Ay, Sir Luke; how do you prove that?
By constant experience. – You must have seen the man who makes and uses pens without hands.
I have.
And not a twelvemonth agone, I lost my way in a fog, at Mile-End, and was conducted to my house in May-Fair by a man as blind as a beetle.
Wonderful!
And as to hearing and speaking, those organs are of no manner of use in the world.
How!
If you doubt it, I will introduce you to a whole family, dumb as oysters, and deaf as the dead, who chatter from morning till night by only the help of their fingers.
Why, Charlot, these are cases in point.
Oh! clear as a trout-stream; and it is not only, my little Charlot, that this piece of timber answers every purpose, but it has procured me many a bit of fun in my time.
Ay!
Why, it was but last summer, at Tunbridge, we were plagued the whole season by a bullet-headed Swiss from the canton of Bern, who was always boasting, what, and how much he dared do; and then, as to pain, no Stoic, not Diogenes, held it more in contempt. – By gods, he vas no more minds it dan notings at all – So, foregad, I gave my German a challenge.
As how! – Mind, Charlot.
Why to drive a corkin pin into the calves of our legs.
Well, well.
Mine, you may imagine, was easily done – but when it came to the Baron —
Ay, ay.
Our modern Cato soon lost his coolness and courage, screw'd his nose up to his foretop, rapp'd out a dozen oaths in high Dutch, limp'd away to his lodgings, and was there laid up for a month – Ha, ha, ha!
"Sir Gregory Goose desires the honour of Sir Luke Limp's company to dine. An answer is desired." Gadso! a little unlucky; I have been engag'd for these three weeks.
What, I find Sir Gregory is return'd for the corporation of Fleesum.
Is he so? Oh ho! – That alters the case. – George, give my compliments to Sir Gregory, and I'll certainly come and dine there. Order Joe to run to alderman Inkle's, in Threadneedle-street; sorry can't wait upon him, but confin'd to bed two days with new influenza.
You make light, Sir Luke, of these sort of engagements.
What can a man do? These damn'd fellows (when one has the misfortune to meet them) take scandalous advantage; teaze, When will you do me the honour, pray, Sir Luke, to take a bit of mutton with me? Do you name the day – They are as bad as a beggar, who attacks your coach at the mounting of a hill; there is no getting rid of them, without a penny to one, and a promise to t'other.
True; and then for such a time too – three weeks! I wonder they expect folks to remember. It is like a retainer in Michaelmas term for the summer assizes.
Not but, upon these occasions, no man in England is more punctual than —
Earl of Brentford. The servant waits for an answer.
Answer! – By your leave, Mr. Serjeant and Charlot. [Reads.] "Taste for music – Mons. Duport – fail – Dinner upon table at five" – Gadso! I hope Sir Gregory's servant an't gone.
Immediately upon receiving the answer.
Run after him as fast as you can – tell him, quite in despair – recollect an engagement that can't in nature be missed, – and return in an instant.
You see, Sir, the Knight must give way for my Lord.
No, faith, it is not that, my dear Charlot; you saw that was quite an extempore business. – No, hang it, no, it is not for the title; but to tell you the truth, Brentford has more wit than any man in the world; it is that makes me fond of his house.
By the choice of his company he gives an unanswerable instance of that.
You are right, my dear girl. But now to give you a proof of his wit: You know Brentford's finances are a little out of repair, which procures him some visits that he would very gladly excuse.
What need he fear? His person is sacred; for by the tenth of William and Mary —
He knows that well enough; but for all that —
Indeed, by a late act of his own house, (which does them infinite honour) his goods or chattels may be —
Seiz'd upon when they can find them, but he lives in ready-furnish'd lodgings, and hires his coach by the month.
Nay, if the sheriff return "non inventus" —
A pox o' your law, you make me lose sight of my story. One morning, a Welch coach-maker came with his bill to my Lord, whose name was unluckily Loyd. My Lord had the man up. You are call'd, I think, Mr. Loyd? – At your Lordship's service, my Lord. – What, Loyd with an L? – It was with an L indeed, my Lord. – Because in your part of the world I have heard that Loyd and Floyd were synonymous, the very same names. – Very often indeed, my lord. – But you always spell your's with an L? – Always. – That, Mr. Loyd, is a little unlucky; for you must know I am now paying my debts alphabetically, and in four or five years you might have come in with an F; but I am afraid I can give you no hopes for your L. – Ha, ha, ha!
There was no overtaking the servant.
That is unlucky: tell my Lord I'll attend him. – I'll call on Sir Gregory myself.
Why, you won't leave us, Sir Luke?
Pardon, dear Serjeant and Charlotta; have a thousand things to do for half a million of people positively; promised to procure a husband for Lady Cicely Sulky, and match a coach-horse for Brigadier Whip; after that, must run into the city to borrow a thousand for young At-all at Almack's; send a Cheshire cheese by the stage to Sir Timothy Tankard in Suffolk; and get at the Herald's Office a coat of arms to clap on the coach of Billy Bengal, a nabob newly arriv'd: so you see I have not a moment to lose.
True, true.
At your toilet to-morrow at ten you may —
Can't you see where you are running you, rascal!
Sir, his grace the Duke of —
Grace! – Where is he? – Where —
In his coach at the door. – If you an't better engaged would be glad of your company to go into the city, and take a dinner at Dolly's.
In his own coach did you say?
Yes, Sir.
With the coronets – or —
I believe so.
There's no resisting of that. – Bid Joe run to Sir Gregory Goose's.
He is already gone to alderman Inkle's.
Then do you step to the Knight – hey! – no – you must go to my Lord's – hold, hold, no – I have it – Step first to Sir Greg's, then pop in at Lord Brentford's just as the company are going to dinner.
What shall I say to Sir Gregory?
Any thing – what I told you before.
And what to my Lord?
What! – Why tell him that my uncle from Epsom – no – that won't do, for he knows I don't care a farthing for him – hey! – Why tell him – hold I have it – Tell him, that as I was going into my chair to obey his commands, I was arrested by a couple of bailiffs, forced into a hackney coach, and carried to the Py'd Bull in the Borough; I beg ten thousand pardons for making his grace wait, but his grace knows my misfor —
[Exit Sir Luke.
Well, Sir, what dy'e think of the proofs? I flatter myself I have pretty well established my case.
Why, hussy, you have hit upon points; but then they are but trifling flaws, they don't vitiate the title, that stands unimpeach'd; and – But, madam, your mother.
What have you done with the Knight? – Why you have not let him depart?
It was not in my power to keep him.
I don't wonder at that; but what took him away?
What will at any time take him away – a Duke at the door.
Are you certain of that?
Why truly, chuck, his retreat was rather precipitate for a man that is just going to be marry'd.
The prospect of marriage does not always prove the strongest attachment.
Pardon me, lovee; the law allows no higher consideration than marriage.
Pshaw!
Insomuch, that if duke A was to intermarry with chambermaid B, difference of condition would prove no bar to the settlement.
Indeed!
Ay; and this was held to be law by Chief-baron Bind'em, on the famous case of the Marquis of Cully, and Fanny Flip-flap the French dancer.
The greater blockhead the Baron: but don't pester me with your odious law cases. – Did not you tell me you was to go to Kingston to day to try the crown causes?
I was begg'd to attend for fear his Lordship should not be able to sit; but if it proves inconvenient to you —
To me! Oh, by no means in the world; I am too good a subject to desire the least delay in the law's execution: and when d'ye set out?
Between one and two; I shall only just give a law lecture to Jack.
Lord! I wonder Mr. Circuit you would breed that boy up to the bar.
Why not, chuck? He has fine steady parts, and for his time moots a point —
Steady! stupid you mean: nothing sure cou'd add to his heaviness but the being loaded with law. Why don't you put him into the army?
Nay, chuck, if you choose it, I believe I have interest to get Jack a commission.
Why, Mr. Circuit, you know he is no son of mine; perhaps a cockade may animate the lad with some fire.
True, lovee; and a knowledge of the law mayn't be amiss to restrain his fire a little.
I believe there is very little danger of his exceeding that way.
Charlot, send hither your brother.
[Exit Charlot.
I'll not interrupt you.
Far from it, lovee; I should be glad to have you a witness of Jacky's improvement.
Of that I am no judge; besides, I am full of business to day – There is to be a ballot at one for the Ladies' Club lately established, and lady Bab Basto has proposed me for a member. – Pray, my dear, when will you let me have that money to pay my Lord Loo?
The three hundred you mean?
And besides, there is my debt to Kitty Cribbidge; I protest I almost blush whenever I meet them.
Why really, lovee, 'tis a large sum of money. – Now, were I worthy to throw in a little advice, we might make a pretty good hand of this business.
I don't understand you.
Bring an action against them on the statute, in the name of my clerk; and so not only rescue the debt from their hands, but recover likewise considerable damages.
A pretty conceit, Mr. Serjeant! but does it not occur to your wisdom, that as I have (by the help of Captain Cog) been oftener a winner than loser, the tables may be turned upon us?
No, no, chuck, that did not escape me; I have provided for that. – Do you know, by the law, both parties are equally culpable; so that, lovee, we shall be able to fleece your friends not only of what they have won of poor dearee, but likewise for what they have lost.
Why, what a paltry, pettifogging puppy art thou! – And could you suppose that I would submit to the scandalous office?
Scandalous! I don't understand this strange perversion of words. The scandal lies in breaking the laws, not in bringing the offenders to justice.
Mean-spirited wretch! – What, do you suppose that those laws could be levell'd against people of their high rank and condition? Can it be thought that any set of men would submit to lay legal restraints on themselves? – Absurd and preposterous!
Why, by their public practice, my love, one would suspect that they thought themselves excepted by a particular clause.
Oh! to be sure; not the least doubt can be made.
True, chuck – But then your great friends should never complain of highwaymen stopping their coaches, or thieves breaking into their houses.
Why, what has that to do with the business?
Oh! the natural consequence, lovee; for whilst the superiors are throwing away their fortunes, and consequently their independence above– you can't think but their domestics are following their examples below.
Well, and what then?
Then! the same distress that throws the master and mistress into the power of any who are willing to purchase them, by a regular gradation, reduces the servants to actions, though more criminal, perhaps not more atrocious.
Pshaw! stuff! – I have no head to examine your dirty distinctions – Don't teize me with your jargon. – I have told you the sums I shall want, so take care they are ready at your returning from Kingston. – Nay, don't hesitate; recollect your own state of the case, and remember, my honour is in pawn, and must, some way or other, be redeem'd by the end of the week.
[Exit.
My honour is in pawn! – Good Lord! how a century will alter the meaning of words! – Formerly, chastity was the honour of women, and good faith and integrity the honour of men: but now, a lady who ruins her family by punctually paying her losses at play, and a gentleman who kills his best friend in some trifling frivolous quarrel, are your only tip-top people of honour. Well, let them go on, it brings grist to our mill: for whilst both the sexes stick firm to their honour, we shall never want business, either at Doctor's Commons, or the Old Bailey.
[Exit.