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and told her, he was sorry to see a young woman cast off all regard to modesty: but she had gone too far to recede, and grew so very indecent, that Joseph was obliged, contrary to his inclination, to use some violence to her, and taking her in his arms, he shut her out of the room, and locked the door.

How ought man to rejoice that his chastity is always in his own power; that if he hath sufficient strength of mind, he hath always a competent strength of body to defend himself, and cannot, like a poor weak woman, be ravished against his will?

Betty was in the most violent agitation at this disappointment. Rage and lust pulled her heart, as with two strings, two different ways; one moment she thought of stabbing Joseph, the next of taking him in her arms, and devouring him with kisses; but the latter passion was far more prevalent. Then she thought of revenging his refusal on herself: but whilst she was engaged in this meditation, happily Death presented himself to her in so many shapes of drowning, hanging, poisoning, &c. that her distracted mind could resolve on none. In this perturbation of spirit it accidentally occurred to her memory that her master's bed was not made; she therefore went directly to his room, where he happened at that time to be engaged at his bureau. As

soon as she saw him she attempted to retire, but he called her back, and taking her by the hand, squeezed her so tenderly, at the same time whispered so many soft things into her ears, and then pressed her so closely with his kisses, that the vanquished fair one, whose passions were already raised, and which were not so whimsically capricious that one man only could lay them, though, perhaps, she would rather have preferred that one; the vanquished fair one quietly submitted, I say, to her master's will, who had just attained the accomplishment of his bliss when Mrs Towwouse unexpectedly entered the room, and caused all that confusion which we have before seen, and which it is not necessary at present to take any further notice of, since, without the assistance of a single hint from us, every reader of any speculation or experience, though not married himself, may easily conjecture, that it concluded with the discharge of Betty, the submission of Mr Tow-wouse, with some things to be performed on his side by way of gratitude for his wife's goodness in being reconciled to him, with many hearty promises never to offend any more in the like manner; and lastly, his quietly and contentedly bearing to be reminded of his transgressions, as a kind of penance, once or twice a-day, during the residue of his life.

BOOK II.

CHAP. I.

Of divisions in authors.

THERE are certain mysteries or secrets in all trades, from the highest to the lowest, from that of prime-ministering to this of authoring, which are seldom discovered, unless to members of the same calling. Among those used by us gentlemen of the latter occupation, I take this of dividing our works into books and chapters to be none of the least considerable. Now, for want of being truly acquainted with this secret, common readers imagine, that by this art of dividing, we mean only to swell our works to a much larger bulk than they would otherwise be extended to. These several places therefore in our paper, which are filled with our books and chapters, are understood as so much buckram, stays, and stay-tape, in a tailor's bill, serving only to make up the sum total, commonly found at the bottom of our first page, and of his last.

But in reality the case is otherwise; and in this, as well as in all other instances, we consult

the advantage of our reader, not our own. And indeed many notable uses arise to him from this method for, first, those little spaces between our chapters may be looked on as an inn or resting-place, where he may stop and take a glass, or any other refreshment, as it pleases him. Nay, our fine readers will, perhaps, be scarce able to travel farther than through one of them in a day. As to those vacant pages which are placed between our books, they are to be regarded as those stages where, in long journies, the traveller stays some time to repose himself, and consider of what he hath seen in the parts he hath already past through; a consideration which I take the liberty to recommend a little to the reader; for however swift his capacity may be, I would not advise him to travel through these pages too fast; for if he doth, he may probably miss the seeing some curious productions of nature, which will be observed by the slower and more accurate reader. A volume without any such places of rest resembles the opening of wilds or seas, which tires the eye, and fatigues the spirit when entered upon.

Secondly, what are the contents prefixed to every chapter, but so many inscriptions over the gates of inns, (to continue the same metaphor,) informing the reader what entertainment he is to expect, which, if he likes not, he may travel on to the next: for, in biography, as we are not tied down to an exact concatenation equally with other historians, so a chapter or two (for instance this I am now writing) may be often passed over without any injury to the whole. And in these inscriptions I have been as faithful as possible; not imitating the celebrated Montaigne, who promises you one thing and gives you another; nor some title-page authors, who promise a great deal, and produce nothing at all.

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's absence, to forget where they left off.

These divisions have the sanction of great antiquity. Homer not only divided his great work into twenty-four books, (in compliment perhaps to the twenty-four letters, to which he had very particular obligations,) but, according to the opinion of some very sagacious critics, hawked them all separately, delivering only one book at a time, (probably by subscription.) He was the first inventor of the art which hath so long lain dormant, of publishing by numbers, an art now brought to such perfection, that even dictionaries are divided, and exhibited piecemeal to the public; nay, one bookseller hath (to encourage learning and ease the public) contrived to give them a dictionary in this divided manner, for only fifteen shillings more than it

would have cost entire.

Virgil hath given us his poems in twelve books, an argument of his modesty; for by that doubtless he would insinuate that he pretends to no more than half the merit of the Greek: for the same reason, our Milton went originally no farther than ten; till, being puffed up by the praise of his friends, he put himself on the same footing with the Roman poet.

I shall not, however, enter so deep into this matter as some very learned critics have done, who have, with infinite labour and acute discernment, discovered what books are proper for embellishment, and what require simplicity only, particularly with regard to similies, which I think are now generally agreed to become any book but the first.

I will dismiss this chapter with the following observation; that it becomes an author generally

VOL. I.

to divide a book, as it does a butcher to joint his meat; for such assistance is of great help to both the reader and the carver. And now having indulged myself a little, I will endeavour to indulge the curiosity of my reader, who is, no doubt, impatient to know what he will find in the subsequent chapters of this Book.

CHAP. II.

A surprising instance of Mr Adams's short memory, with the unfortunate consequences which it brought on Joseph.

MR Adams and Joseph were now ready to depart different ways, when an accident determined the former to return with his friend, which Tow-wouse, Barnabas, and the bookseller, had not been able to do. This accident was, that those sermons, which the parson was travelling to London to publish, were, O my good reader! left behind; what he had mistaken for them in the saddle-bags being no other than three shirts, a pair of shoes, and some other necessaries, which Mrs Adams, who thought her husband would want shirts more than sermons on his journey, had carefully provided him.

This discovery was now luckily owing to the presence of Joseph at the opening the saddlebags; who having heard his friend say, he carried with him nine volumes of sermons, and not being of that sect of philosophers who can reduce all the matter of the world into a nutshell, seeing there was no room for them in the bags, where the parson had said they were deposited, had the curiosity to cry out, "Bless me, sir, where are your sermons?" The parson answered, "There, there, child, there they are, under my shirts." Now it happened that he had taken forth his last shirt, and the vehicle remained visibly empty. "Sure, sir," says Joseph, "there is nothing in the bags." Upon which Adams starting, and testifying some surprise, cried, " Hey! fy, fy upon it; they are not here, sure enough. Ay, they are certainly left behind."

Joseph was greatly concerned at the uneasiness which he apprehended his friend must feel from this disappointment: he begged him to pursue his journey, and promised he would himself return with the books to him with the utmost expedition. "No, thank you, child," answered Adams, "it shall not be so. What would it avail me to tarry in the great city, unless I had my discourses with me, which are, ut ita dicam, the sole cause, the aitia monotate of my peregrination. No, child, as this accident hath happened, I am resolved to return back to my cure together with you; which indeed my inclination sufficiently leads me to. This disappointment may perhaps be intended for my good." He concluded with a verse out of Theocritus, which signifies

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no more than, that sometimes it rains, and sometimes the sun shines.

Joseph bowed with obedience and thankfulness for the inclination which the parson expressed of returning with him; and now the bill was called for, which, on examination, amounted within a shilling to the sum Mr Adams had in his pocket. Perhaps the reader may wonder how he was able to produce a sufficient sum for so many days: that he may not be surprised therefore, it cannot be unnecessary to acquaint him, that he had borrowed a guinea of a servant belonging to the coach and six, who had been formerly one of his parishioners, and whose master, the owner of the coach, then lived within three miles of him; for so good was the credit of Mr Adams, that even Mr Peter, the Lady Booby's steward, would have lent him a guinea with very little security.

Mr Adams discharged the bill, and they were both setting out, having agreed to ride and tie, a method of travelling much used by persons who have but one horse between them, and is thus performed. The two travellers set out together, one on horseback, the other on foot. Now, as it generally happens, that he on horseback outgoes him on foot, the custom is, that when he arrives at the distance agreed on, he is to dismount, tie the horse to some gate, tree, post, or other thing, and then proceed on foot; when the other comes up to the horse, he unties him, mounts and gallops on, till, having passed by his fellow-traveller, he likewise arrives at the place of tying. And this is that method of travelling so much in use among our prudent ancestors, who knew that horses had mouths as well as legs, and that they could not use the latter without being at the expence of suffering the beasts themselves to use the former. This was the method in use in those days, when, instead of a coach and six, a member of parliament's lady used to mount a pillion behind her husband; and a grave serjeant at law condescended to amble to Westminster on an easy pad, with his clerk kicking his heels behind him.

Adams was now gone some minutes, having insisted on Joseph's beginning the journey on horseback, and Joseph had his foot in the stirrup, when the hostler presented him a bill for the horse's board during his residence at the inn. Joseph said Mr Adams had paid all; but the matter being referred to Mr Tow-wouse, was by him decided in favour of the hostler, and indeed with truth and justice; for this was a fresh instance of that shortness of memory, which did not arise from want of parts, but that continual hurry in which Parson Adams was always involved.

Joseph was now reduced to a dilemma which extremely puzzled him. The sum due for horse meat was twelve shillings, (for Adams, who had borrowed the beast of his clerk, had ordered him to be fed as well as they could feed him,) and

the cash in his pocket amounted to sixpence, (for Adams had divided the last shilling with him.) Now, though there have been some ingenious persons who have contrived to pay twelve shillings with sixpence, Joseph was not one of them. He had never contracted a debt in his life, and was consequently the less ready at an expedient to extricate himself. Tow-wouse was willing to give him credit till next time, to which Mrs Towwouse would probably have consented, (for such was Joseph's beauty, that it had made some impression even on that piece of flint which that good woman wore in her bosom by way of heart.) Joseph would have found therefore, very likely, the passage free, had he not, when he honestly discovered the nakedness of his pockets, pulled out that little piece of gold, which we have mentioned before. This caused Mrs Tow-wouse's eyes to water; she told Joseph, she did not conceive a man could want money whilst he had gold in his pocket. Joseph answered, he had such a value for that little piece of gold, that he would not part with it for a hundred times the riches which the greatest esquire in the country was worth. "A pretty way indeed," said Mrs Tow-wouse, to run in debt, and then refuse to part with your money, because you have a value for it. I never knew any piece of gold of more value than as many shillings as it would change for." "Not to preserve my life from starving, nor to redeem it from a robber, would I part with this dear piece," answered Joseph. "What," says Mrs Tow-wouse, " I suppose it was given you by some vile trollop, some miss or other; if it had been the present of a virtuous woman, you would not have had such a value for it. My husband is a fool if he parts with a horse without being paid for him." "No, no, I can't part with the horse indeed till I have the money," cried Tow-wouse. A resolution highly commended by a lawyer then in the yard, who declared Mr Tow-wouse might justify the de

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As we cannot therefore at present get Mr Joseph out of the inn, we shall leave him in it, and carry our reader on after Parson Adams, who, his mind being perfectly at ease, fell into a contemplation on a passage in Eschylus, which entertained him for three miles together, without suffering him once to reflect on his fellow-traveller.

At length, having spun out his thread, and being now at the summit of a hill, he cast his eyes backwards, and wondered that he could not see any sign of Joseph; as he left him ready to mount the horse, he could not apprehend any mischief had happened, neither could he suspect that he had missed his way, it being so broad and plain: the only reason which presented itself to him was, that he had met with an acquaintance who had prevailed with him to delay some time in discourse.

He therefore resolved to proceed slowly for

wards, not doubting but that he should be shortly overtaken, and soon came to a large water, which filling the whole road, he saw no method of passing unless by wading through, which he accordingly did up to his middle; but was no sooner got to the other side, than he perceived, if he had looked over the hedge, he would have found a foot-path capable of conducting him without wetting his shoes.

His surprise at Joseph's not coming up grew now very troublesome; he began to fear he knew not what; and as he determined to move no farther, and, if he did not shortly overtake him, to return back, he wished to find a house of public entertainment, where he might dry his clothes, and refresh himself with a pint: but seeing no such, (for no other reason than because he did not cast his eyes a hundred yards forwards), he sat himself down on a stile, and pulled out his Eschylus.

A fellow passing presently by, Adams asked him, if he could direct him to an ale-house. The fellow, who had just left it, and perceived the house and sign to be within sight, thinking he had jeered him, and being of a morose temper, bade him follow his nose and be d-n'd. Adams told him he was a saucy jackanapes; upon which the fellow turned about angrily; but perceiving Adams clench his fist, he thought proper to go on without taking any farther notice.

A horseman following immediately after, and being asked the same question, answered, "Friend, there is one within a stone's throw; I believe you may see it before you." Adams, lifting up his eyes, cried, "I protest and so there is," and, thanking his informer, proceeded directly to it.

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wanted more than a hint to remind him, overhearing their discourse, immediately suggested to himself that this was his own horse, and that he had forgot to pay for him, which, upon enquiry, he was certified of by the gentlemen; who added, that the horse was likely to have more rest than food, unless he was paid for.

The poor parson resolved to return presently to the inn, though he knew no more than Joseph how to procure his horse his liberty: he was, however, prevailed on to stay under cover till the shower, which was now very violent, was over.

The three travellers then sat down together over a mug of good beer; when Adams, who had observed a gentleman's house as he passed along the road, inquired to whom it belonged: one of the horsemen had no sooner mentioned the owner's name, than the other began to revile him in the most opprobrious terms. The English language scarce affords a single reproachful word, which he did not vent on this occasion. He charged him likewise with many particular facts. He said, "He no more regarded a field of wheat when he was hunting, than he did the highway; that he had injured several poor farmers, by trampling their corn under his horse's heels; and if any of them begged him, with the utmost submission, to refrain, his horsewhip was always ready to do them justice." He said, "that he was the greatest tyrant to the neighbours in every other instance, and would not suffer a farmer to keep a gun, though he might justify it by law; and in his own family so cruel a master, that he never kept a servant a twelvemonth. In his capacity as a justice," continued he, "he behaves so partially, that he commits or acquits just as he is in the humour, without any regard to truth or evidence; the devil may carry any one before him for me; I would rather be tried before some judges than be a prosecutor before him: if I had an estate in the neighbourhood, I would sell it for half the value rather than live near him."

Adams shook his head, and said, He was sorry such men were suffered to proceed with impunity, and that riches could set any man above law. The reviler a little after retiring into the yard, the gentleman who had first mentioned his name to Adams, began to assure him, "that his companion was a prejudiced person. It is true," says he, " perhaps, that he may have sometimes pursued his game over a field of corn, but he hath always made the party ample satisfaction; that so far from tyrannizing over his neighbours, or taking away their guns, he himself knew several farmers not qualified, who not only kept guns, but killed game with them. That he was the best of masters to his servants, and several of them had grown old in his service. That he was the best justice of peace in the kingdom, and, to his certain knowledge, had decided many difficult points which were refer

red to him, with the greatest equity, and the highest wisdom. And he verily believed, several persons would give a year's purchase more for an estate near him, than under the wings of any other great man.' He had just finished his encomium, when his companion returned, and acquainted him the storm was over. Upon which they presently mounted their horses and depart

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Adams, who was in the utmost anxiety at those different characters of the same person, asked his host if he knew the gentleman: for he began to imagine they had by mistake been speaking of two several gentlemen. No, no, master!" answered the host, a shrewd cunning fellow, "I know the gentleman very well of whom they have been speaking, as I do the gentlemen who spoke of him. As for riding over other mens' corn, to my knowledge he hath not been on horseback these two years. I never heard he did any injury of that kind; and as to making reparation, he is not so free of his money as that comes to neither. Nor did I ever hear of his taking away any man's gun; nay, I know several who have guns in their houses; but as for killing game with them, no man is stricter; and I be lieve he would ruin any who did. You heard one of the gentlemen say, he was the worst master in the world, and the other that he is the best: but for my own part, I know all his servants, and never heard from any of them that he was either the one or the other."-"Ay, ay!" says Adams," and how doth he behave as a justice, pray?" "Faith, friend," answered the host, "I question whether he is in the commission: the only cause I have heard he hath decided a great while, was one between those very two persons who just went out of this house; and I am sure he determined that justly, for I heard the whole matter." Which did he decide it in favour of?" quoth Adams. "I think I need not answer that question," cried the host, "after the different characters you have heard of him. It is not my business to contradict gentlemen, while they are drinking in my house; but I knew neither of them spoke a syllable of truth." "God forbid!" said Adams, "that men should arrive at such a pitch of wickedness, to belie the character of their neighbour from a little private affection, or, what is infinitely worse, a private spite. I rather believe we have mistaken them, and they mean two other persons: for there are inany houses on the road." "Why, prythee friend," cries the host, "dost thou pretend never to have told a lie in thy life?" "Never a malicious one, I am certain," answered Adams; nor with a design to injure the reputation of any man living." "Pugh! malicious; no, no," replied the host; "not malicious with a design to hang a man, or bring him into trouble: but surely out of love to one's self, one must speak better of a friend than an enemy." "Out of love to yourself, you should confine yourself

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to truth," says Adams; " for by doing otherwise, you injure the noblest part of yourself, your immortal soul. I can hardly believe any man such an ideot to risk the loss of that by any trifling gain, and the greatest gain in this world is but dirt in comparison of what shall be revealed hereafter." Upon which the host, taking up the cup, with a smile, drank a health to Hereafter; adding, "he was for something present." "Why," says Adams very gravely, " Do not you believe another world?" To which the host answered, "Yes, he was no atheist." "And you believe you have an immortal soul?" cries Adams: he answered, "God forbid he should not." "And heaven and hell?" said the parson. The host then bid him not to prophane; for those were things not to be mentioned nor thought of but in church. Adams asked him, "Why he went to church, if what he learned there had no influence on his conduct in life?" "I go to church,” answered the host, " to say my prayers, and behave godly." "And dost not thou," cried Adams, "believe what thou hearest at church?" "Most part of it, master," returned the host. "And dost not thou then tremble," cries Adams, "at the thought of eternal punishment?" "As for that, master," said he, "I never once thought about it. But what signifies talking about matters so far off? The mug is out, shall I draw another?"

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Whilst he was going for that purpose, a stagecoach drove up to the door. The coachman coming into the house, was asked by the mistress, What passengers he had in his coach? "A parcel of squinny-gut b—s," says he, "I have a good mind to overturn them; you won't prevail upon them to drink any thing, I assure you." Adams asked him, If he had not seen a young man on horseback on the road, (describing Joseph). Ay," said the coachman, " a gentlewoman in my coach, that is his acquaintance, redeemed him and his horse; he would have been here before this time, had not the storm driven him to shelter.” “God bless her," said Adams, in a rapture; nor could he delay walking out to satisfy himself who this charitable woman was; but what was his surprise, when he saw his old acquaintance Madam Slipslop! Her's indeed was not so great, because she had been informed by Joseph that he was on the road. Very civil were the salutations or both sides; and Mrs Slipslop rebuked the hos tess for denying the gentleman to be there when she asked for him. But indeed the poor woman had not erred designedly; for Mrs Slipslop asked for a clergyman; and she had unhappily mistaken Adams for a person travelling to a neighbouring fair with the thimble and button, or some other such operation: for he marched in a swinging great, but short white coat, with black buttons, a short wig, and a hat, which, so far from having a black hatband, had nothing black about it.

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