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sible to account for this zeal, we must inform him
that, as this parish was so unfortunate as to have
no lawyer in it, there had been a constant conten-
tion between the two doctors, spiritual and physi-
cal, concerning their abilities in a scienjce, in which,
as neither of them professed it, they had equal
pretensions to dispute each other's opinions.
These disputes were carried on with great con-
tempt on both sides, and had almost divided the


parish ; Mr. Tow-wouse and one half of the neigh-
bors inclining to the surgeon, and Mrs. Tow-
wouse with the other half to the parson. The
surgeon drew his knowledge from those inestima-
ble fountains, called The Attorney's Pocket Com-
panion, and Mr. Jacob's Law-Tables; Barnabas
trusted entirely to "Wood's Institutes. It hap-
pened on this occasion, as was pretty frequently
the case, that these two learned men differed about
the sufficiency of evidence; the doctor being of
opinion that the maid's oath would convict the
prisoner without producing the gold ; the parson,
e contra, totis viribus. To display their parts,
therefore, before the justice and the parish, was
the sole motive which we can discover to this zeal
which both of them pretended to have for public

Vanity ! how little is thy force acknowledged,
or thy operations discerned ! How wantonly
dost thou deceive mankind under different dis-
guises! Sometimes thou dost wear the face of
pity, sometimes of generosity : nay, thou hast the
assurance even to put on those glorious ornaments
which belong only to heroic virtue. Thou odious,
deformed monster! whom priests have railed
at, philosophers despised, and poets ridiculed;
is there a wretch so abandoned as to own thee
for an acquaintance in public? — ^yet, how few will
refuse to enjoy thee in private? nay, thou art the
pursuit of most men through their lives. The
greatest villainies are daily practiced to please
thee ; nor is the meanest thief below, or the great-
est hero above, thy notice. Thy embraces are


often the sole aim and sole reward of the private
robbery and the plundered province. It is to
pamper up thee, thou harlot, that we attempt to
withdraw from others what we do not want, or to
withhold from them what they do. All our pas-
sions are th}^ slaves. Avarice itself is often no
more than thy handmaid, and even Lust thy pimp.
The bully Fear, like a coward, flies before thee,
and Joy and Grief hide their heads in thy pres-

I know thou wilt think that whilst I abuse thee
I court thee, and that thy love hath inspired me
to write this sarcastical panegyric on thee; but
thou art deceived : I value thee not of a farthing ;
nor will it give me any pain if thou shouldst pre-
vail on the reader to censure this digression as
arrant nonsense; for know, to thy confusion, that
I have introduced thee for no other purpose than
to lengthen out a short chapter, and so I return
to my history.


The escape of the thief. Mr. Adams' disappointment. The
arrival of two very extraordinary personages, and the
introduction of parson Adams to parson Barnabas.

BARNABAS and the surgeon, being re-
turned, as we have said, to the inn, in
order to convey the thief before the
justice, were greatly concerned to find a small ac-
cident had happened, which somewhat discon-
certed them; and this was no other than the thief's
escape, who had modestly withdrawn himself by
night, declining all ostentation, and not choosing,
in imitation of some great men, to distinguish him-
self at the expense of being pointed at.

When the company had retired the evening be-
fore, the thief was detained in a room where the
constable, and one of the young fellows who took
him, were planted as his guard. About the sec-
ond watch a general complaint of drought was
made, both by the prisoner and his keepers.
Among whom it was at last agreed that the con-
stable should remain on duty, and the young fel-
low call up the tapster; in which disposition the
latter apprehended not the least danger, as the
constable was well armed, and could besides easily
summon him back to his assistance, if the prisoner
made the least attempt to gain his liberty.

The young fellow had not long left the room be-


fore it oeme into the constable's head that the
prisoner might leap on him by surprise, and,
thereby preventing him of the use of his weapons,
especially the long staif in which he chiefly con-
fided, might reduce the success of a struggle to a
equal chance. He wisely, therefore, to prevent
this inconvenience, slipped out of the room him-
self, and locked the door, waiting without with his
staff in his hand, ready lifted to fell the unhappy
prisoner, if by ill fortune he should attempt to
break out.

But human life, as hath been discovered by some
great man or other (for I would by no means be
understood to atfect the honor of making any such
discovery), very much resembles a game at chess;
for as in the latter, while a gamester is too atten-
tive to secure himself very strongly on one side
the board, he is apt to leave an unguarded opening
on the other ; so doth it often happen in life, and so
did it happen on this occasion; for whilst the
cautious constable with such wonderful sagacity
had possessed himself of the door, he most unhap-
pily forgot the window.

The thief, who played on the other side, no
sooner perceived this opening than he began to
move that way ; and, finding the passage easy, he
took with him the young fellow's hat, and without
any ceremony stepped into the street and made
the best of his way.

The young fellow, returning with a double mug
of strong beer, was a little surprised to find the
constable at the door; but much more so when,
the door being opened, he perceived the prisoner


had made his escape, and which way. He threw
down the beer, and, without uttering anything to
the constable except a hearty curse or two, he
nimbly leaped out of the window, and went again
in pursuit of his prey, being very unwilling to lose
the reward which he had assured himself of.

The constable hath not been discharged of sus-
picion on this account; it hath been said that, not
being concerned in the taking the thief, he could
not have been entitled to any part of the reward
if he had been convicted ; that the thief had sev-
eral guineas in his pocket; that it was very un-
likely he should have been guilty of such an over-
sight; that his pretense for leaving the room was
absurd; that it was his constant maxim, that a
wise man never refused money on any conditions;
that at every election he always had sold his vote
to both jDarties, &c.

But, notwithstanding these and many other such
allegations, T am sufficiently convinced of his in-
nocence; having been positively assured of it by
those who received their informations from his
own mouth; which, in the opinion of some mod-
erns, is the best and indeed only evidence.

All the family were now up, and with many
others assembled in the kitchen, where Mr. Tow-
wouse was in some tribulation ; the surgeon having
declared that by law he was liable to be indicted
for the thief's escape, as it was out of his house;
he was a little comforted, however, by Mr. Bar-
nabas 's opinion, that as the escape was by night
the indictment would not lie.

Mrs. Tow-wouse delivered herself in the follow-



ing words: ''Sure never was sucli a fool as my
husband ; would any otlier jjerson living have left
a man in the custody of such a drunken drowsy
blockhead as Tom Suckbribe?" (which was the
constable's name); "and if he could be indicted
without any harm to his wife and children, I
should be glad of it." (Then the bell rung in
Joseph's room.) "Why Betty, John, Chamber-
Iain, where the devil are you all? Have you no
ears, or no conscience, not to tend the sick better?
See what the gentleman wants. Why don't you
go yourself, Mr. Tow-wouse? But any one may
die for you ; you have no more feeling than a deal
board. If a man lived a fortnight in your house
without spending a penny, you would never put
him in mind of it. See whether he drinks tea or
coffee for breakfast." "Yes, my dear," cried
Tow-wouse. She then asked the doctor and Mr.
Barnabas what morning's draught they chose,
who answered, they had a pot of cider-and at the
fire ; which we will leave them merry over, and re-
turn to Joseph.

He had rose pretty early this morning; but,
though his wounds were far from threatening any
danger, he was so sore with the bruises, that it
was impossible for him to think of undertaking a
journey yet; Mr. Adams, therefore, whose stock
was visibly decreased with the expenses of supper
and breakfast, and which could not survive that
day's scoring, began to consider how it was possi-
ble to recruit it. At last he cried, "He had luck-
ily hit on a sure method, and, though it would
oblige him to return himself home together with


Joseph, it mattered not mucla. ' ' He them sent for
Tow-wouse, and, taking him into another room,
told him "he wanted to borrow three guineas, for
"which he would put ample security into his hands."
Tow-wouse, who expected a watch, or ring, or
something of double the value, answered, "He be-
lieved he could furnish him. ' ' Upon which Adams,
pointing to his saddle-bag, told him, with a face
and voice full of solemnity, "that there were in
that bag no less than nine volumes of manuscript
sermons, as well forth a hundred pounds as a
shilling was worth twelve pence, and that he would
deposit one of the volumes in his hands by way of
pledge ; not doubting but that he would have the
honesty to return it on his repayment of the
money; for otherwise he must be a very great
loser, seeing that every volume would at least
bring him ten pounds, as he had been informed by
a neighboring clergyman in the country; for,"
said he, "as to my own part, having never yet
dealt in printing, I do not pretend to ascertain the
exact value of such things."

Tow-wouse, who was a little surprised at the
pawn, said (and not without some truth), "That
he was no judge of the price of such kind of goods ;
and as for money, he really was very short."
Adams answered, "Certainly he would not scruple
to lend him three guineas on what was undoubt-
edly worth at least ten." The landlord replied,
' ' He did not believe he had so much money in the
house, and besides, he was to make up a sum. He
was very confident the books were of much higher
yalue, and heartily sorry it did not suit him."


He then cried out, ''Coming sir!" though nobody
called; and ran downstairs without any fear of
breaking his neck.

Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this dis-
appointment, nor knew he what further strata-
gem to try. He immediately applied to his pipe,
his constant friend and comfort in his afflictions;
and, leaning over the rails, he devoted himself to
meditation, assisted by the inspiring fumes of

He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and
a short greatcoat, which half covered his cassock
— a dress which, added to something comical
enough in his countenance, composed a figure
likely to attract the eyes of those who were not
over given to observation.

Whilst he was smoking his pipe in this posture,
a coach and six, with a numerous attendance, drove
into the inn. There alighted from the coach a
young fellow and a brace of pointers, after which
another young fellow leaped from the box, and
shook the former by the hand ; and both, together
with the dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr.
Tow-wouse into an apartment; whither as they
passed, they entertained themselves with the fol-
lowing short facetious dialogue: —

"You are a pretty fellow for a coachman.
Jack!" says he from the coach; "you had almost
overturned us just now." — "Pox take you!" says
the coachman; "if I had only broke your neck, it
would have been saving somebody else the trouble ;
but T should have been sorry for the pointers." —
"Why, you son of a b — ," answered the other, "if


uobody could shoot better than you, the pointers
would be of no use." — ''D — n me," says the
coachman, ''I will shoot with you five guineas a
shot." — "You be hanged," says the other; "for
five guineas you shall shoot at my a — ." —
"Done," says the coachman; "I'll pepper you
better than ever you was peppered by Jenny
Bouncer." — "Pepper your grandmother," says
the other : ' ' Here 's Tow-wouse will let you shoot
at him for a shilling a time." — "I know his honor
better," cries Tow-wouse; "I never saw a surer
shot at a partridge. Every man misses now and
then; but if I could shoot half as well as his
honor, I would desire no better livelihood than I
could get by my gun." — "Pox on you," said the
coachman, "you demolish more game now than
your head's worth. There's a bitch, Tow-wouse:
by G — she never blinked ^ a bird in her life." —
"I have a puppy, not a year old, shall hunt with
her for a hundred," cries the other gentleman. — ■
"Done," says the coachman: "but you will be
pox 'd before you make the bet. ' ' — * * If you have a
mind for a bet, ' ' cries the coachman, ' ' I will match
my spotted dog with your white bitch for a hun-
dred, play or pay." — "Done," says the other:
"and I'll run Baldface against Slouch with you for
another. ' ' — ' ' No, ' ' cries he from the box ; ' ' but I '11
venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or Hanni-
bal either." — "Go to the devil," cries he from the
coach: "I will make every bet your own way, to
be sure ! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for a

1 To blink is a terra used to signify the dog's passing by a
bird without pointing at it.


thousand, if you dare; and I say done first."

They were now arrived ; and the reader will be
very contented to leave them, and rejoair to the
kitchen; where Barnabas, the surgeon, and an ex-
ciseman were smoking their pipes over some cider-
and; and where the servants, who attended the two
noble gentlemen we have just seen alight, were
now arrived,

"Tom," cries one of the footmen, 'there's par-
son Adams smoking his pipe in the gallery." —
*'Yes," says Tom; ''I pulled off my hat to him,
and the parson spoke to me."

*'Is the gentleman a clergyman, then?" says
Barnabas (for his cassock had been tied up when
he arrived). "Yes, sir," answered the footman;
"and one there be but few like." — "Aye," said
Barnabas; "if I had known it sooner, I should
have desired his company ; I would always show a
proper respect for the cloth: but what say you,
doctor, shall we adjourn into a room, and invite
him to take part of a bowl of punch?"

This proposal was immediately agreed to and
executed; and parson Adams accepting the invi-
tation, much civility passed between the two
clergymen, who both declared the great honor
they had for the cloth. They had not been long
together before they entered into a discourse on
small tithes, which continued a full hour, without
the doctor or exciseman's having one opportunity
to offer a word.

It was then proposed to begin a general conver-
sation, and the exciseman opened on foreign af-
fairs ; but a word unluckily dropping from one of


them introduced a dissertation on the hardship's
suffered by the inferior clergy; which, after a
long duration, concluded with bringing the nine
volumes of sermons on the carpet.

Barnabas greatly discouraged poor Adams; he
said, ''The age was so wicked, that nobody read
sermons: would you think it, Mr. Adams?" said
he, "I once intended to print a volume of sermons
myself, and they had the approbation of two or
three bishops ; but what do you think a bookseller
offered me?" — "Twelve guineas perhaps," cried
Adams. — "Not twelve pence, I assure you," an-
swered Barnabas: "nay, the dog refused me a
Concordance in exchange. At last I offered to
give him the printing them, for the sake of dedi-
cating them to that very gentleman who just now
drove his own coach into the inn; and, I assure
you, he had the impudence to refuse my offer; by
which means I lost a good living, that was after-
wards given away in exchange for a pointer, to
one who — but I will not say anything ag'ainst the
cloth. So you may guess, Mr. Adams, what you
are to expect; for if sermons would have gone
down, I believe — I will not be vain ; but to be con-
cise with you, three bishops said they were the
best that ever were written : but indeed there are a
pretty moderate number printed already, and not
all sold yet." — "Pray, sir," said Adams, "to
what do you think the numbers may amount?" —
"Sir," answered Barnabas, "a bookseller told me,
he believed five thousand volumes at least." —
"Five thousand?" quoth the surgeon: "What can
they be written upon? I remember when I was a


boy, I used to read one Tillotson's sermons; and,
I am sure, if a man practiced half so much as is in
one of those sermons, he will go to heaven." —
"Doctor," cried Barnabas, "you have a profane
way of talking, for which I must reprove you. A
man can never have his duty too frequently incul-
cated into him. And as for Tillotson, to be sure
he was a good writer, and said things very well ;
but comparisons are odious; another man may

write as well as he 1 believe there are some of

my sermons," and then he applied the candle

to his pipe. — "And I believe there are some of my
discourses," cries Adams, "which the bishops
would not think totally unworthy of being printed ;
and I have been informed I might procure a very
large sum (indeed an immense one) on them." —
"I doubt that," answered Barnabas: "however,
if you desire to make some money of them, per-
haps you may sell them by advertising the manu-
script sermons of a clergyman lately deceased, all
warranted originals, and never printed. And now
I think of it, I should be obliged to you, if there be
ever a funeral one among them, to lend it me ; for
I am this very day to preach a funeral sermon, for
which I have not penned a line, though I am to
have a double price." — Adams answered, "He
had but one, which lie feared would not serve his
purpose, being sacred to the memory of a magis-
trate, who had exerted himself very singularly in
the preservation of the morality of his neighbors,
insomuch that he had neither alehouse nor lewd
woman in the parish where he lived." — "No," re-
i:>lied Barnabas, "that will not do quite so well;


for thie deceased, upon whose virtues I am to
harangue, was a little too much addicted to liquor,

and publicly kept a mistress. 1 believe I must

take a common sermon, and trust to my memory to
introduce something handsome on him." — '*To
your invention rather," said the doctor: ''your
memory will be apter to put you out ; for no man
living remembers anything good of him."

With such kind of spiritual discourse, they
emptied the bowl of punch, paid their reckoning,
and sei^arated : Adams and the doctor went up to
Joseph, parson Barnabas departed to celebrate
the aforesaid deceased, and the exciseman de-
scended into the cellar to guage the vessels.

Joseph was now ready to sit down to a loin of
mutton, and waited for Mr. Adams, when he and
the doctor came in. The doctor, having felt his
pulse and examined his wounds, declared him
much better, which he imputed to that sanative
soporiferous draught, a medicine "whose vir-
tues," he said, "were never to be sufficiently ex-
tolled." And great indeed they must be, if
Joseph was so much indebted to them as the doc-
tor imagined; since nothing more than those ef-
fluvia which escaped the cork could have contrib-
uted to his recovery; for the medicine had stood
untouched in the window ever since its arrival.

Joseph passed that day, and the three following,
with his friend Adams, in which nothing so re-
markable happened as the swift progress of his
recovery. As he had an excellent habit of body,
his wounds were now almost healed; and his
bruises gave him so little uneasiness, that he


pressed Mr. Adams to let him depart ; told him he
should never be able to return suflScient thanks for
all his favors, but begged that he might no longer
delay his journey to London.

Adams, notwithstanding the ignorance, as he
conceived it, of Mr. Tow-wouse, and the envy (for
such he thought it) of Mr. Barnabas, had great ex-
pectations from his sermons: seeing therefore
Joseph in so good a way, he told him he would
agree to his setting out the next morning in the
stage-coach, that he believed he should have suffi-
cient, after the reckoning paid, to procure him
one day's conveyance in it, and afterwards he
would be able to get on on foot, or might be
favored with a lift in some neighbor's wagon, es-
pecially as there was then to be a fair in the town
whither the coach would carry him, to which num-
bers from his parish resorted — And as to him-
self, he agreed to proceed to the great city.

They were now walking in the inn-yard, when a
fat, fair, short person rode in, and, alighting from
his horse, went directly up to Barnabas, who was
smoking his pipe on a bench. The parson and the
stranger shook one another very lovingly by the
hand, and went into a room together.

The evening now coming on, Joseph retired to
his chamber, whither the good Adams accom-
panied him, and took this opportunity to expati-
ate on the great mercies God had lately shown him,
of which he ought not only to have the deepest in-
ward sense, but likewise to express outward thank-
fulness for them. They therefore fell both on


their knees, and spent a considerable time in
prayer and thanksgiving.

They had just finished when Betty came in and
told Mr. Adams Mr. Barnabas desired to speak to
him on some business of consequence below-stairs.
Joseph desired, if it was likely to detain him long,
he would let him know it, that he might go to bed,
which Adams promised, and in that case they
wished one another good-night.


A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the book-
seller, which was broke off by an unlucky accident hap-
pening in the inn, which produced a dialogue between
Mi"s, Tow-wouse and her maid of no gentle kind.

AS soon as Adams came into the room, Mr.
Barnabas introduced him to the stranger,
who was, he told him, a bookseller, and
would be as likely to deal with him for his ser-
mons as any man whatever. Adams, saluting the
stranger, answered Barnabas, that he was very
much obliged to him ; that nothing could be more
convenient, for he had no other business to the
great city, and was heartily desirous of returning
with the young man, who was just recovered of his
misfortune. He then snapped his fingers (as was
usual with him), and took two or three turns about
the room in an ecstasy. And to induce the book-
seller to be as expeditious as possible, as likewise
to offer him a better price for his commodity, he
assured them their meeting was extremely lucky
to himself; for that he had the most pressing oc-
casion for money at that time, his own being al-
most spent, and having a friend then in the same
inn, who was just recovered from some wounds he
had received from robbers, and was in a most in-
digent condition. ''So that nothing," says he,
"could be so opportune for the supplying both our



necessities as my making an immediate bargain
with you."

As soon as he had seated himself, the stranger
began in these words: "Sir, I do not care abso-
lutely to deny engaging in what my friend Mr.
Barnabas recommends; but sermons are mere
drugs. The trade is so vastly stocked with them,
that really, unless they come out with the name
of Whitefield or Wesley, or some other such great
man, as a bishop, or those sort of people, I don't
care to touch ; unless now it was a sermon preached
on the 30th of January; or we could say in the
title-page, published at the earnest request of the
congregation, or the inhabitants; but, truly, for
a dry piece of sermons, I had rather be excused;
especially as my hands are so full at present.
However, sir, as Mr. Barnabas mentioned them to
me, I will, if you please, take the manuscript with
me to town, and send you my opinion of it in a
very short time."

*'0h!" said Adams, "if you desire it, I will
read two or three discourses as a specimen."
This Barnabas, who loved sermons no better than
a grocer doth figs, immediately objected to, and
advised Adams to let the bookseller have his ser-

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