We are all upon the ving--Hey for London, girl!--Fecks! we have been
long enough here; for we’re all turned tipsy turvy--Mistress has
excarded Sir Ulic for kicking of Chowder; and I have sent O Frizzle
away, with a flea in his ear--I’ve shewn him how little I minded his
tinsy and his long tail--A fellor, who would think for to go, for to
offer, to take up with a dirty trollop under my nose--I ketched him in
the very feet, coming out of the housemaids garret.--But I have gi’en
the dirty slut a siserary. O Molly! the sarvants at Bath are devils
in garnet. They lite the candle at both ends--Here’s nothing but
ginketting, and wasting, and thieving and tricking, and trigging; and
then they are never content--They won’t suffer the ‘squire and mistress
to stay any longer; because they have been already above three weeks in
the house; and they look for a couple of ginneys a-piece at our going
away; and this is a parquisite they expect every month in the season;
being as how no family has a right to stay longer than four weeks in
the same lodgings; and so the cuck swears she will pin the dish-clout to
mistress’s tail; and the house-maid vows, she’ll put cowitch in master’s
bed, if so be he don’t discamp without furder ado--I don’t blame
them for making the most of their market, in the way of vails and
parquisites; and I defy the devil to say I am a tail-carrier, or ever
brought a poor sarvant into trouble--But then they oft to have some
conscience, in vronging those that be sarvants like themselves--For you
must no, Molly, I missed three-quarters of blond lace, and a remnant
of muslin, and my silver thimble; which was the gift of true love;
they were all in my workbasket, that I left upon the table in the
sarvants-hall, when mistresses bell rung; but if they had been under
lock and kay, ‘twould have been all the same; for there are double keys
to all the locks in Bath; and they say as how the very teeth an’t
safe in your head, if you sleep with your mouth open--And so says I to
myself, them things could not go without hands; and so I’ll watch
their waters: and so I did with a vitness; for then it was I found Bett
consarned with O Frizzle. And as the cuck had thrown her slush at me,
because I had taken part with Chowder, when he fit, with the turnspit,
I resolved to make a clear kitchen, and throw some of her fat into the
fire. I ketched the chare-woman going out with her load in the morning,
before she thought I was up, and brought her to mistress with her whole
cargo--Marry, what do’st think she had got in the name of God? Her
buckets were foaming full of our best bear, and her lap was stuffed with
a cold tongue, part of a buttock of beef, half a turkey, and a swinging
lump of butter, and the matter of ten mould kandles, that had scarce
ever been lit. The cuck brazened it out, and said it was her rite to
rummage the pantry; and she was ready for to go before the mare: that
he had been her potticary many years, and would never think of hurting a
poor sarvant, for giving away the scraps of the kitchen. I went another
way to work with madam Betty, because she had been saucy, and called me
skandelus names; and said O Frizzle couldn’t abide me, and twenty other
odorous falsehoods. I got a varrant from the mare, and her box being
sarched by the constable, my things came out sure enuff; besides a full
pound of vax candles, and a nite-cap of mistress, that I could sware to
on my cruperal oaf--O! then madam Mopstick came upon her merry
bones; and as the squire wouldn’t hare of a pursecution, she scaped a
skewering: but the longest day she has to live, she’ll remember your
Humble sarvant, W. JENKINS BATH, May 15.
If the hind should come again, before we be gone, pray send me the shift
and apron, with the vite gallow manky shoes; which you’ll find in my
pillowber--Sarvice to Saul--
To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon.
You are in the right, dear Phillips; I don’t expect regular answers
to every letter--I know a college-life is too circumscribed to afford
materials for such quick returns of communication. For my part, I am
continually shifting the scene, and surrounded with new objects; some
of which are striking enough. I shall therefore conclude my journal for
your amusement; and, though, in all appearance, it will not treat of
very important or interesting particulars, it may prove, perhaps, not
altogether uninstructive and unentertaining.
The music and entertainments of Bath are over for this season; and
all our gay birds of passage have taken their flight to Bristolwell,
Tunbridge, Brighthelmstone, Scarborough, Harrowgate, &c. Not a soul is
seen in this place, but a few broken-winded parsons, waddling like so
many crows along the North Parade. There is always a great shew of
the clergy at Bath: none of your thin, puny, yellow, hectic figures,
exhausted with abstinence, and hardy study, labouring under the morbi
eruditorum, but great overgrown dignitaries and rectors, with rubicund
noses and gouty ancles, or broad bloated faces, dragging along great
swag bellies; the emblems of sloth and indigestion.
Now we are upon the subject of parsons, I must tell you a ludicrous
adventure, which was achieved the other day by Tom Eastgate, whom you
may remember on the foundation of Queen’s. He had been very assiduous
to pin himself upon George Prankley, who was a gentleman-commoner of
Christchurch, knowing the said Prankley was heir to a considerable
estate, and would have the advowson of a good living, the incumbent of
which was very old and infirm. He studied his passions, and flattered
them so effectually, as to become his companion and counsellor; and,
at last, obtained of him a promise of the presentation, when the living
should fall. Prankley, on his uncle’s death, quitted Oxford, and made
his first appearance in the fashionable world at London; from whence
he came lately to Bath, where he has been exhibiting himself among the
bucks and gamesters of the place. Eastgate followed him hither; but he
should not have quitted him for a moment, at his first emerging into
life. He ought to have known he was a fantastic, foolish, fickle
fellow, who would forget his college-attachments the moment they ceased
appealing to his senses. Tom met with a cold reception from his old
friend; and was, moreover, informed, that he had promised the living to
another man, who had a vote in the county, where he proposed to offer
himself a candidate at the next general election. He now remembered
nothing of Eastgate, but the freedoms he had used to take with him,
while Tom had quietly stood his butt, with an eye to the benefice; and
those freedoms he began to repeat in common-place sarcasms on his person
and his cloth, which he uttered in the public coffeehouse, for the
entertainment of the company. But he was egregiously mistaken in
giving his own wit credit for that tameness of Eastgate, which had been
entirely owing to prudential considerations. These being now removed,
he retorted his repartee with interest, and found no great difficulty in
turning the laugh upon the aggressor; who, losing his temper, called him
names, and asked, If he knew whom he talked to? After much altercation,
Prankley, shaking his cane, bid him hold his tongue, otherwise he could
dust his cassock for him. ‘I have no pretensions to such a valet (said
Tom) but if you should do me that office, and overheat yourself, I have
here a good oaken towel at your service.’
Prankley was equally incensed and confounded at this reply. After a
moment’s pause, he took him aside towards die window; and, pointing to
the clump of firs, on Clerken-down, asked in a whisper, if he had
spirit enough to meet him there, with a case of pistols, at six o’clock
tomorrow morning. Eastgate answered in the affirmative; and, with a
steady countenance, assured him, he would not fail to give him the
rendezvous at the hour he mentioned. So saying, he retired; and the
challenger stayed some time in manifest agitation. In the morning,
Eastgate, who knew his man, and had taken his resolution, went to
Prankley’s lodgings, and roused him by five o’clock.
The squire, in all probability, cursed his punctuality in his heart, but
he affected to talk big; and having prepared his artillery overnight,
they crossed the water at the end of the South Parade. In their progress
up the hill, Prankley often eyed the parson, in hopes of perceiving
some reluctance in his countenance; but as no such marks appeared, he
attempted to intimidate him by word of mouth. ‘If these flints do their
office (said he) I’ll do thy business in a few minutes.’ ‘I desire you
will do your best (replied the other); for my part, I come not here to
trifle. Our lives are in the hands of God; and one of us already totters
on the brink of eternity’ This remark seemed to make some impression
upon the squire, who changed countenance, and with a faultering accent
observed, ‘That it ill became a clergyman to be concerned in quarrels
and bloodshed’--‘Your insolence to me (said Eastgate) I should have bore
with patience, had not you cast the most infamous reflections upon my
order, the honour of which I think myself in duty bound to maintain,
even at the expence of my heart’s blood; and surely it can be no crime
to put out of the world a profligate wretch, without any sense of
principle, morality, or religion’--‘Thou may’st take away my life (cried
Prankley, in great perturbation) but don’t go to murder my character.
What! has’t got no conscience?’ ‘My conscience is perfectly quiet
(replied the other); and now, Sir, we are upon the spot--Take your
ground as near as you please; prime your pistol; and the Lord, of his
infinite mercy, have compassion upon your miserable soul!’
This ejaculation he pronounced in a loud solemn tone, with his hat off,
and his eyes lifted up; then drawing a large horse-pistol, he presented,
and put himself in a posture of action. Prankley took his distance, and
endeavoured to prime, but his hand shook with such violence, that he
found this operation impracticable--His antagonist, seeing how it was
with him, offered his assistance, and advanced for that purpose; when
the poor squire, exceedingly alarmed at what he had heard and seen,
desired the action might be deferred till next day, as he had not
settled his affairs. ‘I ha’n’t made my will (said he); my sisters are
not provided for; and I just now recollect an old promise, which my
conscience tells me I ought to perform--I’ll first convince thee,
that I’m not a wretch without principle, and then thou shalt have an
opportunity to take my life, which thou seem’st to thirst after so
eagerly.’
Eastgate understood the hint; and told him, that one day should break no
squares: adding, ‘God forbid that I should be the means of hindering you
from acting the part of an honest man, and a dutiful brother’--By virtue
of this cessation, they returned peaceably together. Prankley forthwith
made out the presentation of the living, and delivered it to Eastgate,
telling him at the same time, he had now settled his affairs, and was
ready to attend him to the Fir-grove; but Tom declared he could not
think of lifting his hand against the life of so great a benefactor--He
did more: when they next met at the coffeehouse, he asked pardon of Mr
Prankley, if in his passion he had said any thing to give him offence;
and the squire was so gracious as to forgive him with a cordial shake of
the hand, declaring, that he did not like to be at variance with an old
college companion--Next day, however, he left Bath abruptly; and then
Eastgate told me all these particulars, not a little pleased with the
effects of his own sagacity, by which he has secured a living worth
160l. per annum.
Of my uncle, I have nothing at present to say; but that we set out
tomorrow for London en famille. He and the ladies, with the maid and
Chowder in a coach; I and the man-servant a-horseback. The particulars
of our journey you shall have in my next, provided no accident happens
to prevent,
Yours ever, J. MELFORD BATH May 17.
To Dr LEWIS.