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The title of this play gives a sensation of both pain
and pleasure.—Fontainbleau was a favourite residence
of a number of the French kings, and the spot where
the princes of the blood resorted, with all the nobility
of the land, when the sports of the field, or the course,
were the particular objects of their pastime. Pastime
is a word no longer used in the vocabulary of the
court of France—Every moment has now its impending
cares, and teems with the fate of empires! |
At the time this opera was written, (in 1784) the late
Duke of Orleans frequently visited England, and was
remarkable for his passionate attachment to British
modes and manners. The character of Colonel Epaulette,
in this drama, was supposed to be founded on
this, his highness's extravagant partiality. There is
that trait, indeed, of the duke's propensity, in Epaulette;
but in all other respects, the colonel neither
soars, nor grovels, with his royal archetype, in any
one action of notoriety. |
The author would not take the liberty to characterise
a foreigner, without dealing, at the same time,
equally free with one of his own countrymen. The
part of Lackland was taken more exactly from life,
than that of Epaulette, from a gentleman well known
abroad by every English traveller; and whose real
name is so very like the fictitious one here adopted,
that a single letter removed, would make the spelling
just the same. |
The reader will observe in this Lackland, so much
of debased nature, and of whimsical art; so much
of what he has probably met with upon journeys, or
amongst common intruders at home, that he will regret,
that the author, in his delineation, swerves now
and then from that standard of truth, to which he,
possibly, at first meant to adhere; and for the sake of
dramatic effect, has made this hero, in effrontery, proceed
somewhat too far beyond its usual limits. |
Lapoche is, perhaps, an exact Frenchman of the
time in which he was drawn; and, as such, the most
agreeable object for an Englishman's ridicule. The
mistakes which occur, to both Mr. and Mrs. Bull,
in respect to this insignificant, and that pompous man,
Epaulette, are incidents of very rich humour, though
they place the opera more in that class of the drama,
which is called farce, than in that of comedy. Such
is the incident, but more excellent in its kind, of
Lackland's courtship of Miss Dolly, and her equal
affection for her three suitors. |
When music had fewer charms for the British nation,
operas were required to possess more of interesting
fable than at present is necessary—for now, so rapturous
is the enjoyment derived from this enchanting
art, even by the vulgar, that plot, events, and characters
of genuine worth, would be cast away in a
production, where music had a share in bestowing
delight. |
He shall prepare and superintend the administration of
medicines, visit the wards frequently, and carefully note
the condition and progress of individual cases; see that the
directions of the Superintendent are faithfully executed,
and promptly report any case of neglect or abuse that may
come under his observation, or of which he may be informed. |
He shall assist in devising employment and recreation
for the patients, and endeavor in every way to promote
their comfort and recovery; keep such records of cases as
the Superintendent may direct, assist in preparing statistics,
and conducting correspondence, and he shall perform
such other duties of his office as properly belong thereto. |
1. Persons employed in the service of the Asylum will
learn that character, proper deportment, and faithfulness
to duty, will alone keep them in the situations in which
they are placed; and they should consider well, before entering
upon service, whether they are prepared to devote
all their time, talents, and efforts, in the discharge of the
duties assigned to them. The Institution will deal in strict
good faith with its employees, and it will expect, in return,
prompt, faithful, and self-denying service. |
2. No one can justly take offense when respectfully
informed by the Superintendent, that his or her temperament
is better adapted to some other employment; and
those receiving such information should regard it as kindly
given, that they may have opportunity to avoid the unpleasantness
of being discharged. |
3. Those employed at the Asylum be expected to
hold themselves in readiness for duty when directed by its
officers; and the neglect of any labor, or duty, on the
ground that laboring hours are over, or to hesitate, after
proper direction, on such pretexts, will be regarded as evidence
against the fitness of the employee for the place he
or she may hold. |
5. All persons employed in the Asylum are required
to cultivate a calm and deliberate method of performing
their daily duties—carelessness and precipitation being
never more out of place than in an insane asylum. Loud
talking, hurrying up and down stairs, rude forms of address
to one another, and unsightly styles of dress, are wholly
misplaced where everything should be strictly decorous
and orderly. |
6. In the management of patients, unvarying kindness
must be strictly observed by all. When spoken to, mild,
pleasant and persuasive language must never give place to
authoritative expressions of any kind. All threats, taunts,
or other kinds of abuse in language, are expressly forbidden.
A blow, kick, or any other kind of physical abuse,
inflicted on a patient, will be immediately followed by the
dismissal of the person so offending. |
7. Employees having charge of patients outside of the
wards, whether for labor or exercise, will be held responsible
for their safe return, unless, by the direction of an officer
they shall be transferred to the charge of some other
person; and when patients employed out of doors become
excited, they must be immediately returned to the wards
whence they were taken, and the fact reported at the office. |
8. It will be expected of all employed in or about the
Asylum, to check, as far as possible, all conversations or
allusions, on the part of patients, to subjects of an obscene
or improper nature, and remove, when in their power, false
impressions on their minds, respecting their confinement
or management; and any person who shall discover a patient
devising plans for escape, suicide, or violence to others,
is enjoined to report it to an officer without delay. |
10. The employees are not permitted to correspond
with the friends of patients; and all letters or packages to,
or from, patients, must pass through the hands of the Superintendent
or Assistant Physician. All making of dresses,
working of embroidery, or any mechanism, for the use
of employees, is prohibited, unless by the special permission
of the Superintendent; and no employee of the Institution
shall ever make any bargain with any patient, or his
or her friends, or accept of any fee, reward or gratuity from
any patient, or his or her friends, without the Superintendent’s
consent. |
12. No person will be employed in or about the Asylum
who is intemperate in habits, or who engages in gambling
or any other immoral or disreputable practice; and
as the patients are not allowed the use of tobacco, within
the Asylum, the employees are expected not to use it, in
any form, in their presence. |
14. The two departments of the Institution—male and
female—must always be separate to its employees, and no
person, whose post of duty is exclusively in the one, shall
ever be permitted to enter the other, unless some express
or proper occasion shall demand it; and any one who shall
discover, and not disclose, or who shall in any way encourage,
an acquaintance between two patients, of opposite sex,
will be held highly culpable for such misdemeanor, and
will be forthwith dismissed from service. |
15. No employee will be permitted to appropriate to
his or her use any article belonging to the Asylum, or purchased
for the use of the patients, however small or comparatively
valueless it may be. From the salary of the person
so offending, the cost of the article will be deducted,
and he or she dismissed from service. |
3. He shall keep just, accurate and methodical accounts
of all articles received, and all articles purchased by
him, together with all distributions of supplies to the several
departments of the Institution—each and every day’s
accounts exhibiting, in detail, the number, quantity weight
or measurement, as the nature of the case may be, of each
and every article received, and from whom, and distributed,
and to whom. |
1. The Matron shall have charge of the female department
of the Asylum. It will be expected of her to be with
the female patients, in all the wards, as much as possible;
see that they are kindly treated; that their food is properly
cooked, served and distributed; that their apartments are
kept clean and in good order, and properly warmed and
ventilated; that the female employees attend to their duties
in all respects, and report to the Superintendent any
departure, on their part, from the rules and regulations of
the Institution. |
2. The bedding, table linen, napkins, and drapery
furniture, carpets, table covers, and all similar property
of the female department, as well as the clothing of
the female patients, shall be under her general care and
supervision. She shall direct the employment and amusements
of all the inmates of the female wards; in short, it
will be expected of her to look frequently and carefully
into every interest connected with her department; and
thus, by devoting her whole time to the Institution, aid in
every way in her power, in securing the comfort and recovery
of the patients, and the general welfare of the Asylum. |
2. It shall be the duty of the Clerk to keep a correct
account of the patients received—entering, at the time of
their admission, in a book provided for the purpose, a condensed
copy of each commitment, with the facts set forth in
the certificate of the examining physicians accompanying
the same. He shall also note, in the same connection, the
condition of the patient, as found by the Superintendent or
Assistant Physician, at the time of admission. |
1. The Supervisors shall have a general oversight of
the duties of the Attendants; they shall spend their time
chiefly in the wards, and they shall see that the rules prescribing
the duties of the Attendants, towards the patients,
are faithfully observed, that the patients are well treated,
and in all respects properly cared for; they shall, in an especial
manner, have the oversight of the sick, and see that
watchers are detailed for such as require it. |
3. Money, jewelry, or other valuables, shall be brought
to the office for safe keeping—except where their retention
by the patient is expressly permitted by the Superintendent
or Assistant Physician. On the discharge, or removal,
of a patient, the clothing in his or her possession, shall be
carefully compared with the clothing account of said patient,
that any losses may be discovered or accounted for. |
4. The clothing belonging to the patients, in each division,
shall be deposited in a room, set apart for the purpose,
the key of which shall be in custody of the Supervisor,
and, at some particular hour of the day, the Supervisors
shall be in attendance in their respective clothing rooms,
to exchange, or supply, such clothing as the wants of patients
may require, and Attendants are enjoined, not to call
on the Supervisors, for that purpose, at any other times, if
avoidable. Clothing required for daily use, shall be kept
in the ward closets. |
5. The Supervisors shall have charge of the sewing
rooms, and when any patient is in want of new clothing the
fact shall be reported to the Supervisors, who will receive
instructions from the Superintendent in regard to its supply.
No clothing shall be purchased out of the Asylum, if
it can be manufactured in the sewing rooms. |
1. Those employed in the wards in the care of the patients,
as their Attendants, should remember that their first
duty is to treat them with unvarying kindness, respect and
attention. Feelings of mutual good will, can, with few exceptions,
be successfully cultivated between Attendants and
those under their immediate care, and doubts may be
justly entertained of an Attendant’s fitness, when these are
wanting. |
2. The first effort on the part of an Attendant, on receiving
a patient, should be to win his or her confidence,
however insensible the patient may be to kindly advances.
Patients generally enter the wards with the thorough conviction
that evil is intended them, and the first show of
harshness or force, however slight, will confirm that impression,
while kind assurances, and manifestations of sympathy,
quickly disarm them of their false impressions, and
the first great step in the way of cure is begun. The Attendant
should regard the patient as an honored guest, who
comes, tarries for a short time, and goes on his way, to give
to the world a good or evil report of his entertainer. |
4. The muffs, sleeves, wristbands, or other means of
confinement, are never to be used unless by order of the
Superintendent or Assistant Physician; and the Attendant
shall never, under any circumstances, use greater force
than is sufficient to secure the patient, himself, or others,
from the efforts of his or her violence, and after the patient
is secured in his or her room, the Superintendent or Assistant
Physician shall be informed of what has occurred. |
5. During the evening, after patients have retired,
one Attendant or Assistant, shall always be present in each
ward, to discover any disturbance, and administer to any
necessity that may arise, and no Attendant shall ever leave
the ward in which he or she is engaged, without informing
an Assistant of his or her intended absence. During
the day Attendants are expected to make the patients, and
the patient’s clothing, and sleeping apartments, the objects
of their most careful attention. |
7. Attendants, in this Institution, are considered the
companions, not “keepers,” of the patients, and, regarding
themselves as such, they shall strive to keep every one,
whose physical health will admit of it, engaged in some
kind of amusement or employment in labor, as designated,
from time to time, by the Superintendent, or Assistant
Physician. The cultivation of fruits and flowers, the use of
the library, reading room, gymnasium, bowling alleys, and
other means for mental, moral and physical training, should
be in every way encouraged. |
8. The Attendants should see that the patients indulge
in no pernicious practices; those given to solitary habits
must receive special attention, and, as far as possible, induced
to participate in the pursuits and amusements of
others. Indolent patients should be led about the wards
and yards, and induced to join in exercises; those, on the
contrary, who are weak, and restless, should be induced to
take repose. |
9. Attendants are forbidden to make walking out with
their patients a pretext for doing errands, or making calls
for themselves, and they must not go to town with the patients,
when the state of the roads and fields allow exercises
in other directions, and they must be especially vigilant
that patients, when out, do not obtain possession of any
dangerous implements, matches, or other articles improper
for them to have, and strict search must be made for such
immediately on their return to the Asylum, and before
they shall have time to secrete them in the wards. |
11. On Mondays and Thursdays the Attendants shall
collect all clothing designed for the wash, and deliver the
same, with lists thereof, to the Supervisors, at the assorting
rooms, and on Wednesdays and Saturdays they will assist
the Overseers of the laundry to assort the clothing, and
place the articles of each ward to themselves for the inspection
of the Supervisors, who will compare them with the
washing lists and make their return thereon. |
1. The Assistants will be employed with the Attendants
in the care of the patients, their rooms, clothing, etc.;
they will be under the immediate direction and control of
the Attendants; and they are expected to observe with
care the rules prescribed for the management of the patients,
and the government of the Asylum. |
3. At meals the Attendants shall always be present to
carve, to distribute the food, to see that each one has a
proper supply, and that they all take their meals in a proper
manner. Each shall be supplied with such liberal
allowance as the nature of the case may require, but all
waste, gluttony, or improper habits at the table shall be
mildly checked by the Attendants. They shall be allowed
time to take their meals at leisure—habits of eating differ,
and all (the old particularly) should have time to eat without
hurry. |
3. He is expected to be kind, gentle and soothing in
his manners to the patients, and use every means in his
power to tranquilize those who are excited, and to allay
the fears and apprehensions of the timid; he will pay particular
attention to the sick, the suicidal, and those recently
admitted; will see that the patients are properly supplied
with water, when it is asked for, and will attend to all
other reasonable wants; will notice any unusual noise in
the patients’ rooms, endeavor to ascertain the cause, and,
if necessary, report the same to the Attendant; he will
notice anything unusual occurring during the night, and
enter the same on a slate provided for the purpose, and he
shall report any irregularities, neglect of duty, or violation
of rules, which may come under his notice. |
1. The time of service of the Porter commences and
ends in alternation with that of night watchman. Cleaning,
heating and lighting the front rooms of the centre
building belong to him; he shall see that the front windows
and doors are kept secured during the day, and that
visitors about the premises do not transgress the rules of
propriety by talking with the patients at the windows. |
2. He is expected to keep within the sound of the
office bell, unless absent on duty; he shall attend to all
messages, when required, and receive and conduct visitors—observing
toward all the utmost politeness and attention;
and he will be expected to perform such other duties as
may be required of him. |
1. The Gardener, with the aid of such patients as can
be taken out for that purpose, shall have the care of the
orchard, garden, and grounds around the Asylum and Physician’s
house; he shall have charge of the cultivation of
the vegetables, fruits and flowers, and he will be held
responsible for their safe keeping and delivery at the Asylum,
as directed, from time to time, by the Superintendent
or Steward. |
2. He shall keep a pass-book, in which shall be entered
by the Steward, the number, weight or measurement of the
products of the garden and orchard, delivered from time
to time, to the Asylum and Physician’s house, together
with an accurate account of the time employed by the
patients in his department of labor, and he shall report the
same at the office every Saturday evening. |
1. The Carpenter, who is also Engineer, shall have
charge of the work-shop, tools, etc., belonging to his
department of labor; he shall, with his Assistants, who
will be subject to his direction, attend to the repairs, alterations,
and improvements made under the direction of the
Superintendent or Steward; he shall also have charge of
the engine-house, and tools connected therewith, and will
be expected to run the engine as often as may be necessary
to keep a full and ample supply of water in the tank for
the daily and nightly use of the Asylum. |
2. He shall keep a book in which shall be entered the
amount of lumber used, and the time employed by himself
and Assistants, together with the time employed by the
patients, upon each item of labor in his department; he
shall also keep, in the same book, the amount of fuel consumed,
and the running time of the engine in pumping
water, and in sawing wood and lumber. |
1. The Overseers of the laundry will have charge of
the house and furniture of the laundry; they will be held
responsible for the safe-keeping of the clothing delivered
to them, until they shall be washed, ironed and returned,
in a suitable condition for immediate use, to the assorting
room, and placed in the charge of the Supervisor. |
1. The Farmer, under the direction and control of the
Steward, shall have under his immediate charge, the lands
used for farming purposes; the farming implements, the
horses, cattle, hogs, chickens and produce of the farm,
together with the hay, grain, straw, etc., purchased and
delivered at the Asylum. |
4. As the Farmer will be held responsible for the safe
keeping of all grain, hay, straw, bran, shorts, cattle, hogs,
horses, farming implements, or anything else connected
with the farm, the Steward will see that no such article is
left at the Asylum, unless received by himself in person,
or by the Farmer. |
5. The Farmer will be careful to confer often with the
Steward in reference to all matters pertaining to his charge,
give timely notice as to all his wants, and he will be
expected to be faithful and industrious in the use of every
means in his power, to render the farm productive and profitable
to the Asylum. |
1. The Library of the male department shall be under
the charge of the Supervisor. Every volume taken therefrom
shall be charged to the borrower, except for the use
of the patients, when it shall be charged to the Attendant,
into whose ward it is taken, who will be responsible for its
being used with ordinary care and returned in proper time. |
There being no plays to be acted at the "Red Bull," because of the
Plague, and the players all cast adrift for want of employment, certain
of us, to wit, Jack Dawson and his daughter Moll, Ned Herring, and
myself, clubbed our monies together to buy a store of dresses, painted
cloths, and the like, with a cart and horse to carry them, and thus
provided set forth to travel the country and turn an honest penny, in
those parts where the terror of pestilence had not yet turned men's
stomachs against the pleasures of life. And here, at our setting out,
let me show what kind of company we were. First, then, for our master,
Jack Dawson, who on no occasion was to be given a second place; he was a
hale, jolly fellow, who would eat a pound of beef for his breakfast
(when he could get it), and make nothing of half a gallon of ale
therewith,--a very masterful man, but kindly withal, and pleasant to
look at when not contraried, with never a line of care in his face,
though turned of fifty. He played our humorous parts, but he had a sweet
voice for singing of ditties, and could fetch a tear as readily as a
laugh, and he was also exceeding nimble at a dance, which was the
strangest thing in the world, considering his great girth. Wife he had
none, but Moll Dawson was his daughter, who was a most sprightly, merry
little wench, but no miracle for beauty, being neither child nor woman
at this time; surprisingly thin, as if her frame had grown out of
proportion with her flesh, so that her body looked all arms and legs,
and her head all mouth and eyes, with a great towzled mass of chestnut
hair, which (off the stage) was as often as not half tumbled over her
shoulder. But a quicker little baggage at mimicry (she would play any
part, from an urchin of ten to a crone of fourscore), or a livelier at
dancing of Brantles or the single Coranto never was, I do think, and as
merry as a grig. Of Ned Herring I need only here say that he was the
most tearing villain imaginable on the stage, and off it the most
civil-spoken, honest-seeming young gentleman. Nor need I trouble to give
a very lengthy description of myself; what my character was will appear
hereafter, and as for my looks, the less I say about them, the better.
Being something of a scholar and a poet, I had nearly died of
starvation, when Jack Dawson gave me a footing on the stage, where I
would play the part of a hero in one act, a lacquey in the second, and a
merry Andrew in the third, scraping a tune on my fiddle to fill up the
intermedios. |
We had designed to return to London as soon as the Plague abated, unless
we were favoured with extraordinary good fortune, and so, when we heard
that the sickness was certainly past, and the citizens recovering of
their panic, we (being by this time heartily sick of our venture, which
at the best gave us but beggarly recompense) set about to retrace our
steps with cheerful expectations of better times. But coming to Oxford,
we there learned that a prodigious fire had burnt all London down, from
the Tower to Ludgate, so that if we were there, we should find no house
to play in. This lay us flat in our hopes, and set us again to our
vagabond enterprise; and so for six months more we scoured the country
in a most miserable plight, the roads being exceedingly foul, and folks
more humoured of nights to drowse in their chimnies than to sit in a
draughty barn and witness our performances; and then, about the middle
of February we, in a kind of desperation, got back again to London, only
to find that we must go forth again, the town still lying in ruins, and
no one disposed to any kind of amusement, except in high places, where
such actors as we were held in contempt. So we, with our hearts in our
boots, as one may say, set out again to seek our fortunes on the
Cambridge road, and here, with no better luck than elsewhere, for at
Tottenham Cross we had the mischance to set fire to the barn wherein we
were playing, by a candle falling in some loose straw, whereby we did
injury to the extent of some shilling or two, for which the farmer would
have us pay a pound, and Jack Dawson stoutly refusing to satisfy his
demand he sends for the constable, who locks us all up in the cage that
night, to take us before the magistrate in the morning. And we found to
our cost that this magistrate had as little justice as mercy in his
composition; for though he lent a patient ear to the farmer's case, he
would not listen to Jack Dawson's argument, which was good enough, being
to the effect that we had not as much as a pound amongst us, and that he
would rather be hanged than pay it if he had; and when Ned Herring
(seeing the kind of Puritanical fellow he was) urged that, since the
damage was not done by any design of ours, it must be regarded as a
visitation of Providence, he says: "Very good. If it be the will of
Providence that one should be scourged, I take it as the Divine purpose
that I should finish the business by scourging the other"; and therewith
he orders the constable to take what money we have from our pockets and
clap us in the stocks till sundown for payment of the difference. So in
the stocks we three poor men were stuck for six mortal hours, which was
a wicked, cruel thing indeed, with the wind blowing a sort of rainy snow
about our ears; and there I do think we must have perished of cold and
vexation but that our little Moll brought us a sheet for a cover, and
tired not in giving us kind words of comfort. |
At five o'clock the constable unlocked us from our vile confinement, and
I do believe we should have fallen upon him and done him a mischief for
his pains there and then, but that we were all frozen as stiff as stones
with sitting in the cold so long, and indeed it was some time ere we
could move our limbs at all. However, with much ado, we hobbled on at
the tail of our cart, all three very bitter, but especially Ned Herring,
who cursed most horridly and as I had never heard him curse off the
stage, saying he would rather have stayed in London to carry links for
the gentry than join us again in this damnable adventure, etc. And that
which incensed him the more was the merriment of our Moll, who, seated
on the side of the cart, could do nothing better than make sport of our
discontent. But there was no malice in her laughter, which, if it sprang
not from sheer love of mischief, arose maybe from overflowing joy at our
release. |
Coming at dusk to Edmonton, and finding a fine new inn there, called the
"Bell," Jack Dawson leads the cart into the yard, we following without a
word of demur, and, after putting up our trap, into the warm parlour we
go, and call for supper as boldly as you please. Then, when we had eaten
and drunk till we could no more, all to bed like princes, which, after a
night in the cage and a day in the stocks, did seem like a very
paradise. But how we were to pay for this entertainment not one of us
knew, nor did we greatly care, being made quite reckless by our
necessities. It was the next morning, when we met together at breakfast,
that our faces betrayed some compunctions; but these did not prevent us
eating prodigiously. "For," whispers Ned Herring, "if we are to be
hanged, it may as well be for a sheep as a lamb." However, Jack Dawson,
getting on the right side of the landlord, who seemed a very honest,
decent man for an innkeeper, agreed with him that we should give a
performance that night in a cart-shed very proper to our purpose, giving
him half of our taking in payment of our entertainment. This did Jack,
thinking from our late ill-luck we should get at the most a dozen people
in the sixpenny benches, and a score standing at twopence a head. But it
turned out, as the cunning landlord had foreseen, that our hanger was
packed close to the very door, in consequence of great numbers coming to
the town in the afternoon to see a bull baited, so that when Jack Dawson
closed the doors and came behind our scene to dress for his part, he
told us he had as good as five pounds in his pocket. With that to cheer
us we played our tragedy of "The Broken Heart" very merrily, and after
that, changing our dresses in a twinkling, Jack Dawson, disguised as a
wild man, and Moll as a wood nymph, came on to the stage to dance a
pastoral, whilst I, in the fashion of a satyr, stood on one side plying
the fiddle to their footing. Then, all being done, Jack thanks the
company for their indulgence, and bids 'em good-night. |
The landlord went off, vowing he would take the law of us if he were not
paid by the morning; and we, as soon as we had shuffled on our clothes,
away to hunt for Ned, thinking that maybe he had made off with the money
to avoid paying half to the landlord, and hoping always that, though he
might play the rogue with him, he would deal honestly by us. But we
could find no trace of him, though we visited every alehouse in the
town, and so back we go, crestfallen, to the Bell, to beg the innkeeper
to give us a night's lodging and a crust of bread on the speculation
that Ned would come back and settle our accounts; but he would not
listen to our prayers, and so, hungry and thirsty, and miserable beyond
expression, we were fain to make up with a loft over the stables, where,
thanks to a good store of sweet hay, we soon forgot our troubles in
sleep, but not before we had concerted to get away in the morning
betimes to escape another day in the stocks. |
Accordingly, before the break of day, we were afoot, and after
noiselessly packing our effects in the cart in the misty grey light,
Jack Dawson goes in the stable to harness our nag, while I as silently
take down the heavy bar that fastened the yard gate. But while I was yet
fumbling at the bolts, and all of a shake for fear of being caught in
the act, Jack Dawson comes to me, with Moll holding of his hand, as she
would when our troubles were great, and says in a tone of despair: |
"Done," says Jack. "I'll show you that as quickly as you please." With
that he whips off his cap, and flinging it on the ground, cries: "Off
with your jacket, man, and let us prove by such means as Heaven has
given all which is the honester of us two." And so he squares himself up
to fight; but the innkeeper, though as big a man as he, being of a
spongy constitution, showed no relish for this mode of argument, and
turning his back on us with a shake of the head, said he was very well
satisfied of his own honesty, and if we doubted it we could seek what
satisfaction the law would give us, adding slyly, as he turned at the
door, that he could recommend us a magistrate of his acquaintance,
naming him who had set us in the stocks at Tottenham Cross. |
The very hint of this put us again in a quake, and now, the snow
beginning to fall pretty heavily, we went into the shed to cast about as
to what on earth we should do next. There we sat, glum and silent,
watching idly the big flakes of snow fluttering down from the leaden
sky, for not one of us could imagine a way out of this hobble. |
And so we trudged out into the driving snow, that blinded us as we
walked, bow our heads as we might, and tried one alehouse after the
other, but all to no purpose, the parlours being empty because of the
early hour, and the snow keeping folks within doors; only, about midday,
some carters, who had pulled up at an inn, took pity on us, and gave us
a mug of penny ale and half a loaf, and that was all the food we had the
whole miserable day. Then at dusk, wet-footed and fagged out in mind and
body, we trudged back to the Bell, thinking to get back into the loft
and bury ourselves in the sweet hay for warmth and comfort. But coming
hither, we found our nag turned out of the stable and the door locked,
so that we were thrown quite into despair by the loss of this last poor
hope, and poor Moll, turning her face away from us, burst out
a-crying--she who all day had set us a brave example by her cheerful
merry spirit. |
I was taking a turn or two outside the shed,--for the sight of Jack
Dawson hugging poor Moll to his breast and trying to soothe her bodily
misery with gentle words was more than I could bear,--when a drawer
coming across from the inn told me that a gentleman in the Cherry room
would have us come to him. I gave him a civil answer and carried this
message to my friends. Moll, who had staunched her tears and was smiling
piteously, though her sobs, like those of a child, still shook her thin
frame, and her father both looked at me in blank doubt as fearing some
trap for our further discomfiture. |
So in we go, and all sodden and bedrabbled as we were, went to follow
the drawer upstairs, when the landlady cried out she would not have us
go into her Cherry room in that pickle, to soil her best furniture and
disgrace her house, and bade the fellow carry us into the kitchen to
take off our cloaks and change our boots for slip-shoes, adding that if
we had any respect for ourselves, we should trim our hair and wash the
grime off our faces. So we enter the kitchen, nothing loath, where a
couple of pullets browning on the spit, kettles bubbling on the fire,
and a pasty drawing from the oven, filled the air with delicious odours
that nearly drove us mad for envy; and to think that these good things
were to tempt the appetite of some one who never hungered, while we,
famishing for want, had not even a crust to appease our cravings! But it
was some comfort to plunge our blue, numbed fingers into a tub of hot
water and feel the life blood creeping back into our hearts. The paint
we had put on our cheeks the night before was streaked all over our
faces by the snow, so that we did look the veriest scarecrows
imaginable; but after washing our heads well and stroking our hair into
order with a comb Mistress Cook lent us, we looked not so bad. And thus
changed, and with dry shoes to our feet, we at length went upstairs, all
full of wondering expectation, and were led into the Cherry room, which
seemed to us a very palace, being lit with half a dozen candles (and
they of wax) and filled with a warm glow by the blazing logs on the
hearth reflected in the cherry hangings. And there in the midst was a
table laid for supper with a wondrous white cloth, glasses to drink
from, and silver forks all set out most bravely. |
He could tell us no more, so we stood there all together, wondering,
till presently the door opens, and a tall, lean gentleman enters, with a
high front, very finely dressed in linen stockings, a long-waisted coat,
and embroidered waistcoat, and rich lace at his cuffs and throat. He
wore no peruke, but his own hair, cut quite close to his head, with a
pointed beard and a pair of long moustachios twisting up almost to his
ears; but his appearance was the more striking by reason of his beard
and moustachios being quite black, while the hair on his head was white
as silver. He had dark brows also, that overhung very rich black eyes;
his nose was long and hooked, and his skin, which was of a very dark
complexion, was closely lined with wrinkles about the eyes, while a deep
furrow lay betwixt his brows. He carried his head very high, and was
majestic and gracious in all his movements, not one of which (as it
seemed to me) was made but of forethought and purpose. I should say his
age was about sixty, though his step and carriage were of a younger man.
To my eyes he appeared a very handsome and a pleasing, amiable
gentleman. But, Lord, what can you conclude of a man at a single glance,
when every line in his face (of which he had a score and more) has each
its history of varying passions, known only to himself, and secret
phases of his life! |
He saluted us with a most noble bow, and dismissed the drawer with a
word in an undertone. Then turning again to us, he said: "I had the
pleasure of seeing you act last night, and dance," he adds with a slight
inclination of his head to Moll. "Naturally, I wish to be better
acquainted with you. Will it please you to dine with me?" |
The other bowed his head and set a chair at the end of the table for
Moll, which she took with a pretty curtsey, but saying never a word, for
glee did seem to choke us all. And being seated, she cast her eyes on
the bread hungrily, as if she would fain begin at once, but she had the
good manners to restrain herself. Then his worship (as we called him),
having shown us the chairs on either side, seated himself last of all,
at the head of the table, facing our Moll, whom whenever he might
without discourtesy, he regarded with most scrutinising glances from
first to last. Then the door flinging open, two drawers brought in those
same fat pullets we had seen browning before the fire, and also the
pasty, with abundance of other good cheer, at which Moll, with a little
cry of delight, whispers to me: |
And now, being fairly settled down to our repast, we said no more of any
moment that I can recall to mind till we had done (which was not until
nought remained of the pullets and the pasty but a few bones and the
bare dish), and we were drawn round the fire at Don Sanchez's
invitation. Then the drawers, having cleared the tables, brought up a
huge bowl of hot spiced wine, a dish of tobacco, and some pipes. The Don
then offered us to smoke some cigarros, but we, not understanding them,
took instead our homely pipes, and each with a beaker of hot wine to his
hand sat roasting before the fire, scarce saying a word, the Don being
silent because his humour was of the reflective grave kind (with all his
courtesies he never smiled, as if such demonstrations were unbecoming to
his dignity), and we from repletion and a feeling of wondrous
contentment and repose. And another thing served to keep us still, which
was that our Moll, sitting beside her father, almost at once fell
asleep, her head lying against his shoulder as he sat with his arm about
her waist. As at the table, Don Sanchez had seated himself where he
could best observe her, and now he scarcely once took his eyes off her,
which were half closed as if in speculation. At length, taking the
cigarro from his lips, he says softly to Jack Dawson, so as not to
arouse Moll: |
Jack nods for an answer, and looking down on her face with pride and
tenderness, he put back with the stem of his pipe a little curl that had
strayed over her eyes. She was not amiss for looks thus, with her long
eyelashes lying like a fringe upon her cheeks, her lips open, showing
her good white teeth, and the glow of the firelight upon her face; but
her attitude and the innocent, happy expression of her features made up
a picture which seemed to me mighty pretty. |
This stilled us all for the moment, and then Don Sanchez, seeing that
these reflections threw a gloom upon us, turned to me, sitting next him,
and asked if I would give him some account of my history, whereupon I
briefly told him how three years ago Jack Dawson had lifted me out of
the mire, and how since then we had lived in brotherhood. "And," says I
in conclusion, "we will continue with the favour of Providence to live
so, sharing good and ill fortune alike to the end, so much we do love
one another." |
The Don nodded his satisfaction at this, and then Moll, awaking with the
sudden outburst of her father's voice, gives first a gape, then a
shiver, and looking about her with an air of wonder, smiles as her eye
fell on the Don. Whereon, still as solemn as any judge, he pulls the
bell, and the maid, coming to the room with a rushlight, he bids her
take the poor weary child to bed, and the best there is in the house,
which I think did delight Dawson not less than his Moll to hear. |
She being gone, the Don calls for a second bowl of spiced wine, and we,
mightily pleased at the prospect of another half-hour of comfort,
stretch our legs out afresh before the fire. Then Don Sanchez, lighting
another cigarro, and setting his chair towards us, says as he takes his
knee up betwixt his long, thin fingers: |
We pulled our pipes from our mouths, Dawson and I, and stretched our
ears very eager to know what this business was the Don had to propound,
and he, after drawing two or three mouthfuls of smoke, which he expelled
through his nostrils in a most surprising unnatural manner, says in
excellent good English, but speaking mighty slow and giving every letter
its worth: |
"God forgive me," says Jack, humbly. And then we could say nothing, for
thinking what might befall Moll if we should be parted, but sat there
under the keen eye of Don Sanchez, looking helplessly into the fire. And
there was no sound until Jack's pipe, slipping from his hand, fell and
broke in pieces upon the hearth. Then rousing himself up and turning to
Don Sanchez, he says: |
Don Sanchez assented with a grave inclination of his head, and going to
the door opened it sharply, listened awhile, and then closing it softly,
returned and stood before us with folded arms. Then, in a low voice, not
to be heard beyond the room, he questioned us very particularly as to
our relations with other men, the length of time we had been wandering
about the country, and especially about the tractability of Moll. And,
being satisfied with our replies,--above all, with Jack's saying that
Moll would jump out of window at his bidding, without a thought to the
consequences,--he says: |
With that he opens the door and gives us our congee, the most noble in
the world; but not offering to give us a bed, we are forced to go out of
doors and grope our way through the snow to the cart-shed, and seek a
shelter there from the wind, which was all the keener and more bitter
for our leaving a good fire. And I believe the shrewd Spaniard had put
us to this pinch as a foretaste of the misery we must endure if we
rejected his design, and so to shape our inclinations to his. |
Happily, the landlord, coming out with a lantern, and finding us by the
chattering of our teeth, was moved by the consideration shown us by Don
Sanchez to relax his severity; and so, unlocking the stable door, he
bade us get up into the loft, which we did, blessing him as if he had
been the best Christian in the world. And then, having buried ourselves
in hay, Jack Dawson and I fell to arguing the matter in question, I
sticking to my scruples (partly from vanity), and he stoutly holding
t'other side; and I, being warmed by my own eloquence, and he not less
heated by liquor (having taken best part of the last bowl to his share),
we ran it pretty high, so that at one point Jack was for lighting a
candle end he had in his pocket and fighting it out like men. But,
little by little, we cooled down, and towards morning, each giving way
something, we came to the conclusion that we would have Don Sanchez show
us the steward, that we might know the truth of his story (which I
misdoubted, seeing that it was but a roguish kind of game at best that
he would have us take part in), and that if we found all things as he
represented them, then we would accept his offer. And also we resolved
to be down betimes and let him know our determination before he set out
for London, to the end that we might not be left fasting all the day.
But herein we miscalculated the potency of liquor and a comfortable bed
of hay, for 'twas nine o'clock before either of us winked an eye, and
when we got down, we learnt that Don Sanchez had been gone a full hour,
and so no prospect of breaking our fast till nightfall. |
Then, as Jack and I are looking at each other ruefully in the face at
this dash to our knavish project, she bursts into a merry peal of
laughter, like a set of Christmas bells chiming, whereupon we, turning
about to find the cause of her merriment, she pulls another demure face,
and, slowly lifting her skirt, shows us a white napkin tied about her
waist, stuffed with a dozen delicacies she had filched from Don
Sanchez's table in coming down from her room. |
A drizzly rain falling and turning the snow into slush, we kept under
the shelter of the shed, and this giving us scope for the reflection Don
Sanchez had counselled, my compunctions were greatly shaken by the
consideration of our present position and the prospect of worse. When I
thought of our breakfast that Moll had stolen, and how willingly we
would all have eaten a dinner got by the same means, I had to
acknowledge that certainly we were all thieves at heart; and this
conclusion, together with sitting all day doing nothing in the raw cold,
did make the design of Don Sanchez seem much less heinous to me than it
appeared the night before, when I was warm and not exceedingly sober,
and indeed towards dusk I came to regard it as no bad thing at all. |
About six comes back our Don on a fine horse, and receives our
salutations with a cool nod--we standing there of a row, looking our
sweetest, like hungry dogs in expectation of a bone. Then in he goes to
the house without a word, and now my worst fear was that he had thought
better of his offer and would abandon it. So there we hang about the
best part of an hour, now thinking the Don would presently send for us,
and then growing to despair of everything but to be left in the cold
forgotten; but in the end comes Master Landlord to tell us his worship
in the Cherry room would see us. So, after the same formalities of
cleansing ourselves as the night afore, upstairs we go at the heels of a
drawer, carrying a roast pig, which to our senses was more delightful
than any bunch of flowers. |
With a gesture of his hands, after saluting us with great dignity, Don
Sanchez bade us take our places at the table and with never a word of
question as to our decision; but that was scarce necessary, for it
needed no subtle observation to perceive that we would accept any
conditions to get our share of that roast pig. This supper differed not
greatly from the former, save that our Moll was taken with a kind of
tickling at the throat which presently attracted our notice. |
She put it off as if she would have us take no notice of it, but it grew
worse and worse towards the end of the meal, and became a most horrid,
tearing cough, which she did so natural as to deceive us all and put us
in great concern, and especially Don Sanchez, who declared she must have
taken a cold by being exposed all day to the damp weather. |
"'Tis nothing serious," replies Jack, who had doubtless received the
same hint from Moll she had given me. "I warrant she will be mended in a
day or so, with proper care. 'Tis a kind of family complaint. I am taken
that way at times," and with that he rasps his throat as a hint that he
would be none the worse for sleeping a night between sheets. |
This was carrying the matter too far, and I thought it had certainly
undone us; for stopping short, with a start, in crossing the room, he
turns and looks first at Dawson, then at me, with anything but a
pleasant look in his eyes as finding his dignity hurt, to be thus
bustled by a mere child. Then his dark eyebrows unbending with the
reflection, maybe, that it was so much the better to his purpose that
Moll could so act as to deceive him, he seats himself gravely, and
replies to Jack: |
So we up presently to a good snug room with a bed to each of us fit for
a prince. And there, with the blankets drawn up to our ears, we fell
blessing our stars that we were now fairly out of our straits, and after
that to discussing whether we should consult Moll's inclination to this
business. First, Dawson was for telling her plump out all about our
project, saying that being so young she had no conscience to speak of,
and would like nothing better than to take part in any piece of
mischief. But against this I protested, seeing that it would be
dangerous to our design to let her know so much (she having a woman's
tongue in her head), and also of a bad tendency to make her, as it were,
at the very beginning of her life, a knowing active party to what looked
like nothing more nor less than a piece of knavery. Therefore I proposed
we should, when necessary, tell her just so much of our plan as was
expedient, and no more. And this agreeing mightily with Jack's natural
turn for taking of short cuts out of difficulties, he fell in with my
views at once, and so, bidding God bless me, he lays the clothes over
his head and was snoring the next minute. |
In the morning we found the Don just as kind to us as the day before he
had been careless, and so made us eat breakfast with him, to our great
content. Also, he sent a maid up to Moll to enquire of her health, and
if she could eat anything from our table, to which the baggage sends
reply that she feels a little easier this morning and could fancy a dish
of black puddings. These delicacies her father carried to her, being
charged by the Don to tell her that we should be gone for a couple of
days, and that in our absence she might command whatever she felt was
necessary to her complete recovery against our return. Then I told Don
Sanchez how we had resolved to tell Moll no more of our purpose than was
necessary for the moment, which pleased him, I thought, mightily, he
saying that our success or failure depended upon secrecy as much as
anything, for which reason he had kept us in the dark as much as ever it
was possible. |
About eight o'clock three saddle nags were brought to the door, and we,
mounting, set out for London, where we arrived about ten, the roads
being fairly passable save in the marshy parts about Shoreditch, where
the mire was knee-deep; so to Gracious Street, and there leaving our
nags at the Turk inn, we walked down to the Bridge stairs, and thence
with a pair of oars to Greenwich. Here, after our tedious chilly voyage,
we were not ill-pleased to see the inside of an inn once more, and Don
Sanchez, taking us to the King's posting-house, orders a fire to be
lighted in a private room, and the best there was in the larder to be
served us in the warm parlour. While we were at our trenchers Don
Sanchez says: |
Thus primed, we went presently to the sitting-room above, and the drawer
shortly after coming to say that two gentlemen desired to see Don
Sanchez, Jack and I seated ourselves side by side at a becoming distance
from the Don, holding our hats on our knees as humbly as may be. Then in
comes a rude, dirty fellow with a patch over one eye and a most peculiar
bearish gait, dressed in a tarred coat, with a wool shawl about his
neck, followed by a shrewd-visaged little gentleman in a plain cloth
suit, but of very good substance, he looking just as trim and
well-mannered as t'other was uncouth and rude. |
"By good fortune the mother and daughter were bought by Sidi ben Moula,
a rich old merchant who was smitten by the pretty, delicate looks of
Judith, whom he thenceforth treated as if she had been his own child. In
this condition they lived with greater happiness than falls to the lot
of most slaves, until the beginning of last year, when Sidi died, and
his possessions fell to his brother, Bare ben Moula. Then Mrs. Godwin
appeals to Bare for her liberty and to be sent home to her country,
saying that what price (in reason) he chooses to set upon their heads
she will pay from her estate in England--a thing which she had proposed
before to Sidi, but he would not hear of it because of his love for
Judith and his needing no greater fortune than he had. But this Bare,
though he would be very well content, being also an old man, to have his
household managed by Mrs. Godwin and to adopt Judith as his child, being
of a more avaricious turn than his brother, at length consents to it, on
condition that her ransoms be paid before she quits Barbary. And so,
casting about how this may be done, Mrs. Godwin finds a captive whose
price has been paid, about to be taken to Palma in the Baleares, and to
him she entrusts two letters." Here Don Sanchez pulls two folded sheets
of vellum from his pocket, and presenting one to me, he says: |
Mr. Hopkins took the first sheet from me and read it aloud. It was
addressed to Mr. Richard Godwin, Hurst Court, Chislehurst in Kent, and
after giving such particulars of her past as we had already heard from
Don Sanchez, she writes thus: "And now, my dear nephew, as I doubt not
you (as the nearest of my kindred to my dear husband after us two poor
relicts) have taken possession of his estate in the belief we were all
lost in our voyage from Italy, I do pray you for the love of God and of
mercy to deliver us from our bondage by sending hither a ship with the
money for our ransoms forthwith, and be assured by this that I shall not
dispossess you of your fortune (more than my bitter circumstances do now
require), so that I but come home to die in a Christian country and have
my sweet Judith where she may be less exposed to harm than in this
infidel country. I count upon your love,--being ever a dear nephew,--and
am your most hopeful, trusting, and loving aunt, Elizabeth Godwin." |
Then presently, with an indifferent, careless air, as if 'twas nought,
he gives us a purse and bids us go out in the town to furnish ourselves
with what disguise was necessary to our purpose. Therewith Dawson gets
him some seaman's old clothes at a Jew's, and I a very neat, presentable
suit of cloth, etc., and the rest of the money we take back to Don
Sanchez without taking so much as a penny for our other uses; but he,
doing all things very magnificent, would have none of it, but bade us
keep it against our other necessities. And now having his money in our
pockets, we felt 'twould be more dishonest to go back from this business
than to go forward with it, lead us whither it might. |
Next morning off we go betimes, Jack more like Robert Evans than his
mother's son, and I a most seeming substantial man (so that the very
stable lad took off his hat to me), and on very good horses a long ride
to Chislehurst And there coming to a monstrous fine park, Don Sanchez
stayed us before the gates, and bidding us look up a broad avenue of
great oaks to a most surprising brave house, he told us this was Hurst
Court, and we might have it for our own within a year if we were so
minded. |
Hence, at no great distance we reach a square plain house, the windows
all barred with stout iron, and the most like a prison I did ever see.
Here Don Sanchez ringing a bell, a little grating in the door is opened,
and after some parley we are admitted by a sturdy fellow carrying a
cudgel in his hand. So we into a cold room, with not a spark of fire on
the hearth but a few ashes, no hangings to the windows, nor any ornament
or comfort at all, but only a table and half a dozen wooden stools, and
a number of shelves against the wall full of account books and papers
protected by a grating of stout wire secured with sundry padlocks. And
here, behind a tableful of papers, sat our steward, Simon
Stout-in-faith, a most withered, lean old man, clothed all in leather,
wearing no wig but his own rusty grey hair falling lank on his
shoulders, with a sour face of a very jaundiced complexion, and pale
eyes that seemed to swim in a yellowish rheum, which he was for ever
a-mopping with a rag. |
"Praise the Lord, Peter," says the steward. Whereupon the sturdy fellow
with the cudgel fell upon his knees, as likewise did Simon, and both in
a snuffling voice render thanks to Heaven in words which I do not think
it proper to write here. Then, being done, they get up, and the steward,
having dried his eyes, says: |
In this manner did Simon halt betwixt two ways like one distracted, but
only he did mingle a mass of sacred words with his arguments which
seemed to me nought but profanity, his sole concern being the gain of
money. Then he falls to the old excuses Don Sanchez had told us of,
saying he had no money of his own, and offering to show his books that
we might see he had taken not one penny beyond his bare expenses from
the estate, save his yearly wage, and that no more than Sir Richard had
given him in his lifetime. And on Don Sanchez showing Mrs. Godwin's
letter as a fitting authority to draw out this money for her use, he
first feigns to doubt her hand, and then says he: "If an accident
befalls these two women ere they return to justify me, how shall I
answer to the next heir for this outlay? Verily" (clasping his hands) "I
am as one standing in darkness, and I dare not move until I am better
enlightened; so prithee, friend, give me time to commune with my
conscience." |
"I cannot do that, sir," says I, "without an assurance that Mrs.
Godwin's estate will bear this charge."
With wondrous alacrity Simon fetches a book with a plan of the estate,
whereby he showed us that not a holding on the estate was untenanted,
not a single tenant in arrear with his rent, and that the value of the
property with all deductions made was sixty-five thousand pounds. |
But this Simon stoutly refused to do, saying his conscience would not
allow him to sign any bond (clearly with the hope that he might in the
end shuffle out of paying anything at all), until Don Sanchez, losing
patience, declared he would certainly hunt all London through to find
that Mr. Richard Godwin, who was the next of kin, hinting that he would
certainly give us such sanction as we required if only to prove his
right to the succession should our venture fail. |
This put the steward to a new taking; but the Don holding firm, he at
length agreed to give us this note, upon Don Sanchez writing another
affirming that he had seen Mrs. Godwin and her daughter in Barbary, and
was going forth to fetch them, that should Mr. Richard Godwin come to
claim the estate he might be justly put off. |
And so this business ended to our great satisfaction, we saying to
ourselves that we had done all that man could to redeem the captives,
and that it would be no harm at all to put a cheat upon the miserly
steward. Whether we were any way more honest than he in shaping our
conduct according to our inclinations is a question which troubled us
then very little. |
With this he rings the bell for our reckoning, and so ends our
discussion, neither Dawson nor I having a word to say in answer to this
last hit, which showed us pretty plainly that in reaching round with her
long leg for our shins, Moll had caught the Don's shanks a kick that
night she was seized with a cough. |
So to horse again and a long jog back to Greenwich, where Dawson and I
would fain have rested the night (being unused to the saddle and very
raw with our journey), but the Don would not for prudence, and
therefore, after changing our clothes, we make a shift to mount once
more, and thence another long horrid jolt to Edmonton very painfully. |
Coming to the Bell (more dead than alive) about eight, and pitch dark,
we were greatly surprised that we could make no one hear to take our
horses, and further, having turned the brutes into the stable ourselves,
to find never a soul in the common room or parlour, so that the place
seemed quite forsaken. But hearing a loud guffaw of laughter from below,
we go downstairs to the kitchen, which we could scarce enter for the
crowd in the doorway. And here all darkness, save for a sheet hung at
the further end, and lit from behind, on which a kind of phantasmagory
play of Jack and the Giant was being acted by shadow characters cut out
of paper, the performer being hid by a board that served as a stage for
the puppets. And who should this performer be but our Moll, as we knew
by her voice, and most admirably she did it, setting all in a roar one
minute with some merry joke, and enchanting 'em the next with a pretty
song for the maid in distress. |
We learnt afterwards that Moll, who could never rest still two minutes
together, but must for ever be a-doing something new, had cut out her
images and devised the show to entertain the servants in the kitchen,
and that the guests above hearing their merriment had come down in time
to get the fag end, which pleased them so vastly that they would have
her play it all over again. |
"This may undo us," says Don Sanchez, in a low voice of displeasure,
drawing us away. "Here are a dozen visitors who will presently be
examining Moll as a marvel. Who can say but that one of them may know
her again hereafter to our confusion? We must be seen together no more
than is necessary, until we are out of this country. I shall leave here
in the morning, and you will meet me next at the Turk, in Gracious
Street, to-morrow afternoon." Therewith he goes up to his room, leaving
us to shift for ourselves; and we into the parlour to warm our feet at
the fire till we may be served with some victuals, both very silent and
surly, being still sore, and as tired as any dogs with our day's
jolting. |