conveying into his plate, and harmless spent their force. The fair
warrior perceived their miscarriage, and immediately from her fair
bosom drew forth a deadly sigh. A sigh which none could have heard
unmoved, and which was sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen
beaus; so soft, so sweet, so tender, that the insinuating air must
have found its subtle way to the heart of our heroe, had it not
luckily been driven from his ears by the coarse bubbling of some
bottled ale, which at that time he was pouring forth. Many other
weapons did she assay; but the god of eating (if there be any such
deity, for I do not confidently assert it) preserved his votary; or
perhaps it may not be dignus vindice nodus, and the present security
of Jones may be accounted for by natural means; for as love frequently
preserves from the attacks of hunger, so may hunger possibly, in
some cases, defend us against love.
"The fair one, enraged at her frequent disappointments, determined
on a short cessation of arms. Which interval she employed in making
ready every engine of amorous warfare for the renewing of the attack
when dinner should be over.
"No sooner then was the cloth removed than she again began her
operations. First, having planted her right eye sidewise against Mr.
Jones, she shot from its corner a most penetrating glance; which,
though great part of its force was spent before it reached our
heroe, did not vent itself absolutely without effect. This the fair
one perceiving, hastily withdrew her eyes, and levelled them
downwards, as if she was concerned for what she had done; though by
this means she designed only to draw him from his guard, and indeed to
open his eyes, through which she intended to surprise his heart. And
now, gently lifting up those two bright orbs which had already begun
to make an impression on poor Jones, she discharged a volley of
small charms at once from her whole countenance in a smile. Not a
smile of mirth, nor of joy; but a smile of affection, which most
ladies have always ready at their command, and which serves them to
show at once their good-humour, their pretty dimples, and their
white teeth.
"This smile our heroe received full in his eyes, and was immediately
staggered with its force. He then began to see the designs of the
enemy, and indeed to feel their success. A parley now was set on
foot between the parties; during which the artful fair so slily and
imperceptibly carried on her attack, that she had almost subdued the
heart of our heroe before she again repaired to acts of hostility.
To confess the truth, I am afraid Mr. Jones maintained a kind of Dutch
defence, and treacherously delivered up the garrison, without duly
weighing his allegiance to the fair Sophia. In short, no sooner had
the amorous parley ended and the lady had unmasked the royal
battery, by carelessly letting her handkerchief drop from her neck,
than the heart of Mr. Jones was entirely taken, and the fair conquerer
enjoyed the usual fruits of her victory."
Here the Graces think proper to end their description, and here we
think proper to end the chapter.
Chapter 6
A friendly conversation in the kitchen, which had a very common,
though not very friendly, conclusion
While our lovers were entertaining themselves in the manner which is
partly described in the foregoing chapter, they were likewise
furnishing out an entertainment for their good friends in the kitchen.
And this in a double sense, by affording them matter for their
conversation, and, at the same time, drink to enliven their spirits.
There were now assembled round the kitchen fire, besides my landlord
and landlady, who occasionally went backward and forward, Mr.
Partridge, the serjeant, and the coachman who drove the young lady and
her maid.
Partridge having acquainted the company with what he had learnt from
the Man of the Hill concerning the situation in which Mrs. Waters
had been found by Jones, the serjeant proceeded to that part of her
history which was known to him. He said she was the wife of Mr.
Waters, who was a captain in their regiment, and had often been with
him at quarters. "Some folks," says he, "used indeed to doubt
whether they were lawfully married in a church or no. But for my part,
that's no business of mine; I must own, if I was put to my corporal
oath, I believe she is little better than one of us; and I fancy the
captain may go to heaven when the sun shines upon a rainy day. But
if he does, that is neither here nor there; for he won't want company.
And the lady, to give the devil his due, is a very good sort of
lady, and loves the cloth, and is always desirous to do strict justice
to it; for she hath begged off many a poor soldier, and, by her
good-will, would never have any of them punished. But yet, to be sure,
Ensign Northerton and she were very well acquainted together at our
last quarters; that is the very right and truth of the matter. But the
captain he knows nothing about it; and as long as there is enough
for him too, what does it signify? He loves her not a bit the worse,
and I am certain would any man through the body that was to abuse her;
therefore I won't abuse her, for my part. I only repeat what other
folks say; and to be certain, what everybody says, there must be
some truth in."- "Ay, ay, a great deal of truth, I warrant you,"
cries Partridge; "Veritas odium parit."*- "All a parcel of scandalous
answered the mistress of the house. "I am sure, now she is drest,
she looks like a very good sort of lady, and she behaves herself
like one; she gave me a guinea for the use of my cloaths."- "A very
good lady indeed!" cries the "and if you had not been a little
hasty, you would not have quarrelled with her as you did at
first."- "You need mention that with my truly!" answered she: "if it
had not been for your nonsense, nothing had You must be meddling
with what did not belong to you, and throw in your fool's
discourse."- "Well, well," answered he; past cannot be mended, so
there's an end of the matter." "Yes," cries she, "for this but will it
be mended ever the more hereafter? This is not the first time I have
suffered for your numscull's pate. I wish you would always hold your
tongue in the house, and meddle only in matters without doors, which
concern you. Don't you remember what happened about seven years
ago?"- "Nay, my dear," returned he, "don't rip up old stories. Come,
come, all's well, and I am sorry for what I done." The landlady was
going to reply, was prevented by the peace-making sorely to the
displeasure of Partridge, who was a great lover of what is called fun,
and a great promoter of those harmless quarrels which tend rather to
the production of comical than tragical incidents.
*The truth begets hatred.
The serjeant asked Partridge whither he and his master were
travelling? "None of your magisters," answered Partridge; "I am no
man's servant, I assure you; for, though I have misfortunes in the
world, I write gentleman after my name; and, as poor and simple I
may appear now, I have taught grammar-school in my time; sed hei mihi!
non sum quod fui."*- "No offence, I hope, sir," said the serjeant;
"where, then, if I may venture to be so bold, may you and your
friend be travelling?"- "You have now denominated us right," says
Partridge. "Amicis sumus. And I promise you my friend is one of the
greatest gentlemen in the kingdom" (at which words both landlord and
landlady pricked up their ears). "He is the heir of Squire
Allworthy."- "What, the squire who doth so much good all over the
country?" cries my landlady. "Even he," answered Partridge.- "Then I
warrant," says she, "he'll have a swinging great estate hereafter."-
"Most certainly," answered Partridge.- "Well," replied the landlady,
"I thought the first moment I saw him he looked like a good sort of
gentleman; but my husband here, to be sure, is wiser than anybody."-
"I own, my dear," cries he, "it was a mistake."- "A mistake, indeed!"
answered she; "but when did you ever know me to make such mistakes?"-
"But how comes it, sir," cries the landlord, "that such a great
gentleman walks about the country afoot?"- "I don't know," returned
Partridge; "great gentlemen have humours sometimes. He hath now a
dozen horses and servants at Gloucester; and nothing would serve him,
but last night, it being very hot wheather, he must cool himself with
a walk to yon high hill, whither I likewise walked with him to bear
him company; but if ever you catch me there again: for I was never so
frightened in all my life. We met with the strangest man there."-
"I'll be hanged," cries the landlord, "if it was not the Man of the
Hill, as they call him; if indeed he be a man; but I know several
people who believe it is the devil that lives there."- "Nay, nay, like
enough," says Partridge; "and now you put me in the head of it, I
verily and sincerely believe it was the devil, though I could not
perceive his cloven foot: but perhaps he might have the power given
him to hide that, since evil spirits can appear in what shape they
please."- "And pray, sir," says the serjeant, "no offence, I hope; but
pray what sort of a gentleman is the devil? For I have heard some of
our officers say there is no such person; and that it is only a trick
of the parsons, to prevent their being broke; for, if it was publickly
known that there was no devil, the parsons would be of no more use
than we are in time of peace."- "Those officers," says Partridge, "are
very great scholars, I suppose."- "Not much of schollards neither,"
answered the serjeant; "they have not half your learning, sir, I
believe; and, to be sure, I thought there must be a devil,
notwithstanding what they said, though one of them was a captain; for
methought, thinks I to myself, if there be no devil, how can wicked
people be sent to him? and I have read all that upon a book."- "Some
of your officers," quoth the landlord, "will find there is a devil, to
their shame, I believe. I don't question but he'll pay off some old
scores upon my account. Here was one quartered upon me half a year,
who had the conscience to take up one of my best beds, though he
hardly spent a shilling a day in the house, and suffered his men to
roast cabbages at the kitchen fire, because I would not give them a
dinner on a Sunday. Every good Christian must desire there should be a
devil for the punishment of such wretches."- "Harkee, landlord," said
the serjeant, "don't abuse the cloth, for I won't take it."- "D--n the
cloth!" answered the landlord, "I have suffered enough by them."-
"Bear witness, gentlemen," says the serjeant, "he curses the king, and
that's high treason."- "I curse the king! you villain," said the
landlord. "Yes, you did," cries the serjeant; "you cursed the cloth,
and that's cursing the king. It's all one and the same; for every man
who curses the cloth would curse the king it he durst; so for matter
o' that, it's all one and the same thing."- "Excuse me there, Mr.
Serjeant," quoth Partridge, "that's a non sequitur."*(2) - "None of
your outlandish linguo," answered the serjeant, leaping from his seat;
"I will not sit still and hear the cloth abused."- "You mistake me,
friend," cries Partridge. "I did not mean to abuse the cloth; I only
said your conclusion was a non sequitur."*- "You are another," cries
the serjeant, "an you come to that. No more a sequitur than yourself.
You are a pack of rascals, and I'll prove it; for I will fight the
best man of you all for twenty pound." This challenge effectually
silenced Partridge, whose stomach for drubbing did not so soon return
after the hearty meal which he had lately been treated with; but the
coachman, whose bones were less sore, and whose appetite for fighting
was somewhat sharper, did not so easily brook the affront, of which he
conceived some part at least fell to his share. He started therefore
from his seat, and, advancing to the serjeant, swore he looked on
himself to be as good a man as any in the army, and offered to box for
a guinea. The military man accepted the combat, but refused the wager;
upon which both immediately stript and engaged, till the driver of
horses was so well mauled by the leader of men, that he was obliged to
exhaust his small remainder of breath in begging for quarter.
*Alas! I am not what I was.
*(2) This word, which the serjeant unhappily mistook for an effront,
is a term in logic, and means that the conclusion does not follow from
the premises.
The young lady was now desirous to depart, and had given orders
for her coach to be prepared: but all in vain, for the coachman was
disabled from performing his office for that evening. An antient
heathen would perhaps have imputed this disability to the god of
drink, no less than to the god of war; for, in reality, both the
combatants had sacrificed as well to the former deity as to the
latter. To speak plainly, they were both dead drunk, nor was Partridge
in a much better situation. As for my landlord, drinking was his
trade; and the liquor had no more effect on him than it had on any
other vessel in his house.
The mistress of the inn, being summoned to attend Mr. Jones and
his companion at their tea, gave a full relation of the latter part of
the foregoing scene; and at the same time expressed great concern
for the young lady, "who," she said, "was under the utmost
