rights of man, but were made by men who having ceased to be, have no longer any authority in directing how the government of the world shall be organized or administered. It is the living and not the dead that are to be accomodated; the rights of the living cannot be willed away by the manuscript authority of the dead!
THE SAILOR'S RETORT; OR, EVERY MAN IN HIS ELEMENT.
ON a trial at the Admiralty Sessions, the counsel for the crown asking one of the witnesses which he was for, plaintiff, or defendant. "Plaintiff, or defendant!" says the sailor, scratching his head; "why, I do'n't know what you mean by plaintiff or defendant. I come to speak for that man, there!" pointing to the prisoner. "You are a pretty fellow for a witness," says the counsel, "not to know what plaintiff or defendant means!" Some time after, being asked by the same counsel what part of the ship he was in—"Abaft the binnacle, my lord!" says the sailor. "Abaft the binnacle!" replied the barrister; "what part of the ship is that?"—"Ha! ha! ha!" chuckled the sailor; "a'nt you a pretty fellow for a counsellor," pointing archly at him with his finger, "not to know what abaft the binnacle is?"
THE DOG. A TALE FOR JEALOUS HUSBANDS.
BY W. WHITEHEAD, ESQ. POET-LAUREAT.
A Squire of parts, and some conceit,
'Though not a glaring, first-rate wit,
Had lately taken to his arms
A damsel of uncommon charms.
A mutual bliss their bosoms knew,
The hours on downy pinions flew,
And scatter'd roses as they pass'd;
Emblem of joys too sweet to last:
For, lo! th' unequal fates divide
Th' enamour'd swain and beauteous bride!
The honey-moon had scarcely wan'd,
And Love-it's empire still maintain'd,
When forth he must, for business calls.
"Adieu, ye fields, ye groves, ye walls,
That in your hallow'd bounds contain
My source of joy, my source of pain!
It must be so!—Adieu, my dear!"
They kiss, he sighs, she drops a tear:
For lovers of a certain cast
Think ev'ry parting is the last;
And still whine out, whene'er they sever,
In tragick strain—"Farewel for ever!"
A while, in melancholy mood;
He slowly pac'd the tiresome road;
For, "ev'ry road must tiresome prove,
That bears us far from her we love."
But sun, and exercise, and air,
At length dispel the glooms of care;
They vanish like a morning dream,
And happiness is now the theme.
How bless'd his lot! to gain, at last,
So many vain researches pass'd,
A wise so suited to his taste;
So fair, so gentle, and so chaste!
A tender partner for his bed,
A pillow for his aching head,
The bosom-good, for which he panted;
In short, the very thing he wanted!
"And then, to make my bliss compleat,
And lay fresh laurels at my feet,
How many matches did she slight!
An Irish Lord, a city Knight,
And Squires by dozens; yet agree
To pass her life with humble me!
And did not she, the other day,
When Captain Wilkins pass'd our way—
The captain! Well, she lik'd not him,
Though dress'd in all his Hyde-Park trim.
She lik'd his sword-knot, though! 'twas yellow;
The captain is a sprightly fellow!
I should not often chuse to see
Such dang'rous visitors as he—
I wonder how he came to call!
Or why he pass'd that way at all.
His road lay farther to the right;
And me he hardly knew by sight.
Stay! let me think—I freeze, I burn!—
Where'er he went, he must return;
And, in my absence may again
Make bold to call.—Come hither, Ben:
Did you observe—I'll lay my life
You did—when first he met my wife,
What speech it was the Captain made?"—
"What, Captain Wilkins, Sir?"—"The same.
Come, you can tell?"—"I can't, indeed;
For they were kissing when I came."—
"Kiss! did they kiss?"—"Most surely, Sir;
A bride, and he a batchelor."
Peace, rascal! 'tis beyond endurance;
I wonder at some folks assurance!
They think, like Ranger in the play,
That all they meet is lawful prey.
These huff-bluff Captains are, of late,
Grown quite a nuisance to the state.
Ben, turn your horse—nay, never stare—
And tell my wife, I cannot bear
These frequent visits.—Hence, you dunce!"—
"The Captain, Sir, was there but once."—
"Once is too often! Tell her, Ben,
That, if he dares to call again,
She should avoid him like a toad,
A snake, a viper!—There's your road.
And, hark'e; tell her, under favour,
We stretch too far polite behaviour;
Tell her, I do not understand
This kissing; tell her, I command—"
"Heav'n bless us, Sir, such whims as these—"
"Tell her, I beg it, on my knees,
By all the love she ever shew'd,
By all she at the altar vow'd,
Howe'er absurd a husband's fears,
Howe'er injurious it appears,
She would not see him, if he comes;
Nay, if she chance to hear his drums,
Bid her start back, and skulk for fear,
As if the thunder rent her ear."
O wond'rous pow'r of Love and Beauty!
Obedience is a servant's duty;
And Ben obeys. But, as he goes,
He reasons much on human woes▪
How frail is man, how prone to stray,
And all the long
et coetera
Of sayings, which, in former ages,
Immortaliz'd the Grecian sages;
But now the very vulgar speak,
And only criticks quote in Greek.
With these, like Sancho, was he stor'd;
And, Sancho-like, drew forth his hoard▪
Proper or not, he all applied,
And view'd the case on ev'ry side:
Till, on the whole, he thought it best
To turn the matter to a jest;
And, with a kind of clumsy wit,
At last on an expedient hit.
Suppose we then the journey o'er,
And Madam meets him at the door.
"So soon return'd! and where's your master?
I hope you've met with no disaster.
Is my dear well?"—"Extremely so;
And only sent me here to know
How fares his softer, better part.
Ah, madam! could you see his heart!
It was not even in his pow'r
To brook the absence of an hour."—
"And was this all? was this the whole
He sent you for? The kind, good soul!
Tell him, that he's my source of bliss;
Tell him, my health depends on his;
Tell him, this breast no joy can find,
If cares disturb his dearer mind:
This faithful breast, if he be well,
No pang, but that of absence, feel."
Ben blush'd, and smil'd, and scratch'd his head;
Then, falt'ring in his accents, said—
"One message more he bade me bear,
But that's a secret for your ear:
My master begs, on no account,
Your Ladyship would dare to mount
The Mastiff Dog."—"What means the lad?
Are you, or is your master, mad?
I ride a Dog! a pretty story!"—
Ah, dearest Madam, do not glory
In your own strength; temptation's strong,
And frail our nature."—"Hold your tongue!
Your master, Sir, shall know of this."—
"Dear Madam, do not take amiss
Your servant's zeal: by all you vow'd,
By all the love you ever shew'd;
By all your hopes of bliss to come;
Beware the Mastiff Dog!"—"Be dumb,
Insulting wretch!" the lady cries.
The servant takes his cue, and flies.
While consternation marks her face,
He mounts his steed, and quits the place.
In vain she calls, as swift as wind
He scours the lawn; yet cast behind
One parting look, which seem'd to say—
"Beware the Dog!" then rode away.
Why should I paint the hurrying scene
Of clashing thoughts, which pass'd within,
Where doubt on doubt incessant roll'd?
Enough for me the secret's told:
And Madam, in a strange quandary—
What's to be done?—John! Betty! Harry!
Go, call him back."—" He's out of sight;
No speed can overtake his flight."
Patience perforce alone remains,
Precarious cure for real pains!
"I ride a Dog! a strange conceit;
And never, sure, attempted yet.
What can it mean? Whate'er it was,
There is some mystery in the case.
And really, now I've thought a minute,
There may be no great matter in it.
Ladies of old, to try, a change,
Have rode on animals as strange:
Helen a ram, a bull Europa;
Nay, English widows, for a
faux pas,
Were doom'd to expiate their shame,
As authors say, upon a ram.
And sha'n't my virtue take a pride in
Outdoing such vile trulls in riding?
And sure a ram's a weaker creature!—
Here, Betty, reach me the Spectator."—
"Lord bless me, Ma'am! as one may say,
Your Ladyship's quite mop'd to-day.
Reading will only, I'm afraid,
Put more strange megrims in your head.
'Twere better, sure, to take the air:
I'll order, Ma'am, the coach and pair;
And then, too, I may go, beside;
Or if you rather chuse to ride?—"
"Ride, Betty! that's my wish, my aim!
Pray, Betty, is our Caesar tame!"—
"Tame, Madam! Yes. I never heard—
You mean the mastiff in the yard?
He makes a noise, and barks at folks;
But surely, Ma'am, your La'ship jokes."—
"Jokes, Bett
! no. By earth and heav'n,
This insult shall not be forgiv'n!
Whate'er they mean, I'll ride the Dog.
Go, pr'ythee, free him from his clog,
And bring him hither, they shall find
There's courage in a female mind?"
So said, so done. The Dog appears,
With Betty chirping on the stairs.
The floating sacque is thrown aside,
The vestments proper for a ride,
Such as we oft in Hyde-Park view,
Of fustian white, lapell'd with blue,
By Betty's care were on the spot;
Nor is the feather'd hat forgot.
Pleas'd with herself th' accoutred lass
Took half a turn before her glass;
And, simp'ring said—"I swear and vow,
I look like Captain Wilkins now!
But serious cares our thoughts demand:
Poor Caesar! stroke him with your hand.
How mild he seems, and wags his tail!
'Tis now the moment to prevail."
She spake; and strait, with eye sedate,
Began th' important work of fate.
A cushion on his back she plac'd,
And bound with ribbands round his waist:
The knot, which whilom grac'd her head,
And down her winding lappets spread,
From all it's soft meanders freed,
Became a bridle for her steed.
And now she mounts. "Dear Dian, hear!
Bright Goddess of the lunar sphere!
Thou, that hast oft preserv'd from fate
The nymph who leaps a five-barr'd gate;
O take me, Goddess, to thy care!
O hear
tender Lady's pray'r!
Thy vot'ress once, as pure a maid
As ever rov'd the Delian shade;
Though now, by man's seduction won,
She wears, alas! a looser zone."
In vain she pray'd. She mounts, she falls!
And Caesar barks, and Betty squalls.
The marble hearth receives, below,
The headlong dame; a direful blow!
And starting veins with blood disgrace
The softer marble of her face.
Here might I sing of fading charms
Reclin'd on Betty's faithful neck,
Like Venus in Dione's arms,
And much from Homer might I speak:
But we refer to Pope's translation,
And hasten to our plain narration.
While broths and plaisters are prepar'd,
And doctors feed, and Madam scarr'd,
At length returns th' impatient Squire,
Eager, and panting with desire.
But finds his home a desart place,
No spouse to welcome his embrace,
No tender sharer of his bliss,
To chide his absence with a kiss.
Sullen in bed the Lady lay,
And muffied from the eye of day,
Nor deign'd a look—averse, and sad,
As Dido in th' Elysian shade.
Amaz'd, alarm'd, the bed he press'd,
And clasp'd her struggling to her breast—
"My life, my soul! I cannot brook
This cruel, this averted look.
And is it thus at last we meet!"
Then rais'd her gently from the sheet.
"What mean," he cries, "these bleeding stains,
This muffled head, and bursting veins?
What sacrilegious hand could dare
To fix it's impious vengeance there?"—
"The Dog! the Dog!" was all she said,
And, sobbing, sunk again in bed.
"The Dog! the Dog!" express'd her grief,
Like poor Othello's handkerchief.
Meanwhile, had Ben, with prudent care;
From Betty learnt the whole affair;
And drew th'impatient Squire aside,
To own the cheat he could not hide.
"See, rascal! see!" enrag'd he cries,
What tumours on her forehead rise!
How swells with grief that face divine!"—
"I own it all, the fault was mine,"
Replies the lad; "dear, angry lord:
But hush! come hither; not a word!
Small are the ills we now endure;
Those tumours, Sir, admit a cure:
But, had I done as you directed,
Whose forehead, then, had been affected?
Had Captain Wilkins, been forbidden—
Ah, master! who had then been ridden?"
A CURIOUS DIALOGUE BETWEEN A BEAU'S HEAD AND HIS HEELS.
COME, take up your burden, ye dogs! and away;
I intend to walk up to the bason to-day
The Bason in Hyde-Park, at the time this Diaglogue was written, was a fashionable promenade.
Your legs, Sir, are now in such slender repair,
We beg that your honour may go in a chair.
Ye insolent dogs! do you dare to refuse
So little a walk, in a new pair of shoes?
My legs, too, methinks, might have gratefully gone,
Since a new pair of calves I this morning put on.
Do you call us ungrateful? the favours you prize,
Were design'd not to gratify us, but your eyes.
Is the footman oblig'd to his lordship or grace,
Who, to feed his own pride, has equipp'd him in lace?
We think we have very good cause to complain,
That you're thus exalted without any brain;
As our merits are equal, we justly may plead
A title sometimes to walk on our head.
Very fine! at this rate all the beaux in the town
Would fairly, like tumblers, be turn'd upside-down:
But when I'm dissected, to shew you my brains,
May all the world cry, "He's a fool for his pains!"
But if I may argue—Pray, Sir, who takes snuff,
Who ogles, who smiles? I think, titles enough.
Can you sing? can you laugh? can you speak? can you see?
Or what can you do, silly dogs! without me?
And, to shew you how much your ambition's my scoff,
When next you rebel, I'll e'en shake you both off;
Though I stand not without you, I'm sure I can sit,
In Parliament, too, though bereft of my feet.
Do you twit us with that? You have reason, we hear;
We danc'd with the wives or you had not been there:
But, to dash you at once, let us tell you 'tis said,
That some have sat there who ne'er had any Head.
Gad's curse! and that's true: so, a word in your ear—
To oblige you for once—Here, boy, call a chair!
Let us henceforth together like wise men agree;
I'll strive to set you off, while you set off me.
In the next place, I'll fit very light on each shoulder;
For, nature revers'd, I grow lighter as older.
So when you dance a minuet, I'll smile my best;
And do you cut a caper, when I cut a jest.
OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. AN EPIGRAM.
BY SIR JOHN RAMSEA.
WHAT wonder that learning and science profound,
In Oxford and Cambridge so greatly abound;
Since so many take thither a little, each day,
And we meet with so few who bring any away!
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE IX.
The Idle Prentice betray'd by a Prostitute, & taken in a Night Cellar with his Accomplice.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER IX.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE IX. THE IDLE 'PRENTICE BETRAYED BY A PROSTITUTE, AND TAKEN IN A NIGHT-CELLAR WITH HIS ACCOMPLICE.
THE scene of the present print is laid in a most infamous night-cellar, then well known by the name of
Blood-bowl House,
near Hanging Sword Alley, Fleet Street.
While the idle apprentice, and his old one-eyed accomplice, are dividing their booty, a murdered man is let down, through a trap door, into a concealed cavity under the floor. He may probably be considered as having been killed in the affray which is still continuing in the back-ground; and affords a masterly exhibition of vulgar miscreants making a dreadful appeal rather to utensils than to arms. the countenance of the noseless woman; the careless ease and indifference of the man who is smoaking his pipe by the fire-side; the fellow who sleeps soundly amidst the storm, with the emblematical cord hanging over his head; the characteristick attitude of the grenadier in the corner; the pistols; the cards, one of which appears to have been torn by an enraged gamester; all assist, very forcibly, to compleat the groupe: which wants little of moral perfection, but what Hogarth has given it, by introducing the peace-officers, for the purpose of dragging the culprits before the awful tribunal of Justice. The wretched female associate of Tom Idle, at the same time, is receiving her pecuniary reward, for betraying her paramour and his profligate companion, whom she points out with her finger, at
the very moment when they are disputing about the division of the plunder. The watchmen's lanthorns are judiciously managed to give the effect of their bearers descending into this subterraneous resort of infamy; and the whole forms one of the most interesting prints in the series.
The Motto is not quite so happy as might have been wished; but perhaps it would be difficult to find any other less liable to objection.
"The adultress will hunt for the precious life."—
PROVERBS vi. 26.
CURIOUS ANECDOTE OF CHARLES THE SECOND AND A SAILOR.
IN the reign of Charles II. a sailor having received his pay, resorted to a house of ill fame in Wapping, where he laid all night, and had his whole property taken from him. In the morning, he vowed revenge against the first he should meet with, possessed of cash; and, accordingly, overtaking a gentleman in Stepney Fields, to whom he related his mishap, he insisted on having his loss made good. The gentleman for some time expostulated with him on the atrocity of such behaviour, but to no purpose: the tar was resolute; and the gentleman, dreading worse consequences, delivered his purse; but soon after had the sailor taken up, examined, and committed to Newgate, from whence Jack sent a ship-mate with the following strange epistle to the King—
"KING CHARLES,
ONE of thy subjects, the other night, robbed me of forty pounds, for which I robbed another of the same sum, who has inhumanly sent me to Newgate, and swears I shall be hanged; therefore, for thy own sake, save my life, or, by G—d, thou wilt lose one of the best seamen in thy navy. Thine,
"JACK SKIFFTON."
His majesty, on the receipt of the letter, immediately wrote as follows—
"JACK SKIFFTON,
FOR this time, I'll save thee from the gallows; but if, hereafter, thou art guilty of the like, by G—d, Ill have thee hanged, though the best seaman in my navy. Thine,
"CHARLES REX."
EPISTLE FROM COMMON HONESTY TO COMMON SENSE.
LOVING KINSMAN!
THE severe treatment I have constantly met with, and the universal scorn and contempt so manifestly shewn me by all ranks and degrees of men, have so sensibly affected my constitution, that I once thought of nothing less than making a total exit from this ungrateful world. But the kind reception which you—who are well known to be a collateral branch of our family—have lately met with, has somewhat raised my drooping spirits, and encouraged me to shew my head once more; though I am so worn to a skeleton, that the few of my friends and acquaintance who are yet living, I believe, will hardly know me again.
When I speak of my own sufferings, you may, perhaps, be moved with some compassion, as you reflect on the difficulties you have met with, and the severities you have undergone, though no way comparable to what has become almost habitual to me.
You have, indeed, for some years, been under a sort of proscription from courts and ministerial employments: but, at the same time, you have enjoyed a comfortable retreat with the few patriots who have renounced all preferments to adhere to you, and have not forsaken your cause in the worst of times: while I have not been only rendered incapable of publick trust; but, such has been the malice of my enemies, that I am even denied the happiness of private society, like a criminal branded with infamy. It is become scandalous, according to the present mode, to be seen in my company, or to entertain the least correspondence with me; though, God knows, I have always led a blameless, inoffensive life, and am so universally hated and despised only because I cannot help people to support the reigning luxury and extravagance, and grow rich all on a sudden, without either merit or laudable endeavours.
You know the misfortunes which besel our family at a certain time; and the deplorable condition I was left in, without any countenance or support, at an age when it could hardly be expected I should shift for myself. However, I thought it necessary to endeavour getting into some business for my immediate subsistence, and applied myself to a very eminent tradesman in the city, requesting to be taken into his service: but, to my great grief, this first attempt proved unsuccessful. He told me, I could not be of any use to him in the retail way; that there was no instance of such a one as myself ever being behind a counter; and, in short, that he would not advise me to think of being any way concerned in trade, for that I should not find any dealer fond of employing me, especially as I was a foreigner, and not free of the city. However, in compassion to my wants, the tradesman had good-nature enough to give me a letter of recommendation to a noted attorney of his acquaintance; who, as he assured me, very much wanted my assistance, and must therefore be glad to entertain me on honourable terms.
This seeming friendship gave me some hopes; and I immediately went with my credentials as directed, being determined to apply myself wholly to that learned profession. I was soon introduced; but, to my inexpressible concern, met with a cold reception. He sat lolling in a great elbow-chair, and answered me with a yawning—"What is your name, Sir?"— "Common Honesty, Sir," I replied. "Com—mon Hon—esty!" cries he, yawning again; "I have read the letter you brought, but am sure Common Sense never fent you hither: I cannot, by any means, receive you into my house; you can be of no manner of use to me in my branch of business: all the imaginary services you may do, will never bear the expence of your maintenance, for I cannot employ you in one cause in twenty; if I should, I might be in danger of losing many clients, who would naturally suspect your betraying their secrets; and if they were once to know I have any dealings with you, it would blast my character. Besides," adds he, "young man, were I minded to bear with all these inconveniences, at the request of my friend who recommended you to me, you would never find the practice of the law turn to any account for yourself: you are so odious among those of our profession, that it is a great question with me whether you would ever be admitted as an attorney; but if you should, how will you live? Who the Devil do you think will employ you? Most people will be afraid of trusting their business in your hands. Therefore, I would advise you to turn your thoughts to some other profession; and, if you can do nothing better, get yourself ordained: you surely cannot be obnoxious to the clergy; they will, at least, give you such outward countenance, that you will never want a reasonable support and maintenance."
Finding this solid reasoning would bear no contradiction, and being thoroughly convinced I had mistaken myself greatly in this second attempt, I maturely considered the wholesome advice given me, and began to form some method of putting it in execution; and, in effect soon thought of a person I imagined very proper for my purpose: and who should this be, but a certain Right Reverend; who, when young, had great obligations to our family, in recommending him to his first preferment in the church; the remembrance of which, I hoped, would establish me in his favour.
I attended him one morning early, and waited an hour before I could be-admitted to an audience; when, my patience being almost worn out, on a sudden the word was given for the stranger to come in to my lord. I immediately entered, and paid my respects to his lordship in a most submissive manner. "How do you do, young man?" says the prelate: "I have not seen you a great while; I thought you was dend, or gone abroad. And pray what has brought you hither now?" I gave him the best account I could of my past misfortunes, and present unhappy case; and, while I was employing all my rhetorick to move his pity and compassion, his lordship was reading, which inattention to my request gave me little hopes of success. At last, he suddenly laid down his book, and turned up his head towards the cieling—for I remarked he could not look me in the face, and therefore I inferred he was ashamed to see me—and then spoke thus—" You talk of the obligations I have had to your family; I know of none: some little civilities, indeed, passed between me and them at college, when your father officiously thrust himself upon me as a tutor, and to direct me in my first setting out in the world: but if I had trusted to his judgment, understanding, or credit, I might have remained at college still." And then he declared, he knew of no obligations he had to any one belonging to me; so that he could not, in any sort, intermeddle in my affairs, which he thought very incompatible with his station, and might be a hindrance to his farther advancement; and wished me to provide for myself in the best manner I could: "For," added he, "you may rest assured, you will have no assistance from me."
From the example of this Right Reverend, and the discourse I had with others of what passed at this interview, I was perfectly satisfied that, for the want of interest at court, which I knew myself to be wholly unprovided of, there were little hopes of preferment in this road, even if I should get ordained: the utmost to be expected was some poor Welsh living, or a starving curacy in town. These re
lections, and the experience I had, soon weaned me of all thoughts of dedicating myself to the service of the church.
Having now tried: three different methods for my advancement, which I found impracticable, I knew not well what project next to fall on. In this state of uncertainty my wants daily increased, which brought me almost to despair. However, I walked out one morning and by accident met with a recruiting-serjeant. I bethought myself the army refused nothing; and therefore, since I could do no better, was determined to list for a soldier. I called the serjeant aside, and offered myself to his disposal; telling him, at the same time, as is usual in like cases, my name and place of birth. The serjeant, instead of greedily embracing the offer, stood some time in suspense, scratching his forehead; and at last said—" I am afraid, my lad, you will never learn the military dicipline, or make any figure in the field: and, should you list in our regiment; you will be very troublesome, both on march, and in quarters; for no comrade will care to mess with you. However, as our captain is in great want of men, I will venture to introduce you."
We went away directly to the captain's quarters; where the serjeant having told our business, and I having answered the same questions as before, our noble captain shook his head, and said, I might perhaps be fit for sea-service, but that I was not of a proper size for his company; and then demanded of the serjeant where he picked me up, and how he came acquainted with me. The serjeant replied, with great truth, that he never saw or heard of me before in his life, and accidentally met me a little while ago. "Send him packing then," cries the captain: "this fellow would make a mutiny in the regiment; besides, I know all his family are disaffected to the present establishment in church and state, and therefore I would not take him on any consideration."
My evil genius still pursuing me, I had recourse to another expedient. I remembered my father, in his life-time, had a place in the Treasury, which he enjoyed till the death of his patron, a great man who presided at that board, by which means I had some little insight into the business of that office; and therefore I had no more wit than to fancy I might be useful to his successor. I made, indeed, but a plain appearance as to dress; however, I resolved to equip myself in the best manner I could, attend next morning at his levee, and try my fortune once more.
On my arrival at his door, whether I was despised for not being a beau, or for not coming in a coach, or whether I was taken for a Scotch lord just come to town with my own wants and my ancestors merits, I cannot say; but, to my great sur-prize, Abraham Brass, the porter, told me his master was not at home. This I knew to be false, and therefore would have gone in notwithstanding, but Abraham shut the door in my face.
I could not imagine the cause of this treatment, being sure the fellow did not know me; however, having time to recollect myself a little, till opportunity offered, by opening the door for somebody's going out, I accosted Abraham very courteously— "Sir," says I, "you have insulted me without any provocation; I must desire to be admitted:" and told him my name, and the business I had with his master; who, I knew, often valued himself on his intimacy with my family. But, alas! I only made bad worse; he fell furiously upon me in the most opprobrious language imaginable; called me all the rascals and scoundrels he could think on; swore I should never enter the doors while he was porter, and that I only came there with some wicked design on his person, or to rob the house; and that, if I did not instantly depart and be gone, he would charge a constable with me, and swear the peace against me.
On this outrage I thought it proper to retire some distance from the door, where I took the opportunity, as several well-dressed gentlemen were going in, to tell them my case, with the abuse I met with from Abraham; begging of them to acquaint his honour with the behaviour of his servant. But not a single word could I get out of one of them: some shook their heads, and others started from me as if I had been infected. At last, a grave, elderly gentleman, with a bundle of papers in his hands, going into the great man's, stopped a little to hear my complaints, and was so kind as to open his mouth. "I have," says he, "Sir, some small knowledge of your family, with whom I was acquainted before I came into a publick employment: but what business have you here? Complaining of Abraham Brass's behaviour will be to no purpose: he knows his master's mind, to whom he ought to be civil, and whom he may be rude to; and, depend upon it, you are so universally hated by the whole family, whose interest it is that you should never come within these doors, that you are not safe in staying longer so near them, lest a worse evil befal you: nay, I do not know, if it were suspected I now speak to you in so friendly a manner, but it might be as much as my place is worth; therefore I advise you to make off as fast as possible."
By this time, kinsman, you may suppose I was in a very melancholy condition: when I happened to meet with a country gentleman; who, without any hesitation, on the first representation of my circumstances, took me into his service, and entertained me at his country-seat with great kindness and humanity. He entrusted me with the management of all his affairs, and advised with me on the most important transactions of his life. In this situation, I looked back on the misery of my former condition with joy and satisfaction, changed for the present; and, being arrived at the bounds of my ambition, peace and content, despised all worldly greatness with the spirit of a philosopher.
But as nothing in this world is permanent, the devil put it into my lady's head to live in town; and that my master might not oppose her design, from the expences attending the removal; she persuaded him to offer himself as a candidate for the late election in a neighbouring borough, from the success of which she imagined great preferments would be had for the whole family. The scheme was resolved on; and I was presently dispatched away to the place of election, as one my master consided in, to make timely interest, he intending to follow me in a few days. I set out on this errand with no very good will, foreboding my own destruction in the event: and when I came to my journey's end, I met with as little success. The electors, one and all, took a mortal antipathy to me at first sight; and, instead of securing their friendship, I made every one of them my enemy: and, on my master's arrival, they insisted I should be forthwith discharged, or he must not expect one vote there. My master's eagerness to succeed in this election tempted him to comply. Immediately I was dismissed, with a private intimation that, though I was useless in an election, yet if I went to town; and waited with patience, I should be taken in again for the management of my master's private affairs. I knew no remedy but submission. I went off as privately as I could; and, soon after my master's arrival in town, I waited on him in hopes of what I expected being performed. But never was a man so changed as my master: he told me, to my great grief and surprize, that he had no farther service for me of any kind, being now engaged to take other measures than when he lived retired in the country; that he was firmly resolved never again to be under the restraint of any other servant; that his election cost him a deal of money for a double return, and all would be lost if he did not play his cards well; and, being under a solemn engagement never to have any the least correspondence with me, he concluded with forbidding me his house.
Having thus, loving kinsman, tried all reasonable methods of getting a livelihood, and having at present no means of subsistence, my application, which is the last I shall make, is to you; and, finding you have set up a new work, my humble request is to be taken into your service.
There has formerly been a strict union and friendship betwixt the two branches of our family, Common Sense and Common Honesty; though I own yours to be of superior rank and dignity, having supplied the world with many kings and queens. But, though we have not arrived to that honour, you have found us useful in our station; and it can be proved by many instances in history, that Common Sense never flourished, or made any considerable figure, without the assistance of Common Honesty.
I know the difficulties of my own condition, and how hard it is, unsupported, to make my way through the world: but as we have so often contributed to your support, and none of your ancestors ever met with any material check or misfortune while our branch of the family was countenanced by them; therefore, as we fell, so I hope we shall rise together.
I do not suspect you will ever write for the ministry, in which case I know I shall be entirely useless to you; the only favour I ask is some employment under you in the mean time, which will be gratefully acknowledged by your affectionate kinsman,
COMMON HONESTY.
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF MONSIEUR DE JARDIN.
THE Count De Montalto sent Monsieur De Jardin, one of his gentlemen, to Naples, with five hundred pistoles, to buy horses; and, being arrived there, as he was standing the next evening in the gate of the inn, throwing his purse of gold from one hand to the other, he was observed by a young courtezan, who wanted neither wit nor beauty: the next morning she sent one of her spies privately to enquire who the object of her attention was, his business, and what other circumstances related to him, or could be of advantage to her design. Being informed of particulars whereon to found her plot, she dispatched one of her emissaries, a cunning gipsey, to acquaint him, that a lady of quality, and a relation of his, entreated the favour of a visit. The crafty decoy hovered at a distance, till De Jardin came out; who, as was his custom, standing at the gate alone, she, with a modesty as counterfeit as her innocence, asked if Monsieur De Jardin was within. "Yes, my sweet girl," says he, "I am the person."—" Signior," says she, "my lady commands me to let you know she has the honour to be related to you; and, if it is not too great a condescension, she begs you would spare half an hour from your more important affairs, and bestow it on her." De Jardin was not much surprized at so obliging an invitation; for, though he knew of none of his relations, who either to bo
e the title of lady, or even lived in Naples; yet, presuming on the comeliness of his person and good mien, he imagined it was some lady of quality who was enamoured of him, and with this pretence courted an opportunity to discover her passion. "Madam," says he, "I could wish myself worthy of so great a blessing as I now receive; and, since a ready submission to your lady's commands is the best proof I can give of my zeal and affection to her service, I will this very minute pay my respects to her." De Jardin, without going into his lodging, went directly along with his guide; who led him through several cross streets and bye-ways, till they came to the house, which in the front appeared fair and reputable: at the door a person attended, who conducted De Jardin into a room richly furnished both for pleasure and taste. As soon as the lady was acquainted that Monsieur de Jardin was below, she descended with a portly and majestick grace; which, lest it should strike too great an awe upon her kinsman, she sweetened with an affectionate familiarity and respect. The wily courtezan spread her net so well, that his dull eye could not discover the least deceit; she displayed his pedigree with so much artifice, that his obscure family was now derived from one of the most noble houses of all Italy, of which she had the honour to be no inconsiderable branch; all which his pride and folly easily credited. Variety of discourse, with mutual congratulations for so happy an interview, had now spent a good part of the evening; when the lady was whispered in the ear that supper was ready. She ordered it to be brought in; and though it was splendid and elegant, she courteously pretended to excuse it as not good enough for so worthy a guest. Supper being over, De Jardin recollecting it grew late, and that he was a stranger to the streets, was ready with a long harangue of thanks to take leave of so honourable a kinswoman. A profusion of compliments were mutually exchanged; when, taking him by the hand, "Nay, cousin," says she, "though I am sensible your reception has not been equal to your merit, yet I flatter myself that my house can afford you better accommodations than your inn; and if you rob me of your company to-night, you have not that esteem for me I am so ambitious of." De Jardin, whose better genius was absent, accepted the invitation.
It soon grew bed-time, and De Jardin was attended to his apartment by the lady and two of her servants; who, after a solemn "Good night!" withdrew. As he was stepping into bed, the wine he had drank began to rumble in his stomach; for it had been physically prepared for that purpose: he therefore asked one of the servants for a necessary convenience, and was directed into a little room adjoining: his business required haste. Boldly stepping in, a board, which lay purposely loose, gave way, and down he fell to the bottom of the privy. As soon as he had recovered himself from the fright—for hurt he received none, except from what was transacting above—he cried out for help; but nobody answered, though he heard his kinswoman's voice very merry and loud: they were too busy in ransacking his pockets, where they found the prize they wanted, with bulk unbroken. In this distress, he discovered a wall which communicated with the street; this he endeavoured to scale, but with repeated slips mired himself over head and ears. At last, however, he succeeded, and found himself in the middle of the street. By the light of the moon he guessed at the house, and rung so loud a peal at the door, that a grim fellow opened a window, and asked what drunken knave gave that unmannerly alarm? "I am, Sir," says he, "the lady's cousin."—"Sirrah," says he, "you are an impudent liar! I know no such person. Be gone in time, or you will too late repent this saucy affront." The approach of the watch at this instant forced De Jardin to break off the dialogue, and secure himself. As he was looking for a place of shelter, he spied an open bulk, where in the day-time a cobler and an herbwoman kept their shop; into which he crept as far as he could, to conceal himself till the watch was gone by. Three fellows, who that night designed to rob the tomb of a cardinal who had lately been buried in the great church, having hid their tools in this bulk, now came for them. De Jardin, hearing men talk, lay close; but one of them groping for the implements, and often complaining of a horrible smell, at last catched De Jardin by the leg. The surprize was equal on both sides; however, the fellow had the courage to pull him out, and examine what sort of a creature lay concealed there. De Jardin's shirt was so offensive, that they forced him to strip; for, considering he might be of use to them in their present design, and had possibly overheard some of their discourse, they compelled him to go along with them. Notwithstanding he was now as naked as he was born, yet the filth was thick crusted upon his skin, and the smell so noisome, they could not endure it. For this one of them thought of a proper remedy: hard by, there was a deep well, with a long chain and a bucket at the end of it; hither they brought De Jardin, put him into the bucket, let him down into the well, and told him that, as soon as he had washed himself clean, he must shake the chain, and they would draw him up. While they stayed for De Jardin, the watch came, it being very hot, to refresh themselves with water, the only beverage that could be had at that hour. His companions were now forced to run and hide; and the watch laid down their cloaks and halberts, and drew up the bucket. De Jardin with a sudden spring leaped ashore, which struck such a panick upon them, that they fled, leaving the pillage of the field, their cloaks and halberts, to De Jardin and his comrades. Having now joined company again, they went directly to the cardinal's tomb, and raised up the heavy marble: but a dispute arose who should go in. De Jardin would not. "No," says one of them; "wont you? but you shall: what did we bring you here for else?" They soon forced De Jardin to descend; and he reached them out the mitre and crosier, and pulled off the cardinal's gold fringe gloves, which were richly embroidered. He had heard them mention a diamond-ring of great value; and this he slipt off, and put upon his own finger, to secure something in case of the worst. They still bade him look for the ring: he told them he could find none; and they must come in, if they either suspected his honour or honesty, and look for it themselves. "I am sure," said one, "it was said he had a very rich ring; feel upon the other hand." As they were thus arguing the case, they heard a sudden noise in the church; which they suspected might be some of the officers: this frightened them so, that away they ran, and let the stone fall down, leaving poor De Jardin entombed with the dead cardinal. This was a misfortune a thousand times worse than any that had yet befallen him: it was impossible for him to raise up the stone, and if he made a noise to discover himself, he would certainly be executed for sacrilege and robbing the dead; and to lie there and starve, or be poisoned with the stench of the corrupting body, was still more dreadful. It happened that the noise which frightened his companions proceeded from some persons then breaking into the church upon the same design: when they came to the tomb, they raised up the marble, strongly under-propped it, and began, like the others, to dispute who should descend. "What," says one of them, a bold fellow, "are you afraid the dead cardinal should bite you? Let me come!"
As he was letting himself down, De Jardin catched fast hold of his legs; the fellow, frightened out of his wits, cried out, "Help! help! the cardinal has catched me by the legs!" and, struggling, got out, and followed his companions; who, every step they made, expected the cardinal would seize them. This gave De Jardin an opportunity of escaping. He immediately quitted the church by the s
me way he had entered it; and, cloathed with one of the watchmen's cloaks, walked about till morning. When it was light, he enquired out his inn; where he borrowed some cloaths, and gave a terrible detail of his misfortunes—but not a word of the ring. That evening he left Naples, and set forward for France, without purchasing a single horse; and, though he had lost his money and cloaths, he was in possession of a ring, the value of which at least balanced the account.
THE ARCHBISHOP'S LUCK. AN ODD ADVENTURE.
AN archbishop of Canterbury, making a tour into the country, stopped at an inn for refreshment. Being at the window, he observed at a distance, in a solitary wood, a well-dressed man alone, talking, and acting a kind of part. The prelate's curiosity was excited to know what the stranger was about; and, accordingly, he sent some of his servants to observe him, and hear what he was rehearsing: but they bringing him back an answer no way satisfactory, his Grace resolved to go himself. He accordingly repaired to the wood, ordering his attendants to remain at a distance. He addressed the stranger very politely, and was answered with the same civility. A conversation having been once entered into, though not without interruptions by an occasional soliloquy, his Grace asked what he was about. "I am at play," he replied. "At play!" said the prelate; "and with whom? You are all alone."—"I own," said he, "Sir, you do not perceive my antagonist; but I am playing with God!"—His lordship thinking the man out of his mind, replied—"This is a very extraordinary party: and pray at what game, Sir, are you playing?"—"At chess, Sir." The archbishop smiled; but the man seeming peaceable, he was willing to amuse himself with a few more questions. "And do you play for any thing, Sir?"—"Certainly." —"You cannot have any great chance, as your adversary must be so superior to you."—"He does not take any advantage, but plays merely like a man."—"Pray, Sir, when you win or lose, how do you settle your accounts?"—"Very exactly and punctually, I promise you."—"Indeed! Pray how. stands your game?" The stranger, after muttering something to himself, said—"I have just lost it."—"And how much have you lost?"—"Fifty guineas."—"That is a great sum; how do you intend paying it? Does God take your money?" —"No; the poor are his treasurers: he always sends some worthy person to receive the debt; and you are, at present, the purse-bearer." Saying this, he pulled out his purse; and, reckoning fifty guineas, put them into his Grace's hand, and retired, saying he should play no more that day.
The prelate was quite fascinated; he did not know what to make of this extraordinary adventure: he viewed the money; found all the guineas good; recalled what had passed; and began to think there must be something more in this man than he had discovered. However, he continued his j
urney, and applied the money to the use of the poor, as had been directed.
On his return, he stopped at the s
me inn; and, perceiving the same person again in the wood, in his former situation, he resolved to have a little farther conversation with him; and went alone to the spot where he was. The stranger was a comely man; and the prelate could not help viewing him with a kind of religious veneration: thinking, by this time, that he was inspired to do good in this uncommon manner. The prelate accosted him as an old acquaintance, and familiarly asked him how the chance had stood since they had first met. "Sometimes for me, and sometimes against me; I have both lost and won."—"And are you at play now?"—"Yes, Sir; we have played several games to-day."—"And who wins?" —"Why, Sir, at present, the advantage is on my side; the game is just over; I have a sine stroke; check mate, there it is."—"And pray, Sir, how much have you won?"—"Five hundred guineas."—"That is a handsome sum; but how are you to be paid?"—"I pay and receive in the like manner: he always sends me some good rich man when I win; and you, my Lord, are the person. God is remarkably punctual on these occasions."
The archbishop had received a considerable sum that very day; the stranger knew it; and, producing a pistol, by way of receipt, the prelate found himself under the necessity of giving up his cash, and by this time discovered the divine inspired gamester to be nothing more or less than a thief. His lordship had, in the course of his journey, related the first part of this adventure; but the latter part he very prudently took great pains to conceal.
A JACK-BOOT; OR, MODERN ESSAY ON TIMES, PERSONS, AND THINGS.
A Jack-Boot is a discourse which will suit any subject whatsoever, as it's name-sake will sit any leg. It requires no title, yet is capable of all. You may preach it as a sermon, declame it as an oration, say it as a prayer, or sing it as a song. It will finally answer all intents and purposes, though, in itself, it is to no intent or purpose; such is the whimsical, enigmatical nature, of the Jack-Boot.
For these twenty years last past, we have had little else published but Jack-Boots. One man prints a sermon, which may as well be called a satire; another comes out with a monody, with three or four inter locutors in it. Our poetry is as prose, and our prose is false English; and shall not I club my Jack-Boot among the rest? Yea, verily, I will.
Here, therefore, begins a Jack Boot upon Times, Persons, and Things. And first, for the Times: I think we are all pretty unanimous with respect to the Times; that is, there is an almost universal consent to tail at them. There has been a perpetual prejudice in behalf of the times past, though, God knows we have but little o do with them; and we are daily grumbling and abusing the time present, when we ought to make use of it, and be
hankful.
"O tem
ora! O m
res!"
is an exclamation that has been made use of long bef
re the Roman orator. Neverth
less, one of the wisest tells us, that the former times were not better than these
And now I will quote you a bit of Greck—
"Oie men phyllon genee toinde kai andron."
HOM.
"The generation of man is even as the generation of leaves." One winter demolishes a whole tribe; and in the spring, you have a succession of the same wavering, weak, inconstant trifles.
And now I will quote you
piece of Latin—,
— "Elapsum semel
"Non ipse
Jupiter reprehendere."
PHOFD.
That is, when old Time has once turned tail upon you, the devil himself can't get hold of his forelock. Which brings me (where I was before-hand determined to go) to my second and third particulars, viz. Persons and things. Now, as every person is a thing, though every thing is not a person, I shall jumble these two articles together in the true Jack-boot taste. Now, it would require the united wit of Fielding, Lucian, Swift, Butler, and Erasmus, to treat of this head with any tolerable adroitness: so (as Mr. Bayes says) in sine, I'll say no more about it; and, if any body asks me Where lies the jest of all this? I answer, with Mr. Johnson, "Why, in the Boot; where should the jest lie?"
THE WELCH PARSON'S SHORT SERMON; OR, MULTUM IN PARVO.
IN a certain principality, where the lab
urers in the spiritual vineyard are often obliged to siddle as well as to pray, for the necessary support of themselves and families, about half a century ago lived an honest and ingenious man of the sacred profession; who, having a great deal of duty to perform, for which, however, he received a very inadequate recompence, was often necessitated to cut as short as possible, leaving his hearers to meditate on what he meant to advance in confirmation of his position. One Sunday, in particular, being engaged in the afternoon to play several airs on the Welch harp, on which instrument, as well as the violin, he was an excellent performer, he delivered the following incomparable sermon to his different parishioners; which, for brevity, method, point, and moral, we recommend to the attentive perusal of every sincere christian throughout his Majesty's dominions.
JOB, chap. i. ver. 21.
Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither.
In discoursing from these words, I shall observe the three following things.
First, Man's ingress into the world;
Secondly, His progress through the world;
And, thirdly, His egress out of the world. To return—
First, Man's ingress into the world, is naked and bare;
Secondly, His progress through the world, is trouble and care;
And, thirdly, His egress out of the world, is nobody knows where.
To conclude—
If we do well here, we shall be well there;
And I could tell you no more were I to preach a whole year!
DIFFERENCE BETWEEN AN OFFICER AND A SOLDIER.
A Late celebrated Irish counsellor, as remarkable for his brogue, as for his bon-mots, being retained against a young officer, who was indicted for a very gross assault, opened the cause in the following manner—
"My Lord, I am counsel for the crown; and I am first to acquaint your Lordship, that this soldier—"
"Stop, Sir!" says the military hero, "I would have you know, Sir, I am an officer."
"O Sir! I beg your pardon," says the counsellor, very dryly: "why, then, my Lord, to speak more correctly, this officer, who is no soldier!".
MONSIEUR TONSON. A COMICK TALE.
WRITTEN BY MR. TAYLOR.
THERE liv'd, as Fame reports, in days of yore,
At least some fifty years ago, or more,
A pleasant wight on town yclep'd Tom King;
A fellow that was clever at a joke;
Expert in all the arts to teaze and
smoke;
In short, for strokes of humour, quite
the thing.
To many a jovial club this King was known,
With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone—
Choice Spirit, grave Free Mason, Buck, and Blood,
Would croud his stories and
Bon Mots
to hear;
And none a disappointment e'er could fear,
His humour flow'd in such a copious flood.
To him a frolick was a high delight—
A frolick he would hunt for day and night,
Careless how Prudence on the sport might frown;
If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view,
At once o'er hedge and ditch away he flew;
Nor left the game till he had run it down.
One night, our hero, rambling with a friend,
Near fam'd St. Giles's chanc'd his course to bend,
Just by that spot the Seven Dials hight:
'Twas silence all around, and clear the coast;
The watch, as usual, dozing on his post;
And scarce a lamp display'd a twinkling light.
Around this place there liv'd the num'rous clans
Of honest, plodding, foreign Artizans,
Known at that time by name of Refugees—
The rod of Persecution from their home
Compell'd the inoffensive race to roam;
And here they lighted, like a swarm of bees.
Well! our two friends were saunt'ing through the street,
In hopes some food for humour soon to meet:
When, in a window near, a light they view;
And, though a dim and melancholy ray,
It seem'd the prologue to some merry play;
So tow'rds the gloomy dome our hero-drew.
Straight at the door he gave a thund'ring knock—
The time, we may suppose, near two o'clock.
"I'll ask," says King, "if Thomson lodges here."
"Thomson!" cries t'other, "who the devil's ne?"—
"I know not," King replies; "but want to see
What kind of animal will now appear."
After some time, a little Frenchman came—
One hand display'd a rushlight's trembling flame,
The other held the thing they call
culotte;
An old strip'd woollen night-cap grac'd his head,
A tatter'd waistcoat o'er one shoulder spread—
Scarce half awake, he heav'd a yawning note.
Though thus untimely rouz'd, he courteous smil'd;
And soon address'd our wag in accents mild,
Bending his head politely to his knee—
"Pray, Sare, vat vant you, dat you come so late?
I beg your pardon, Sare, to make you vait:
Pray, tell me, Sare, vat your commands vid me?"
"Sir," replied King, "I merely thought to know,
As by your house I chanc'd to-night to go—
But, really, I disturb'd your sleep, I fear—
I say, I thought that you, perhaps, could tell,
Among the folks who in this street may dwell,
If there's a Mr. Thompson lodges here?"
The shiv'ring Frenchman, though not pleas'd to find
The business of this unimportant kind,
Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer,
Sh
ugg'd out a sigh, that thus his rest should break;
Then, with unalter'd courtesy, he spake—
"No, Sare; no Monsieur Tonson loges here."
Our wag begg'd pardon, and tow'rds home he sped,
While the poor Frenchman crawl'd again to bed:
But King resolv'd, not thus to drop the jest;
So the next night, with more of whim than grace,
Again he made a visit to the place,
To break once more the poor old Frenchman's rest.
He knock'd—but waited longer than before;
No footstep seem'd approaching to the door:
Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound.
King, with the knocker, thunder'd then again,
Firm on his post determin'd to remain;
And oft, indeed, he made the door resound.
At last, King hears him o'er the passage creep,
Wond'ring what fiend again disturb'd his sleep.
The wag salutes him with a civil leer;
Thus drawling out, to heighten the surprize,
While the poor Frenchman rubb'd his heavy eyes—
"Is there—a Mr. Thompson lodges here?"
The Frenchman faulter'd, with a kind of fright—
"Vy, Sare, I'm sure, I tell you, Sare, last night!"
And here he labour'd with a sigh sincere—
"No Monsieur Tonson in the varld I know;
No Monsieur Tonson here—I told you so:
Indeed, Sare, dere no Monsieur Tonson here!"
Some more excuses tender'd, off King goes;
And the old Frenchman sought once more repose.
The rogue next night pursued his old career.
'Twas long, indeed, before the man came nigh;
And then he utter'd, in a piteous cry—
"Sare, 'pon my foul, no Monsieur Tonson here!"
Our sportive wight his usual visit paid:
And, the next night, came forth a prattling maid;
Whose tongue, indeed, than any jack went faster!
Anxious she strove his errand to enquire:
He said 'twas vain her pretty tongue to tire;
He should not stir, till he had seen her master.
The damsel then began, in doleful state,
The Frenchman's broken slumbers to relate;
And begg'd he'd call at proper time of day.
King told her, she must fetch her master down,
A chaise was ready—he was leaving town,
But first had much of deep concern to say.
Thus urg'd, she went the snoring man to call;
And long, indeed, was she obliged to bawl,
Ere she could rouze the torpid lump of clay.
At last he wakes—he rises—and he swears;
But scarcely had he totter'd down the stairs,
When King attacks him in the usual way.
The Frenchman now perceiv'd 'twas all in vain,
To this tormentor mildly to complain;
And straight in rage began his crest to rear—
"Sare, vat de devil make you treat me so?
Sare, I inform you, Sare, tree nights ago:
Got tam, I swear, no Monsieur Tonson here!"
True as the night, King went; and heard a strife
Between the harrass'd Frenchman and his wife,
Which should descend to chase the fiend away:
At length, to join their forces they agree;
And straight impetuously they turn the key,
Prepar'd with mutual fury for the fray.
Our hero, with the firmness of a rock,
Collected to receive the mighty shock,
Utt'ring the old enquiry, calmly stood.
The
name
of Thompson rais'd the storm so high,
He deem'd it then the safest plan to fly,
With—"Well, I'll call when you're in gentler mood."
In short, our hero, with the same intent,
Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went;
So fond of mischief was the wicked wit!
They throw out water, for the watch they call;
But King, expecting, still escapes from all.
Monsieur, at last was forc'd his house to quit.
It happen'd that our wag, about this time,
On some fair prospect sought the eastern clime.
Six ling'ring years were there his tedious lot:
At length, content, amid his ripening store,
He treads again on Britain's happy shore,
And his long absence is at once forgot.
To London, with impatient hope, he flies;
And the same night, as former freaks arise,
He fain must stroll, the well-known haunt to trace.
"Ah! here's the scene of frequent mirth," he said:
"My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead.
Egad! I'll knock, and see who holds his place."
With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar;
And while he, eager, eyes the op'ning door,
Lo! who obeys the knocker's ratt'ling peal?
Why, e'en our Frenchman! strange to say,
He took his old abode that very day—
Capricious turn of sportive Fortune's wheel!
Without one thought of the relentless foe;
Who, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago,
Just in his former trim he now appears:
The waistcoat and the night-cap seem'd the same;
With rushlight, as before, he creeping came,
And King's detested voice astonish'd hears.
As if some hideous spectre struck his sight,
His senses seem'd bewilder'd with affright;
His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore:
Then, starting, he exclaim'd, in rueful strain—
"Begar! here's Monsieur Tonson come again!"
Away he ran, and ne'er was head of more.
THE MERRY WORLD.
EXAMINE Nature's work, around,
The whole machine is dance and sound;
The Spheres above move round and sing,
The Planets run a constant ring;
The Winds sonorous musick make,
Angels themselves the trumpet shake.
The Feather'd Tribe, that fly between
The upper and the lower scene,
Out-sing Italians softest throats,
And charm the world with various notes;
The warbling Larks are all Corelli's,
And Nightingales are Farinelli's:
These merry birds, without castration,
Chant best of tunes with modulation.
The lower class of cattle-kind,
The Lamb, the Calf, the Colt, the Hind,
In frisking motions run and skip;
The Fish, for sport, rebound and leap:
Rivers in dancing circles flow,
And trill soft Musick as they go;
The Sea itself leads up a Dance,
When high spring-tides the waves advance:
Then, falling back, at ebb withdraws,
Still keeping time to Nature's laws.
Nay, Men in upright figure wrought,
By reason and religion taught;
Men, who in upper stations shine,
In this great Opera combine:
The Pleader, eloquently hung,
Displays the Musick of his tongue;
Poets, whose numbers run in rhyme,
Measure their lines by Feet and Time.
Physicians, too, who understand
To take man's Fiddle-case in hand,
Study to keep our strings in plight,
And make the blood dance round and right.
In both the Seats where Learning grows,
Scholars a Mu
ick-club compose;
Lovers, to gain fair ladies hearts,
In S
ngs and Dances play their parts.
The w
sest Statesmen call a dance;
Break off, or close, with Spain or France,
The H
utboy, Drum, and Trumpet, sound,
As shifting politicks go round:
If War, the Drums to battle beat;
If Peace, the Trumpets blow retreat.
'Tis all a turn of various
ates,
Balance to hold and govern states.
Next, they themselves, on gaudy days,
When Stars and Garters form a blaze,
Like Satellites to mighty Jove,
Around the throne in order move;
And, deck'd with crimson, blue, and green,
Attendance Dance on King and Queen.
Epaminondas, Theban lord,
A noted hero on record,
If old biographers say true,
Was Dancer and Musician too.
Our greater Marlbro' danc'd at court,
In Charles's reign, with graceful port;
The artful steps, the bold advance,
Taught him to lead and conquer France:
Till Sons of Discord musick stopp'd,
And Europe in confusion dropp'd.
The Royal Psalmist's harp and tongue
Melodious Hymns divinely sung;
Cathedral Priests, where Organs play,
In Treble, Bass, and Tenor, pray:
At feasts they Satiares call,
The Priests of old perform'd a Ball;
Honour'd the day with table-treat,
And finely danc'd, and stoutly eat.
Whole nations seem contriv'd, by birth,
To hold a constant run of Mirth.
This humour mov'd the merry Greek,
And Italy is all a Squeak:
In former days, the poet's land,
Where Virgil strains immortal plann'd;
Where Horace, (oh, delightful name!)
In O
s, tun'd up the Lyrick Game;
A country still of Musick Grounds,
Made up of Harmony and Sounds.
The bonny Scot, tho' cold so gripes,
Reels gaily to his Bag and Pipes;
And Pat, without, dear Joy! a Ball,
Would nothing be, at all, at all!
What's ancient Wales, and Mo
ish France,
But Singing, Carols, and a Dance!
Tasties on Harps and Fiddles play,
Or sing, "O'er hills and far away!"
Dapper Monsieurs by nature skip,
And swim a L
uv
e as they trip.
Thus Art and Nature run the rig,
In one p
rp
ual me
y Jig;
And, since the wo
d
e great Ball,
Let's cheariul be, till Death shall call.
BILLINGSGATE; OR, THE MODERN SCHOOL OF ELOQUENCE.
NEAR London Bridge once it on a gate,
Be
n
u gave it name;
Whence the green Nereids oysters bring,
A place of publick fame.
Here Eloquence has fix'd her s
a
;
The nymphs
ere learn, by heart,
In Mode and Figure still to speak,
By modern rules of art.
To each fair Ora
'ress this school
It's Rhe
orick strong affords;
They double and redouble Tropes,
With Finger, Fist, and Words.
Both Nerve and Strength, and Flow of Speech,
With beautie ever new,
Adorn the language of these nymphs,
Who give to all their due.
O happy Seat of happy Nymphs!
For many ages known;
To thee
ach Rostrum's sorc'd to yield,
Each Forum in the town.
Let other Academies boast
What Titles else they please;
Thou shalt be call'd, the Gate of Tongues,
Of Tongues that never cease.
ELEGY ON A FAVOURITE KITTEN.
IN soothing accents, come, my friend,
The loss of Tibby, O deplore!
But first with sympathy attend,
While I her various charms run o'er.
Her snow-white skin, and clean round face;
Her upright ears, and sparkling eyes:
The fairest of the mousing race,
Tibby, the younger Tibby, dies!
How pleas'd I view'd her turn a chip,
Or gaily wanton with a straw;
The while no mouse that out dar'd slip.
Could e'er escape her nimble paw.
Did she not even mew with grace,
And purr most musically sweet?
And, O! how clean she wash'd her face,
And wip'd it with her velvet feet!
What could induce the cruel Fates
To snatch dear Tibby from my care!
And leave the most delicious cates,
For hungry rats and mice to share.
BETTER FED THAN TAUGHT; OR, THE CLOWN'S RETORT ON THE PARSON.
UPON some hasty errand Tom was sent,
And met his parish-curate as he went;
But, just like what he was, a sorry clown,
It seems be pass'd him with a cover'd crown.
The gown-man stopp'd; and, turning, sternly said—
"I doubt, my lad, you're far worse taught than fed!"—
"Why, aye!" says Tom, still jogging on, "that's true:
Thank God, he feeds me! but I'm taught by you."
THE HOLIDAY.
JACK will not work; and Nell puts on her pinners:
The ancient saints make many modern sinners.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS. PLATE X.
The Industrious 'Prentice Alderman of London; the Idle one brought before him and Impeached by his Accomplice.
THE COMICK MAGAZINE.
NUMBER X.
INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.
PLATE X. THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE ALDERMAN OF LONDON; THE IDLE ONE BROUGHT BEFORE HIM, AND IMPEACHED BY HIS ACCOMPLICE.
HITHERTO, since the first Print, we have not seen the two Apprentices together. Their pursuits widely varied, and they have been alternately presented with a most forcible contrast to each other. The interest is wonderfully heightened, on this melancholy interview. The victim of Vice, originating in idleness, a trembling culprit at the bar of Justice; while his fellow-apprentice, as the reward of industry and virtue, having attained to the dignity of Alderman of London, is consequently a Magistrate, and has the severe but necessary duty to perform, of committing for trial the companion of his early days, who is impeached of robbery and murder by the profligate one-eyed associate with whom he commenced acquaintance, by gambling on a tombstone during divine service. This wretch, who has turned evidence, is swearing with the utmost audacity and unconcern, to criminate his accomplice; yet contrives, at the same time, to do what the vulgar denominate
"cheating the devil,"
by taking the book with his left-hand. This imposition the priggish administerer of the oath, with a pen stuck behind his ear, is prevented from regarding by the application of a piece of money placed in the dexter palm, which he holds slily behind for that purpose. The jade who performs this piece
of bribery has a good face and figure, though she is supposed to cohabit with that horrid lump of vice and deformity: to such shocking degradation is superior beauty generally reduced after the loss of innocence!
The attitude of the worthy Alderman, while the Mittimus is making out by his Clerk, which is to place his late fellow-apprentice under the care of the Keeper of Newgate, is a noble display of dignified suffering. The concern, too, in the countenance of the afflicted mother, who vainly seeks to soften the self-important constable, is finely pourtrayed.
On the whole, this print is most exquisitely impressive, and exhibits an interesting picture of human nature: in which we behold Guilt detected, under all the agonizing horrors of remorse; and Virtue, with a clear conscience, feeling anguish but little inferior, from the reflection of the ignominy which awaits the companion of his childhood.
There are two excellent Mottos for this print—
"Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment."—
LEVITICUS xix. 15.
"The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands."—
PSALM ix. 16.
THE ART OF KICKING.
WHEN I took on me the province of a publick writer, I was resolved, to the best of my poor capacity, to make my works entertaining as well as instructive to my readers; in order to which, I judged it would be absolutely necessary not to dwell too long on the subject. Man, as well as woman, delights in variety; and the mind, as well as the palate, must have change of diet. The
"quicquid agunt homines,"
is, indeed, a large field for wit and satire to exercise themselves on; but often, of late, when I had chosen my subject, and sat down with a design of communicating my thoughts on it, I found, on recollection, that I had been anticipated by some other authors who had lived before me.
The Spectator, of moral and facetious memory, reformed the periwigs, the canes, and the sword-knots, of the fops; no
, he tripped up their red heels, if I may be allowed that expression. As to the fair-sex, he handled them from head to foot; not a part about a fine lady was left untouched. In a word, whenever I take up the Spectator, I am ready every minute to break out into the same exclamation that a poet of Gas
oigny uttered on reading over a beautiful ode of Horace. "
D
—n these ancients!" says he, "they have stolen all my fine thoughts!"
Writers of such universal talents may draw something that is useful and entertaining from the most barren subject in nature. The Spectator, before-mentioned, has been very learned on dancing. We have had writers, of but a second or third class in fame, who have had their excellence: a Baronet of North Britain has published a large quarto on the Art of Fencing; and a Baronet of Worcestershire has obliged the world with a treatise of immense erudition on the Gymnastick Science, or the Art of Wrestling.
But no people come up to the Germans in their indefatigable industry for searching antiquity. What immense volumes of ancient learning have they rescued from the cobwebs and oblivion! How have they worked through the rust, of time, to make discoveries for the improvement of mankind! And with what infinite labour have they collected the valuable fragments scattered in different authors, on subjects of high importance to the learned world!
I have myself seen a history written by one of the German literati, entitled—"De Veterum Lucernis et Candelabris—Of the Lamps and Candlesticks of the Ancients." It is certain, we should be groping in the dark in search of many things belonging to antiquity, had they not held lights to us. Another, who was as bright a genius as the former, was twenty years in compiling a treatise—"De Chirothecis et Ocreis—On Gloves and Boots."
I have been credibly informed by travellers, that there is a large folio manuscript in the Elector Palatine's library—"De Miseriis Ambulantium—On the Misery of Walking on Foot;" in which there is a physical dissertation on Corns. There are several volumes—"De Veterum Cultellis et Furcis—Of the Knives and Forks of the Ancients," written by one Vanderhackle, enriched with cuts; an art that has contributed very much to illustrate German wit. What need I mention the great Bamboozlebergius, who has made a collection—"De Mendaciis Antiquorum—Of the Lies of the Ancients?" which work, we hear, is shortly to be printed in English, for the improvement and edification of the youth of this kingdom, a certain great man having taken upon him to patronize it; so that I hope every person in employment will be obliged to subscribe, under pain of being cashiered.
I have likewise been informed, that there has been for several years, in the publick library at Ratisbon, a most curious manuscript—"De Colophis et Caleationibus Veterum—Of the Kicks and Cuffs of the Ancients," written by the learned Vanhoofius; and that a copy of this work was some years ago transmitted into England, to be laid up in the Royal Library of St. James's: that it was carefully revised and collated by the late learned Doctor Bentley, who has amended an error in the title; for he has proved, that the substantive Colophis must have been an interpolation of the transcriber; and, of consequence, the true reading is—"De Calcationibus Veterum;" which he translates thus—"Of the Kicks on the Arse of the Ancients." This shews how learning must have suffered through the ignorance of transcribers, were it not for the accuracy of such judicious criticks.
To confess the plain truth, I had a design of writing something on this subject myself; and have already been at no small pains in looking over the Cotton and Bodleian libraries. I do not know but it will be very well worth while to take a journey to Rome, on purpose to consult that of the Vatican: but I am a little too much confined at present; I therefore beg the assistance of the learned of both our universities, and I hope they will be so good as to communicate whatever discoveries they may have made on this subject in the course of their reading; and, as I should be glad to enrich this work with the choicest flowers of antiquity, I intend to publish them here. It is a subject, if well handled, that must give great satisfaction to the curious; nay, I could wish the world was but well informed of some late truths concerning Kicking: I fancy it would contribute towards curing the spleen of the whole nation.
The stage is the representation of the world; and, certainly, a man may know the humours and inclinations of the people by what is liked or disliked on the stage; and I have often observed a Kicking to be the most diverting scene in a modern comedy. We have had several poets of our own nation who have succeeded very well this way. There is a Kicking betwixt Sir Harry Wildair and Alderman Smuggler, in the comedy called the Trip to the Jubilee; which is allowed by the ablest criticks to be a master-piece of good writing: there is also a Kicking in the old Old Batchelor, and another in the Squire of Alsatia, which are excellently well penned.
Hitherto, indeed, these Kickings have been only the support and ornament of the comick scene: I wish, with all my heart, some poet of a sublime genius would venture to write a Kicking in a tragedy. I am well persuaded, if an author were to introduce a king Kicking the first-minister, it would have a very good effect: such an incident must certainly give great pleasure to the audience, and contribute very much to the success of the play.
But, to come nearer to my present purpose: I have taken no small pains in examining authors, to find out when this custom of Kicking first began in the world. I am sorry that the writers of history have not been a little more particular in a matter of so great importance to mankind.
Some of the Roman Emperors—such as Nero, Domitian, and Caligula—were given to Kicking: so, indeed, was our Harry the Eighth; he made nothing of Kicking the House of Commons. There is a box on the ear recorded of Queen Elizabeth: it was a sudden sally of jealous love; it was but a kind of
aigre douceur;
and it does not appear that it was the fashion of her court. The action of Kicking might be thought a little too robust for the delicacy of her sex; it might have exposed the royal legs,
et coetera,
to the sneers of the young fellows of the court; therefore, she modestly turned it into a box on the ear.
As no man can account how fashions rise and fall, who knows but the practice of Kicking on every trifling occasion may become a fashion in this kingdom? One of the greatest wits of our nation has placed the seat of honour in a certain part of the body that I do not well know how to describe. It is the part which we must not name in well-bred company; yet happy is the fair maid who shall rise with that part uppermost in a morning; good luck shall attend her; her lover shall be kind, and all the wishes of that day shall be crowned with success: but, if I must describe it still plainer, it is the part where schoolboys are punished for false concords, and for playing truant. If it should, I say, become a fashion, you would see a fellow at court, who had just received a most gracious Kick on that part, return as proud as a citizen from being knighted: and why may not the honour of knighthood be conferred this way, as well as by the sword? And, indeed, why might not all titles be conferred this way?
Again, if you should happen to see a crowd of slaves running to the levee of some court favourite in a morning, and any body should ask, how comes this man to be so courted, or so followed; the natural answer in this case would be—"He has been lately Kicked into preferment."
It might be turned to excellent use towards carrying on the designs of ministers of state, in case they should happen to be pursuing measures apparently destructive to the liberties of their country; for, in this case, they must, for their own safety, be obliged to bribe the representatives of the people; and, as they would certainly bribe with the people's money, not with their own, and as I should think it a very right thing to save the publick money, I should for that reason humbly propose, that Kicking might be introduced into publick business, instead of bribing. I do not doubt that it might answer the same purposes; for I am firmly of opinion, that whoever will take a bribe, will take a Kicking.
I believe, some examples may be brought where it has been made use of with success: men, I say, have been Kicked as well as bribed into measures against their country; and, therefore, it is not at all improbable but it may, some time or other, become a method of carrying on state-affairs. If we should live to see that day, young princes, instead of riding, fencing, and dancing, would have proper masters provided to instruct them in Kicking; and, as he that undertook to eat a sword began by eating a dagger, so a young adept should begin by Kicking his hat, before he was put to Kick a man.
As to the young nobility and gentry, instead of wasting their youth in studying to understand Horace and Virgil, they might be instructed to take a Kicking with a good grace; by which means you would see a polite nobility, a valiant gentry, a most pious dignified clergy, and a court that would be a constellation of the most illustrious personages of the kingdom.
There is a court of honour in all the countries of Europe. In France, the mareschals or generals preside in it. In England, the judge of the court of honour is hereditary in the family of the first duke of the kingdom. I should think that the ceremonial of Kicking a man into a title, or a great employment, might be settled by the judges of these courts of honour. If I might be worthy of advising in matters of so high a nature, I should think it would be too great a fatigue for the prince himself to Kick the whole court, especially in countries where the court is numerous. I am therefore of opinion, that nobody should have the honour of being Kicked by the sovereign, except the first minister, the principal secretaries of state, the president of his councils, and some few others the great officers of the crown; but these might Kick those next in employment under them, who might Kick the next; and so it might gradually descend, till there should not be a man in any employment in the kingdom but what might be Kicked.
It is not yet, indeed, become a custom in any part of Europe; the more is the pity! for I think it would be a truly royal exercise for a prince to divert himself with Kicking two or three of his ministers every morning: it would contribute to the preservation of his own health, as well as to mending the manners of his court; and I believe it would have become a fashion some where or other, were it not that the young nobility of all nations travel to France, and are apt to retain impressions of what they see there. The barbarity of a French education will not suffer a gentleman to take a Kick from any person, be he ever so great, without some terrible consequences: but I hope that, in this nation, we may live to get the better of those prejudices; which may have this good consequence, it may introduce an elegance and politeness of manners not known in the world, except among the ancient Goths and modern Hottentots.
I may say, without vanity, that we are not such barbarians, but there may be found among us some great men who can pocket up a Kick or a cuff with as good an air as they could a bribe; and as to those splendid agitations of choler, which are apt to break out into "Rogue!" and "Rascal!" I am credibly informed, some very stately persons are so used to them, that they receive them with the same countenance as—"Sir, I kiss your hands!" This shews we are well disposed for a reformation of manners; yet I fear it will not grow into general imitation, unless the court should set the example, which I am afraid will not happen: but if we should live to see that day, the placemen must of course all fall into it; and I think it would be pleasant enough, when a great employment became vacant, to see a parcel of impudent fellows, in lace and embroidery, pressing and elbowing to be Kicked.
If the common people, who are not fond of new fashions at their first rise, should discover any dislike of coming into it, why might not a Standing Army be employed to Kick the whole nation?
ADVERTISEMENT FROM DOROTHY REDFIST; OR, QUALIFICATIONS OF A MODERN MAID-SERVANT.
SETTING aside all houshold work, which I do very well if I please, I can tell lyes of my master and mistruss; and, when I am sent of an arrand, let it be for what it will in the grocery way, allways go to the chandler's-shop; where the good old woman that keeps it, commonly keeps a dram of that that's good, and is as eager to know the secrets of the family as I am to tell them.
Secondly. I can take a lump of fresh-butter—if it is not quite so good for a sarvant's stomach as it should be—and flounce it into the grease-tubb—or the inside sat of a surloin of beef—with as much dexterity as any girl in the kingdom, those an I say it; where many other sarvants, to their shame be it spoken, would give it away to a dog, or a poor parson; which, I think, is no sign of their savingness; because, if they rightly consider, the revenues of the grease-tubb, when properly managed, would bring them three of four good gownds to their backs in a year.
Thirdly. I am very quick of hearing when nobody calls; and if any body does, especially my master or mistrus, I am so deaf I cannot hear them, till they have almost tore their winpipes with calling. This is a soverign vartue in a sarvant; for, when a master or mistrus thinks a sarvant's deaf, they are apt to talk about their secrets with less suspicion; and, sometimes, they may call one another Dog and Bitch, upon the presumption that the sarvant cannot hear them.
Fourthly. When there is any reason to imagine my mistrus
going to have a new gownd, I can tell her such a story, that I a'n't in the least afeard of getting the old one for myself.
Fifthly. If my master should come home late, and in liquor, I can help him up to bed: and, in case my mistrus is out of town, supposing he should be incapable of undressing himself, I can pull off his cloaths; and, if required, can go to bed to him as well as my mistrus.
Sixthly. If my mistrus should be a breeding woman, and apt to lye-inn during the time, I can side with the nurse, and make as much waste as herself; play up old gooseberry with the pots and saucepans; and nock the pewter and brasses about with as much consideration, as if they cost nothing at all.
Seventhly. During her lying-inn, I can trump up a story about my master's going to lewd women. This, you know, may have it's effect; for, if a mistrus takes on in such a situation, and frets much about it, who knows but she may die? and then I stand a chance to marry my master.
Eighthly. If there is a crust of bread harder than ordinary, I always carry it to my master's table; for masters and mistrusses may eat it, because they know their sarvants won't.
Ninthly. If there is any kind of greens for dinner—as there commonly is—I always take care to send the outside leaves to master's table, and detach the best part in a cullender, over some hot water, till they have done: for why should not sarvants know what's good as well as their masters and mistrusses?
P. S. These, and many other, excellent vartues, too tedious to mention, I porsses; and should take it very kind of you, Mr. Editor, if you should hear of any body that wants such a sarvant. Indeed, it is not any place I would go to, for good places are very scarce; and where there is one master or mistrus that knows the vartues of a true sarvant, there are twenty that don't: therefore, I should be obliged to you, if you publish the above cat-a-log in your Maghazeen.
CONJUGAL CASE OF A COUNTRY PHYSICIAN; OR, CAUTIONS TO OLD BATCHELORS.
I Am a physician; and as my case is very extraordinary, I mean to publish it for the benefit of the publick. When a man lives, as I did, unmarried till he is sixty-one, he had better never marry at all. There are more ways by which a woman may torment her husband besides being jealous of him. To give you some idea of my situation, take the general outlines of my history. The earliest part of my life I spent at college in the study of physick; and, I don't know why, acquired the character of an odd learned fellow. When I arrived at the age of forty, a vacancy happened in the neighbourhood of my birth, and I was invited by my uncle to take upon me the infirmities of all the folks within the circle of twenty miles. Before I set out, I ordered the college-barber to make me what the wags called a Lion, or a Pomp
y; literally, nothing more than a good physical wig; under the shadow of which, by the assistance of a handsome cane, properly applied to the immoveable muscles of my face, and a few very significant shrugs and solemn nods, I soon acquired the reputation of an eminent physician. Fees came in apace; so that, in the course of twenty years, I had saved up more money than I really knew what to do with. Whether it was my learning, my person, or my money, I can't say; but a lady of the neighbourhood took a vast liking to something belonging to me. I was not so blind but I saw the conquest; for she would often come and spend a week together with me: in short, I married her—I was past the years of discretion, and so I married her. O what a condescension! A lady of her rank, family, and fashion in life! As for age, indeed, she was but six years younger than myself; and for fortune, if she ever had any, she had spent it; and yet I was such a fool, as to be convinced she was conferring the greatest obligation in the world upon me.
No sooner did
e take upon her the management of my family, than adieu for
ver to all order, peace, and comfort. She began with discharging poor Jonas, because he made so queer a figure in a long qu
and white stockings, which she insisted upon his wearing, though the poor follow could not but laugh at himself. The same day, with Jonas, my old wig was discarded: it must be confessed it rather grew the worse for wear. From long acquaintance, it had contracted such a connection and familiarity, that it no longer kept that re
al distance from each side of my face which had at first so much distinguisned it; I had, however, still contiued it in servi
e. purely from this reflection, that the older it grew, the loss occasion it had for combing. A new wig has been immediately put on the shocks, with a feathered top and forked tail; since the arrival of which, I am never suffered to stir out, let the occasion be ever so pressing, before it is combed and powdered. Our prig of a new footman is so long in twisting, and turning, and tickling it up, that a score of patients have expired, and the fees have been lost, ere I was able to set out to relieve them
My snuff-coloured suit had been reinstated every other year from a pattern that was left in the hands of an honest taylor on the neighbouring heath. He, poor fellow, was likewise forbid the house; because, according to my directions, he made my cloaths easy. A more fashionable operator was charged with preparing a new suit with gold button-holes: he made them to sit so exactly, that I dare not bring my hands to meet before me, for fear of laying open my spinal bone.
My hat is not to be slapped any more, even though the sun shine full in my face.
I am no longer suffered to wash my face, according to custom, every morning, at the pump in my back-yard, though nothing was more refreshing; nor any thing more handy than the towel, which revolved on a roller at the back of the kitchendoor.
On my return home the other day from visiting a patient, I found the maid had set my study to rights, as she called it; but the consusion which the regularity has occasioned is almost inconceivable. My toe-pin, my shoeing-horn, and tobacco-stopper, are lost for ever; my papers are disposed in such order, that I know not where to recur to any thing I want
Two pair of old Manchester velvet breeches, which I left on the back of a chair, have disappeared; and instead of the easy slippers which I had made out of an old pair of shoes, by cutting the straps off, I found a new pair of red leather, adorned with white stitches round the edges, and made so neat that, I can't bear to walk in them
My woollen night-cap is condemned, in company with my brown hose, to the vile purpose of rubbing the grates and senders; and my wife insists that I wear one of linen, flounced on all sides, adorned with a black ribband which, tying together the aperture within an inch and a half of the top, carelessly slows down on the side. I took such a violent cold the first night, that it brought a defluxion of humours into my right eye, which very nearly deprived me of sight
The stair-case and floors are all waxed: it saves the expence of mops, indeed; but I have such falls, that I have almost dislocated every joint about me.
My neck is stretched out in such a manner, that I am apprehensive of having my throat out with the pasteboard.
When I remonstrate on any of those articles, she stops my mouth by a kiss, and says—"My dear angel! we must have some little regard to appearances."
She is, as I told you, but six years younger than myself; yet she dresses, dances, and drives about, as if she was but five-and-twenty.
This, however, and much more, I could bear; I deserve it: I am contented she shall consume six-and-thirty yards more than my old maid Hester in the spinning of her gown; she may play a shilling a fish at quadrille; she may do—aye, she may do what she pleases, let me have but my study to myself; let my night-cap and slippers he restored, and I will submit to wear the new coat and the wig every Sunday.
P. S. I long to take poor Jonas again: he used always to ride before me; and, drunk or sober, he knew the shortest way all over the country. What signifies whether one's footman wears a wig or his own hair? 'Tis true, he never blacked either my boots or his own.
ADVICE TO A YOUNG LADY, RESPECTING THE O
CONOMY OF HER HOUSE.
AS you are now tenant at will in a very handsome HOUSE, are capable of furnishing it in the politest manner, and of ruling it by the strictest maxims of oeconomy and decorum, permit a friend to give a few cursory hints, in an affair of so much importance.
The Building, as you must be convinced, is composed of some of the finest materials that were ever beheld; and is of course extremely liable to discover every s
and spot that may affect it. It is erected of a proper beight, of a just
, and on a regular plan, and finished with the mose
currat
proportions.
On the top stands an eminent Turret, furnished with a Room of a globular form; which, I observe, has two
ysial Windows in the front. These are so constructed, and to be exceedingly useful: they command an extensive prospect; and if always kept clean and bright, will prove a very great
to your House. I advise you not to look through
object that passes by; to shut them soon
the, and to open them as early as possible in the morning. On each
of the Turret, I observe that there is a small For
company; but take particular care that these wo
e
are guarded by a proper centinel, and by no means suffered to stand open; as you will otherwise be perpetually crouded with Visitors, and perhaps with many disagreable ones. However, let these useful Portals never be shut against the advising Friend, the instructing Parent, or the supplicating Orphan. There is a single Gate in the front, by which all your company is dismissed, and this should in general be barred close: it, is, indeed, so very publick, that you can hardly let out any Visitor privately; and you must be very careful that no suspicious character be seen to quit it, lest you draw a scandal on your House. Whatever Company, therefore, may have forced their way into the Side-Portals, it will be necessary to lay the strictest injunctions of vigilance on the Two able Porters, who stand constantly before the ivory Pallisadoes, in a livery of the deepest scarlet. I have seen some Ladies paint the Two Pannels, just below the Windows of their Houses; but I advise you to avoid that custom, as the natural colours far exceed every decoration of art.
This part of the Edifice is supported by a Pillar of Corinthian Marble, the base of which is ornamented with a pair of Alabaster Semi-Globes; and over these it will be very proper to draw a fine lawn curtain.
Beneath these is the Great Hall, in which you have a small Closet of exquisite workmanship: this, I suppose, is the place of your secret retirement, open to none but yourself, and some approved friends: I advise you to keep this always clean; to furnish it well; to make it a little library of the best practical authors; and to visit it frequently, especially when you return from church, or leave a circle of acquaintance whom you have met at the tea-table.
Let the outside of your Hall not appear like a horse hung round with
seutcheons, nor be like a coach of state da
bed over with tinsel and colourings; but let it be plain and near, to convince the world that it is kept more for use than ornament.
You are sensible, Miss, that Time effaces the beauty, and demolishes the strength, of the noblest structures; and, therefore, do not be alarmed on finding yours subject to the like change. Doubtless, it has often wanted repairs, though you have lived in it no longer; which is a plain intimation that the House must in a few years fall. You may, indeed, soon be turned out; the Landlord may give you warning, or he may not; and, as all this is quite uncertain, be perpetually prepared, and then you need never be afraid of quitting it.
One thing I must not forget to observe: when you have once left your House, no other human being will ever inhabit it, but it will be waste and in ruins; yet the Proprietor has promised some time or other to rebuild it, for your reception, in a more durable manner. But though it will then be constructed with the same materials, they are to be so refined and modified by the Great Architect, that the edifice will not be in future liable to any accident or decay; and, as it is absolutely necessary that your Habitation be reared in some other place, I heartily wish it may be situated in a finer country, under a milder climate, and on a spot not exposed to those pitiless storms, which injure, and too often destroy, the best contrived Buildings in this sublunary abode—since you must then take it for a term which will never expire!
THE STREET SWEEPERS. A MOCK HEROICK POEM.
BY W. WHITEHEAD, ESQ.
I Sing of Sweepers; frequent in thy streets,
AUGUSTA, as the flowers which grace the spring!
Or branches withering in autumnal shades
To form the brooms they wield. Preserv'd by them
From dirt, from coach-hire, and th' oppressive rheums
Which clog the springs of life, to them I sing,
And ask no inspiration but their smiles.
Hail, unknown youths, and virgins unendow'd!
Whether on bulk begot, while rattled loud
The passing coaches, or th' officious hand
Of sportive link-boy wide around him dash'd
The pitchy flame obstructive of the joy;
Or, more propitious, to the dark retreat
Of round-house owe your birth, where Nature's reign
Revives, and, emulous of Spartan fame,
The mingling Sexes share promiscuous love,
And scarce the pregnant female knows to whom
She owes the precious burden, scarce the sire
Can claim, confus'd, the many-featur'd child.
Nor blush that hence your origin we trace:
'Twas thus immortal heroes sprung of old
Strong from the stolen embrace; by such as you,
Unhous'd, uncloath'd, unletter'd, and unfed,
Were kingdoms modell'd, cities taught to rise,
Firm laws enacted, freedom's rights maintain'd,
The gods and patriots of an infant world.
Let others meanly chaunt, in tuneful song,
The blackshoe race, whose mercenary tribes,
Allur'd by halfpence, take their morning stand
Where streets divide, and to their prosser'd stools
Solicit wandering feet; vain pensioners
And placemen of the crowd! Not so you pour
Your blessings on mankind; nor traffick vile
Be your employment deem'd, ye last remains
Of publick spirit, whose laborious hands,
Uncertain of reward, bid kennels know
Their wonted bounds, remove the bord'ring filth,
And give th' obstructed ordure where to glide.
What though the pitying passenger bestows
His unexpected boon, must they refuse
The well-carn'd bounty from th' obtruded ore?
Proud were the thought and vain. And shall not we
Repay their kindly labours, men like them,
With gratitude unsought? I too have oft
Seen in our streets the wither'd hands of age
Toil in th' industrious task; and can we there
Be thrifty niggards? Haply they have known
Far better days, and scatter'd liberal round
The scanty pittance we afford them now.
Soon from this office grant them their discharge,
Ye kind churchwardens! take their meagre limbs
Shivering with cold and age, and wrap them warm
In those blest mansions Charity has rais'd.
But you of younger years, while vigour knits
Your labouring sinews, urge the generous task:
Nor lose in fruitless brawls the precious hours
Assign'd to toil. Be your contentions who
First in the dark'ning streets, when Autumn sheds
Her earliest showers, shall clear th' obstructed pass;
Or last shall quit the field, when Spring distrills
Her moist'ning dews, prolisick there in vain.
So may each lusty seavenger, ye fair,
Fly ardent to your arms; and every maid,
Ye gentle youths, be to your wishes kind.
Whether Ostree's fishy sumes allure,
As Venus' tresses fragrant, or the sweets
More mild and rural from her stall who toils
To feast the sages of the Samian school.
Nor ever may your hearts, elate with pride,
Desert this sphere of love; for should ye, youths,
When blood boils high, and some more lucky chance
Has swell'd your stores, pursue the tawdry band
That romp from lamp to lamp—for health expect.
Disease, for sleeting pleasure soul remorse,
And daily, nightly, agonizing pains.
In vain you call for Aesculapius' aid
From White Cross Alley, or the azure posts
Which beam thro' Haydon Yard: the god demands
More ample of
'rings, and rejects your prayer.
And you, ye fair! O let me warn your breasts
To shun deluding men; for some there are,
Great lords of counties, mighty men of war,
And well-dress'd courtiers, who with leering eye
Can in the face begrim'd with dirt discern
Strange charms, and pant for Cynthia in a cloud.
But let Lardella's fa
e avert you own!
Lardella once was fair, the early boast
Of proud St. Giles's, from it's ample Pound
To where the Column points the seven-fold day.
Happy, thrice happy, had she never known
A street more spacious! but ambition led
Her youthful footsteps, artless, unassur'd,
To Whitehall's fatal pavements: there she plied,
Like you, the active broom. At sight of her
The coachman dropp'd his lash, the porter oft
Forgot his burden, and with wild amaze
The tall well-booted sentry, arm'd in vain,
Lean'd from his horse to gaze upon her charms.
But fate reserv'd her for more dreadful ills:
A lord beheld her, and with powerful gold
Seduc'd her to his arms. What cannot gold
Effect, when aided by the matron's tongue,
Long tried and practis'd in the trade of vice,
Against th' unwary innocent! Awhile
Dazzled with splendor, giddy with the height
Of unexperienc'd greatness, she looks down
With thoughtless pride, nor sees the gulph beneath.
But soon, too soon! the high-wrought transport sinks
In cold indifference, and a newer face
Alarms her restless lover's sickle heart.
Distress'd, abandon'd, whither shall she fly?
How urge her former task, and brave the winds
And piercing rains, with limbs whose daintier sense
Shrinks from the ev'ning breeze? Nor has she now,
Sweet Innocence! thy calmer, heart-felt aid,
To solace or support the pangs she feels.
Why should the weeping Muse pursue her steps
Thro' the dull round of infamy; thro' haunts
Of publick lust, and every painful stage
Of ill-feign'd transport, and uneasy joy?
Too sure she tried them all, till her sunk eye
Lost it's last languish, and the bloom of health,
Which revell'd once on Beauty's virgin cheek,
Was pale disease, and meagre, penury.
Then, loath'd, deserted, to her life's last pang
In bitterness of soul she curs'd in vain
Her proud betrayer; curs'd her fatal charms;
And perish'd in the streets from whence she sprung!
THE MERRY MONARCH; OR, K
-HTHOOD A JEST. A TALE.
WHEN good King Jemmy wore the British crown,
A pleasant jest for highest wit went down:
A pun, a quibble, a conundrum quaint,
Oft made a bishop of a man no saint,
Smart repartees pass'd all for sterling coin,
And wit was then as unrefin'd as wine:
The king himself, so rest his merry soul!
Could crack his joke—nor would his mirth controul;
But laugh full hearty if the jest were keen,
Nor could the care of kingdoms give him spleen.
Thus story tells—As he rode out one day,
To chace the stag, he lost, by chance, his way:
The courtiers eager, scour the spacious field,
While duty there did unto pleasure yield.
Alone, King Jemmy, with his usual grace,
Kept stepping onward in a common pace.
Till near two clowns he came, who work'd full hard,
Hedging a close behind a farmer's yard.
They spied the king; and, from his aukward mien,
Thought he some needy northern laird had been.
"Gend men," quoth he—and then he made his bow,
"Ken ye which way the nobles rode just now?
My business leads me unto our King James."
"I know him not, in troth!" quoth one: "it seems
He only minds his countrymen, while we
Labour thus hard to furnish out their glee."—
"Ride on," quoth t'other, "man, you'll find him out,
Surrounded by a gaudy Scottish rout:
Fear not thy fortune, Jemmy loves a loon,
And thou're some starving knight that wants a boon."—
"Weel fare ye," quoth the king; "and, o' my weard!
Goud character ye to your prince affeurd;
And Ise wat weel, it all gangs to his ear."—
"Why, then," quoth Dick, "for once the truth he'll hear."
So saying, to a grove that lay in sight,
On rode the king, and there thought fit to 'light;
Out-stretch'd his royal limbs upon the place,
And stept full sweetly on the verdant grass.
No policies of state disturb'd his mind,
But that good prince snor'd loud as any hind,
Until the chace was o'er, and stag was dead,
When duty found a place in courtier's head:
Nor had the noble train long sought their lord,
Ere fast they found him on the gay green-sward.
Hasty they then from reeking coursers spring;
While, with a smile, up rose the jocund king.
"My lords," quoth he, "as you rid yonder by,
Did you not, hedging, twa auld carles spy,
In leather doublets clad?"—"My liege, we did,"
Quoth one— "See then," said he, "them hither lead."
Straight they obey'd; and, as they dragg'd each clown,
"Ads me!" quoth Dick to Ralph, "we're both undone!
You man we took for some poor begging knight,
Is the king's grace."—"Ods fish," quoth Ralph, "you're right.
We shall be hang'd! What will become of Sue!
She'll pine to death."— "And so will Margery too.'
Them at a distance when the monarch spied,
He took the whynyard from his martial side;
Behind him on the ground it's point he stay'd,
As not much caring to survey the blade:
Low on their knees the trembling wretches crawl,
And sweat with fear their heads should lower fall.
"Your names," quoth Jemmy, in an angry tone;
"Mine is poor Dick!"—"Mine Ralph, a sorry clown!"—
"Weel," quoth the king, and gave their necks a strap,
"Sir Ralph!—Sir Richard!—ye may both get up:
Now knights ye are; and, o' my soul! I ween,
Twa peurer knights in Scotland ne'er were seen."
A loud applause the fawning crowd express'd,
To see two titles to—to make one jest,
THE DECISION. A TALE FOR WIDOW'S.
CLARISSA, sprightly once and gay,
Now sign'd the tedious hours away:
She mourn'd the kindest husband gone,
The husband much—but more the man.
Dark weeds conceal'd the fair from view;
Yet mightily became her, too!
She veil'd her pretty blubber'd face,
And wept her dear—with such a grace!
But, lo! young Florimond appears,
To dry the joyless widow's tears;
His suit she heard with warm disdain,
Protested all his hopes were vain;
Her hands she wrung, her robe she rent,
And wept, and "wonder'd what he meant!"
Yet thro' the drop that drown'd her eye,
'Tis said there shone a spark of joy;
And sage diviners could foretel,
That Florimond might yet do well.
A scruple now disturb'd her head,
"Whether it were a sin to wed?"
Queries and doubts her brain possess'd,
And busy Conscience broke her rest:
So, to resolve this knotty case,
She seeks the curate of the place.
"A Casuist?"—Deep—"Of judgment sound?
Yes! fam'd for parts—the parish round.
Clarissa, with the rising sun,
Approach'd her friend, and thus begun—
"Full sixty times hath yonder light
Arose, as oft hath sunk in night,
Since the lamented hour that gave
My faithful consort to the grave:
And, sure, no second love shall e'er
Efface the image, still so dear!
Clarissa, to his memory just,
For ever shall revere his dust.
Yet cruel Prudence may require
What else were foreign to Desire;
And, midst a weight of cares, you know,
What can a helpless woman do?
My heedless servants slight my call;
My farmers break, my houses fall:
And Florimond, with winning air,
Tells me they want a husband's care.
What does my learned Doctor say?"—
"Why, marry, sure—without delay."—
"But should the lover prove unkind,
A tyrant o'er a tender mind,
How hard my lot, condemn'd to mingle
Tears with my cup."—"Why, then, live single."
"But what if an obdurate fair
Should drive a lover to despair?
You know the foolish freaks of men;
I dread the thought!"—"Nay, take him, then!"
"But should he squander my estate,
And pawn my jewels, rings, and plate;
And witless I, by folly led,
Be turn'd adrift to beg my bread?"
The Doctor, vers'd in womankind,
Perceiv'd the workings of her mind.
"Madam," he cries, "when truth we seek,
All argument is often weak:
When reasons weigh on either part,
Opinion vainly tries her art;
So, till descending Truth prevails,
She sits suspended o'er the scales.
A way more speedy shall be tied;
A tongue shall speak that never ly'd.
Know, Madam, then, my parish-bell
Is famous for advising well;
Whate'er the point in question be,
It hits the matter to a T:
Thus, as it dictates by it's tone,
You sure must wed—or lie alone."
Now tow'rd the church in haste they go.
"The widow chearful?"—But so, so!
Yet vows whate'er the answer given,
She piously will yield to Heaven.
The Doctor, too, exhorts the fair
To listen and decide with care.
And now, the mystery to unfold,
He turn'd the key, the bell he toll'd.
The widow mus'd, and knit her brow—
"Well, Madam, pray, what think ye now?"
(Here first she sobb'd, and wip'd her eye,
Then labour'd out a doleful sigh:)
"Think, Doctor? Why, the case is plain:
Alas! I find resistance vain!—
Ah, Florimond! and must I yield?
In Heaven, 'tis said, our doom is seal'd.
Yet not by choice—by fate I'm won;
The will of Heaven be ever done!
The bell ordains thee to my bed;
For, hark! it fairly bids me "wed!"—
Dear Doctor, then—I speak with sorrow—
Be sure you be at home to-morrow?
Think you the simple tale too long?
Then hear the moral of my song:
The moral to no sex confin'd,
Regards alike all human kind.
Sly passion, and distemper'd sense,
Usurp the form of evidence;
And truth and falshood, good and ill,
Receive their tincture from the will.
Man boasts his reason's power in vain;
The pageant drags a hidden chain:
A varied shape each object wears,
Just as he wishes, hopes, or fears;
His deepest thought, his vaunted rule,
Is Passion's slave, or Folly's fool.
'Tis hence we blindly can approve
The very faults of those we love;
'Tis hence we blindly can debate
The noblest deeds of those we hate.
Abroad thus works perverted will;
At home our views are darker still:
And actions deem'd absurd in thee,
Are prudent, wise, and just, in me.
Self-love adores her own caprice,
Still deifies each darling vice;
And, by the colour of a name,
Removes at once the guilt and shame.
The prodigal is generous, free:
The Miser boasts oeconomy:
Gay, the Debauch'd; the Proud is great;
The bold Oppressor hates a Cheat;
The fawning Slave obliges all;
And mad Revenge is Honour's call.
Thus Passion shoots thro' every part;
The brain is tainted with the heart:
Weak Judgment falls before Temptation;
And Reason—is but Inclination.
THE COUNTRY JUSTICE. A TALE.
SIR John, a country Magistrate,
Of good round belly, hobbling gait,
Well know at ev'ry merry meeting,
Fam'd both for justice and for eating,
Was most severe, as stories tell us,
Aga oft the younger sprightly fellows:
When frolicksome, for youth are wild,
They chanc'd to get the maids with child,
Would sternly take the cause in hand,
And both the parties reprimand;
With utmost rigour would enforce
The rigid laws that came in course;
Nor ever in the least excuse
That slight
faux pas
so much in use.
And yet by some 'twas shrewdly thought,
That he himself was sometimes naught;
And those who heard what neighbours said,
Had little doubt he kiss'd his maid.
But strangely Time brings things about,
As murder some odd time will out;
And so it chanc'd, one luckless night,
When love unusual fir'd the knight,
His post so boldly he maintain'd,
The fatal growing proof remain'd;
For scarce six months were gone and past,
Ere Betty swell'd about the waist:
But warn'd before of this disaster,
The fearful wench inform'd her master;
Who—as it is the sinner's way,
To put far off the evil day—
Neglects her till so large it made her,
That to the neighbours it betray'd her.
Now good Sir John begins to stir,
And trembles for his character;
Advises Betty, full of care,
The bastard not on him to swear;
And if she'll put disgrace aside,
He'll for the child and her provide.
Betty, whose conscience wond'rous nice is,
Is puzzl'd in this doubtful crisis:
But truth beyond her virtue prizes,
And th' offer secretly despises;
Yet, as her circumstances lay,
Conjectur'd 'twas the wisest way,
Resentment and her thoughts to smother,
And say she'll lay it to another.
The knight thus eas'd, commits each whore,
And acts with rigour as before;
And tho' oft told of Betty's failing,
Pretends to disbelieve their railing;
Till time run on, and Betty grew
So large to each impartial view,
That now the danger was the same,
Against the cautious knight's good name:
When now to keep his fame he thought,
And ordered Betty to be brought.
The quorum sat; the blushing wench
In publick stood before the bench,
Sir John, who thought himself secure,
Began to thunder out his power;
Demands aloud, who has beguil'd
Th' unhappy maid, and got the child.
The book's held out, she stoops to kiss it—
And, "If I must disclose who is it,"
She cried—"that hath my truth beguil'd,
Sir John is father to the child!"
Now sudden grief, surprize, and shame,
O'er whelm the knight, and blast his fame.
The tale each stand'rous tongue reveals,
And swells the story as it tells:
To truth they add a thousand lies;
And shame increasing as it flies,
Each girl unpunish'd stains her gown,
And bastards swarm throughout the town.
ODE TO NASTINESS.
O Goddess of the dirty hue!
With eyes so red, with cheeks so blue!
With mouth so wide, and eke so wet!
With lips of snow! with teeth of jet!
O thou to whom the stars bequeath
A vulture's voice, and viper's breath!
Kindly accept the verse that's due
To, Cindercola, none but you.
Hail, Nastiness! I thee adore!
Cindercola's favourite care!
Mellow'd ye with her you sleep;
With her you bask at morning peep;
And comfortably funk and soak,
Lodg'd in a nasty, dirty smock;
Or else, in filth, you loll away,
In an undress, a summer's day.
What tho' the laundress may look grave;
They three-pence get, who three-pence save
And to wash oft the coarsest clout,
Most certainly, will wear it out.
Fast every festival you keep;
Watch much, if ye intend to sleep;
And be long dirty, if you mean
To enjoy the sweets of being clean.
O Nastiness! I thee adore;
Friend to the miser and the poor!
How many craftsmen by thee live!
How many poets with thee thrive!
And write, in rags and stinking room,
Works to bless ages yet to come:
Which, as the earth from chaos sprung,
Or cucumbers grow out of dung;
Or sugar, most resin'd, arose
From Indians black filth-pressing toes
So, from the rubbish of thy brain,
Rises a bright poetick strain;
Which, tho' in dirty garrets bred,
Is yet in sine apartments read.
Monks merit Heaven in dirty cloisters,
And dirty shells preserve clean oysters.
Dear Cindercola, ever be
From cleanliness, so costly, free!
Dirt to our souls can do no harm;
Dirt helps to keep the body warm;
Dirt interferes not with our quiet;
And hunger's pleas'd with dirty diet;
Nay, some say, both at court and kirk,
Folks often go thro' dirty work.
From dirt we came, to dirt we go;
By God! all things are dirt below:
Be dirty, witty, then, and rake;
And shine like Chattsworth in the Peak:
Bright be your souls for ever seen;
Bright, thro' their nasty, dirty screen!
THE COMBAT; OR, RED, BLACK, AND WHITE.
A Chimney-sweep and Baker went to fight;
The Baker beat the Chimney-sweeper white:
The Chimney-sweep, tho' laid upon his back,
Took wind, and quickly beat the Baker-black.
In came a Brickdust-man, with porter fed,
And
at both Chimney-sweep and Baker red.
Th
, red, black, white, in clouds together lay,
And none could tell which party had the day.
EPITAPH, ON ALEXANDER PECK, ESQ.
BY MR. TATTAM.
HERE lies a Peck! which, some men say,
Was first of all a Peck of clay;
This, wrought with skill divine, while fresh,
Became a curious Peck of flesh:
Through various forms it's Maker ran;
Then, adding breath, made Peck a man.
Full sixty years, Peck felt life's bubbles,
Till death reliev'd a Peck of troubles.
Thus fell poor Peck, as all things must,
And here he lies—a Peck of dust!
A CURIOUS EPITAPH.
HERE lies interred
A friend to both sexes;
Who, from a strict obedience
To the Fundamental Laws of Nature,
Dedicated himself entirely
To the use of his superiors.
Framed for the good of the publick,
He proved
A useful subject to the King,
A constant support to the Constitution,
And
An unwearied benefactor to every
Body.
He was so well acquainted
With the affairs of the House of Commons,
And so necessary in their operations,
That there was no motion made
To which he was not
Privy.
He was easy of access to all:
And, though his chief companions
Were of a loose disposition,
The most modest ladies
Scrupled not to visit him
On any urgent occasion,
So great were his good offices.
In short,
He relieved the poor and needy,
And
The rich he sent empty away.