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Title: The history of the proceedings in the case of Margaret, commonly called Peg, only lawful sister to John Bull, Esq

Author: Adam Ferguson

Dubious author: David Hume

Release date: May 20, 2022 [eBook #68133]

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: W. Owen, 1761

Credits: Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY OF THE PROCEEDINGS IN THE CASE OF MARGARET, COMMONLY CALLED PEG, ONLY LAWFUL SISTER TO JOHN BULL, ESQ ***





  THE

  HISTORY

  OF THE

  PROCEEDINGS in the CASE

  OF

  MARGARET,

  Commonly called PEG, only lawful
  Sister to JOHN BULL, Esq;


  The SECOND EDITION.


  Printed for W. OWEN, near Temple Bar.
  MDCCLXI.




  THE

  CONTENTS.


  CHAP. I. _How =John= quarrelled with =Lewis
  Baboon= about dividing the West-common;
  and how instead of going to law,
  they came to blows_,                                16

  CHAP. II. _What sort of fellows =John= and =Lewis=
  were in use to employ to keep their orchards,
  and their poultry_,                                 23

  CHAP. III. _How =John= got a terrible fright in
  his own house of Bull-hall_,                        36

  CHAP. IV. _How =John’s= affairs had like to have
  gone to the Devil_,                                 48

  CHAP. V. _How =John= consulted with his friends
  about the method of retrieving his affairs_,        59

  CHAP. VI. _How the Nurse dreamt that =John
  Bull= had banished all the weavers_,                66

  CHAP. VII. _What happened after this conversation
  with the Nurse_,                                    77

  CHAP. VIII. _Concerning sister =Peg=_,              84

  CHAP IX. _How =Lewis Baboon= was belaboured
  and drubbed; and how =Jowler= behaved_,             91

  CHAP X. _How sister =Peg= began to look about
  her; and how she wrote a letter to her brother
  =John=_,                                            98

  CHAP XI. _How this letter was received by
  =John=_,                                           114

  CHAP XII. _How Mrs. =Bull’s= attendants were
  prepared on this subject_,                         119

  CHAP XIII. _How =Bumbo= discoursed with
  =John Bull’s= Nurse, and found her not so great
  a fool as he thought her_,                         129

  CHAP XIV. _Showing how it was the fashion
  to harangue Mrs. =Bull=_,                          141

  CHAP XV. _How Mrs. =Bull= sat still and heard
  a great deal more on this subject_,                152

  CHAP XVI. _How =Bumbo= gave his evidence_,
                                                     164
  CHAP XVII. _How Mrs. =Bull= settled her
  stomach_,                                          172




THE

HISTORY

OF THE

PROCEEDINGS in the CASE

OF

MARGARET,

COMMONLY CALLED PEG.


There being no history with which every learned reader is better
acquainted in general, than that of John Bull, and his sister Peg,
we shall spend very little time in preambles or introductions to the
present story. John and his sister lived many a day, as every body
knows, in the two adjoining houses which were left them by their
father; and it matters not now to say, how much better John was lodged
than his sister, and how many more improvements he had made on his
farm. We never heard of any difference arising between them on this
score, farther than some jeers and taunts between the blackguards or
scullions of either house, who generally got themselves bloody noses
upon the occasion. As for Peg herself, she was so far from complaining
of her portion, that nothing could offend her more, than to be told out
of doors, that she was not the richest heiress in the world.

It is not easy to say, whether it was Peg’s own temper, the badness of
her subject, or the perpetual vexations she met with in her youth,
that hindered her from minding her domestic affairs, so much as she
should have done: but the truth is, that matters were often at sixes
and sevens in her family; and her brother and she, to be sure, never
could agree about any thing. All the world knows how long their affairs
remained in confusion, merely because they would not employ the same
attorney, and what an aversion they had to trust their affairs in
common to any single person. Peg would say, “I’ll have nothing to do
with John’s lawyers; whoever I employ must mind nobody’s affairs but
mine. I have as good a right to be served as he; and if he pays more
than I do, let it be for services done to himself, not for cheating
me.” John again would swagger and swear, and said, that whoever Peg
employed, must be a dirty lousy fellow; and would come to no terms,
unless she would take a steward of his choosing.

It happened, however, at last, as every careful peruser of history
knoweth, that every man of the law, within the reach almost of John’s
knowledge, from the master down to the merest clerk-boy, died, or left
the country, or disappeared some how or other, and John was obliged
for once to put his papers in the hands of his sister’s lawyer, a very
book-learned man, as many people affirm even unto this day. But be
this as it will, Peg had the vanity to boast, that though her lawyer
now lived in John’s own house, yet it was she who gave that clod-pated
pock-puddened numskull the lawyer at last; and that this same man
of the law, if he had any gratitude to the house where he was born
and bred, would not let her be wronged, or forget her boys, when the
stock came to be divided. She trusted too, that they would remember
themselves, and if John or the attorney pretended to cheat them, she
talked no less than of beating out both their brains. John was really
at bottom a good-natured fellow, and knowing himself to be an overmatch
for Peg, did not mind her peevish humours a rush; but he would not have
liked her attorney for all that, if he had not expected to manage him,
by keeping him in his own house, and by putting clerks about him, who
never had any connexion with Margaret, or her hungry loons, from whom,
the truth is, he expected no good.

This affair being settled between the brother and sister, as well as
could be expected with so little cordiality on either side, their
common concerns began to be a little better managed, and people got
some rest in their beds; for they did not harbour vagrants, as they
used to do, to hamstring one another’s cattle, to tear up the young
planting, and knock out one another’s brains. They differed, it is
true, now and then about this thing, and t’other thing, and about
attornies and agents, but it always happened that they employed the
same person, even whilst John wished Peg at the bottom of the sea; and
Peg sometimes let devilish knocks at him, and the attorney too, when
she was jealous of either.

John, however, was so far lucky, that his sister concurred with him
very readily in most things of consequence, such as turning off Squire
Geoffry, and the like; insomuch, that he himself was not readier to
part with this Squire, as every body knows, although he claimed kindred
to Peg, as the foster-mother of his family; and to make all sure, she
put her hand as freely to the perpetual contract with Sir Thomas. This
was a gentleman in the neighbourhood, of an ancient family, and a
pretty fortune of his own: but he was willing to take charge of the
brother and sister’s affairs, provided he had some security that he
should not be turned out the next moment, which was accordingly granted
in the form of a contract, by virtue of which he continues to manage
their business in a very orderly regular manner.

This, however, did not hinder some persons in both families, who had
a hankering after Squire Geoffry, from being mad enough once and
again, to think of restoring him to his office, in spite of John’s
and Margaret’s teeth. They came sometimes from the garret, and from
the cellar, roaring about this matter; and when they got drunk, they
imagined nothing was easier to be done. The truth is, that if Peg had
not been firm to the contract, John would often have been sore beset.

Although the intention of this proem is far from being to give a full
account of the affairs of these two families, preceding the present
transaction, much less to censure or run down other grave historians,
who have published to the learned world any part of their history; yet
we cannot altogether pass in silence some few mistakes in the otherwise
elaborate work of the celebrated Sir Humphrey Polisworth, bred in the
learned university of Grub-street. An historian, in our opinion, should
be as mindful of truth in whatever he may occasionally mention, as he
is in the main series of his story. For want of attending to this
truth, the learned Sir Humphrey has unguardedly misrepresented the
nature of John’s and Peg’s agreement, together with the causes which
induced John to sollicit that accommodation. Many learned writers of
that time say, that the question was not then about John’s heir, but
about the old story the choice of a steward, and the perpetual contract
we have mentioned. But be this as it will, there was no disagreement
between John and his sister on either of these points, as Sir Humphrey
Polisworth himself doth acknowledge. On the contrary, if John roared
against Squire Geoffry, Peg tore her cap and her apron in perfect rage,
and was like cat and dog with the same Squire and his gang, all the
time they were in the management of John’s business.

The truth of the matter was, that about the time of the great change
we have mentioned, many people in both families said, Although we
agree now, we may quarrel hereafter, and it will be a plaguey thing
to come into the hands of different lawyers and attornies again, who
never fail to set people by the ears for their own advantage. John and
Margaret have lived so much better, since they came to employ the same
lawyer, that it is a pity they should ever be in danger of parting
their affairs. The lands of Bull-hall and Thistle-down were never
intended for two farms, the same hedge and ditch surround them, and
whilst they continue in one, they may be kept with half the looking
after; for nobody can be half so troublesome to either family, as they
have formerly been to one another. For these, and many more reasons, an
agreement was thought upon; and though it went somewhat against John’s
stomach, yet he coaxed and flattered sister Peg till he obtained her
consent, not to come to live in his house, as the learned Sir Humphrey
Polisworth has erroneously related, but merely to shut up her own
compting-room, dismiss her overseers, and send her clerks to John’s
house, to manage their affairs together with his accomptant, under
the inspection of the great lawyer, as he was then called, in both
families.

This agreement, however, did not please every body. The servants who
attended Peg’s compting-room, were angry at the loss of their vails.
The upper servants, as every body knows, mismanaged their part of the
business some how or other, and many people said, that the house looked
melancholy when the windows of the counting-room just looking to the
South were shut up. In short, you could hear a buzz in every corner of
the house, that the whole family was undone for ever. Jack himself grew
very sulky, and for the turn of a straw would have played the devil.
But what will not a little time to. Peg’s people got gradually into
better humour; Jack’s zeal for the contract made with Sir Thomas, soon
reconciled him to whatever was connected with it, and Peg’s affairs
went on so tolerably, that every body was pacified, except the few who
would be pleased with nothing, unless Squire Geoffry was restored.

About the time that Sir Thomas came to the office, there was a great
turmoil in John’s kitchin and back-yard, and in Peg’s garret, where
indeed she harboured a parcel of curious fellows, who did not mind
the business of the family much, but would run you up and down stairs
like lightning, sometimes get into the kitchen, the hen roost, or back
yard, and snap up any thing their fingers could lay hold of. Their
mistress seldom got any rent from them, except a days work now and
then in harvest, or the use of their children to keep the crows from
the barley. But the true secret of her liking to them was, that they
were excellent fellows at a brawl, and you had as good put your head
in the fire, as meddle with their mistress when they were by. But Peg
could never get them to agree among themselves till very lately, nor
always to behave very respectfully to herself; insomuch, that both John
and she were often tempted to condemn that garret. But things must have
their course, the garret gentry have sometimes done excellent service,
and there is nobody John himself likes better to see about him, when
Lewis Baboon or Lord Strutt come about cudgel-playing, which is a very
common case, as the learned Sir Humphrey has very well observed.




CHAP. I.

 _How =John= quarrelled with =Lewis Baboon= about dividing the
 West-common; and how instead of going to law, they came to blows._


We account it a great oversight in the learned Sir Humphrey Polisworth,
that he has taken little or no notice of John Bull’s land-estate, his
orchards, kitchen-grounds, and corn-fields, of which he has always
possessed an excellent share; but considered him as a simple clothier
and mechanic, merely because he sent goods of this, and many other
kinds to market. John got ready money, it is true, by the sale of
his goods; but the great support of his family, and what made him be
treated like a gentleman in the neighbourhood, was the excellent manor
of Bull-hall, where John and his posterity may find capon and bacon,
and beef and mutton, without being obliged to any body, and without
cringing to Lord Strutt, Squire South, or Lewis Baboon, for their
custom. It is true, that the devil possessed John sometimes to that
degree, that you could not hear a word from him but about his cloth,
and his iron-work, and his pottery, and you would see him up to the
eyes in clay, or steeped, till he grew all the colours of the rainbow,
in dyer’s stuff, or smoaked and roasted like a smith, or sallow and
greasy like a weaver, and no gentleman could keep company with him, or
any of his family, such low habits they had got behind the counter, or
in the work-shop. “Mind your customers, lads,” says John; “Good words
go far; Be civil to every body whether they buy or no;” and then he
would rap out a string of proverbs, such as, “A penny saved is a penny
got; Fast bind, fast find,” and so forth; in short, if it had not been
for some good blood which John had still in his veins, he must have
grown a mere pedling, sneaking, designing, mercenary rogue, as ever was.

There was, as we say, blood, or something else, that kept up John’s
spirit, so that he went abroad now and then, in as gentleman-like a
way as could be wished, although Lewis Baboon used to sit sneering at
him sometimes as he passed; but John minded him not a rush.

Now it happened, that John and Lewis had about the same time taken in
part of the west-common, and though their fields were not contiguous,
they could not agree about their marches. Many meetings they had to
settle them, but all to no purpose, for none of them knew well what
he would be at. The common saying was, that Lewis wanted to get all
the land in the country, and you needed only to tell John so much, in
order to put him in a downright foam of rage and fury. However this
be, Lewis tormented his own people enough, with making them stick in
posts and stakes in different parts of the common; and when John asked
him what he meant, he said, They were only rubing posts for his cows
to scratch themselves, in case they strayed so far. But other people
told John, that Lewis would some day or other claim every bit of that
ground as his own, by virtue of those stakes, if he was not checked in
time. Accordingly, John sent him some angry message about them, and
Lewis in return, begged leave to present his compliments to John, and
allured him, that the thing in the world he wished most, was to live in
good terms with his honoured friend and neighbour John Bull. Mean time,
some of John’s cow-herds met with a fellow or two belonging to Lewis,
and after a great deal of bad language, painful to repeat, they came
to blows, and made a great noise, which brought John and Lewis too, to
see what was the matter. John, indeed, happened to be in his barge that
afternoon, on the lake to the west of his house, which he affected to
call his own fish-pond, and Lewis too being on his way to the common,
their barges unhappily met, when John, without any more ado, took up an
oar, and aimed a blow at Lewis Baboon’s brains, You damn’d, insidious,
fair-tongued villain, this is all your doing, with your stakes and
your posts, and your covetousness for land, which nobody will possess
under you, you damned, oppressive, squeezing rascal. My dear John,
says Lewis, what is the matter? The matter, you scoundrel! With that
John aimed another blow; but their barges ran foul of one another, and
he fastened on Lewis Baboon’s wig, tore his bag, and threw it in the
water; in short, before you could count six, there was not a hat nor a
wig to be seen in the whole boats-crew, of either side. History says,
that Lewis had like to have been drowned outright, and was glad to get
home with his head broken in many places, and cursing John Bull, for
the most rash, cholerick, blunder-headed fellow, that ever was known in
the world.




CHAP. II.

 _What sort of fellows =John= and =Lewis= were in use to employ to keep
 their orchards, and their poultry._


History tells us many lies, if this was the first time that John and
Lewis came to blows; and Sir Humphrey Polisworth may think to conceal
it if he will, but many a time has Lewis, in his youth, lost his hat
and his wig in scuffles with John, and as often has John come home with
a broken pate, though very few people durst tell it to his wife or his
mother. In short, these two had been troublesome rogues to one another
time out of mind; and at the time of which we are now speaking, there
was no such thing as law or justice in the whole country. If you could
keep your own, it was well; if not, it did not signify complaining;
two or three stout fellows at your back, a brace of pistols, or a
blunderbuss, was a better title to an estate than the best conveyance
in the world. Whilst you thought yourself sure of your lands, two or
three fellows in the neighbourhood would be disputing who should have
it; and of Lord Strutt, Lewis Baboon, Squire South, Nicholas Frog,
John Bull himself, and all the gang of them, there was not one to
mend another, they did not mind blowing out one another’s brains one
farthing; they had got honourable names for thieving, robbing, and
house-breaking, such as policy, conquest, and invasion; and if you
lived in their neighbourhood, they were sure to leave you nothing,
unless you could handle a cutlass, or fire a blunderbuss, and kept
friends with some one or other of them, who protected you for his own
sake, or that he might take all you had at a more convenient time. God
help the poor milk-sop that trusted to the goodness of his cause.

This made every body look about him; and John among the rest, for
many a day, had as stout a family of young fellows as any in all the
neighbourhood, and would not take an affront or an injury from any man.
His boys were for the most part sober, peaceable fellows within doors;
but if there was any noise heard over-night among the poultry in the
orchard, or the workshop, it needed only the bark of a dog to bring a
score of them into the court, and from every corner of John’s house you
could hear nothing but striving who should be out first. Every body
had his cutlass, or his carabine at his bed’s-head, and it is hard to
say which they were most jealous of, their father’s honour, or the
preservation of his estate. It was the pride of John’s heart in those
days, to see his boys hardy and resolute, and he hated a sneaking,
puny, pewling fellow, like the devil.

In this humour John lived for many a day; but many changes happen
which nobody looks for; people persuaded him by degrees, that if
he had money enough there was nothing else worth minding. From this
hopeful maxim, he even neglected sending his children to school, locked
up their cudgels and cricket-batts, and would not let one of them touch
a gun, for fear they should hurt themselves. He had got by heart all
the stories that ever his nurse had told him, about the accidents which
happen at rough play, or in handling firelocks, and would repeat them
sometimes, till his wife and his mother were quite ashamed of him.

It would require the pen of a great historian to tell how this great
change was brought about. Some people said, that John was old and
began to doat; others said, that it was all owing to an old nurse
who lived about the house; but alas, they do not tell us how John
came to be directed by old women, or what was the reason that some
of John’s neighbours were grown worse than even he was at this
time. Lewis Baboon was grown from a spruce forward gallant, a mere
priest-ridden, whore-ridden, flimsey periwig-making old fool. Lord
Strutt could never be got out of his bed before eleven o’clock in the
morning; and Nicholas Frog would rather have taken ready money for a
farthing-candle, than see his best friend return from the grave. One
stout man could have chaced a hundred of them into the sea, and yet
these damned fellows contrived to be very troublesome for all that, by
means of a device of which the devil himself was certainly the author.
In their younger days they were all ready enough at a blow, yet as they
and every body about them, had some other business besides fighting,
they could not well quarrel when they were otherways engaged; but they
came at last to keep people on purpose to fight, and as nobody cared
what became of these fellows, they would send them out for the turn
of a straw, to play the devil in all the neighbourhood; and the rest
of the people at home trusting to them, became mere milk-sops and old
women.

An historian of great credit affirms, that this practice was grafted
on that of keeping a game-keeper; and for this reason it is, that
although there be many more of them in every house than are necessary
to keep the game, they are nevertheless known under the title of
game-keepers even unto this day. In former times, continues he,
every father of a family and his children, were sportmen more or
less. It mattered not who started the game, they could all shoot
without distinction; and it mattered as little what part of the house
a thief attempted to break in upon, the first man he met thought
himself obliged to defend the premises. But when they grew lazy,
spiritless, and purse-proud, they must needs keep their game-keepers
like lords, and each according to his estate, got as many as he
could well maintain, and those he employed not only to knock down
a hare, or a partridge, now and then, for the master’s table, but
to them he entrusted the whole defence of his estate inclosed and
common, barn-yards, orchards, and kitchin-grounds, and it was thought
presumption in any body else to do any thing besides running away when
any body attempted to disturb the house. Lewis Baboon would have kept
you forty or fifty at a time, and this when nobody was meddling with
him, as he said, to guard his poultry, and attend him to church.

These fellows did nothing from morning to night, but first turn upon
one heel, and then upon another, put a gun sometimes to their hip,
sometimes to their nose, sometimes to their shoulder; and, in short,
played so many antic tricks with a musket, that few or none of them
could remember or distinguish its real use. But they bilked their
landlords, cursed, swore, and bullied, wherever they went, and in many
houses where such fellows were kept, nobody durst say his life was his
own for them.

It may be hard enough to tell how any matter of a family came to keep
such people about him; but the most amazing thing of all is, how John
Bull, so kind a father, and so good a master, should ever think of
entertaining so many of them, and trust more to their affection, than
to that of his own children.

It is true, that John’s heart has always misgiven him in this project;
he generally keeps a dozen or so, but nobody could ever prevail on
him, or Mrs. Bull, to tell how long they were to keep them; and every
Saturday night when he pays off his workmen, he always says, Gentlemen,
whereas it goes against my conscience, to keep some damned rascals
perpetually about my house, you are to remain only for next week, and
no longer; but still he keeps them on in this manner from one week to
another, for which he has many salvo’s. In the first place, says John,
I don’t take any body but my own tenants sons, or now and then an idle
fellow from my own farm, and I have always some of my own boys who keep
them company; so that they always behave very respectfully to me, and
have often taken my part, when such fellows as Nicholas Frog keeps
would have cut my throat. Secondly, says John, I only keep them as long
as Squire Geoffrey and his abettors are like to be troublesome, which I
hope will not be long. But many of John’s enemies said, that there was
a better reason than all these put together, viz. that he was afraid to
fire a gun himself, and was frightened out of his senses when he had
not some of his bullies by him.

Whether this was the cause, or the effect of his keeping those fellows,
it must be owned that John Bull, who used to be a bold hearty fellow,
always master in his own house, and afraid of nothing, began to sneak
about the doors, and would start at his own shadow; and when there was
any noise in the orchard, or poultry-yard, he would scour up to the
garret, and leave the game-keepers and the thieves to do what they
pleased with his effects, shutting his eyes, and stopping his ears,
that he might not see or hear any shooting of guns, of which in truth
he was become marvelously afraid. Lewis Baboon had no more ado, but
to give out that he was going to pay a civil visit to John, in order
to put the whole house in a pannic: and this word _pannic_ was grown
so familiar with John, that he had it always ready as an excuse for
running away upon the slightest occasion.




CHAP. III.

 _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.




CHAP. IV.

 _How =John=’s affairs had like to have gone to the devil._


We know how difficult a thing it is to write history. Whenever the
reader meets with any thing that exceeds his own pitch, he presently
attacks the credit of the historian; and we shall now be asked how came
John Bull, who was such a coward in his own house, to be so very rash,
as we have said, in that scuffle with Lewis Baboon. The fact is, that
John never was slow at getting into a quarrel; he was choleric beyond
measure; and as for mischief out of doors, there was nobody readier.
He had a parcel of watermen who feared neither man nor devil, and when
he was in his barge, either on the east or the west lake, it was but
a word and a blow with him; he never was afraid to meet with Lewis
Baboon there, nor any where else, except at home. When you proposed to
John, to go over to Lewis’s own house, and break his bones for him, he
thought nothing more easy; but alas, if Lewis talked of coming to him,
matters went no better than we have said.

You will easily believe, that after that scuffle in the barge, Lewis
Baboon must be in a very great passion. Accordingly, he cursed and
swore like twenty dragoons, that he would speedily see John in his own
house, and show him in the face of Mrs. Bull herself, what sort of a
man he had affronted: this was sooner said than done. But in the mean
time, nobody could tell what was become of John, and all his watermen;
whilst Lewis Baboon went vapouring about every where, and did what
he pleased. He drove John’s cattle out of Cracket-Island, and took
possession of it; although John used to think that nobody could ever
dispute islands with him, so ready was he with his barge to relieve
them: but the truth upon this occasion was, that John had got into one
of these pannics we have mentioned, had applied to Nicholas Frog to
no purpose, and actually brought over Rousterdivel, to protect him.
But the whole neighbourhood laughed at him, when they saw that Lewis
Baboon had no more to do than to talk of going over to John, in order
to do what he pleased every where else; and John got into one of the
greatest passions that ever he was in in his life. All the historians
of that time, ring with the amazing noise which he made about that
same Cracket-Island. He swaggered and stared, and roared and swore,
that John Bull of Bull-hall was abused and cheated by his clerks,
his watermen, his overseers, and every soul about him. When he saw
Rousterdivel, he called to his people to turn out that fellow; asked,
what the devil had brought him to his house; would not give him a bit
of victuals, and threatened to go to law with him about a handkerchief:
and in short, obliged the poor fellow to go away, very much puzzled to
make out what sort of a man this same Mr. Bull must be.

Upon this occasion, John made such a noise, that he wakened Mrs. Bull,
and brought her down yawning to the parlour, and rubbing her eyes,
after one of those drousy fits, to which she had been lately subject.
He had already, to her no small mortification, chaced away two or three
of her favourite servants, who used to put her to bed every night, and
among the rest his own nurse, who was grown of late a great person
in all Mrs. Bull’s junketings and private parties; and indeed, for
some time, pretended to manage John himself as she thought proper. To
do this nurse justice, there were few people had a better hand at a
sack-posset; and though she had no aversion to a glass of liquor in a
fair way, yet she never tasted what came through her hands in the way
of making cawdle, whey, or panada for the children: we never heard any
thing amiss of her, save that she would take the children’s halfpence
from them to keep, and therewith make up little sums, which she lent
to the servant maids at interest, when they wanted to buy ribbons, or
other trinkets. But the love of money may be forgiven in old age, as
also that meddling disposition which servants usually acquire when
they have been long about a house. The truth is, that nothing could
be more ridiculous than to hear this old woman put in her word upon
all occasions. There was nothing in which she did not think herself a
perfect oracle; she talked to John not only about his markets and his
bargains, and all his dealings with his neighbours, about the choice
of schools and masters for his children; game-keepers, hunts-men,
whippers-in; but, in short, about his drunken quarrels, boxing matches,
cudgel play, and quarter staff. She would govern every part of his
house for him, and no servant durst go with a message from his master,
without first asking her, if she had any commands?

Hubble-bubble, and this nurse, had gone hand in hand for many a day;
but alas! the loss of Cracket-Island fell heavy upon them both at last.
Bawd, whore and rogue, were the best names they could get from John
upon that occasion, and Hubble-bubble got out of his way as fast as
he could scour; but the nurse broke a cawdle-cup which she had in her
hand, and bid him go find another to make slops for himself and his
children.

John was greatly helped into this fine humour by one Jowler, for whom
he had a great regard at this time. Most historians agree, that the
name of Jowler was only a nick-name, which this fellow had got from the
boys at school, on account of some odd conceit of a resemblance between
him and a hound of that name in John’s pack. They say, moreover, that
most of the boys had the name of some dog or other given them, and that
they used to make one of themselves the hare, and so hunt him with a
mighty noise, in imitation of John’s pack. As to the dog Jowler, his
resemblance to the person we are now speaking of, has procured him a
place in the records of history. There we are told, that this dog had
a very loud tongue, and that if he could not lead the whole pack, he
never failed, at least, to carry off five or six couple, sometimes on
a right, sometimes on a wrong scent; that he thereby so often spoilt
the sport, that the huntsman was downright crazy with rage, and often
threatened to turn Jowler out of the kennel, and sometimes actually
tied him up at home; but then he made such a noise, that Mrs. Bull
could get no sleep for him in a morning; and the huntsman was as often
obliged to leave Mango’s tomb and plaister in the kennel, whilst
Jowler was suffered to lead the pack. Then John had excellent sport,
and the huntsman no great cause to complain; for Jowler was tractable
enough, and a crack of the whip would make him leave the pursuit of
the stag, for that of a pole-cat, or a rabbit, and this not absolutely
for want of nose, but for fear of being turned down among the babblers
again.

Although we account it below the dignity of history, to adopt, or
retail nick-names, yet we think ourselves obliged in this case, to
retain a name which has come down to us on the great tide of writers,
which watt and carry the transactions of that age. To return,
therefore, from this digression; Jowler no sooner observed the humour
which John was in, than he chimed in directly; he told him that his
family had never been so much disgraced before; that the scandalous
loss of Cracket-Island was more owing to his overseer, than to the
waterman who was sent to look after it; that it was ignominious for
John Bull, with a house full of fine young fellows, to need the
protection of so sorry a fellow as Rousterdivel; that if he did not
look about him, he would soon become the jest of all the neighbourhood,
and lose all the ground which he had upon the common, or any where
else. To approve of a man’s advice in one thing, and trust him with
every thing, were inseparable with John; accordingly, he put all his
affairs directly into Jowler’s hands, and for the first fortnight
neither Sir Thomas, nor any body else, durst controul him in any thing.




CHAP. V.

 _How =John= consulted with his friends about the method of retrieving
 his affairs._


John was a great person for collecting his friends together to have
their advice, but for the most part he did just what he pleased for
all that; and he had always some point or other in his head, in which
it was in vain to contradict him. This was the case now about the
malversations of his servants, and though there were many people
disposed to soften him, not a mortal durst put in a word. In the
height of his passion he abused every thing that had been done, right
or wrong, for many years before. They had neglected his new farm upon
the common, and sent his horses, his ploughs and carts, to labour
Sir Thomas’s land in the east country; they had run him in debt over
head and ears, pawned his plate, and mortgaged his estate; they had
made his wife, who used to be a notable woman, a mere sot, with ale,
brandy, and slops. The nurse had even spoilt his own stomach with nasty
mawkish warm drinks, and over-heating his ale. With all this in his
head, whenever he went to any of the neighbouring towns, he instantly
repaired to the coffee-house, and poured all forth to the first
person he met. All the world admired the vigour of his spirit, and the
honesty of his intentions, even when he carried matters too far; and
we all know, that if the father of such a family does not make a noise
sometimes, affairs will be managed but so so.

About this time of which we are now speaking, John had a circle about
him wherever he went, and talked of his affairs from morning to night.
He testified a particular aversion to the employing of Rousterdivel
any more, swore that he himself never would cross the lake upon any
body’s errands, and that if any body came over to meddle with him, he
would show them that he could defend himself. In all which, Jowler
encouraged him strongly, and repeated every word John could say, in a
much higher tone than himself; and next to the point of getting fixed
in the management of the business, seemed to have nothing more at
heart, than to break off all idle connections, to keep John at home,
and put a gun in his own hands, to avoid the disgrace of running to
other people for protection on every trifling alarm. Whatever might be
done afterwards, Jowler knew this was no time to baulk John in any of
his fancies; and accordingly, he assisted in all his consultations, and
nobody so loud as he.

One day, when John’s tongue was running on God knows where, he was
asked by some of his friends what he intended to do. Do you intend,
said they, to ask Lewis Baboon’s pardon for striking him in the manner
you did, or do you persist in the design of giving him gentlemany
satisfaction? I tell you what, says John, if Lewis Baboon had a
thousand Cracket-islands of mine, and that he would give me them all
for asking his pardon, I would not do it. He is a vile, over-reaching,
undermining, treacherous rogue, and there never will be any peace in
the neighbourhood, as long as that fair-tongued rascal is out of his
grave. Let him come out in his barge again, and I shall meet him; but
I know the rascal, he has perpetually some bad design in his head, and
when he is found out, he will bow and scrape, and make compliments; but
he does not lay it aside for all that, he only waits for a time to put
it in execution, not in a fair gentlemany way, but behind your back,
or when you are asleep, or indisposed: but I will dress his jacket for
him, if I find him put his nose upon the lake again.

But only suppose then, said they, that he should slip over in the
night, as he has often threatened, with a parcel of his game keepers,
and take possession of your parlour and bed-chamber, which are worth
more than Cracket-Island to him, do you think, he will give you time to
send for Rousterdivel, as you used to do?

All the fires of Sodom and Gomorrah seize me, says John, if ever I
send for Rousterdivel with his great tobacco-pipe, his sour crout, and
his damned lingo, that nobody can understand. Odds-blood, an’t I as
good a man as Rousterdivel or Lewis Baboon? Though I have not so many
game-keepers, yet I have as good clean-made fellows about my farm as
he; and if my own children will let me be insulted, it is time that
John Bull was gone the way of all flesh.

But what can your children do for you, said they, when your wife, and
your nurse, and your steward, will not let one of them touch a gun or
a cutlass, and think there is no safety but in the dark cellar, or the
coal-hole, when there is any disturbance in the yard.

Well, says John, I shall tell them another tale; my boys shall learn to
defend me as they used to do. I have seen the time when the stoutest
of them all durst not meddle with me, and that time shall return again,
if I can get arms enough to furnish my hall, as I always had it, till
now.




CHAP. VI.

 _How the Nurse dreamt that =John Bull= had banished all the weavers._


We may believe that after so busy a day, as we have been describing,
the Nurse was not likely to get a very good night’s rest; starting,
tumbling and tossing she had in abundance, but very little sound sleep.
She could not shut an eye, but presently she dreamt of some mischief
or other. One time she thought the pan boiled over in the fire; at
another time, that the cat’s paw was in the custard; and finally, about
three o’clock in the morning, she dreamt that John Bull had banished
all the weavers from his house; she saw the beams, the tradles, the
shuttles, the pirns, all tumbled in a heap into a great black boat; she
saw all the weavers posting to embark. When she would have seized a
piece of broad cloth, behold it was a great iron cannon! When she put
out her hand to save a pirn, lo, it perked up in her face in the make
of a pistol! Terror and amazement awaked her; she forgot her resolution
never to talk any more to John Bull about his affairs, and thought
herself now called upon by heaven, to interpose in behalf of him and
his children.

Accordingly, she lost no time in the morning, but went straight to the
parlour, where she found John as busy as ever, talking about the orders
he was to give in his house: and having told him her dream, earnestly
beseeched him to tell her, whether he had any such intention, with
relation to the weavers; for she thought that a person, who had ceased
to be guided by her, would stick at nothing.

“The woman is crazy,” says John: “I am only thinking how I may best
secure the peace and welfare of my family, and how to keep off rogues;
and you ask me, if I am to banish my weavers? I’ll defend my weavers
to the last drop of my blood; they shall fare no worse than I do; late
or early, if they are molested, I shall be with them, and I know that
they will stand by me against all the world.”

“What better protection can you desire for yourself or them,” says the
nurse, “than your own game-keeper, or Rousterdivel? It would do one
good to see, how that fine tall fellow will stop and turn, and do what
he is bid.”

“A plague take the woman,” says John, “with her Rousterdivel; do
you think that I am a coward, a scoundrel, a beast, a blockhead, a
milk-sop, that I must always run for protection to other people? I tell
you again, that I am able to defend myself, and that I have people
enow about my house to stand by me.”

“And how do you propose that they should stand by you?” says the nurse:
“When Lewis sends over his game-keepers, with their guns and their
sabres, who will stand by you then?”

“Odso,” says John, “cannot my people have guns and sabres as well as
they?”

“Alas! then,” says the nurse, “my dream is read. You will not have a
weaver in your house in three days, if you go on at that rate: who do
you think will sit quietly on a loom, with guns and pistols pointing
at them in every corner, and that boy George putting crackers in
the candles, and firing his pistols at sparrows, and shooting the
neighbours cats when they come about the hedges? See who can settle
to work for you, if they are in perpetual danger of having their eyes
blown out with squibs, serpents and rackets? Do you think a tradesman
can do any good if he is scared at that rate?”

“Scared!” says John, “you don’t think that a weaver will be scared when
he turns game-keeper, and I have none better on my grounds. If any of
my people are afraid of a gun, so much the more shame to them and to
me; it is the very thing I want to correct, by using them a little to
what may be necessary for their own defence and mine.”

“Worse and worse,” says the nurse: “if you use them to guns, you’ll
never get them to work a jot; and banishing the trade is worse than
banishing the men.”

“A tenfold madness has seized your pericranium,” says John; “do you
think that nobody can make broad cloth but cowards; or that a fellow
won’t work, because he knows he can defend the fruits of his labour?
You have no objection to the taking as many of my tradesmen as you can
get, to make game-keepers of them; and because they work none, you
imagine that every fellow who takes a firelock in his hand to defend
himself and me, is to be idle too. Don’t the game-keepers themselves
work when they are allowed, and are paid for it? have not I known them
give money to their overseers, for leave to work at their own trades?
and many a good penny has been got in that way. As my people are useful
to me, and to themselves, I intend that they shall work in safety, and
that nobody shall insult an honest tradesman of mine, whilst they and
I have breath in our bodies. Do what you will, you shall never get me
disgraced as you have done, with your idle jaw and nonsensical trash.”

“Bless me,” says the nurse, “what a wild project you have got in your
head! You’ll tell me you want to defend your house and your estate; but
to what purpose keep your estate, if you cannot find time, so much as
to eat a bit of warm victuals; hurried late and early, banged, soused
and drenched in all weathers, and this for fear that Lewis Baboon
should turn you out of your possessions; and what matter who has your
possessions, if you cannot sit down to enjoy them? _Et propter vitam
vivendi perdere causas._”

“Hey-day,” says John, “your humble servant, Latin! I remember you of
old.” “But goody,” says he, “I knew you lived among the boys; but don’t
think to palm upon me as a commendation of eating and drinking and
cowardice, what the old boy for whom I have so often been whipped, damn
him, has said against a fellow who would forfeit his honour to preserve
his life.”

“Well then,” says the nurse, “see how you can keep your bargain
with Sir Thomas. What will he say, when he sees your house swarming
with pistols and carabines, and cutlasses? you know that he does not
chuse to trust any body in this house with gun-powder, except the
game-keeper.”

“Blood-and-wounds,” says John, “you are more mindful of Sir Thomas
than you are of me. I have heard nothing from you these twenty years,
but Sir Thomas does not like this, and Sir Thomas does not like that.
I was advised to take Sir Thomas into the management of my affairs,
because Squire Geoffrey endeavoured to get a game-keeper of his own,
and do what he pleased about my house. And now you tell me, that Sir
Thomas and the game-keeper are the only people to be trusted. Those
gentlemen, it seems, will trust nobody else, and who the devil will
trust them? I never knew any of those suspicious people, that was much
to be trusted himself. Ill doers are ill dreaders, as my sister Peg
says. Odso, if Sir Thomas does not think himself safe in my parlour
with me and my children, he must know of something worse than I thought
of. Who was it that brought him about the house? Have not I done all
that lay in my power for him? And now you and he won’t let me defend
myself, because he won’t trust me. I love Sir Thomas; I mean, that he
shall have the disposal of all the arms about my house, and he shall
find that I am his friend, when Hubble-bubble and you are in your
graves, and all the nonsense you are perpetually putting in his head
and mine, is not worth a curse.”




CHAP. VII.

 _What happened after this conversation with the Nurse._


Who was listening to all this discourse, but the very boy George
himself, whom the nurse was so much afraid of? This youngster,
instead of loitering about the kitchen or the nursery, flattering the
cook-maid, or the nurse, for slops and tit-bits between meals, was
perpetually rambling about in quest of some diversion without doors.
He had procured a pistol and a gun, and powder and shot, all which
he hid in the hay-stack, or in crannies of the barn wall. You would
think that he minded nothing but climbing walls, and scrambling over
hedges; but no sooner did he see two or more people serious about any
thing, than he forgot all his play, came to listen, as he did to this
conversation between John and his nurse, and gave such attention, that
there were few articles relating to the family, of which he had not
an excellent notion; and could see the folly and ridicule of people,
who thought themselves over wise, as well as another: he was a perfect
plague to the nurse, who hated a joke, and was often put downright mad
with his dry wipes and arch sayings. He no sooner heard John talk in
the peremptory manner above related, than he ran away to Mrs. Bull as
fast as his legs could carry him, and told her all that her husband
had said, and a great deal more of his own, without mincing the matter
in the least, by which he convinced her that John was not then in an
humour to be crossed, and that whether she liked the project or no, it
was best to put a good face upon the matter.

Every body knows that John had devolved great part of his business upon
Mrs. Bull; no tradesman’s bill could be paid without her authority, nor
any receipts granted to any of John’s tenants. In short, neither John
himself, nor Sir Thomas, durst go to a fair or a market, till they knew
whether she would stand to their bargains. This had often been very
troublesome to Sir Thomas, and till he found out the way of managing
her by means of Hubble-bubble, and the like persons, he was obliged to
proceed with great caution, and for the most part to stay at home, when
he would fain have been a gadding.

John had been so oft married, that it may be said with safety, that no
man in the world ever had more experience in matrimony. He had tasted
at times both the sweet and the bitter; but it was a maxim of his,
that any wife was better than none; and accordingly, no sooner one
wife died, than he instantly married another. He never liked a woman
the worse for having a spice of the vixen; it pleased him to hear the
clack of a woman’s tongue; and the truth is, that in a family like
his, it was no good sign when the mistress was not heard of both late
and early. His present wife had got herself a tolerable name in the
neighbourhood, as a quiet, discreet, good sort of a woman; and John,
accordingly, sometimes almost forgot that she was in the family. She
never let him have any of those disputes with Sir Thomas about settling
the accounts, with which John had used to be delighted; but commonly
passed them in the lump, saying, that every article was just what she
would have thought of herself, for the good of the family. With all
this good understanding with Sir Thomas, it was suspected that she had
not all the respect for her husband that she should have had; and the
more that she never scrupled to talk over all the arts which she had
practised in the courtship, and to tell, how many a pot and penny it
had cost her, to get a good word with his servants, thereby to secure
John to herself, when he might have had his choice of all the country;
and then she would talk of her pin-money, and little perquisites, out
of which, she was perpetually endeavouring to make up some little stock
for herself. The nurse and Hubble-bubble humoured her in all this way
of talking, and said, to be sure, nobody would marry such an old fellow
as John Bull, except with a view to get something by him. By this, and
such like discourse, they had got a great deal to say with her, and
could have easily persuaded her at this time to put off the project
of giving out the guns, if they durst have ventured to cross John in
a thing he was so much bent upon. The boy George assured Mrs. Bull,
that John must have at least fifty or sixty at a time, and all that the
nurse could venture upon, was to make her abate one half; with which
solacing herself in the mean time, she let an order be signed for the
rest.

It is hard to say, what made Hubble-bubble and the nurse so averse to
this scheme. As for Hubble-bubble it is probable, as most historians
agree, that he did not know very well himself. But the nurse, who was
no fool, most people thought, must have some other reasons besides her
dream. However this be, we shall relate facts as they occur in the
course of our history.




CHAP. VIII.

 _Concerning sister =Peg=._


When the accounts were brought to sister Peg of all those fine doings
in John’s house; how Jowler was entrusted with every thing, and was
driving it away like Jehu; and how John had brought all his arms from
the cellar, and was determined to fight with Lewis Baboon himself; and
how John’s hall was stuck round, as it used to be, with guns, pikes,
bayonets and cutlasses, mixed, as report was, with stags branches, fox
skins, and solitairs taken from Lewis in his youth; Peg expected a
message every minute to desire she would garnish her hall in the same
manner, and get ready the few young men she had left in her house to
oppose Lewis, in case he should attempt to break in that way. But many
a day passed without any tidings; and what was most surprizing of all
was, that with all this lady’s wonted spleen, and acrimony when she
was vexed, there was scarcely a discontented word heard from her on
the occasion. One morning, indeed, at breakfast, she said, that she
could not blame her brother, but that she could not well understand,
what Mrs. Bull meant by putting such a slight upon her, or how it came
to pass that her own clerks, whom she sent to the office, and who had
nothing else to do but to mind her affairs, never let her hear a word
of the matter.

This was almost all that she said, for a great while, and that with
so little appearance of concern, that few historians have taken any
notice of it. People who thought of former times, expected bad humour
enough from her on this occasion; but the fact was, that this lady was
greatly changed in her manners and deportment. From being jealous,
captious, and ready to quarrel about a straw, she was grown in a very
little time, a quiet easy-tempered, good-conditioned body, as could be
wished, and this made some people think that the girl might have been
always easy enough to live with, if people had not played tricks on
porpose to vex her, which indeed was so often the case, that you would
have thought her in a perpetual passion; and she was, by the habit of
continual fretting, so much on the catch, that she thought herself
affronted often, when no such thing was meant. In those days her
servants had better lose their ears, than slight her in the manner they
now did, and they commonly stood as much in awe of her, as the servants
in John’s, or any other house could do of their master and mistress.
But it was a changed world now. Her elder boys and upper servants
passed most of their time out of the house, and sent any orders they
pleased, about the kitchen, the cellar, or the farm; and those who
stayed at home, and did the work of the family, forgot the way to
complain.

Whilst John’s house perpetually rung with the marrow-bones and
cleavers, or cat-calls and groans either in honour or contempt of the
upper-servants, according to their behaviour; insomuch, that Mrs.
Bull’s own woman durst not give herself any saucy airs; in Peg’s house
all was hush, the good and the bad were used almost alike; and as to
the business of the office, it was out of sight out of mind with Peg;
she sent her clerks to wait upon Mrs. Bull, and although she was at
no pains to send people that would not require looking after, yet she
never inquired any more about the matter. Accordingly, they not only
neglected her concerns, but often got bits of the best, for abusing
her to the nurse and the game-keeper, and others of Mrs. Bull’s
gossips; and few or none of them thought of any thing, but how to get a
share to themselves of what was going about Mr. Bull’s house. She had
even the mortification to see some of the worst of them come home, from
John’s counting-room, with directions to keep the keys of her cellar
and pantry, and deal out the victuals to her children; in doing which,
they had a wonderful jargon, which nobody could understand, but which
had a strange effect in benumning and stupifying all their hearers.
They talked perpetually of the _people above_, the _great folks_, or
_the people in power_; and now and then would whisper Peg herself, that
if she kept her temper, the _people above_ might possibly make her a
present of a hood, or a tippet, or a new petticoat, at a proper time;
and though she did not know, who the devil these people above were,
she was perpetually gulled with this sort of talk. Those who pretend
to understand these matters, say, that the people above were such as
had the naming of John Bull’s servants, and that they contrived new
offices, and a variety of perquisites and vails, on purpose to allure
people, who were willing to sell their souls to hell, and cheat their
own father and mother.




CHAP. IX.

 _How =Lewis Baboon= was belaboured and drubbed; and how =Jowler=
 behaved._


What we have already set forth, was the real state of sister Margaret’s
affairs, when her brother took that sturdy resolution for himself, but
left her out. His, indeed, was the best part of the family, and it was
well that matters were carried so far. John was likely some time or
other to go all lengths for his sister, as well as for himself; and it
was the fashion at this time to say, that the great Jowler would never
stop, till every good work was accomplished; but historians do not
mention any great things that he did in the matter. It appears, indeed,
that this fellow did set himself in earnest to touzle Lewis Baboon, and
so beset the lake and the common, that Lewis could no where appear,
without getting a knock on the pate with an oar, or a punch in the guts
with a hand-hoe, and sometimes had musket-bullets whistling about his
ears so thick, that he ran as if all the devils in hell were let loose
at his heels.

In short, Jowler went on helter-skelter; and as long as John and his
wife were in the humour of paying his bills, he hired all the poachers,
game-keepers, and whippers-in in the country, and did not care a
farthing for a fellow, unless he could send him off the country, to
do some mischief or other. For this reason he made John get as many
game-keepers as possible, but never a word of arming his own children.
He made up matters again with Rousterdivel, gave him all he asked, and
encouraged him to play the devil in the house of Squire South, John’s
old friend. He sent more people to look after Sir Thomas’s farm, than
ever were there before in this world. He brought John in bills of
expence laid out in the East country, so extravagant, and consisting
of so many articles, that you would have thought all the taylors and
apothecaries in the country, had been concerned in making them up. But
Jowler minded nothing of all this; as long as John was in the humour,
he went on, and bullied and roared, and spent his money, as if the
master’s salvation depended on the noise which his man Jowler should
make in the neighbourhood; and there was nothing to stop him, for
peoples tongues were tied up, some by one thing, some by another; and
well did he know how to hold one tongue, that used to be the loudest of
all on the like occasions.

There was, however, seldom a day but John had the news of some
mischance befalling his foe Lewis, and then he had the marrow-bones and
cleavers at his door, and his house rung with dancing of hornpipes,
jigs, and country bumkins. It was in vain to tell him that these things
would not avail his family a sixpence after all was over, and that he
had forgot the fine resolutions he had taken, about the defence of his
own house at home, the clearing up of his old arms, and sending his
children to the fencing-school.

Jowler kept him perpetually drunk, in order to get his money to spend;
there was seldom a night, but he made him drink twelve bumpers, and
dance three hornpipes; so that John frequently exposed himself to the
neighbourhood, and in his cups talked no less than of taking the half
of Lewis Baboon’s estate to himself.

In all this hurry-scurry, the nurse and Hubble bubble were laughing
in their sleeves; they saw their own game played to better purpose,
than ever they durst venture to play it. Sir Thomas and they got the
fingering of more money than ever they had seen before in their lives,
and they might lay it out where they pleased, so they let Jowler have
the honour of the treat: whilst in the mean time they saw no necessity
of taking the arms out of the cellar, and they hoped, that John would
soon forget all that he ever said upon the subject. And so, perhaps, he
would, till Lewis Baboon chose to put him in mind of it again, if it
had not been for the boy George, and one or two more. But George never
rested till he got his gun again, which the game-keeper had taken from
him some time before; and there was no hindering of him, from getting
some choice fellows together on holidays to shoot, as he had an order
for it under Mrs. Bull’s own hand.

The nurse then thought that she would give them their bellyful; she
said, that Lewis Baboon was coming, and advised Sir Thomas to call
them out of their beds, at all hours of the night, to send them over
hedge and ditch, from post to pillar, and never give them any rest, in
hopes that they would tire of their project; she thought that when they
found there was no money to be got by the bargain, they would beg to be
off. And here historians observe, that this good woman had forgotten,
how much young people like fun better than money. But still she made
something of a bad bargain; she advised Sir Thomas never to let these
people come home, because Lewis Baboon was coming, and to send away
all the game-keepers to his own farm, because Lewis Baboon was not
coming. In short, we can find no clear account of Lewis Baboon’s real
intention, in any historian of that age, much less collect any opinion
about it from the conduct of John Bull’s advisers at this time.




CHAP. X.

 _How sister =Peg= began to look about her; and how she wrote a letter
 to her brother =John=._


Many were the freaks which John had taken in his head at different
times: he once thought of turning lawyer, as every body knows; but
he now despised that and every other profession, and would be nothing
less than a duke or a lord. He thought that he only wanted a suitable
estate to maintain his dignity, and encouraged every scheme that was
laid before him for acquiring it. He had, accordingly, twenty proposals
brought him every day in writing by Jowler, all entitled, “Speedy and
easy methods of acquiring a great land estate, humbly addressed to John
Bull, Esq;” Islands were to be seized here and there by main force;
the whole common was to be inclosed, without enquiring who had a right
there; plantations were to be cut down, and sent to market; farms were
to be let to tenants that John could confide in, and every door was to
be chalked with John Bull’s name in great letters.

Why should not I, says he, have a great estate, as well as another?
Every body knows, that Lewis did not come honestly by all he has, yet
the rogue is never the worse esteemed in the neighbourhood.

Whilst John’s head was busied with these hopeful projects, the news
came that Lewis Baboon was coming in earnest. John looked like a person
just awake from his first sleep, and made some motions towards the
back-door, before he recollected that he had some guns ready in the
hall, and that he and his people must be affronted for ever, if they
did not pluck up their spirits. He saw a good many of his people ready
to stand by him, and the blood returned to his face; the game-keepers
were all brought into the yard; and the nurse herself was then glad to
see as many of John’s people in arms as possible; the watermen were
sent out in the barge to meet Lewis Baboon; and John, in short, passed
the night, as easily as could be expected of a man in his situation.

It is an old saying, Every man for himself, and God for us all. John in
his hurry, barricading his doors, and posting his people, forgot his
sister Margaret altogether. There was, indeed, a game-keeper lodged
in her house, but this poor fellow could scarcely pretend to secure
one door, and Lewis had twenty methods of coming into her house, where
there was neither lock nor latch, nor a single pistol to resist any
body, that should attempt to force his way; and the worst on’t was,
that Lewis had sent a sculler, with some of his game-keepers boys, to
take advantage of this situation. What could a poor woman do? the maids
and the children screamed in every corner of the house, and Jowler sent
a gun to Mac Lurchar, as if Peg’s garret was the only place exposed,
and left her pantry and her cellar to take care of themselves.

Many people in the house were of opinion, that she should write
immediately to her brother John, to represent her case, and put him
in mind, that when she trusted her affairs to the management of his
clerks, it was in hopes that her concerns would be equally looked
after with his own. Jack, who by this time had sown his wild oats,
and was grown an orderly conversable fellow as you would desire to
see, was clear for writing this letter. “From the little I have seen
of this troublesome neighbourhood,” says he, “I am convinced that no
family is safe from ill neighbours, and thievish servants, without the
master and his children can take care of themselves. _As arrows are
in the hands of a mighty man_, says the Psalmist, _so are children
of the youth. Happy the man that hath his quiver full of them: they
shall not be ashamed, but speak with the enemies in the gate._ That
is the true defence,” says Jack, “and let us have it. A game-keeper
may be out of the way, but the child of the house is always by his
father’s side.” In short, as he was no trifler, so he was seldom idle,
when there was any thing of consequence to be done, and never minded
whether his opinion was asked or no. He spoke loudly on this occasion,
and as he kept a regular correspondence with Sir Thomas, never failed
to tell him his mind. Peg herself, who, as we have said, was rather
gentle and inoffensive in her ordinary deportment, gave some signs of
discontent and vexation; you could see a little fierceness return to
her eye, and the affection and confidence with which she had always of
late regarded her brother, perhaps, at this time helped to augment her
displeasure. It is a grievous thing to be neglected by people to whom
we make advances of kindness and respect: this, however, did not extort
from her any injurious terms to her brother. If there was a cloud, it
was readier to break upon his enemies head than on his. The truth is,
that instead of having that waspish cross disposition, which she had
often discovered in her youth, she now needed some encouragement and
spiriting up, to be able to defend her own. This did not hinder many
people from thinking her greatly improved; she had, indeed, more bloom
in her complexion, or was rather less pale than formerly, and was
what you may call a tight comely woman to converse with, rather than
one of your delicate beauties. But be her person what it would, it was
necessary to defend her house and her children; and people told her,
that if she would write to her brother, he would not hesitate a moment
about putting it in her power to do so. Peg was not near so ready in
taking resolutions as she used to be, when left entirely to shift for
herself; and even so small a matter as writing a letter, she put off
from day to day; at last, she got up one morning very early, and with
the assistance of some of her children and relations, drew up a scroll
of the following letter, which was afterwards copied out fair, and sent
by a careful person to her brother.


_A copy of Margaret’s letter to her brother =John=._

  “My dear Brother,

“It was with great pleasure that I heard lately from people who
frequent your house, that you had taken a resolution not to depend
any longer upon Nicholas Frog or Rousterdivel for your defence; that
you had collected your spirit very opportunely, and have since found
yourself fortified, by what is the real strength of every family, the
affection and vigour of your own children. My heart warmed to the
prospect of finding myself in the same situation, and I could have
almost wished for an opportunity to see your children and mine fairly
united, against some common oppressor, a case in which I hope they
will always be invincible. But whatever my situation may be, I do not
repine at your prosperity. Our interests, indeed, are unseparable, and
I cannot be persuaded, when matters go well with you, that they can, at
the long run, go ill with me or my family. This made me bear patiently
with your people’s neglect of me, when they ordered your family into
a posture of defence; and indeed, unless it had come of yourself at
that time, I was unwilling to have any matter started, which might have
embarassed you in what you was about, by furnishing, as I was told it
might do, the people who were disposed to cross you, with arguments
against your scheme. Those gentlemen, it seems, have a language ready
prepared with respect to me, but I enter into no contentions with
them. It seems that words have their weight after their meaning has
ceased to be believed. It is in this way only, that I can understand,
why a suspicion thrown upon me in words should be regarded, whilst
your servants in my own sight, carry arms to Mac Lurchar, the only
person almost whom you or I have reason to distrust. I do not condemn
that proceeding of yours; it is an instance of your openness and
good-nature, and I believe has met with a fellow, who has the heart to
stand by his friends, and who, if properly directed, will fight for you
and me, rather than for any body else.

“But whatever my reasons were, for delaying to put you and Mrs. Bull
in mind of me, I cannot, in justice to my own family, delay it any
longer. Your prosperity I shall always consider as my own; but there
are certain distinctions, which if borne in silence by me, must, even
in your own opinion, render me unworthy of the relation I bear to you.
You used to call me proud. I wish I may not have erred on the other
extreme. When you cease to be proud, I shall not esteem my brother
the more. But whatever weaknesses I may have, how could you for a
moment think of reducing me to the necessity of asking as a favour,
what is the birth-right of all mankind, liberty to defend myself? I
was possessed of this liberty, before I entrusted my affairs to the
management of your servants; and if you and I both afterwards ceased
to use it, that part of our history, perhaps, had better be past in
silence. It never occurred to me, that you might perhaps resume it
yourself, without offering it to me.

“If a partial distribution of arms in your own family alarmed you, as
it must do every man of common reason, what must I think? the only
person to whom the means of self-defence are denied, whilst I am
surrounded on every hand, by those who carry a badge of superiority,
more certain than scepters or empty pageantry. If my neighbours are at
variance, whoever is uppermost, it seems, I must be at under, a poor
tame drudge, unable to keep my own, or assist my friends.

“I should tire you, if I was to say every thing that occurs to me on
this alarming subject, and upon an occasion which would justify greater
degrees of impatience, than I have hitherto expressed. When I think,
that the very enemy against whom your people have taken such care to
secure themselves, is now hovering about my doors, where he is sure
neither to find lock nor bar, nor a single musket to oppose his entry,
I may well lose my patience, and wish at least to hear the cause of
this difference explained.

“I shall direct my own people with you, how to act upon this occasion;
and I must beg the favour, that you will assist in procuring me
directions how to proceed in warding off the blow, with which I am now
threatened; or let me know where I am to find bread for my children, if
what I have within my doors is the property of every fool, who may be
disposed to take it.

  “I am,
  with the sincerest esteem
  and affection, yours, &c.

  “MARGARET.”

This letter had a tone of impatience, perhaps, because it was the
sudden burst of a sentiment, which Margaret had been at some pains to
stifle. She meant, as historians affirm, only to speak of the present
alarm; yet she broke into the subject at once, and then was almost
ashamed to own, that she or her children were afraid of Lewis Baboon’s
scurvy waterman, though, to say the truth, she could then have made no
defence.




CHAP. XI.

 _How this letter was received by =John=._


Margaret certainly did her brother wrong, if she supposed that he had
ever refused her the privilege of defending herself, or that he was in
any degree averse, to give his consent to whatever might be necessary
for that purpose. The fact was, that he had forgot her altogether, and
never once thought of the question, whether she should be put upon the
same footing with himself in this particular.

When John Bull acted from his own temper, and without reflection, he
never discovered any remains of distrust or antipathy to his sister:
but when any matter came to be seriously considered, and friends, as
John expressed himself, were consulted, then he had, indeed, some
unfavourable maxims relating to her, which he had retained from his
youth, without having ever examined them since; and any ill-disposed
person, putting him in mind of a bit of custard or cheese-cake, which
she had snatched from him in the nursery, could have revived all his
antient prejudices; and then, indeed, from his manner of talking, you
would imagine that his pockets were in perpetual danger. And speaking
of his sister and her family, you would imagine that he had got a
nest of gypsies whom he could not dislodge from his barn, that their
fingers were perfect fish-hooks or harpies claws, perpetually sticking
in his back. There were people enow who found it of use, to put him in
this mood, and they were sure never to neglect it, when any of Peg’s
people whom they did not like, came about the house to sell trinkets,
or asking for service. Then they would ask John, whether he meant to
bring the itch into his family, or go to bed in perpetual fear of
having his throat cut? But if any body came, who was in the use of
flattering, lying, or pimping for themselves, then a lousy fellow who
had been kicked out of Peg’s house, was the most valuable person in the
world, and John could not do too much for him.

You may believe, that if Hubble-bubble or the nurse, had been warned
of a person’s coming with a letter from Peg on this occasion, they
would not have failed to have called, Stop Thief; but by good luck the
letter was delivered into their master’s own hands, and they durst
not for their lives say a word more on the subject at that time. John
had got some bumpers that afternoon; his watermen had met with Lewis
Baboon’s people, and he was gone abroad with Jowler, to see some boats
that had been taken from Lewis, and wrecks that had been driven on
shore. When he had read Peg’s letter: “Ah!” says he, “poor sister here
is mightily afraid indeed. Here is a spot of work now, Jowler. She is
not so much afraid either, but she wants that her young men should
be armed as well as mine.” “Signify to her,” says Jowler, “that the
greatness and importance of the affairs, in which you are now engaged,
must throw all domestic details into a season of more leisure.” “Ay,
ay,” says John, “tell her we are drinking Lewis Baboon’s dirge here,
the fellow’s joints are stiff by this time; tell her to open a new tap
for her boys, let them be merry, that’s all. She shall not see Lewis
Baboon this twelvemonth, I warrant her. However, as to the affair of
getting guns in her house, if my wife and she can agree about it, I
have no objections.”




CHAP. XII.

 _How Mrs. =Bull=’s attendants were prepared on this subject._


Margaret could scarcely expect any other answer from her brother; he
might, indeed, have talked to his wife, and it would have become him to
have done so very loudly; but the settling matters of that kind, was
left entirely to her and Sir Thomas. This circumstance Peg knew, and
accordingly wrote to Mrs. Bull, Sir Thomas, and all her own clerks in
the office, to each in the stile which was proper for her to make use
of; and as all the originals are in our hands, not to interrupt the
course of our narration, we intend to defer the publication of them,
with that of many other original papers, to the conclusion of this
great work.

Notwithstanding that Peg had taken all this trouble, many people
were of opinion that the affair would never be heard of in the
counting-room, so much were they used to see Peg’s affairs overlooked;
but they were mistaken. Gilbert told Mrs. Bull the first or second time
he saw her, what a suit he was to present from her sister, and two
or three of Peg’s boys were determined that it should not go without
a hearing. Mean time, the nurse and Hubble-bubble were not idle. The
scheme which they thought to have frustrated was taking place very
fast. The boy George and his companions were laughing at them as
usual, and the young men who had been sent out to watch Lewis Baboon’s
motions, past their time merrily in the fields, playing at cricket,
pitch-bar, and foot-ball, from morning to night, eat their victuals
with a good appetite, and slept as sound in a barn, as ever they had
done in the best bed in John’s house: all which, the nurse would not
have believed, if you had sworn it to her on all the four evangelists.
In short, there was no appearance of their tiring, and they would have
held out through mere spite, if they had been tired, when they found
that there was any intention to vex them.

All this was sore enough upon the nurse, without being obliged to see
her predictions equally falsified, by having the same thing tried
in sister Peg’s house. This she could by no means think of with any
patience, and she determined to do all she could with Mrs. Bull
to prevent it. For this purpose, Hubble-bubble and she took their
opportunity to talk to many of Mrs. Bull’s attendants. They put them
in mind of all the perquisites, presents and vails, which had been so
kindly thrown in their way; observed of what consequence the present
affair was to them, and that if they suffered their friends to be
baffled, and discredited, they must not expect to be served so, in
time coming. You may soon get other people in our places, said they,
who will be willing to court you for the sake of your mistress; but
can you go as familiarly to a new comer, to ask for a bit of victuals,
or a glass of liquor between meals? By this and such like talk, they
contrived to secure the people who had Mrs. Bull’s ear. And though they
were sure of herself at last, yet matters would go much more smoothly,
if they could get any of sister Peg’s own clerks to give up the affair,
as if she was not very much bent upon it herself.

Historians agree, that they tampered with many people for this
purpose; but it is well known that not a soul of them would listen to
proposals of that kind, till they came to Bumbo, whom they would have
tried sooner, if they had not thought themselves sure of him, and
at the same time known what degree of credit he was likely to bring
them. They had sometimes let him loose upon Mrs. Bull before, to very
little purpose; although for discourse he was always ready, and had
stuff in his head, which might be turned into jocular sayings, serious
sentences, pathetic declamations, angry ebullitions, or plaintive
ditties, with equal propriety. He made the same thing pass in all these
shapes, but the hearers did not know either when to laugh or cry,
unless he gave them a signal, by a slap in the chops, a remarkable
roar, or a doleful whine, by means of which it was dangerous to sit
near him; and whether you was near him or no, the changes of his voice
produced an odd sort of mounting and dipping, like the heaving of
waves, and had the same effect in raising a violent inclination to
vomit. They say, that he had often turned Mrs. Bull’s stomach, and that
she always took cordials when she expected a visit from him. This being
the case, he was to be employed with caution; but he had still one
quality, from which they expected some good, and that was his precise
and accurate method of dividing mankind into Thomists and Geoffrites;
in the last of which classes, he commonly put his mother Peg.

A Geoffrite originally meant any person who was for restoring Squire
Geoffrey to the management of John Bull’s business, and a Thomist the
opposite. What this gentleman meant by these appellations nobody could
find out, for he sometimes bestowed them indifferently on Sir Thomas’s
best friends; and what is more surprizing still, on people who never
thought of Sir Thomas nor Squire Geoffrey in all their lives; as well
as some others, who never thought of any thing at all, but how to fill
their own bellies and their pockets. He himself, it was said, was a
Thomist of this kind; but whilst he did nothing himself, but swallow
the warm pottage he had got from John Bull’s nurse, he wanted to
persuade you, that other people’s heads were constantly taken up about
the divine right of attornies to treat their clients as they pleased. A
Geoffrite was his favourite topic to speak upon; but whether it was to
show his sagacity in finding out what escaped other people, or merely
because he had never seen any body paid for finding out Thomists, it
is certain, that for one Thomist, he would point you out a dozen of
Geoffrites; and you would be surprized, how the devil Sir Thomas got
into the management of John Bull’s or sister Peg’s business at all, as
Bumbo certainly was not in the way to help him to it.

With all these considerations pro and con, the nurse was extremely
desirous to see him; and as fortune would have it, he was no less
anxious to see her. He wanted at this very time a special reward for
all his services, no less than to be appointed major-domo in Peg’s own
house: this was a sort of a man house-keeper, and was commonly a grave
elderly person who kept the keys of Peg’s pantry, and entertained as
he thought proper any of the tenants, who had affairs about the house.
The last major-domo was lately dead; and as John Bull’s nurse took the
charge of all pantries and nurseries far and near, and would let nobody
meddle with them, but who was of her own chusing, it was not doubted at
this time, that her favourite Bumbo would be the man. But in order to
secure it the more, he furnished himself with a list of some dozen of
Geoffrites, picked up nobody knows how, and containing some of those
who were likely to oppose himself, in getting the major-domo-ship in
Peg’s family. With this provision he went down stairs, and so across
the court to John Bull’s house.




CHAP. XIII.

 _How =Bumbo= discoursed with =John Bull=’s Nurse, and found her not so
 great a fool as he thought her._


Bumbo, without staying to speak with any body, went straight to the
nurse’s closet, where he found her very melancholy, lamenting her
connection with such a fool as Hubble-bubble, and not much comforted
with the thought of having nobody now to trust to but Bumbo. However,
as the saying is, a drowning man will catch at a straw; whenever he
appeared, she got up and embraced him. Which he understanding to be as
much as to say, My dear major-domo, I am glad to see you, was going to
thank her, when she broke out into a perfect rage against sister Peg
and her family.

What, says she, is the meaning of this impertinent saucy letter, you
have sent from your house to Mr. Bull? have I not enough to do with his
own humours and his freaks, without your refreshing his memory, and
pretending to copy after him like the ass in Æsop? Set you up, indeed!
we should bring our matters to a fine pass, if we minded all your
letters and remonstrances.

I hope your ladyship, says Bumbo, does not imagine that I had any hand
in writing that letter, or would put any thing in Peg’s head, which I
knew to be so disagreeable to your ladyship; indeed, I could not shew
myself any where, without the hazard of being absolutely worried by the
people who were for writing that insolent letter.

What shall we do then? says the nurse; if that vixen is so much bent
upon this whim, Mrs. Bull cannot possibly refuse her husband’s own
sister, what the world will call so poor a favour; it would look like
mere jealousy and spleen, and might breed heart-burnings between the
two families.

Here Mr. Bumbo, perceiving the good woman’s extreme distress, thought
how he best might comfort her, and thereby turn the discourse to the
affair of his own major-domo-ship. My dear madam, says he, don’t be
uneasy; this letter was written by a parcel of Geoffrites, of whom
I have a list in my pocket; the few Thomists that are in that house,
would sooner be hanged than do any thing so disagreeable to your
ladyship.

Yours are right Thomists, says the nurse; ours here are more
troublesome about those matters, than any body; but assure me, says
she, that this letter is a forgery, and I shall love you as long I
breathe.

A mere forgery upon my salvation, says Bumbo.

Well said, says she, what comfort you give me! Let us away to Mrs.
Bull, and have those forgers tried to the utmost.

Before your ladyship goes, says Bumbo, I have a little affair to
mention: your ladyship knows, that the major-domo is dead, may not I
presume to hope, that your ladyship will do me a good office with Sir
Thomas on this occasion?

Assure yourself that you shall be major-domo, says the nurse; but you
must not go, till Mrs. Bull has heard your evidence about the forgery.

Upon my honour and reputation, says Bumbo, there is no occasion; the
forgery will appear quite plain, every word of it forged, as I declare
to you; but that unnatural woman was persuaded to desire me to second
her application, and your ladyship knows, that even a major-domo leads
but a dog’s-life, if the mistress and every body be against him. There
is Small-Trash, the Laird of Lick-pelf’s brother, will give his oath
about the forgery; and that is the same thing as if I did it myself,
for every body knows that we always swear the same things.

I don’t understand your scruples now says the nurse; would any woman
desire you to second a forged application? Besides nobody ever heard
of Small-Trash; and we cannot be answerable for trusting his evidence.
Stay, stay, my dear major-domo, and give us your own proper evidence in
this important point of forgery.

I pray, says Bumbo, that your ladyship would consider my straits; I
dare not say a word about Geoffrites; every body will roar, and say,
they knew what was a coming; nor dare I speak my mind about Peg; I beg
that your ladyship would not expose me like a bawd on the pillory, to
be pelted, battered, and splashed with rotten eggs, chewed apples, and
street dirt, for the faithful counsel which I give in your private ear.
I will do twice as much for you in another way.

Well, well, says the nurse, I see the matter is hard, Gilbert and James
will carry all before them. I shall neither meddle nor make; Sir Thomas
will be imposed upon about the major-domo-ship. There are many people
looking for the place, and let me tell you it is an office of great
consequence. You are young, Mr. Bumbo; and they say, you are hot when
my back is turned, and you do not understand much of the larder or the
pantry, and you huff the poor tenants when they come about the kitchen,
and that Margaret herself has not that confidence in you, which the
mistress of a family should have in a person, who has such a trust
about her house. In short, I have had many disputes on your account,
and now I am an old woman, and don’t meddle much. There is little
appearance of my being able to obtain this favour for you; but you may
talk to Sir Thomas about it yourself. I am, indeed, very much out of
order; old age has many infirmities; a very severe cough I have, and
am troubled with wind; indeed, I have not eat an ounce of victuals for
these three days.

It is impossible to describe what passed in Bumbo’s countenance
during this harangue. It changed from suspence to embarrassment, from
embarrassment to confusion, from confusion to absolute despair; and
there it settled, when the nurse concluded her speech and was just a
going. Well, says he, with a faultering voice, I have got many enemies
on your account and Sir Thomas’s; here they are, pulling the list out
of his pocket, sworn Geoffrites, as I hope to be saved.

That will not do, Mr. Bumbo, says the nurse; we do not care a rush for
your Geoffrites or your Thomists either. They do well enough in their
time, but when one is about serious business, I hate trifling. If John
Bull and his sister take the defence of their houses upon themselves,
we may all go packing. What influence can any body have in a family,
where he has little or nothing to give away? I have been all my life
contriving things for Sir Thomas and myself, to take to ourselves,
or to give away, and now you would have us part with one of the best
things we have. I have found, Mr. Bumbo, that a person’s influence in
any family, depends on the number of good things he has to give; you
must have caps, ribbons and petticoats for the maids, sugar-plumbs
for the children, and luncheons for the clerks, and be able to help a
footman now and then out of livery, otherwise they will not give an
old song for you; and Sir Thomas has found plenty about John’s house,
otherwise Mrs. Bull and he would not be so good friends as they are.
People must have their vails and their perquisites. Many a time has
Sir Thomas obliged his friend with a game-keeper’s place or so; and
consider with yourself, that if John continues to do any part of that
business himself, what numbers, not only of game-keepers, foresters and
whippers-in, but even weavers, taylors, smiths, accountants, bakers,
tanners, and shoe-makers, will forget the way to Sir Thomas’s closet,
and never think more of Hubble-bubble, or your humble servant. And then
the management of Rousterdivel’s affairs when he was brought over,
was an excellent thing; trust me, many a pretty fortune has been got
by Rousterdivel. But it is all over, Mr. Bumbo, all over; and now a
person who comes to ask for a major-domo-ship, thinks he may do what he
pleases.

Much honoured madam, says Bumbo, I hope you do not consider the
scruples of a friend as an absolute refusal. I have always been ready
to swear what you please, and if my oath be required to this forgery, I
am ready to give it.

That was spoken like a major-domo, says the nurse; let us away to
Hubble-bubble, and settle the tenour of your evidence.




CHAP. XIV.

 _Showing how it was the fashion to harangue Mrs. =Bull=._


Altho’ Mrs. Bull, in all matters of consequence, generally took her
resolution before she came into the office, yet it was the fashion to
talk to her, as if she was undetermined to the last; and she herself
humoured people in this whim, by listening to them, as if she was
drinking in instruction at both her ears, from every word they said.
This same had its consequences, for she got the habit of doing nothing,
unless some body spoke to her more or less, and then if she was never
so much determined upon a point, she was often out of countenance,
when all the talk and the noise was on the other side.

This circumstance made Jowler so precious a fellow, that Hubble-bubble
himself, at the time he had most to say with Mrs. Bull, would have
given a piece of his ear to have had Jowler hold his tongue; which he,
however, would never do, till he saw time and place convenient. Then do
historians say, that they have seen him as silent as a lamb, or making
his noise on t’other side of the same question.

However this be, you may believe that this affair of sister Peg’s was
not to pass without talking enough. Mrs. Bull was no sooner seated,
than there were people enow ready to advise her; she was told to
put off the matter to another time, that it was an affair of great
consequence, and that Peg appeared to be in too great a hurry. Which
was scarcely said, when she was told, that her ladyship was no stranger
to such subjects, that she had heard enough of it lately from her own
husband, and given her opinion; that the people who spoke of Margaret’s
hurry, were certainly in jest, and meant to ridicule the poor woman for
her long patience and forbearance.

In short, some people said, that they did not think it was safe to
trust sister Peg with any arms at all. They bid Mrs. Bull recollect,
whether she had not heard, that Peg had been in the practice of biting
and scratching her brother, when they were both in the nursery; and
asked, what security John now had, that she might not beat him out of
his own house, or otherwise use him as she thought proper.

Mrs. Bull herself was ashamed of this argument; for a woman, whatever
she may think, cannot bear to hear her husband meanly spoke of. But she
was soon relieved of this distress, by a person who set forth John’s
manhood to some purpose; and in short, gave his opinion, that to be
afraid of so inferior a force was mean and dastardly, to express any
jealousy of Margaret’s dispositions was injurious and abominable, as
they had every reason to believe, that she was well satisfied with her
brother, and only meant to tread in his steps, in a matter which would
be so honourable for both.

One fellow came running from the pantry, with a bib and an apron, and
quoted the nurse’s dream; he said, that although John Bull had banished
the weavers, it was no reason why his sister Peg should do the like;
that she had more need to have a piece of cloth sent her to make coats
for her children, than authority for any such pernicious scheme; and
that if she and her whole house were at the door, he would not grant
so ruinous a favour; that he remembered to have heard the condition
that both houses were in, when every body thought himself qualified to
fight, that there was then neither wheel nor loom within the door, and
nobody wrought any at all; and he asked Mrs. Bull, whether she would
have those times revived?

To this it was said, that every body might have heard of times, when
people wrought very little, but that they always wrought more or less;
and that if there was less work done formerly than now, it was because
fewer people were bred to business, and because there was not so ready
a market for fine cloaths or other niceties, by which tradesmen get
their livelihood; but that now when every body is bred to business, and
a tradesman’s work is well paid for, it was absurd to say, they would
grow idle, merely because they could keep their own, and were put in a
condition not to be robbed and plundered.

This did not hinder others from talking on without end. Some of your
fine-spun faint-hearted thinking people declared, that they did not
think that John Bull or his sister could prosecute this scheme; it
was a fine one indeed, they said, but the brother and sister were now
too old to think of such projects; a good warm bed, an elbow-chair,
or a couch, a glass of cordial, or a bit of comfortable dinner, were
properer subjects for them to think of, than scrambling over hedges,
lying out of nights, and dry blows: That game-keepers might be
dangerous within doors, but that John had now no other chance to keep
off roguish neighbours: That either his own game-keepers, or those of
other people, would lay him in his grave at last: That it became him
and his sister who had so many marks of age about them, rather to think
of preparing themselves for the other world, than to talk of vapouring
any longer in this. In short, there was no end of the impertinencies
which were spoken in this strain, all giving Mrs. Bull a speedy
prospect of widowhood, and turning her thoughts toward Sir Thomas, or
some other of your spruce young gallants.

Some said it was lucky that John heard nothing of all this, for he was
sometimes as jealous as ten furies, and if he had symptoms of age,
he had likewise remains of youth, which would have very ill brooked
such insidious attacks on his honour. For our parts we wish that he
had heard every word of it, and had given the person who spoke so, a
slap in the face; for we do not see what any body has to do putting
people in mind of their age, and we are very sure that John will not
die the sooner, for doing all he can to keep himself alive; and if he
was to die to-morrow, we would rather see him hearty and well while he
lives, were it but for an hour, than moping and drooping his head, and
in terror not only of what is to come in the other world, but even of
every fool who may think to tread upon him in this.

No sooner the rustling, whispering and hubbub which this speech had
occasioned was over, then in steps a game-keeper, to tell how much
better he could defend the house than any body else. For you must know
that the game-keepers were very angry, and treated John Bull as little
better than a poacher, for pretending to keep a gun in his own house.

He told Mrs. Bull that her husband and his family were mere aukward
lubbers, who never could get the strut nor the air of a game keeper to
the end of the world; that a man could not fight unless he gave his
whole time to it; and that unless a man could fight to purpose, he had
better not fight at all.

This speech met with an answer too. It was said, that every body would
fight till he ran away; that some people ran away sooner, and others
later; that nobody, however, could do it sooner than the game-keepers
themselves had done upon occasion; whether their manner of running
away was better than any that John or his sister could attain, this
speaker would not pretend to say; but he saw no harm in letting them
have a gun in their hands now and then, to use them to it, in order
that they might stand as long as possible, if any body came to attack
them; and he could see no objection to this, unless it was said, that
people were the worse for being used to a firelock, and fought best
when they knew nothing of the matter, which from what he had heard of
new hired game-keepers might possibly be the case; but that people
would probably not urge that argument; and for his part, he had always
considered a previous use of arms, as an advantage in times of danger;
and therefore, he thought that not only Mr. Bull, but his sister too,
should have as much of it, as was consistent with their situation.




CHAP. XV.

 _How Mrs. =Bull= sat still and heard a great deal more on this
 subject._


We cannot well tell how it happened, that although Mrs. Bull was
considering only, what answer should be given to sister Peg’s letter,
yet John’s own affairs were brought in head and shoulders, and it
seemed as if people were afraid to hurt Peg, except through John’s
sides. The truth was, that though some people did not like to see the
humour spreading, they did not chuse to stop it by objections peculiar
to Peg, in which they could have been contradicted; and as the state of
disparity to her brother, in which she was put, could by no means be
glossed over, they chose to keep away from it as far as possible, and
speak only in general terms, Peg’s clerks found themselves obliged to
do the same thing. One of them told Mrs. Bull, that he came there to
sollicite a piece of justice for an aged parent, and was surprized to
find so many people ready to dissuade her from granting it.

If there are, says he, sufficient objections to the use of arms in a
family, discontinue it in your own; if there are not, why disgrace one
part of your house, by refusing what all mankind know to be the great
distinction between masters and slaves?

I am surprized, however, to hear so much concerning the absolute
inconveniencies of this measure. It may be inconvenient for a man to do
any thing at all for his own defence; but if it be necessary for his
preservation, to what purpose talk of inconveniencies? It is certainly
meant by people who speak in this strain, that the method now in
question is more inconvenient than that by game-keepers, which is the
only other one that I have heard of. If this is their opinion, they
should have entered somewhat farther into the question, than at present
they appear to have done.

This family has been for some time in the practice of committing
their defence intirely to a certain class of people, whom they call
game-keepers. Those are the only persons about the house, supposed to
know any thing at all of the use of arms; they are set apart from the
rest of the family, and by their manner of life, are made to shake off
all connection with them as much as possible; and this, I suppose,
that they may be at all times ready to go any where, or do any thing
that their profession may require, without any regret of their own, or
incumbrance from other people.

They are taught, for the same reason, to obey their leader implicitly,
and to know no law but his commands; to all which conditions they
bind themselves for life; and in the mean time, do no work either in
seed-time or harvest, but are fed at the expence of the family.

This, I apprehend, to be a very fair description of a game-keeper,
as that profession is now maintained. Every body knows that Mr.
Bull has chosen this expedient with great reluctance. He was always
apprehensive, that whoever was master of the only arms in a house,
might soon become master of the house itself. The practice, however,
stole upon him, and for ought I know he might have gone all lengths
in the use of it, if he had not been ashamed of a sudden, to find
himself and all his family afraid to look any enemy in the face. He
bethought himself of the wretched condition he must be in, either if
his game-keepers should turn against him, should desert him, or even
be out of the way at an unlucky time. And to fortify himself against
those calamities, he has distributed a certain quantity of arms among
his children; a certain number are to be named in their turns; to learn
the use of those arms, under the direction of a person, to whom all
his other affairs are so happily intrusted. The people who receive
this instruction live in the family, and mind their business, with the
single interruption, which some days of practice, or necessary service
may occasion. When they have taken their turn, they leave that station
to others, and live as before; with this only difference, that if the
house is alarmed, they are readier to act a part, in which they have
already had some practice.

We have heard enough of the impossibility of putting this scheme in
execution; but, I think, it is found sufficiently practicable, when we
want to have somebody in place of the game-keepers, whom we employ so
liberally elsewhere; and therefore, I shall not now say any thing at
all upon that point.

Has it then any inconveniencies which do not attend every other method
of self-defence? The expence, the interruption of business, the trouble
attending it, do certainly not exceed what is found of the same kind,
in maintaining the profession of game-keepers. In point of expence, it
is evident we can afford a much more numerous body of men in this way
than in any other, if instead of augmenting our game-keepers without
end, to vie with our neighbours, we are satisfied with a moderate
number in ordinary times, and prepare this resource for ourselves,
against any sudden alarm.

With respect to the interruption of work, it must be allowed, that
nobody can possibly work less than a game-keeper. To have so many
people idle in succession, or the same number of individuals idle for
their whole lives, appears to me precisely the same thing, with this
only difference, that a game-keeper is idle, whether there be occasion
to employ him in his profession or no, the other is not.

As for the trouble, I do not know any body who can have cause to
complain of it, except Mr. Bull and his sister; and when they are
tired, they will probably let it alone, without troubling your ladyship
for any orders about the matter.

But I find people of very solemn authority, who tell us that it is
dangerous to trust the youth of a family with arms. That besides
quarrelling among themselves, they will fly in the face of every body
else. That they may even drag your ladyship off that couch where you
sit, and kick us your clerks down stairs. I should be glad to know
from whom it is you are to fear these outrages; or if any body in
reality was to offer them, to whom would you apply for protection,
but to those who call you their lawful superior and their parent. It
is strange, that a parent should be supposed to have no hold in the
affections of her own children, or that they who stand first in point
of esteem and respect in the family, should be in danger of being
maltreated by those with whom they are so nearly connected. For my
part, if the children of this family improve in their courage, their
vigour, and their spirit, I expert to improve with them, and should
be ashamed to own, that I fear losing, in that case, the respect and
affection, with which I am now received among my companions.

At any rate it seems it is owned, that we may quarrel among ourselves;
and pray who is it we would have to be worsted, in case of such a
quarrel? Can we foresee who will be in the right, that we may arm them,
and nobody else? It seems, we are sure, the game-keeper, at least, will
be always in the right, since we are for keeping him perpetually armed,
and for rendering all the rest as tame and helpless as possible, that
he may have the less trouble, or find them ready subdued to his hand.
Or do those who alarm us with the fear of domestic quarrels, pretend
that the game-keeper will never quarrel with any body? I would gladly
avoid this subject, but the question is forced upon us. I honour the
profession of which I speak, and would often in my life have gladly
embraced it. But when I was describing it to you, I thought that I was
pointing out the most dangerous quarter, into which the spirit of
domestic faction can come. Here is an order of men, who are always in
readiness to act, whose leader is always prepared; in possession at all
times of great power, and at all times desirous of more. Other factions
may lurk under-ground in the seed, or spring into view to be crushed as
they appear. But this is at all times a full grown plant. There needs
no giant to tear it from the roots, nor is there any great address
required, with the help of this weapon, to confound and destroy all the
civil and domestic institutions of men.

I speak not with a view to excite groundless jealousies; I speak in
behalf of an institution, which is now compleated in one part of the
family, and which, if carried to the other, must prove our best
security against ill-designing men, from within, or from without, in
either house. If it be an advantage where it is already established,
I hope that your ladyship will not refuse to share it with an only
sister, who would be glad to employ all her force in your service, and
now only claims her privilege as a piece of justice, from a person to
whom she has intrusted the management of her affairs.




CHAP. XVI.

_How =Bumbo= gave his evidence._


We are far from commending the practice of certain historians, who
pretend to give the compleat speeches which were spoken many ages
before, by leaders of armies, members of councils, and orators in
popular assemblies; we maintain that nobody can do this, except the
devil, or some person to whom the speaker himself gave a copy of his
harangue in writing. This not being our case, we content ourselves
with giving a few broken hints, such as we have been able to collect
from the best authorities, in order to give our reader some notion of
the substance of what was said to Mrs. Bull upon this great occasion.
With respect to the contents of this chapter, indeed, we are singularly
happy, in having met with the memoirs of Suck-Fist, a very learned man
of that age, who used to feed the game-keeper’s pointer, and being
present with Mrs. Bull on this occasion, has transmitted to posterity
the particulars of Bumbo’s appearance.

By him we are informed, that Bumbo, after all, was not put to his oath;
that the terrors of a formal oath approaching, he so explained what he
had said about the forgery, that it was not thought expedient to put
him to it in public; and the nurse thought it was better to hazard a
speech from him at large, which if the lady’s bowels could bear to an
end, would at least show the world, that there was one of Peg’s own
people against granting her request.

Bumbo therefore appeared with this view, as no better could be made of
it. Suck-Fist relates, that he began with declaring the instructions he
had got from Margaret, to second her application. He said, that for
his part it was his opinion, that nothing could be more reasonable than
the proposal she made; that if John Bull had arms in his house, or sent
his children to the fencing school for a month or two, there was no
reason why Margaret should be hindered from doing the same thing; and
that there was nothing more desireable than to have every distinction
between the two families abolished.

Were not Suck-Fist a writer of good authority, both in point of
judgment and veracity, we should be apt to question the following
particulars of his narration; they are so repugnant to what went
before, and so totally void of sense or coherence, that not only we,
but all future historians will hesitate before they transcribe this
part of his memoirs into their works. But as fiction is often more
probable than truth, we draw a presumption of veracity from the very
want of likelihood in the case, and are sure that such things could
never have come into any body’s head, if they had not been true. To
dissuade Mrs. Bull from signing the order, which, it seems, was brought
her ready written, relating to Peg’s people, he tells her, that it was
exactly like that she had already given in her own house. He did not
pretend, at least in public, that the Geoffrites were many in Peg’s
house, yet he would not even let Sir Thomas pick and chuse, but said,
it was giving arms indiscriminately, to raise turbulent spirits. He
commended Mac Lurchar extremely, and said it was a pity to take him
off his loom, except he was to be transported; that giving him arms
would spoil his hand as a weaver, and hinder his fighting, in which he
had behaved so gloriously, that he did not deserve to be discouraged,
much less annihilated, till John had made up matters with Lewis Baboon.
He pointed at many bad consequences, that would attend employing Mac
Lurchar, for the defence of the house, such as spoiling a good weaver,
and the like; but he insisted, that no distinction should be made
between him and any body else, by pushing a line, or any other method
that could separate the house into two parts; I implore, beseech, and
intreat, says he, that you would not push any such line across our
house; let us all be treated alike, and if there be any of us who are
not in danger of being molested, or others who are not fit to carry
arms, let us all be refused them together, that nobody’s mind may be
ruffled, nor any heart-burnings be left, but those which do or may
subsist between John Bull himself and his worthy sister Margaret; they
have been used to more dust than any can raise between them, and can
bear it all. He advised Mrs. Bull to do nothing at all in Peg’s house,
lest she should forget something; when you have shown to us, that you
can remember every circumstance at once, then we will apply for your
directions, or devise a method of our own; and as Margaret has already
born the disgrace of this difference so long, I see no reason why she
may not bear it some time longer; her house can never be more open, or
more defenceless than it is now, nor her children less qualified to
resist thieves; and I see no reason to hurry the supply of defects, to
which she is now so well accustomed. He concluded by telling Mrs. Bull,
what a dangerous thing it would be to give any orders in Peg’s house,
when he was told that her ladyship was just going to give some fresh
order in her own.

These particulars, posterity will no doubt admit upon the testimony
of Suck-Fist; especially as he adds, that if any body shall say, that
Bumbo reasoned upon other principles, he is ready to contradict them,
by saying it is not true. He subjoins, that Jowler paid him great
respect in speaking after him; and we ourselves know, that Small-Trash
exclaimed, that he had gained immortal honour.




CHAP. XVII.

_How Mrs. =Bull= settled her stomach._


Mrs. Bull, in the course of the foregoing speech, was observed by
many people to change colour, and before it was done, hartshorn-drops
and smelling-bottles were produced in abundance. Every one said, that
nobody but Jowler could settle her stomach, for he used to stun her
sometimes, so as to take away the sense of every thing else, which has
often been observed to have very good effects in trifling illnesses, by
drawing off the patient’s attention, as the fear of drowning will do in
the case of sea sickness, and blisters, caustics, and stimulusses, in
the case of other disorders. Jowler accordingly set to work with her:
but for want of the big words, with which he used to coax John Bull,
and which he avoided now for reasons best known to himself, he could
produce nothing that day, but a maukish sort of stuff, that was little
better than the warm water, which people are made to drink after a
vomit.

In short, Mrs. Bull was up and just going, when one of Peg’s clerks
begged her not to be rash in dismissing a business, in which the
interest, the honour, and the preservation of her husband’s family,
were so deeply involved; he told her, that he was surprized, to find
any objections made to the terms of the order that was laid before
her, as they did not pretend to ask any more at that time, than that
she should appoint a day to consider that order, and correct it if
she thought proper; that if she refused that request, the whole world
must say, that she was determined to hear no reason on the subject,
and would be left to suspect, that she had as little inclination to
the measure in Mr. Bull’s own house, as in his sister’s; for he had
scarcely heard one argument, that was not equally strong against it in
both. That whether this was the case or no, he never could think the
establishment secure, whilst it reached only to one part of the family,
nor the union between the two houses compleat, whilst some were treated
like step-children or bastards, and others like gentlemen and heirs to
the paternal estate.

It were painful, says he, to lay before you at large the iniquity
of such a conduct, of which I believe you incapable; but if you are
disposed to hear what may be offered on the point in general, I have
yet those impressions deeply rooted in my breast, which made me wish
for this establishent in your house, as the best security to your
fortune, your honour, and your life. Impressions, which make me behold
with joy, the steps you have pursued, altho’ I am now reduced to the
necessity of begging as a favour, in behalf of a parent, what, on
the foot of equal treatment, she has a right to demand; and what, if
refused, must appear as a stain to her honour, and a mark of disparity
which she was not born to endure. But her opposers have saved us the
trouble of enlarging on this topic, and wisely made it unnecessary to
prove, what is already too plain.

The arguments are such as would make us believe, that every moment
which is bestowed by individuals for the good of the public, is lost
to that family for which it is bestowed. They talk of the advantage
of private industry, but speak of every practice that connects an
individual in his views or affections with the family to which he
belongs, as an allurement to idleness and sloth. To act for the family,
to defend it in times of peril, is the noblest office to which any
individual can aspire; and if he labours within your doors to heap up
wealth, without having a soul capable of this office; you may call
him, indeed, a gainful property, but will scarcely show him among your
children, when they come to appear before those who are judges of men.
Who upon such an occasion would point out a sneaking mercenary selfish
coward, and call him his child? Yet such is the race which we are
desired to propagate, and such is the character which we are cautioned
not to corrupt.

We have heard from many the praise of industry, as if any body were
inclined to dispute that praise. We have heard at large, the advantages
of wealth, as if wealth and industry were inconsistent with the measure
for which we contend. From this source, say they, your store-houses and
your granaries are filled: let them tell us then from what source the
defence of our stores are to proceed? Will our wealth deter a rapacious
enemy? Are the eagles intimidated, when they are told that the doves
are fatter than they? No; but our wealth will hire a protector. Who
then will defend us against the protector whom we have hired? Is the
gripe of a rapacious hireling less to be feared, than that of a rival
at the gate? But our wealth, we are told, will enable us to maintain
a large and a numerous family. But what is it will render that family
worth maintaining, or make the company of those numbers that we hear of
desirable? For my part, I never thought it a blessing to be placed in a
multitude of base, degenerate, and selfish men. If the people we live
with are vile, the more there are of them, just so much the worse.

I have been surprised, therefore, to hear gentlemen speak of filling
a house with men, without ever mentioning the quality of those
numbers they mean to assemble; and speak of cloaths and food, as
of consequence, whilst the character of him who is to use them is
neglected. A little reflection will convince, that the soul of a
man is of more value than his possessions, and that the happiness
of individuals, as well as that of the families which they compose,
depends more on the generosity, justice and fortitude of their spirit,
than on the trappings in which they are cloathed, or the quantity
of merchandize they sell to their neighbour. They, however, who
contend that the present measure is inconsistent with the success of
industry and traffic, throw these advantages into a light of greater
contempt, than I am disposed to do. We excell our predecessors in the
art of procuring wealth; we excell them in the knowledge of domestick
oeconomy; why should we not excell them too in the skill and resolution
to defend advantages, which so far exceed what they ever possessed?

Without we carry this quality along with us, other advantages are of
little avail; wealth and affluence are but allurements to rapine; even
a disposition to gentleness, humanity and candour, but exposes the more
to the assaults of others, and doth not secure the integrity of him who
inherits it. If I contend with a knave in behalf of the innocent, and
dare not stand the hazard of a contest when brought to extremes, my
antagonist knows how to prevail from the first, for I shrink from the
countenance of a person who is hardier than I. I am prepared on the
slightest trial to betray my friend, my brother, my father, and the
honour of my race. I am already formed for a slave, and hold my safety
and my life by the tenor of another’s will. There is no vice, which may
not be grafted on cowardice, as successfully as upon avarice itself,
that other stock which we are so willing to cultivate.

I shall be told that the people of this house are yet far removed
from this despicable extreme. I hope they are, and that every assault
of injustice would meet with a hardy and resolute opposition in the
members of this family; but let us beware of the extremes, to which
our maxims and our practices may finally carry us.

We educate a few only to the use of arms; them, indeed, we endeavour
to inspire with courage and a contempt of danger, but we endeavour
at the same time, by throwing them into a separate way of life, to
weaken their connection with the family, and to stifle the sentiments
of filial tenderness and respect, under the load of artificial
subordinations, to which they are bound for life. The familiar use
of arms may fortify the breast; but more is required to accomplish a
faithful and dutiful child, a tender, a generous affection, to that
parent, whom he is bound to defend.

The flower and choice of our young men, croud into the profession of
which I speak: for what station is more desireable to a man of spirit,
than one in which he can exert the native vigor of his mind, and stand
in the light of a protection and defence to his father’s house? They
place themselves in this station with a glowing and ardent mind, but
their continuance in it seldom fails to extinguish or depress those
sentiments, and leave no impression but that of a servile dependance on
the persons under whose directions they are placed.

Whilst we thus educate one part of the family, the remainder, we say,
are left to cultivate pacific arts; and those arts must be pacific
indeed, which render the ability of self-defence unnecessary, by which
men are made tools to procure the means of life, and are scarcely
put in mind, that they have a right to defend the privileges of men,
against all who shall presume to attack them. The former are bred
to commit acts of violence, in cold blood, the latter to bear them
with a tame and dejected soul. Did we resolve to try what the utmost
corruption could do, to debase, to sink and destroy a race of men, a
more ingenious contrivance could not be found than this we are disposed
to follow.

It is the business of one man, it seems, to think of nothing but
quarrels and violence; to another, it is not even permitted to defend
himself. In this hopeful partition of your children, where are you to
find the generous, the manly, and the dutiful spirit, equally prepared
for times of quiet and of trouble? A spirit, which the suspension
even of domestic government will not discompose, but which can, by a
well-directed resolution and vigor, restore that order, which it is so
well qualified to adorn and maintain.

If we would have any vestige of such spirit remain among us, let those
who have the habits and affections of children, be likewise endowed
with the force of men; let those who call you parent be inspired with a
resolution to stand by you in all your distresses and difficulties; and
whilst they enjoy the privileges and immunities of children, be taught
to know that it is their duty to defend them.

I was always fond of the measure now under consideration, because it
aimed at producing those happy effects. You need not be told in what
manner it tends to produce them, for your family has already gained
strength by pursuing it; and I feel with pleasure, the hopes of a
gallant and happy race of men, likely to continue in this house. But
let not so wise a measure be partially pursued; let not one part of
your race be doomed to baseness and servility, whilst the other is
formed to elevation and honour. One rotten member is sometimes found to
spread corruption over the whole, and a lurking humour in one corner,
to destroy the soundest constitution.

Your wisest establishments, when confined to a part, may perish for
want of that emulation, which, when all are equally engaged, must
kindle the ardor and spirits of generous minds. And the implements of
slavery may one day be brought from that corner, to which you now deny
the privileges of free-men. Into other families we have heard that a
master has come, who turned his dwelling into a jail, where nothing
is heard but the clank of chains, and the crashing of iron bars. He
himself is distinguished by the gloomy depression of his look; the
whip, which he holds in his hand, and the instruments of death which
are carried before him. But where are the ministers of his cruel
purpose to be found? They are purchased with gold in those obscure
corners of his neighbourhood, where every man that is born is a slave.

It has been the practice of other families to condemn a particular race
to servile purposes. Their names were never reckoned in the list of the
family, their numbers never estimated as any part of their strength.
For they were such as by their crimes deserved no better treatment; or
by the baseness and servility of their minds, had naturally sunk into
this station. But never did the father of a family, by any supercilious
neglect or act of violence, throw down the offspring of his own blood,
into a state of such deplorable inequality.


_FINIS._




Transcriber’s Notes

Minor errors in punctuation have been corrected.

Page 81: “in the neighbourhod” changed to “in the neighborhood”

Page 126: “more surprizng” changed to “more surprizing”

Page 165: “learned manl” changed to “learned man”



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