The ‘squire has been so kind as to rap my bit of nonsense under the
kiver of his own sheet--O, Mary Jones! Mary Jones! I have had trials and
trembulation. God help me! I have been a vixen and a griffin these many
days--Sattin has had power to temp me in the shape of van Ditton,
the young ‘squire’s wally de shamble; but by God’s grease he did
not purvail--I thoft as how, there was no arm in going to a play at
Newcastle, with my hair dressed in the Parish fashion; and as for the
trifle of paint, he said as how my complexion wanted touch, and so I
let him put it on with a little Spanish owl; but a mischievous mob of
colliers, and such promiscous ribble rabble, that could bare no smut
but their own, attacked us in the street, and called me hoar and painted
Issabel, and splashed my close, and spoiled me a complete set of blond
lace triple ruffles, not a pin the worse for the ware--They cost me
seven good sillings, to lady Griskin’s woman at London.
When I axed Mr Clinker what they meant by calling me Issabel, he put the
byebill into my hand, and I read of van Issabel a painted harlot, that
vas thrown out of a vindore, and the dogs came and licked her blood.
But I am no harlot; and, with God’s blessing, no dog shall have my poor
blood to lick: marry, Heaven forbid, amen! As for Ditton, after all his
courting, and his compliment, he stole away an Irishman’s bride, and
took a French leave of me and his master; but I vally not his going a
farting; but I have had hanger on his account--Mistriss scoulded like
mad; thof I have the comfit that all the family took my part, and even
Mr Clinker pleaded for me on his bended knee; thof, God he knows, he
had raisins enuff to complain; but he’s a good sole, abounding with
Christian meekness, and one day will meet with his reward.
And now, dear Mary, we have got to Haddingborrough, among the Scots, who
are civil enuff for our money, thof I don’t speak their lingo--But they
should not go for to impose upon foreigners; for the bills in their
houses say, they have different easements to let; and behold there is
nurro geaks in the whole kingdom, nor any thing for poor sarvants, but
a barrel with a pair of tongs thrown a-cross; and all the chairs in the
family are emptied into this here barrel once a-day; and at ten o’clock
at night the whole cargo is flung out of a back windore that looks into
some street or lane, and the maids calls gardy loo to the passengers
which signifies Lord have mercy upon you! and this is done every night
in every house in Haddingborrough; so you may guess, Mary Jones, what a
sweet savour comes from such a number of profuming pans; but they say it
is wholesome, and, truly, I believe it is; for being in the vapours, and
thinking of Issabel and Mr Clinker, I was going into a fit of astericks,
when this fiff, saving your presence, took me by the nose so powerfully
that I sneezed three times, and found myself wonderfully refreshed; and
this to be sure is the raisin why there are no fits in Haddingborrough.
I was likewise made believe, that there was nothing to be had but
oatmeal and seeps-heads; but if I hadn’t been a fool, I mought have
known there could be no heads without kerkasses--This very blessed day
I dined upon a delicate leg of Velsh mutton and cully-flower; and as
for the oat-meal, I leave that to the sarvants of the country, which are
pore drudges, many of them without shoes or stockings--Mr Clinker tells
me here is a great call of the gospel; but I wish, I wish some of
our family be not fallen off from the rite way--O, if I was given to
tailbaring, I have my own secrets to discover--There has been a deal
of huggling and flurtation betwixt mistress and an ould Scotch officer,
called Kismycago. He looks for all the orld like the scare-crow that our
gardener has set up to frite away the sparrows; and what will come of
it, the Lord knows; but come what will, it shall never be said that I
menchioned a syllabub of the matter--Remember me kindly to Saul and the
kitten--I hope they got the horn-buck, and will put it to a good yuse,
which is the constant prayer of,
Dear Molly, Your loving friend, WIN. JENKINS ADDINGBOROUGH, July 18.
To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon.