person, we have not chosen to introduce any such here. To say the
truth, I a little question whether mere man ever arrived at this
consummate degree of excellence, as well as whether there hath ever
existed a monster bad enough to verify that
--nulla virtute redemptum
A vitiis--*
in Juvenal; nor do I, indeed, conceive the good purposes served by
inserting characters of such angelic perfection, or such diabolical
depravity, in any work of invention; since, from contemplating either,
the mind of man is more likely to be overwhelmed with sorrow and shame
than to draw any good uses from such patterns; for in the former
instance he may be both concerned and ashamed to see a pattern of
excellence in his nature, which he may reasonably despair of ever
arriving at; and in contemplating the latter he may be no less
affected with those uneasy sensations, at seeing the nature of which
he is a partaker degraded into so odious and detestable a creature.
*Whose vices are not allayed with a single virtue.
In fact, if there be enough of goodness in a character to engage the
admiration and affection of a well-disposed mind, though there
should appear some of those little blemishes quas humana parum cavit
natura, they will raise our compassion rather than our abhorrence.
Indeed, nothing can be of more moral use than the imperfections
which are seen in examples of this kind; since such form a kind of
surprize, more apt to affect and dwell upon our minds than the
faults of very vicious and wicked persons. The foibles and vices of
men, in whom there is great mixture of good, become more glaring
objects from the virtues which contrast them and shew their deformity;
and when we find such vices attended with their evil consequence to
our favourite characters, we are not only taught to shun them for
our own sake, but to hate them for the mischiefs they have already
brought on those we love.
And now, my friend, having given you these few admonitions, we will,
if you please, once more set forward with our history.
Chapter 2
Containing the arrival of an Irish gentleman, with very
extraordinary adventures which ensued at the inn
Now the little trembling hare, which the dread of all her numerous
enemies, and chiefly of that cunning, cruel, carnivorous animal,
man, had confined all the day to her lurking place, sports wantonly
o'er the lawns; now on some hollow tree the owl, shrill chorister of
the night, hoots forth notes which might charm the ears of some modern
connoisseurs in music; now, in the imagination of the half-drunk
clown, as he staggers through the churchyard, or rather charnelyard to
his home, fear paints the bloody hobgoblin; now thieves and ruffians
are awake, and honest watchmen fast asleep; in plain English, it was
now midnight; and the company at the inn, as well those who have
been already mentioned in this history, as some others who arrived
in the evening, were all in bed. Only Susan Chambermaid was now
stirring, she being obliged to wash the kitchen before she retired
to the arms of the fond expecting hostler.
In this posture were affairs at the inn when a gentleman arrived
there post. He immediately alighted from his horse, and, coming up
to Susan, enquired of her, in a very abrupt and confused manner, being
almost out of breath with eagerness, Whether there was any lady in the
house? The hour of night, and the behaviour of the man, who stared
very wildly all the time, a little surprized Susan, so that she
hesitated before she made any answer; upon which the gentleman, with
redoubled eagerness, begged her to give him a true information,
saying, he had lost his wife, and was come in pursuit of her. "Upon my
shoul," cries he, "I have been near catching her already in two or
three places, if I had not found her gone just as I came up with
her. If she be in the house, do carry me up in the dark and show her
to me; and if she be gone away before me, do tell me which way I shall
go after her to meet her, and, upon my shoul, I will make you the
richest poor woman in the nation." He then pulled out a handful of
guineas, a sight which would have bribed persons of much greater
consequence than this poor wench to much worse purposes.
Susan, from the account she had received of Mrs. Waters, made not
the least doubt but that she was the very identical stray whom the
right owner pursued. As she concluded, therefore, with great
appearance of reason, that she never could get money in an honester
way than by restoring a wife to her husband, she made no scruple of
assuring the gentleman that the lady he wanted was then in the
house; and was presently afterwards prevailed upon (by very liberal
promises, and some earnest paid into her hands) to conduct him to
the bedchamber of Mrs. Waters.
It hath been a custom long established in the polite world, and that
upon very solid and substantial reasons, that a husband shall never
enter his wife's apartment without first knocking at the door. The
many excellent uses of this custom need scarce be hinted to a reader
who hath any knowledge of the world; for by this means the lady hath
time to adjust herself, or to remove any disagreeable object out of
the way; for there are some situations in which nice and delicate
women would not be discovered by their husbands.
To say the truth, there are several ceremonies instituted among
the polished part mankind, which, though they may, to coarser
judgments, appear as matters of mere form, are found to have much of
substance in them, by the more discerning; and lucky would it have
been had the custom above mentioned been observed by our gentleman
in the present instance. Knock, indeed, he did at the door, but not
with one of those gentle raps which is usual on such occasions. On the
contrary, when he found the door locked, he flew at it with such
violence, that the lock immediately gave way, the door burst open, and
he fell headlong into the room.
He had no sooner recovered his legs than forth from the bed, upon
his legs likewise, appeared- with shame and sorrow are we obliged to
proceed- our heroe himself, who, with a menacing voice, demanded of
the gentleman who he was, and what he meant by daring to burst open
his chamber in that outrageous manner.
The gentleman at first thought he had committed a mistake, and was
going to ask pardon and retreat, when, on a sudden, as the moon
shone very bright, he cast his eyes on stays, gowns, petticoats, caps,
ribbons, stockings, garters, shoes, clogs, &c., all which lay in a
disordered manner on the floor. All these, operating on the natural
jealousy of his temper, so enraged him, that he lost all power of
speech; and, without returning any answer to Jones, he endeavoured
to approach the bed.
Jones immediately interposing, a fierce contention arose, which soon
proceeded to blows on both sides. And now Mrs. Waters (for we must
confess she was in the same bed), being, I suppose, awakened from
her sleep, and seeing two men fighting in her bedchamber, began to
scream in the most violent manner, crying out murder! robbery! and
more frequently rape! which last, some, perhaps, may wonder she should
mention, who do not consider that these words of exclamation are
used by ladies in a fright, as fa, la, la, ra, da, &c., are in
music, only as the vehicles of sound, and without any fixed ideas.
Next to the lady's chamber was deposited the body of an Irish
gentleman who arrived too late at the inn to have been mentioned
before. This gentleman was one of those whom the Irish call a
calabalaro, or cavalier. He was a younger brother of a good family,
and, having no fortune at home, was obliged to look abroad in order to
get one; for which purpose he was proceeding to the Bath, to try his
luck with cards and the women.
This young fellow lay in bed reading one of Mrs. Behn's novels;
for he had been instructed by a friend that he would find no more
effectual method of recommending himself to the ladies than the
improving his understanding, and filling his mind with good
literature. He no sooner, therefore, heard the violent uproar in the
next room, than he leapt from his bolster, and, taking his sword in
one hand, and the candle which burnt by him in the other, he went
directly to Mrs. Waters's chamber.
If the sight of another man in his shirt at first added some shock
to the deceny of the lady, it made her presently amends by
considerably abating her fears; for no sooner had the calabalaro
entered the room than he cried out, "Mr. Fitzpatrick, what the devil
is the maning of this?" Upon which the other immediately answered, "O,
Mr. Maclachlan! I am rejoiced you are here.- This villain hath
debauched my wife, and is got into bed with her."- "What wife?" cries
Maclachlan; "do not I know Mrs. Fitzpatrick very well, and don't I see
that the lady, whom the gentleman who stands here in his shirt is
lying in bed with, is none of her?"
Fitzpatrick, now perceiving, as well by the glimpse he had of the
lady, as by her voice, which might have been distinguished at a
greater distance than he now stood from her, that he had made a very
unfortunate mistake, began to ask many pardons of the lady; and
then, turning to Jones, he said, "I would have you take notice I do
not ask your pardon, for you have bate me; for which I am resolved
to have your blood in the morning."
Jones treated this menace with much contempt; and Mr. Maclachlan
answered, "Indeed, Mr. Fitzpatrick, you may be ashamed of your own
self, to disturb people at this time of night; if all the people in
the inn were not asleep, you would have awakened them as you have
me. The gentleman has served you very rightly. Upon my conscience,
though I have no wife, if you had treated her so, I would have cut
your throat."
Jones was so confounded with his fears for his lady's reputation,
that he knew neither what to say or do; but the invention of women is,
as hath been observed, much readier than that of men. She
recollected that there was a communication between her chamber and
that of Mr. Jones; relying, therefore, on his honour and her own
assurance, she answered, "I know not what you mean, villains! I am
wife to none of you. Help! Rape! Murder! Rape!"- And now, the
landlady coming into the room, Mrs. Waters fell upon her with the
utmost virulence, saying, "She thought herself in a sober inn, and not
in a bawdy-house; but that a set of villains had broke into her
room, with an intent upon her honour, if not upon her life; and
both, she said, were equally dear to her."
The landlady now began to roar as loudly as the poor woman in bed
had done before. She cried, "She was undone, and that the reputation
of her house, which was never blown upon before, was utterly
destroyed." Then, turning to the men, she cried, "What, in the devil's
name, is the reason of all this disturbance in the lady's room?"
Fitzpatrick, hanging down his head, repeated, "That he had committed a
mistake, for which he heartily asked pardon," and then retired with
his countryman. Jones, who was too ingenious to have missed the hint
given him by his fair one, boldly asserted, "That he had run to her
assistance upon hearing the door broke open, with what design he could
not conceive, unless of robbing the lady; which, if they intended,
he said, he had the good fortune to prevent." "I never had a robbery
committed in my house since I have kept it," cries the landlady; "I
would have you to know, sir, I harbour no highwaymen here; I scorn the
word, thof I say it. None but honest, good gentlefolks are welcome
to my house; and I thank good luck, I have always had enow of such
customers; indeed as many as I could entertain. Here hath been my
lord-," and then she repeated over a catalogue of names and titles,
many of which we might, perhaps, be guilty of a breach of privilege by
inserting.
Jones after much patience, at length interrupted her, by making an
apology to Mrs. Waters, for having appeared before her in his shirt,
assuring her "That nothing but a concern for her safety could have
prevailed on him to do it." The reader may inform himself of her
answer, and, indeed, of her whole behaviour to the end of the scene,
by considering the situation which she affected, it being that of a
modest lady, who was awakened out of her sleep by three strange men in
her chamber. This was the part which she undertook to perform; and,
indeed, she executed it so well, that none of our theatrical actresses
could exceed her, in any of their performances, either on or off the
stage.
And hence, I think, we may very fairly draw an argument, to prove
how extremely natural virtue is to the fair sex; for, though there
is not, perhaps, one in ten thousand who is capable of making a good
actress, and even among these we rarely see two who are equally able
to personate the same character, yet this of virtue they can all
admirably well put on; and as well those individuals who have it
not, as those who possess it, can all act it to the utmost degree of
perfection.
When the men were all departed, Mrs. Waters, recovering from her
fear, recovered likewise from her anger, and spoke in much gentler
accents to the landlady, who did not so readily quit her concern for
the reputation of the house, in favour of which she began again to
number the many great persons who had slept under her roof; but the
lady stopt her short, and having absolutely acquitted her of having
had any share in the past disturbance, begged to be left to her
repose, which, she said, she hoped to enjoy unmolested during the
remainder of the night. Upon which the landlady, after much civility
and many courtsies, took her leave.
Chapter 3
A dialogue between the landlady and Susan the chambermaid, proper to
be read by all inn-keepers and their servants; with the arrival, and
