_How =John= got a terrible fright in his own house of Bull-hall._
It was not always without cause, that John Bull disliked the visits
of Lewis Baboon; he knew what fine sport that rogue might have made
for himself in such a house; and that besides cuckoldom, many other
misfortunes might have befallen the landlord. But history, with all her
gravity, will scarcely make posterity believe, how much John was afraid
of his own sister Margaret’s garret lodgers. Once upon a time, two or
three of them being seduced by some outlandish person, who stiled
himself young Mr. Geoffrey, got down stairs, ran into Margaret’s dining
room and drawing-room, overset the china, drank the cream, and having
found one of John’s game-keepers teaching the maids to coddle apples in
the back-kitchen, gave him a slap in the chops, and poured the scalding
water on him. From thence they proceeded as they thought proper; and
though Margaret threw her poker at them as they passed, with an air of
great bitterness and vexation, yet John took it in his head that it was
all her doing, and sent her word to keep them at home, otherwise he
would set fire to her house: but just as he was talking in this strain,
and abusing his poor sister as a treacherous vixin, who might have kept
better order in her house if she pleased, he was silenced at once with
a knock on the pate; and without staying to see what was the matter,
ran up to the leads, called out to his game-keepers, who were gone
nobody knows where, then to Nicholas Frog, Rousterdivel, and all the
damned names you can think of, to come to the assistance of John Bull,
whose throat was just going to be cut in his own house.
Mean time, Mr. Luchar, for this was the ringleader in all this
mischief, continued to do what he pleased. Whenever he met any of
John’s fellows, he asked, What trade are you? And if they were weavers,
he made them furnish what cloth he wanted; threatening to rip up their
guts. In like manner, if they were brewers, tanners, cooks, scullions,
or malsters, each in his way had something good for Mr. Luchar, and the
fellow had learned not to be afraid, although there were three hundred
of them together.
This fray, however, did not last long; Mr. Luchar was tired, and went
away home to his garret, and John, who had been more afraid than hurt,
came down stairs, and when he saw that the foe was actually gone,
called out to set fire to Peg’s house, to burn her, and all her vermin;
for, says he, we shall never get any peace for them. Mean time, the
game-keeper took heart at last, went up to the garret, and gave Mr.
Luchar a stunning blow in the guts, just as he was stripping to go to
bed, and dragged him down to the court, where John was in a little
prevailed on to come and see the object of his terror, with his hands
tied behind his back. Then, indeed, he began to be ashamed of his
own behaviour, and abused all his people for letting him be so much
afraid; he scolded the very scullions for letting the bacon be carried
off by so paultry a fellow as Mr. Luchar. In short, he and every body
else threw the blame upon his neighbour, but all agreed in cursing and
sinking sister Peg, to the deepest pit of hell.
It was hard to say what the poor woman had done to deserve all this
treatment; but some people set to work with her merely because it was
the fashion, and others found their account in it, some in one way,
some in another. As for the game-keeper, it was not very difficult to
see his motive; he had never beat any body before in all his life, and
wanted now to magnify his feats as much as he could, and accordingly
said, that few people knew the amount of what he had done; that if he
had not fought with sister Margaret’s people one and all, he was no
true man; that he totally subdued them, and knew of nobody to compare
himself to, but the ancient conquerors. That if any body said, that the
whole of Margaret’s people was not against him, he was a scoundrel, and
a rascal, and not to be trusted.
After this, who and who were to be trusted became the great question in
John’s house. There was no pretending to any thing without being able
to talk about trusting; and some people would scarcely let John Bull
trust himself. As for poor Peg, he was the finest fellow that spoke the
most ill of her. Even some of her own children who took care of nobody
but themselves all the time that Mr. Luchar was stirring, came abroad
now to confess with regret, that their mother was a sad vixin; that
she had given Mr. Luchar a dram of cherry-brandy, before he set out
upon that damned unnatural diabolical hell-fire scamper; that for their
parts it was true, they had the misfortune to be born in her house,
some people said of her own proper person, but few people know who
their real parents are: this, however, they knew, that they had left
her very young, and never liked her company. When one had made such
a speech as this, another endeavoured still to improve upon it; and
if one gave his mother two, three, or more abusive epithets, the next
did not fail to give five or six. At last one great dolt of a fellow,
called Bumbo, made a shift to get a round dozen of them on his fingers
ends, with which he never failed to entertain John Bull as often as he
met him.
The sequel of all this spite to their mother, was a great deal of
kindness to John Bull. Leave matters to us, said they, we shall take
care that so worthy a man shall not be imposed upon; you should
always have some of us about your own person, and give us some decent
employment, that no body may suspect the design of our being here; we
shall take care to place people in that unnatural sister’s house, so
that not a whisper shall be uttered among her gossips, but you shall
hear of it; and these speeches they commonly concluded, with a _beware
of counterfeits_. John upon all this looked like a perfect oaff: he
thought Mr. Luchar’s knife was at his throat every moment; and these
favourable dispositions they took care to improve. One time he was told
that a cousin of Mr. Luchar’s had come in secretly at Peg’s garret
window; at another time, that Mr. Luchar himself had bought a pair of
new shoes; at another time, that his sister Margaret had laughed at
him, when she heard that he went up to the leads; and all this, besides
being asked regularly every morning, what would become of him, if he
had not some trusty friends to stand between him and that unnatural
sister. In short, John was put from his sleep, and his appetite; he
stared and stammered in his speech; you could not hear a word of common
sense from him; and to have spoken a word of common sense, would have
disgraced you with him for ever.
History says, however, that John did not continue very long in this
humour; and, indeed, it must be owned, that it was for once a good
thing to be of a changeable temper: it would have been the devil
indeed, to have continued for ever in the hands of spies and informers,
perpetually talking of the miseries of human life; and the truth is,
that there was nothing in the world more repugnant to his ordinary
temper; so that though he could not all at once return to a perfect
cordiality with his sister, yet he listened to people who advised him
to take gentle methods with her. He accordingly, let even Mr. Luchar
himself off, with little more than an obligation to put on his breeches
every morning before he came down stairs among the ladies; and sent a
civil message to his sister, to ask her how she did, and to propose
taking a lease of her garret, and said that he would pay her any
rent she chose to put upon it. Many odd projects, indeed, were put in
his head at this time; such as to turn that garret into a stable and
coach-house; to make sister Peg lodge her coals in it, brew her ale,
and wash her linen; in short, to make Mr. Luchar himself, besides
putting on his breeches, carry up earth, and plant cabbages and turnips
upon the leads. It is true, that nothing of all this has been done; but
it is not John’s fault, he was at some expence about it, and meant all
for the best.