Whilst he was smoaking his pipe in this posture, a coach and six, with a numerous attendance, drove into the inn. There alighted from the coach a young fellow and a brace of pointers, after which another young fellow leapt from the box, and shook the former by the hand; and both, together with the dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr Tow-wouse into an apartment; whither as they passed, they entertained themselves with the following short facetious dialogue:鈥?%A鈥淵ou are a pretty fellow for a coachman, Jack!鈥?says he from the coach; 鈥測ou had almost overturned us just now.鈥?鈥?鈥淧ox take you!鈥?says the coachman; 鈥渋f I had only broke your neck, it would have been saving somebody else the trouble; but I should have been sorry for the pointers.鈥?鈥?鈥淲hy, you son of a b 鈥?鈥?answered the other, 鈥渋f nobody could shoot better than you, the pointers would be of no use.鈥?鈥?鈥淒鈥?n me,鈥?says the coachman, 鈥淚 will shoot with you five guineas a shot.鈥?鈥?鈥淵ou be hanged,鈥?says the other; 鈥渇or five guineas you shall shoot at my a 鈥?鈥?鈥?鈥淒one,鈥?says the coachman; 鈥淚鈥檒l pepper you better than ever you was peppered by Jenny Bouncer.鈥?鈥?鈥淧epper your grandmother,鈥?says the other: 鈥淗ere鈥檚 Tow-wouse will let you shoot at him for a shilling a time.鈥?鈥?鈥淚 know his honour better,鈥?cries Tow-wouse; 鈥淚 never saw a surer shot at a partridge. Every man misses now and then; but if I could shoot half as well as his honour, I would desire no better livelihood than I could get by my gun.鈥?鈥?鈥淧ox on you,鈥?said the coachman, 鈥測ou demolish more game now than your head鈥檚 worth. There鈥檚 a bitch, Tow-wouse: by G鈥?she never blinked4 a bird wW/88gege/CoM椋睢。瑁澹颉。欤椋妫澹€? 鈥?鈥淚 have a puppy, not a year old, shall hunt with her for a hundred,鈥?cries the other gentleman. 鈥?鈥淒one,鈥?says the coachman: 鈥渂ut you will be pox鈥檇 before you make the bett.鈥?鈥?鈥淚f you have a mind for a bett,鈥?cries the coachman, 鈥淚 will match my spotted dog with your white bitch for a hundred, play or pay.鈥?鈥?鈥淒one,鈥?says the other: 鈥渁nd I鈥檒l run Baldface against Slouch with you for another.鈥?鈥?鈥淣o,鈥?cries he from the box; 鈥渂ut I鈥檒l venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or Hannibal either.鈥?鈥?鈥淕o to the devil,鈥?cries he from the coach: 鈥淚 will make every bett your own way, to be sure! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for a thousand, if you dare; and I say done first.鈥? To blink is a term used to signify the dog鈥檚 passing by a bird without pointing at it.鈥淗ow vain, most adorable creature, is the pursuit of pleasure in the absence of an object to which the mind is entirely devoted, unless it have some relation to that object! I was last night condemned to the society of men of wit and learning, which, however agreeable it might have formerly been to me, now only gave me a suspicion that they imputed my absence in conversation to the true cause. For which reason, when your engagements forbid me the ecstatic happiness of seeing you, I am always desirous to be alone; since my sentiments for Leonora are so delicate, that I cannot bear the apprehension of another鈥檚 prying into those delightfulWwW/88gege/CoM endearments with which the warm imagination of a lover will sometimes indulge him, and which I suspect my eyes then betray. To fear this discovery of our thoughts may perhaps appear too ridiculous a nicety to minds not susceptible of all the tendernesses of this delicate passion. And surely we shall suspect there are few such, when we consider that it requires every human virtue to exert itself in its full extent; since the beloved, whose happiness it ultimately respects, may give us charming opportunities of being brave in her defence, generous to her wants, compassionate to her afflictions, grateful to her kindness; and in the same manner, of exercising every other virtue, which he who would not do to any degree, and that with the utmost rapture, can never deserve the name of a lover. It is, therefore, with a view to the delicate modesty of your mind that I cultivate it so purely in my own; and it is that which will sufficiently suggest to you the uneasiness I bear from those liberties, which men to whom the world allow politeness will sometimes give themselves on these occasions.Mrs Tow-wouse was just awake, and had stretched out her arms in vain to fold her departed husband, when the maid entered the room. 鈥淲ho鈥檚 there? Betty?鈥?鈥?鈥淵es, madam.鈥?鈥?鈥淲here鈥檚 your master?鈥?鈥?鈥淗e鈥檚 without, madam; he hath sent me for a shirt to lend a poor naked man, who hath been robbed and murdered.鈥?鈥?鈥淭ouch one if you dare, you slut,鈥?said Mrs Tow-wouse: 鈥測our master is a pretty sort of a man, to take in naked vagabonds, and clothe them with his own clothes. I shall have no such doings. If you offer to touch anything, I鈥檒l throw the chamber-pot at your head. Go, send your master to me.鈥?鈥?鈥淵es, madam,鈥?answered Betty. As soon as he came in, she thus began: 鈥淲hat the devil do you mean by this, Mr Tow-wouse? Am I to buy shirts to lend to a set of scabby rascals?鈥?鈥?鈥淢y dear,鈥?said Mr Tow-wouse, 鈥渢his is a poor wretch.鈥?鈥?鈥淵es,鈥?says she, 鈥淚 know it is a poor wretch; but what the devil have we to do with poor wretches? The law makes us provide for too many already. We shall have thirty or forty poor wretches in red coats shortly.鈥?鈥?鈥淢y dear,鈥?cries Tow-wouse, 鈥渢his man hath been robbed of all he hath.鈥?鈥?鈥淲ell then,鈥?said she, 鈥渨here鈥檚 his money to pay his reckoning? Why doth not such a fellow go to an alehouse? I shall send him packing as soon as I am up, I assure you.鈥?鈥?鈥淢y dear,鈥?said he, 鈥渃ommon charity won鈥檛 suffer you to do that.鈥?鈥?鈥淐ommon charity, a f 鈥?t!鈥?says she, 鈥渃ommon charity teaches us to provide for ourselves and our families; and I and mine won鈥檛 be ruined by your charity, I assure you.鈥?鈥?鈥淲ell,鈥?says he, 鈥渕y dear, do as you will, when you are up; you know I never contradict you.鈥?鈥?鈥淣o,鈥?says she; 鈥渋f the devil was to WwW/88gege/CoMcontradict me, I would make the house too hot to hold him.鈥?%AWith such like discourses they consumed near half-an-hour, whilst Betty provided a shirt from the hostler, who was one of her sweethearts, and put it on poor Joseph. The surgeon had likewise at last visited him, and washed and drest his wounds, and was now come to acquaint Mr Tow-wouse that his guest was in such extreme danger of his life, that he scarce saw any hopes of his recovery. 鈥淗ere鈥檚 a pretty kettle of fish,鈥?cries Mrs Tow-wouse, 鈥測ou have brought upon us! We are like to have a funeral at our own expense.鈥?Tow-wouse (who, notwithstanding his charity, would have given his vote as freely as ever he did at an election, that any other house in the kingdom should have quiet possession of his guest) answered, 鈥淢y dear, I am not to blame; he was brought hither by the stage-coach, and Betty had put him to bed before I was stirring.鈥?鈥?鈥淚鈥檒l Betty her,鈥?says she. 鈥?At which, with half her garments on, the other half under her arm, she sallied out in quest of the unfortunate Betty, whilst Tow-wouse and the surgeon went to pay a visit to poor Joseph, and inquire into the circumstances of this melancholy affair.How can it thy dear image beThe EPIC, as well as the DRAMA, is divided into tragedy and comedy. HOMER, who was the father of this species of poetry, gave us a pattern of both these, though that of the latter kind is entirely lost; which Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to comedy which his Iliad bears to tragedy. And perhaps, that we have no more instances of it among the writers of antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its imitators equally with the other poems of this great original.Part 1 Chapter 17 To what distant Lethe must run?So send up dinner, good Boniface.鈥欌€?He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and a short greatcoat, which half covered his cassock 鈥?a dress which, added to something comical enough in his countenance, composed a figure likely to attract the eyes of those who were not over given to observation.Thou puttest out our eyes, stoppest up our ears, and takest away the power of our nostrils; so that we can neither see the largest object, hear the loudest noise, nor smell the most poignant perfume. Again, when thou pleasest, thou canst make a molehill appear as a mountain, a Jew鈥檚-harp sound like a trumpet, and a daisy smell like a violet. Thou canst make cowardice brave, avarice generous, pride humble, and cruelty tender-hearted. In short, thou turnest the heart of man inside out, as a juggler doth a petticoat, and bringest whatsoever pleaseth thee out from it. If there be any one who doubts all this, let him read the next chapter.

The boy staying longer than seemed to be necessary, Joseph, who with Fanny was now returned to the parson, expressed some apprehensions that the gentleman鈥檚 steward had locked up his purse too. To which Adams answered, 鈥淚t might very possibly be, and he should wonder at no liberties which the devil might put into the head of a wicked servant to take with so worthy a master;鈥?but added, 鈥渢hat, as the sum was so small, so noble a gentleman would be easily able to procure it in the parish, though he had it not in his own pocket. Indeed,鈥?says he, 鈥渋f it was four or five guineas, or any such large quantity of money, it might be a different matter.鈥?%AThey were now sat down to breakfast over some toast and ale, when the boy returned and informed them that the gentleman was not at home. 鈥淰ery well!鈥?cries Adams; 鈥渂ut why, child, did you not stay till his return? Go back again, my good boy, and wait for his coming home; he cannot be gone far, as his horses are all sick; and besides, he had no intention to go abroad, for he invited us to spend this day and tomorrow at his house. Therefore go back, child, and tarry till his return home.鈥?The messenger departed, and was back again with great expedition, bringing an account that the gentleman was gone a long journey, and would not be at home again this month. At these words Adams seemed greatly confounded, saying, 鈥淭his must be a sudden accident, as the sickness or death of a relation or some such unforeseen misfortune;鈥?and then, turning to Joseph, cried, 鈥淚 wish you had reminded me to have borrowed this money last night.鈥?Joseph, smiling, answered, 鈥淗e was very much deceived if the gentleman would not have found some excuse to avoid lending it. 鈥?I own,鈥?says he, 鈥淚 was never much pleased with his professing so much kindness for you at first sight; for I have heard the gentlemen of our cloth in London tell many such stories of their masters. But when the boy brought the message back of his not being at home, I presently knew what would follow; for, whenever a man of fashion doth not care to fulfil his promises, the custom is to order his servants that he will never be at home to the person so promised. In London they call it denying him. I have myself denied Sir Thomas Booby above a hundred times, and when the man hath danced attendance for about a month or sometimes longer, he is acquainted in the end that the gentleman is gone out of town and could do nothing in the business.鈥?鈥?鈥淕ood Lord!鈥?says Adams, 鈥渨hat wickedness is there in the Christian world! I profess almost equal to what I have read of the heathens. But surely, Joseph, your suspicions of this gentleman must be unjust, for what a silly fellow must he be who would do the devil鈥檚 work for nothing! and canst thou tell me any interest he could possibly propose to himself by deceiving us in his professions?鈥?鈥?鈥淚t is not for me,鈥?answered Joseph, 鈥渢o give reasons for what men do, to a gentleman of your learning.鈥?鈥?鈥淵ou say right,鈥?quoth Adams; 鈥渒nowledge of men is only to be learned from books; Plato and Seneca for that; and those are authors, I am afraid, child, you never read.鈥?鈥?鈥淣ot I, sir, truly,鈥?answered Joseph; 鈥渁ll I know is, it is a maxim among the gentlemen of our cloth, that those masters who promise the most perform the least; and I have often heard them say they have found the largest vails in those families where they were not promised any. But, sir, instead of considering any farther these matters, it would be our wisest way to contrive some method of getting out of this house; for the generous gentleman, instead of doing us any service, hath left us the whole reckoning to pay.鈥?Adams was going to answer, when their host came in, and, with a kind of jeering smile, said, 鈥淲ell, masters! the squire hath not sent his horses for you yet. Laud help me! how easily some folks make promises!鈥?鈥?鈥淗ow!鈥?says Adams; 鈥渉ave you ever known him do anything of this kind before?鈥?鈥?鈥淎y! marry have I,鈥?answered the host: 鈥渋t is no business of mine, you know, sir, to say anything to a gentleman to his face; but now he is not here, I will assure you, he hath not his fellow within the three next market-towns. I own I could not help laughing when I heard him offer you the living, for thereby hangs a good jest. I thought he would have offered you my house next, for one is no more his to dispose of than the other.鈥?At these words Adams, blessing himself, declared, 鈥淗e had never read of such a monster. But what vexes me most,鈥?says he, 鈥渋s, that he hath decoyed us into running up a long debt with you, which we are not able to pay, for we have no money about us, and, what is worse, live at such a distance, that if you should trust us, I am afraid you would lose your money for want of our finding any conveniency of sending it.鈥?鈥?鈥淭rust you, master!鈥?says the host, 鈥渢hat I will with all my heart. I honour the clergy too much to deny trusting one of them for such a trifle; besides, I like your fear of never paying me. I have lost many a debt in my lifetime, but was promised to be paid them all in a very short time. I will score this reckoning for the novelty of it. It is the first, I do assure you, of its kind. But what say you, master, shall we have t鈥檕ther pot before we part? It will waste but a little chalk more, and if you never pay me a shilling the loss will not ruin me.鈥?Adams liked the invitation very well, especially as it was delivered with so hearty an accent. He shook his host by the hand, and thanking him, said, 鈥淗e would tarry another pot rather for the pleasure of such worthy company than for the liquor;鈥?adding, 鈥渉e was glad to find some Christians left in the kingdom, for that he almost began to suspect that he was sojourning in a country inhabited only by Jews and Turks.鈥?%AThe kind host produced the liquor, and Joseph with Fanny retired into the garden, where, while they solaced themselves with amorous discourse, Adams sat down with his host; and, both filling their glasses, and lighting their pipes, they began that dialogue which the reader will find in the next chapter.Giving an account of the strange catastrophe of the preceding adventure, which drew poor Adams into fresh calamities; and who the woman was who owed the preservation of her chastity to his victorious arm.There are, besides these more obvious benefits, several others which our readers enjoy from this art of dividing; though perhaps most of them too mysterious to be presently understood by any who are not initiated into the science of authoring. To mention, therefore, but one which is most obvious, it prevents spoiling the beauty of a book by turning down its leaves, a method otherwise necessary to those readers who (though they read with great improvement and advantage) are apt, when they return to their study after half-an-hour鈥檚 absence, to forget where they left off.For this reason, we have not hitherto hinted a matter which now seems necessary to be explained; since it may be wondered at, first, that Joseph made such extraordinary haste out of town, which hath been already shewn; and secondly, which will be now shewn, that, instead of proceeding to the habitation of his father and mother, or to his beloved sister Pamela, he chose rather to set out full speed to the Lady Booby鈥檚 country-seat, which he had left on his journey to London.I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, because I have often heard that name given to performances which have been truly of the comic kind, from the author鈥檚 having sometimes admitted it in his diction only; which, as it is the dress of poetry, doth, like the dress of men, establish characters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man), in vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excellences: but surely, a certain drollery in stile, where characters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where everything else is mean and low, can entitle any performance to the appellation of the true sublime. With his eyes he beheld his loved charms?HORATIO TO LEONORA.Part 1 Chapter 14To waive, therefore, a circumstance which, though mentioned in conformity to the exact rules of biography, is not greatly material, I proceed to things of more consequence. Indeed, it is sufficiently certain that he had as many ancestors as the best man living, and, perhaps, if we look five or six hundred years backwards, might be related to some persons of very great figure at present, whose ancestors within half the last century are buried in as great obscurity. But suppose, for argument鈥檚 sake, we should admit that he had no ancestors at all, but had sprung up, according to the modern phrase, out of a dunghill, as the Athenians pretended they themselves did from the earth, would not this autokopros2 have been justly entitled to all the praise arising from his own virtues? Would it not be hard that a man who hath no ancestors should therefore be rendered incapable of acquiring honour; when we see so many who have no virtues enjoying the honour of their forefathers? At ten years old (by which time his education was advanced to writing and reading) he was bound an apprentice, according to the statute, to Sir Thomas Booby, an uncle of Mr Booby鈥檚 by the father鈥檚 side. Sir Thomas having then an estate in his own hands, the young Andrews was at first employed in what in the country they call keeping birds. His office was to perform the part the ancients assigned to the god Priapus, which deity the moderns call by the name of Jack o鈥?Lent; but his voice being so extremely musical, that it rather allured the birds than terrified them, he was soon transplanted from the fields into the dog-kennel, where he was placed under the huntsman, and made what the sportsmen term whipper-in. For this place likewise the sweetness of his voice disqualified him; the dogs preferring the melody of his chiding to all the alluring notes of the huntsman, who soon became so incensed at it, that he desired Sir Thomas to provide otherwise for him, and constantly laid every fault the dogs were at to the account of the poor boy, who was now transplanted to the stable. Here he soon gave proofs of strength and agility beyond his years, and constantly rode the most spirited and vicious horses to water, with an intrepidity which surprized every one. While he was in this station, he rode several races for Sir Thomas, and this with such expertness and success, that the neighbouring gentlemen frequently solicited the knight to permit little Joey (for so he was called) to ride their matches. The best gamesters, before they laid their money, always inquired which horse little Joey was to ride; and the bets were rather proportioned by the rider than by the horse himself; especially after he had scornfully refused a considerable bribe to play booty on such an occasion. This extremely raised his character, and so pleased the Lady Booby, that she desired to have him (being now seventeen years of age) for her own footboy. You ne鈥檈r was so pressing before.

Posted by on September 17, 2013 at 2:10 am | Comments & Trackbacks (0) | Permalink

Hello world!

Welcome to your brand new blog at Edublogs!

To get started, simply visit your blog’s dashboard, edit or delete this post and check out all the other options available to you.

Like more help?

We can walk you through step-by-step in our guide to getting started with your blog.

Happy blogging!

Posted by on September 17, 2013 at 2:10 am | Comments & Trackbacks (1) | Permalink