_A Voice from the Basket._
Before I reached Home, a drizzling Rain began to fall, which I was very
sorry for on _Gatty's_ Account.
In the Course of the Evening, Dr. _Elwes_ called. He said, "What could
that young Baggage mean by sending me her three Pounds? I give them in
Charge to you, Mrs. _Patty_, to remit to her, since I don't know her
Address."
I said, "You are very kind, _Doctor_, but Lady _Betty_ is well able to
remunerate you."
He said, "Oh, hang Lady _Betty_--I don't return the Money to her, but
to Mrs. _Gatty_."
"Perhaps," said I, "Mrs. _Gatty's_ Pride will be hurt."
"And have I no Pride, neither?" says he. "I am not accustomed to take
Fees of a Lady's Maid."
So, as I saw it was to be so, I said no more, except by Way of Thanks
in _Gatty's_ Name; and resolved to remit her the Money as soon as I
received a Letter from her.
The Letter was not long a-coming. I have it before me now.
"Larkfield, Hants.,
"Sept. 14, 1749.
"Dear Mrs. _Patty_,
"Your last Look said so plainly that you should like to hear a Voice
from the Basket, that I have taken the largest Sheet of Paper I can
find, to tell you about my Journey Home, and how happy I am. About
Half-an-hour after we started, it began to rain pretty fast, which
incommoded me more than my Companion, as she covered her Head and
Shoulders with a piece of Sacking, from which the Rain ran down
upon me. When we changed Horses, the Men inside got out to stretch
themselves, and I then observed that the Passenger in the Roquelaure
was Squire _Heavitree_, the Father of a Gentleman Farmer in our
Neighbourhood whom we know pretty well, and who was doubtless on his
Way to visit his Son and have a little Shooting. He, pitying me in
the Rain, stepped up and said, 'Young Woman, if my Roquelaure will be
of any Service.... Why, _Gatty_! is it you? Art going Home, Child?
There's Room inside the Coach for thee.... Come down, come down from
the Basket, I'll pay the Difference!' And, almost whether I would or
no, he made me alight and get into the Coach, where I had to ride
bodkin between him and the fat Woman with the Puppy-Dog. At first I
was very glad to be sheltered from the Rain, but the Coach was very
close, and we had only one Window partly open. The _Squire_ chatted
so cordially with me, however, that I had little Time to think of
Disagreeables; and when he had told me all he had to tell, he fell to
questioning. Most of the Passengers were nodding, which was all the
better, as I did not like mentioning Names before Folks. By-and-by,
the _Squire_ became quiet, and I guessed he was going to nod too; but,
stealing a Look at him, I saw he was only thinking. We were now going
slowly over a heavy, sandy Road, and the Coach rocked a good deal, and
sometimes stuck. I feared once or twice we should be overturned; but
the _Squire_ said, 'No Danger;' and, to divert my Attention, pointed
out a Gibbet across the Heath, on which a Highwayman hung in Chains;
no very pleasant Object. As I looked somewhat apprehensively towards
it, suddenly the open Window was blocked up by a Horseman with a
black Crape over his Face, who, crying 'Your Money or your Lives!'
fired straight through the Coach, so as to shatter the opposite Glass.
The next Moment, another Highwayman appeared at the other Window.
There's no describing the Noise, Uproar, and Confusion, the Smoke,
Stench of Gunpowder, shrieking of Women, and barking of the Puppy. The
next Moment, our stout old _Squire_, disengaging a Blunderbuss from
its Sling over our Heads, presented the Muzzle full at the Highwayman
who had not yet fired, and sprang out of the Coach with it; on which,
the Man galloped up the Bank, stooping low, so as to keep his Horse's
Neck between his Head and the Piece; at the same Time dropping his
Pistol, which was secured to his Waist by a leathern Strap. He called
to the Postilion who rode our third Horse, 'Drive on!' 'No, stop,'
cries the _Squire_, 'for I see another Coach coming up, which may
contain an unarmed Party!' The Highwayman, reiterating, 'Drive on!'
galloped across the Heath, followed by his two Companions; for a
_third_ had been at our first Horse's Head all the While. The _Squire_
continued levelling his Piece at them as long as they were within
Range, then took off his Hat, wiped his Head, and turned about to us
with a Look of Satisfaction. The other two Men, who all this While had
been as white as Death and as still as Stones, now cried, 'Well done,
_Squire_! we're much indebted to you!' while the outside Passengers
gave him three Cheers. He took mighty little Note of them, but stepped
up to the Coach that had now come up, which proved to contain the
Duke of _Newcastle_, who, being unarmed, was very glad to continue
his Journey in Company with us. Thus were three Desperadoes put to
flight by one energetic old Man! In another Hour we reached the Inn
where we were to dine, where the Duke parted Company with us. The
_Squire_ sat at the Head of the Table, and made me sit next him, and
insisted on pledging all the Ladies, to keep up our Courage. Every
body talked fast and ate fast too, as we were elated at our Escape
and pretty hungry. I should tell you, the fat Woman maintained that
her snappish little Puppy had thrown the Robber off his Guard; but
the _Squire_ shook his Head upon't. While fresh Horses were putting
to, a couple of Horsemen, apparently a Clergyman and his Servant,
rode into the Inn-Yard. The _Squire_, stepping out to them, related
what had just occurred, and cautioned them against crossing the Heath
unarmed. They thanked him, but told him they were two Police-Officers
in Disguise, and well armed in the Hope of Attack. In fact, as we have
since learnt, they were beset by the very Men who had assailed us,
and giving Chase to the Gang, who dispersed as wide as they could,
followed them all across the Country till they succeeded in capturing
two; one of whom swam his Horse across a River, but was taken on the
other Side. The _Squire_ has since been asked to appear against them,
but has declined, saying there is already sufficient Evidence, and he
has no Mind to swear away Lives that he spared when his Blood was hot.
"After this, you may suppose we could talk of Nothing but Murders,
Robberies and such-like delightful Subjects during the greater Part
of our Journey: and each seemed trying to outdo the other, in hope
of making the others forget how tamely all had behaved except the
_Squire_. Gradually we dropped our Companions at one Place or another,
till none remained but the _Squire_, myself, and the fat Woman. He
now began to be amused at the Joy I could not help betraying at the
Sight of every well-known Landmark, and tried to tease me by supposing
a Dozen ridiculous Accidents that might have happened at Home, to
disappoint me of my Pleasure. At length, we stopped at the Corner of
a By-Road in _Larkfield_ Parish, and young Mr. _Heavitree_ comes up.
'Are you there, _Father_?' says he, scrambling up on the Step to look
in. 'All right, my Boy,' says the _Squire_, grasping his Hand, which
he shook heartily, 'and here's _Gatty Bowerbank_ come Home to see her
_Mother_.' Mr. _Heavitree_ gave me such a cheerful Smile! 'How glad
they will all be!' said he, 'they do not in the least expect you,
and have been wondering why you have let them be so long without a
Letter. I was at your _Mother's_ just now.' 'She's quite well, then?'
cried I. 'Oh yes,' said he, 'but _you_ don't look very well, I think.'
'Manners, _Jack_!' says the _Squire_. 'Well, _Father_, I meant no
Harm; here are Horses, Sir, for you and me, and a light Cart for your
Luggage.' 'Put Mrs. _Gatty's_ Baggage into the Cart too, my Boy,' says
the _Squire_, 'and send the Horses round to the _Green Hatch_, for
I've a Mind to walk across the Fields with this young Damsel, and see
what Reception she gets, and I suppose you won't Mind coming along
with us.' 'Not I, Sir,' said Mr. _Heavitree_, 'I shall like it very
much.' So, when the Luggage was put in the Cart, and the Coachman
was settled with, we started off, as sociable as could be, talking
about the Highway Robbery; and the _Squire_ took Care to tell his
Son that I was the only Woman who did not scream when the Pistol was
fired into the Coach. Well, we got to the dear old Garden-Gate; and
there, strolling along the pebbled Walk just within it, were _Lucy_
and _Pen_, their Arms about each other's Necks.--The _Squire_ hemmed;
they looked round; and oh! what a Cry of Joy they gave! My _Mother_,
hearing the Noise, came out....
"Dear Mrs. _Patty_, I am writing as small as ever I can, and must
write still smaller, if I mean to get in Half of what I want to
say. Imagine what a happy Evening we had! My dear _Mother_ shed many
Tears, though, when she heard of your Kindness to me throughout my
Illness; and desired me to express her Thankfulness to you all in the
strongest Terms I could frame. My Ten Pounds proved very acceptable,
as it made up, with her Savings, just the Sum she wants to bind _Joe_
to our Village Doctor. _Penelope_ is learning to make Bone-Lace; and
Mrs. _Evans_ is so well content with _Lucy_, that she is going to
take her as second Teacher in her School next Quarter, so that we are
all getting on mighty well, one Way and another. Also my _Mother_
has realized a pretty little Sum by the Sale of some of my _Father's
Latin_ Books, and there are yet more left. Your delicious Plum-Cake
was done ample Justice to, and the Boys declare there never were such
Gingerbread-Nuts. Now I have filled my Paper to the very Edge, and
yet how much I have left unsaid! Put yourself in my Place, and you
will know all I would say to you, and to dear Mrs. _Honeywood_, and to
_Prue_; not forgetting Mr. _Honeywood_, to whom give my kind Regards."
"Your ever attached and grateful
"GERTRUDE BOWERBANK."
My _Father_, who was smoking his Pipe whilst I read this Letter to him
and my _Mother_, presently said, "I see them all!"
"See who, _Father_?"
"Everybody in Mrs. _Gatty's_ Letter--The old Woman with her Pipe, the
old Gentleman in his Roquelaure, the Robber hung in Chains on the
lone Heath, the Highwaymen, the stout old _Squire_ leaping out with
his Blunderbuss, my Lord _Duke_ coming up, the Police-Officers riding
into the Yard, the young Farmer coming to meet his Father, _Gatty_
flying up to her _Mother_--that Letter is as full of Pictures as this
_Chinese_ Paper."
After ruminating on it a While longer, he began again, with:
"_Gatty_ ought to marry the _Squire_."
"Oh _Father_! his _Son_, if you please!"
"How do you know the Son is a single Man?"
"Nay, how do we know the Squire is a Widower? He's too old."
"Perhaps she won't marry either," said _Prue_.
"Perhaps not, Mrs. _Prue_, but let me tell you, neither you nor your
Sister could have writ that Letter."
"Well, _Father_, I suppose a Woman does not get married for writing a
Letter. For my Part, I don't see much in it. Anybody, I suppose, could
write, if they had Anything to write about."
"No, that don't follow--it's a _non sequitur_, as the Scholars say."
"I don't set up for a Scholar, not I," said _Prue_, "I never was so
good a Hand at my Pen as _Patty_; but I worked the best Sampler, for
all that."
"Well," says my _Father_, "say, when you write to her, _Patty_, that I
don't care how often I pay a Shilling for such a Voice from the Basket
as that. I wish she'd send us one every Week."
It indeed was Something curious, how my _Father's_ Fancy was hit by
this Letter, which he got me to read to him many Evenings following.
What was more remarkable, Mr. _Fenwick_ praised it too, though after
a more temperate Manner. He called it easy Writing. Now, sure, what
is easy, is not so meritorious as what is difficult! And he added it
was almost as good as some of the Letters in the _Spectator_; which,
everybody must own, was immoderate. _Gatty_ could historify plain
enough what passed before her own Eyes and was heard by her own Ears;
but she could not frame a Sentence that required some Exertion of the
Mind to follow; which, I take it, is the Perfection of good Writing;
at least, I know that's the Way with our best Authors. And no Shame
to her for it: Women are not to be blamed for not shining in what is
out of their Province; and she spelt perfectly well, and wrote a neat,
flowing Hand, which had found Plenty of Practice under Lady _Betty_;
only, to set her up with the _Amandas_ and _Dorindas_ that corresponded
with Sir _Richard Steele_; why, the Thing was clearly preposterous.
Meanwhile, Mr. _Fenwick_ continued to find his Way down to us most
Evenings, with his Book in his Hand; and I must say he made the Time
pass very pleasantly and swiftly; but though he read quite loud enough
for such a small Company, 'twas evident to himself as well as to us,
that his Voice would by no means yet fill a Church; besides which,
his Breath soon became short, and a red Spot would come on his Cheek;
which, whenever my _Mother_ noticed, she always made him shut his
Book, and would talk about Anything that chanced, rather than let him
over-tire himself. Meanwhile, he heard Nothing, as far as I could
glean, of Mr. _Caryl_: I know he got no Letters, nor received any
Visitor; and that, I think, tended to make the red Spot infix itself
on his Cheek. I pitied him heartily--"Hope deferred maketh the Heart
sick"--but yet it was a Matter I could not presume to express Sympathy
with him upon; nor was I qualified to allay any of his Uneasiness. But
I kept anxiously looking out for Mr. _Caryl's_ entering the Shop. One
Forenoon, Lady _Betty's_ Man, Mr. _James_, came in; and, says he, "Your
Servant, Mrs. _Patty_--My _Lady_ is going to give a grand Masked Ball
to-morrow Evening; and it occurred to me that you and your Sister might
like to look on. If so, I can secure you good Places, where you will
see without being seen; and you will only have to come early, and ask
the Hall Porter for Mr. _James_."
I thanked him, and said it would be a vast Treat to us; and after a
little Talk about Mrs. _Gatty_, and my offering him some Refreshment,
which he readily selected in the Form of Cherry Brandy and Macarons, he
went away.
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