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knowledge, easy satire, and lively fancy, that in his own department he stands unrivalled. Others have had bolder invention, a higher cast of thought, more poetical imagery, and profounder passion (for Fielding has little pathos or sentiment), but in the perfect nature of his characters, especially in low life, and in the perfect skill with which he combined and wrought up his comic powers, seasoning the whole with wit and wisdom, the ripened fruit of genius and long experience, this great English author is still unapproached.

A passage from Fielding or Smollett can convey no more idea of the work from which it is taken, or the manner of the author, than a single stone or brick would of the architecture of a house. We are tempted, however, to extract the account of Partridge's impressions on first visiting a playhouse, when he witnessed the representation of Hamlet. The faithful attendant of Tom Jones was halfbarber and half-schoolmaster, shrewd, yet simple as a child.

[Partridge at the Playhouse.]

all the king's dominions.' Jones offered to speak, but Partridge cried, Hush, hush, dear sir, don't you hear him? And during the whole speech of the ghost, he sat with his eyes fixed partly on the ghost, and partly on Hamlet, and with his mouth open; the same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet succeeding likewise in him.

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When the scene was over, Jones said, 'Why, Partridge, you exceed my expectations. You enjoy the play more than I conceived possible.' 'Nay, sir,' answered Partridge, if you are not afraid of the devil, I can't help it; but, to be sure, it is natural to be surprised at such things, though I know there is nothing in them: not that it was the ghost that surprised me neither; for I should have known that to have been only a man in a strange dress; but when I saw the little man so frightened himself, it was that 6 And dost thou imagine which took hold of me." then, Partridge,' cries Jones, that he was really frightened?" Nay, sir,' said Partridge, did not you yourself observe afterwards, when he found it was his own father's spirit, and how he was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him by degrees, and he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were, just as I In the first row, then, of the first gallery, did Mr should have been, had it been my own case. Jones, Mrs Miller, her youngest daughter, and Par-hush! O la! what noise is that? There he is again. tridge, take their places. Partridge immediately declared it was the finest place he had ever been in. When the first music was played, he said, 'It was a wonder how so many fiddlers could play at one time without putting one another out.' While the fellow was lighting the upper candles, he cried out to Mrs Miller, Look, look, madam, the very picture of the man in the end of the common-prayer book, before the gunpowder treason service.' Nor could he help observing, with a sigh, when all the candles were lighted,That here were candles enough burnt in one night to keep an honest poor family for a whole twelvemonth."

As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, began, Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the entrance of the ghost; upon which he asked Jones, 'What man that was in the strange dress; something,' said he, 'like what I have seen in a picture. Sure it is not armour, is it? Jones answered,That is the ghost.' To which Partridge replied, with a smile, 'Persuade me to that, sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost in my life, yet I am certain I should know one if I saw him better than that comes to. No, no, sir; ghosts don't appear in such dresses as that neither.' In this mistake, which caused much laughter in the neighbourhood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue till the scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that credit to Mr Garrick which he had denied to Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling that his knees knocked against each other. Jones asked him what was the matter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the stage? O la! sir,' said he, I perceive now it is what you told me. I am not afraid of anything, for I know it is but a play; and if it was really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance, and in so much company; and yet if I was frightened, I am not the only person.' 'Why, who,' cries Jones, 'dost thou take to be such a coward here besides thyself? Nay, you may call me coward if you will; but if that little man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw any man frightened in my life. Ay, ay; go along with you! Ay, to be sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such foolhardiness! Whatever happens it is good enough for you. Follow you! I'd follow the devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is the devil -for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases. Oh! here he is again. No farther! No, you have gone far enough already; farther than I'd have gone for

But

Well, to be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it, I am glad I am not down yonder where those men are.' Then turning his eyes again upon Hamlet, Ay, you may draw your sword; what signifies a sword against the power of the devil?'

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During the second act, Partridge made very few remarks. He greatly admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he help observing upon the king's countenance. Well,' said he, how people may be deceived by faces? Nulla fides fronti is, I find, a true saying. Who would think, by looking in the king's face, that he had ever committed a murder?' He then inquired after the ghost; but Jones, who intended he should be surprised, gave him no other satisfaction than that he might possibly see him again soon, and in a flash of fire.'

Partridge sat in fearful expectation of this; and now, when the ghost made his next appearance, Partridge cried out, There, sir, now; what say you now? is he frightened now or no? As much frightened as you think me, and, to be sure, nobody can help some fears, I would not be in so bad a condition as-what's his name?-Squire Hamlet is there, for all the world. Bless me! what's become of the spirit? As I am a living soul, I thought I saw him sink into the earth.' Indeed you saw right,' answered Jones. Well, well,' cries Partridge, I know it is only a play; and besides, if there was anything in all this, Madam Miller would not laugh so; for as to you, sir, you would not be afraid, I believe, if the devil was here in person. There, there; ay, no wonder you are in such a passion; shake the vile wicked wretch to pieces. If she was my own mother I should serve her so. be sure all duty to a mother is forfeited by such wicked doings. Ay, go about your business; I hate the sight of you.'

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Our critic was now pretty silent till the play which Hamlet introduces before the king. This he did not at first understand, till Jones explained it to him; but he no sooner entered into the spirit of it, than he began to bless himself that he had never committed murder. Then turning to Mrs Miller, he asked her If she did not imagine the king looked as if he was touched; though he is,' said he, 'a good actor, and doth all he can to hide it. Well, I would not have so much to answer for as that wicked man there hath, to sit upon a much higher chair than he sits upon. No wonder he run away; for your sake I'll never trust an innocent face again.'

The grave-digging scene next engaged the atten

tion of Partridge, who expressed much surprise at the number of skulls thrown upon the stage. To which Jones answered, 'That it was one of the most famous burial-places about town.' 'No wonder, then,' cries Partridge, that the place is haunted. But I never saw in my life a worse grave-digger. I had a sexton when I was clerk that should have dug three graves while he is digging one. The fellow handles a spade as if it was the first time he had ever had one in his hand. Ay, ay, you may sing. You had rather sing than work, I believe. Upon Hamlet's taking up the skull, he cried out, 'Well! it is strange to see how fearless some men are: I never could bring myself to touch anything belonging to a dead man on any account. He seemed frightened enough too at the ghost, I thought. Nemo omnibus horis sapit.'

Little more worth remembering occurred during the play; at the end of which Jones asked him Which of the players he had liked best? To this he answered, with some appearance of indignation at the question, The king, without doubt.' 'Indeed, Mr Partridge,' says Mrs Miller; 'you are not of the same opinion with the town; for they are all agreed that Hamlet is acted by the best player who ever was on the stage.' 'He the best player!' cries Partridge, with a contemptuous sneer; Why, I could act as well as he myself. I am sure if I had seen a ghost, I should have looked in the very same manner, and done just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that scene, as you called it, between him and his mother, where you told me he acted so fine, why, Lord help me, any man, that is any good man, that had such a mother, would have done exactly the same. I know you are only joking with me; but, indeed, madam, though I was never at a play in London, yet I have seen acting before in the country; and the king for my money; he speaks all his words distinctly, half as loud again as the other. Anybody may see he is an actor.'

While Mrs Miller was thus engaged in conversation with Partridge, a lady came up to Mr Jones, whom he immediately knew to be Mrs Fitzpatrick. She said she had seen him from the other part of the gallery, and had taken that opportunity of speaking to him, as she had something to say which might be of great service to himself. She then acquainted him with her lodgings, and made him an appointment the next day in the morning; which, upon recollection, she presently changed to the afternoon; at which time Jones promised to attend her.

Thus ended the adventure at the playhouse, where Partridge had afforded great mirth, not only to Jones and Mrs Miller, but to all who sat within hearing, who were more attentive to what he said than to anything that passed on the stage. He durst not go to bed all that night for fear of the ghost; and for many nights after sweated two or three hours before he went to sleep with the same apprehensions, and waked several times in great horrors, crying out, Lord have mercy upon us! there it is.'

TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT.

Six years after the publication of Joseph Andrews, and before Tom Jones' had been produced, a third novelist had taken the field, different in many respects from either Richardson or Fielding, but like them devoted to that class of fictitious composition founded on truth and nature. We have previously noticed the circumstances of Smollett's life. A young unfriended Scotsman, he went to London eager for distinction as a dramatic writer. In this his failure was more signal than the want of success which had attended Fielding's theatrical productions. Smollett, however, was of a dauntless intrepid spirit, and when he again resumed his pen,

his efforts were crowned with the most gratifying success. He had adopted Le Sage as his model, but his characters, his scenes, his opinions, and prejudices, were all decidedly British. The novels of Smollett were produced in the following order :1748, Roderick Random; 1751, Peregrine Pickle; 1754, Ferdinand Count Fathom; 1762, Sir Launcelot Greaves; 1771, The Expedition of Humphry Clinker. From the date of his first to that of his latest production, Smollett had improved in taste and judgment, but his powers of invention, his native humour,

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and his knowledge of life and character, are as conspicuous in Roderick Random' as in any of his works. His Tom Bowling is his most perfect sea character, though in Peregrine Pickle' he has preserved the same general features, with additional colouring, and a greater variety of ludicrous incidents. The adventures of Roderick are such as might naturally have occurred to any young Scotsman of the day in quest of fortune. Scene follows scene with astonishing rapidity: at one time his hero basks in prosperity, in another he is plunged in utter destitution. He is led into different countries, whose national peculiarities are described, and into society of various descriptions, with wits, sharpers, courtiers, courtesans, and men of all grades. In this tour of the world and of human life, the reader is amazed at the careless profusion, the inexhaustible humour, of an author who pours out his materials with such prodigality and facility. The patient skill and taste of Fielding are nowhere found in Smollett; there is no elaboration of character; nocareful preparation of incidents; no unity of design. Roderick Random is hurried on without any fixed or definite purpose; he is the child of impulse; and though there is a dash of generosity and good humour in his character, he is equally conspicuous for reckless libertinism and mischief-more prone to selfishness and revenge than to friendship or gratitude. There is an inherent and radical meanness in his conduct towards his humble friend Strap, with whom he begins life, and to whom he is so much indebted both in purse and person. Tom Jones is always kind and liberal to his attendant Partridge, but Strap is bullied and fleeced by Roderick Random; dis

owned or despised as suits the interest or passion of the moment; and at last, contrary to all notions of Scotch spirit and morality, his faithful services and unswerving attachment are rewarded by his receiving and accepting the hand of a prostitute, and an eleemosynary provision less than the sacrifices he had made, or what a careful Scot might attain to by honest independent exertion. The imperfect moral sense thus manifested by Smollett is also evinced by the coarse and licentious passages which disfigure the novel. Making all allowance for the manners of the times, this grossness is indefensible; and we must regret that our author had not a higher and more sentimental estimate of the female character. In this he was inferior to Richardson, who studied and reverenced the purity of the female heart, and to Fielding, whose taste and early position in society preserved him from some of the grosser faults of his rival novelist. The charm of Roderick Random,' then, consists not in plot or well-sustained characters (admirable as is the sketch of Tom Bowling), but in its broad humour and comic incidents, which, even when most farcical, seldom appear improbable, and are never tiresome.

'Peregrine Pickle' is formed of the same materials, cast in a larger mould. The hero is equally unscrupulous with Roderick Random-perhaps more deliberately profligate (as in the attempted seduction of Amanda, and in his treatment of Emilia), but the comic powers of the author are more widely and variously displayed. They seem like clouds

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with his female associate Teresa, are coarse and
disgusting. When he extends his operations, and
flies at higher game, the chase becomes more ani-
mated. His adventures at gambling tables and
hotels, and his exploits as a physician, afford scope
for the author's satirical genius. But the most
powerful passages in the novel are those which re-
count Ferdinand's seduction of Celinda, the story
of Monimia, and the description of the tempest in
the forest, from which he took shelter in a rob-
ber's hut. In this lonely dwelling, the gang being
absent, Fathom was relieved by a withered beldame,
who conveyed him to a rude apartment to sleep
in. Here he found the dead body of a man, still
warm, who had been lately stabbed and concealed
beneath some straw, and the account of his sensa-
tions during the night, the horrid device by which
he saved his life (lifting up the dead body, and
putting it in his own place in the bed), and his
escape, guided by the old hag whom he compelled
to accompany him through the forest, are related
with the intensity and power of a tragic poet. There
is a vein of poetical imagination, also, in the means
by which Fathom accomplishes the ruin of Celinda,
working on her superstitious fears and timidity
by placing an Æolian harp, then almost an unknown
instrument, in the casement of a window adjoining
her bedroom. The strings,' says Smollett, with
poetical inflation, no sooner felt the impression of
the balmy zephyr, than they began to pour forth a
stream of melody more ravishingly delightful than
the song of Philomel, the warbling brook, and all
the concert of the wood. The soft and tender notes
of peace and love were swelled up with the most
delicate and insensible transition into a loud hymn
of triumph and exultation, joined by the deep-toned
organ, and a full choir of voices, which gradually
decayed upon the ear, until it died away in distant
sound, as if a flight of angels had raised the song
in their ascent to heaven.' The remorse of Celinda
is depicted with equal tenderness. The seeds of
virtue,' remarks the novelist, are seldom destroyed
at once. Even amidst the rank productions of vice,
they re-germinate to a sort of imperfect vegetation,
like some scattered hyacinths shooting up among
the weeds of a ruined garden, that testify the for-
mer culture and amenity of the soil.' In descrip-
tions of this kind, Smollett evinces a grace and
pathos which Fielding did not possess. We trace
the mind of the poet in such conceptions, and in
the language in which they are expressed. Few
readers of Peregrine Pickle' can forget the allu-
sion, so beautiful and pathetic, to the Scottish
Jacobites at Boulogne, 'exiled from their native
homes in consequence of their adherence to an un-
fortunate and ruined cause,' who went daily to the
sea-side in order to indulge their longing eyes with
a prospect of the white cliffs of Albion, which they
could never more approach.

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For ever flushing round a summer sky. All is change, brilliancy, heaped-up plenty, and unlimited power-the rich coin and mintage of genius. The want of decent drapery is unfortunately too apparent. Smollett never had much regard for the proprieties of life-those 'minor morals,' as Goldsmith has happily termed them-but where shall we find a more attractive gallery of portraits, or a series of more laughable incidents? Prominent in the group is the one-eyed naval veteran Commodore Trunnion, a humourist in Smollett's happiest manner. His keeping garrison in his house as on board ship, making his servants sleep in hammocks and turn out to watch, is a characteristic though overcharged trait of the old naval commander. The circumstances of his marriage, when he proceeded to church on a hunter, which he steered according to the compass, instead of keeping the road, and his detention while he tacked about rather than go right in the wind's eye,' are equally ludicrous. Lieutenant Hatchway, and Pipes the boatswain, are foils to the eccentric commodore; but the taciturnity of Pipes, and his ingenuity in the affair of the love-letter, are good distinctive features of his own. The humours of the poet, painter, and physician, when Pickle pursues his mischievous frolics and gallantries in France, are also admirable specimens of laughable caricature. In London, the adventures are not so amus- Sir Launcelot Greaves is a sort of travesty of ing. Peregrine richly merited his confinement in Don Quixote, in which the absurdity of the idea is the Fleet by his brutal conduct, while Cadwallader, relieved by the humour of some of the characters the misanthrope, is more tedious than Fielding's and conversations. Butler's Presbyterian Knight Man of the Hill. The Memoirs of a Lady of Qua- going a-colonelling,' as a redresser of wrongs in lity (though a true tale, for inserting which Smollett merry England, is ridiculous enough; but the chiwas bribed by a sum of money) are disgraceful valry of Sir Launcelot and his attendant, Captain without being interesting. On the whole, the vices Crowe, outrages all sense and probability. Seeing and virtues of Smollett's style are equally seen in that his strength lay in humorous exaggeration, 'Peregrine Pickle,' and seen in full perspective. Smollett sought for scenes of broad mirth. He fails Ferdinand Count Fathom is more of a romance, as often as he succeeds in this work, and an author with little of national character or manners. The of such strong original powers should have been portraiture of a complete villain, proceeding step above playing Pantaloon even to Cervantes. by step to rob his benefactors and pillage mankind, cannot be considered instructive or entertaining. The first atrocities of Ferdinand, and his intrigue

Humphry Clinker is the most easy, natural, and delightful of all the novels of Smollett. His love of boyish mischief, tricks, and frolics, had not wholly

burned out, for we have several such undignified pranks in this work; but the narrative is replete with grave, caustic, and humorous observation, and possesses throughout a tone of manly feeling and benevolence, and fine discrimination of character. Matthew Bramble is Roderick Random grown old, somewhat cynical by experience of the world, but vastly improved in taste. Smollett may have caught the idea, as he took some of the incidents of the family tour, from Anstey's New Bath Guide;' but the staple of the work is emphatically his own. In the light sketching of scenery, the quick succession of incidents, the romance of Lismahago's adventures among the American Indians, and the humour of the serving-men and maids, he seems to come into closer competition with Le Sage or Cervantes than in any of his other works. The conversion of Humphry may have been suggested by Anstey, but the bad spelling of Tabitha and Mrs Winifred Jenkins is an original device of Smollett, which aids

Smollett's House, Chelsea.

rock, forms a very noble and stupendous cascade. Next day we were obliged to halt in a small borough, until the carriage, which had received some damage, should be repaired; and here we met with an incident which warmly interested the benevolent spirit of Mr Bramble. As we stood at the window of an inn that fronted the public prison, a person arrived on horseback, genteely though plainly dressed in a blue frock, with his own hair cut short, and a gold-laced hat upon his head. Alighting, and giving his horse to the landlord, he advanced to an old man who was at work in paving the street, and accosted him in these words-This is hard work for such an old man as you.' So saying, he took the instrument out of his hand, and began to thump the pavement. After a few strokes, Have you never a son,' said he, to ease you of this labour? Yes, an' please your honour,' replied the senior, I have three hopeful lads, but at present they are out of the way.' 'Honour not me,' cried the stranger; it more becomes me to honour your gray hairs. Where are those sons you talk of ?' The ancient paviour said, his eldest son was a captain in the East Indies, and the youngest had lately enlisted as a soldier, in hopes of prospering like his brother. The gentleman desiring to know what was become of the second, he wiped his eyes, and owned he had taken upon him his old father's debts, for which he was now in the prison hard by.

The traveller made three quick steps towards the jail; then turning short, 'Tell me,' said he, "has that unnatural captain sent you nothing to relieve your distresses?''Call him not unnatural,' replied the other, 'God's blessing be upon him! he sent me a great deal of money, but I made a bad use of it; I lost it by being security for a gentleman that was my landlord, and was stripped of all I had in the world besides.' At that instant a young man, thrusting out his head and neck between two iron bars in the prisonwindow, exclaimed, Father! father! if my brother William is in life, that's he.' 'I am! I am!' cried the stranger, clasping the old man in his arms, and shedding a flood of tears, I am your son Willy, sure enough! Before the father, who was quite confounded, could make any return to this tenderness, a decent old woman, bolting out from the door of a poor habitation, cried, 'Where is my bairn? where is my dear Willy?' The captain no sooner beheld her than he quitted his father, and ran into her embrace.

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I can assure you, my uncle who saw and heard everything that passed, was as much moved as any in the subordinate effects of the domestic drama. one of the parties concerned in this pathetic recogniLismahago's love of disputation, his jealous sense tion. He sobbed, and wept, and clapped his hands, of honour, and his national pride-characteristics and hollowed, and finally ran down into the street. of a poor Scottish officer, whose wealth and dignity By this time the captain had retired with his parents, lay in his sword-seem also purely original, and and all the inhabitants of the place were assemare highly diverting. The old lieutenant, as Mat- bled at the door. Mr Bramble, nevertheless, pressed thew Bramble says, is like a crab-apple in a hedge, through the crowd, and entering the house, 'Captain,' which we are tempted to eat for its flavour, even said he, 'I beg the favour of your acquaintance. I while repelled by its austerity. The descriptions would have travelled a hundred miles to see this afof rural scenery, society, and manners in England fecting scene; and I shall think myself happy if you and Scotland, given under different aspects by the and your parents will dine with me at the public different letter-writers, are clear and sparkling-house.' The captain thanked him for his kind invifull of fancy and sound sense. Of the episodical part, the story of Mr Baynard and his vain and stately wife seems painfully true; and the incident witnessed in a small town near Lanark, where a successful soldier returns, after an absence of eighteen years, and finds his father at work paving the street, can hardly be read without tears. This affecting story is subjoined.

[Scene at Lanark.]

We set out from Glasgow, by the way of Lanark, the county town of Clydesdale, in the neighbourhood of which the whole river Clyde, rushing down a steep

tation, which, he said, he would accept with pleasure; but in the meantime he could not think of eating or drinking while his poor brother was in trouble. He forthwith deposited a sum equal to the debt in the hands of the magistrate, who ventured to set his brother at liberty without further process; and then the whole family repaired to the inn with my uncle, attended by the crowd, the individuals of which shook their townsman by the hand, while he returned their caresses without the least sign of pride or affectation.

This honest favourite of fortune, whose name was Brown, told my uncle that he had been bred a weaver, and about eighteen years ago had, from a spirit

of idleness and dissipation, enlisted as a soldier in the service of the East India Company; that in the course of duty he had the good fortune to attract the notice and approbation of Lord Clive, who preferred him from one step to another till he had attained the rank of captain and paymaster to the regiment, in which capacities he had honestly amassed above twelve thousand pounds, and at the peace resigned his commission. He had sent several remittances to his father, who received the first only, consisting of one hundred pounds; the second had fallen into the hands of a bankrupt; and the third had been consigned to a gentleman in Scotland, who died before it arrived, so that it still remained to be accounted for by his executors. He now presented the old man with fifty pounds for his present occasions, over and above bank notes for one hundred, which he had deposited for his brother's release. He brought along with him a deed, ready executed, by which he settled a perpetuity of fourscore pounds upon his parents, to be inherited by the other two sons after their decease. He promised to purchase a commission for his youngest brother; to take the other as his own partner in a manufacture which he intends to set up to give employment and bread to the industrious; and to give five hundred pounds, by way of dower to his sister, who had married a farmer in low circumstances. Finally, he gave fifty pounds to the poor of the town where he was born, and feasted all the inhabitants without exception.

left to his care and discretion, he actually bespoke the company of a French marquis, an Italian count, and a German baron, whom he knew to be egregious coxcombs, and therefore more likely to enhance the joy of the entertainment.

Accordingly, the hour being arrived, he conducted them to the hotel where the physician lodged, after having regaled their expectations with an elegant meal in the genuine old Roman taste; and they were received by Mr Pallet, who did the honours of the house while his friend superintended the cook below. By this communicative painter, the guests understood that the doctor had met with numerous difficulties in the execution of his design; that no fewer than five cooks had been dismissed, because they could not prevail upon their own consciences to obey his directions in things that were contrary to the present practice of their art; and that, although he had at last engaged a person, by an extraordinary premium, to comply with his orders, the fellow was so astonished, mortified, and incensed at the commands he had received, that his hair stood on end, and he begged on his knees to be released from the agreement he had made; but finding that his employer insisted upon the performance of his contract, and threatened to introduce him to the commissaire if he should flinch from the bargain, he had, in the discharge of his office, wept, sung, cursed, and capered, for two whole hours without intermission.

While the company listened to this odd informaMy uncle was so charmed with the character of tion, by which they were prepossessed with strange Captain Brown, that he drank his health three times notions of the dinner, their ears were invaded by a successively at dinner. He said he was proud of his piteous voice, that exclaimed in French, For the love acquaintance; that he was an honour to his country, of God! dear sir, for the sake of all the saints, spare and had in some measure redeemed human nature me the mortification of the honey and oil!' Their from the reproach of pride, selfishness, and ingratitude. ears still vibrated with the sound, when the doctor For my part I was as much pleased with the modesty entering, was by Peregrine made acquainted with the as with the filial virtue of this honest soldier, who strangers, to whom he, in the transports of his wrath, assumed no merit from his success, and said very could not help complaining of the want of complailittle of his own transactions, though the answers he sance he had found in the Parisian vulgar, by which made to our inquiries were equally sensible and laco- his plan had been almost entirely ruined and set aside. nic. Mrs Tabitha behaved very graciously to him, The French marquis, who thought the honour of his until she understood that he was going to make a ten-nation was concerned at this declaration, professed his der of his hand to a person of low estate, who had sorrow for what had happened, so contrary to the estabeen his sweetheart while he worked as a journeyman blished character of the people, and undertook to see weaver. Our aunt was no sooner made acquainted the delinquents severely punished, provided he could with this design, than she starched up her behaviour be informed of their names or places of abode. The with a double portion of reserve; and when the com- mutual compliments that passed on this occasion were pany broke up, she observed, with a toss of her nose, scarce finished, when a servant, coming into the room, that Brown was a civil fellow enough, considering the announced dinner; and the entertainer led the way into lowness of his origin; but that fortune, though she another apartment, where they found a long table, or had mended his circumstances, was incapable to raise rather two boards joined together, and furnished with his ideas, which were still humble and plebeian.* a variety of dishes, the steams of which had such evident effect upon the nerves of the company that the marquis made frightful grimaces, under pretence of taking snuff'; the Italian's eyes watered, the German's visage underwent several distortions of feature; our hero found means to exclude the odour from his sense of smelling by breathing only through his mouth; and the poor painter, running into another room, plugged his nostrils with tobacco. The doctor himself, who was the only person then present whose organs were not discomposed, pointing to a couple of couches placed on each side of the table, told his guests that he was sorry he could not procure the

[Feast in the Manner of the Ancients.]

[From 'Peregrine Pickle.']

Our young gentleman, by his insinuating behaviour, acquired the full confidence of the doctor, who invited him to an entertainment, which he intended to prepare in the manner of the ancients. Pickle, struck with this idea, eagerly embraced the proposal, which he honoured with many encomiums, as a plan in all respects worthy of his genius and apprehension; and the day was appointed at some distance of time, that the treater might have leisure to compose certain pickles and confections, which were not to be found among the culinary preparations of these degenerate days.

With a view of rendering the physician's taste more conspicuous, and extracting from it the more diversion, Peregrine proposed that some foreigners should partake of the banquet; and the task being

*This is a true story, the only alteration being in the name of the hero, which, in reality, was White.-ED.

exact triclinia of the ancients, which were somewhat different from these conveniences, and desired they would have the goodness to repose themselves without ceremony, each in his respective couchette, while he and his friend Mr Pallet would place themselves upright at the ends, that they might have the pleasure of serving those that lay along. This disposition, of and perplexed them in a most ridiculous manner; the which the strangers had no previous idea, disconcerted

marquis and baron stood bowing to each other on pretence of disputing the lower seat, but, in reality,

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