[1] THE Great LAW OF Subordination conſider'd, &c.

LETTER I.

IT was formerly ſaid of England, by way of Proverb, That it was the Hell of Horſes, the Purgatory of Servants and the Paradiſe of Women; what might be the Caſe in former Days, I know not, but I muſt con⯑feſs (as things ſtand now) I ſee no juſt Reaſon for that way of Speaking,

As for the Horſes, I ſhall not trouble you much upon that Subject; 'tis certain, they have as great a quantity of Horſe-fleſh here, as any Nation in the World, and as good a [2] Kind, if not better, conſidering that they excel in the Breeds of all the ſorts of Hor⯑ſes together, whereas other Nations are ſin⯑glar to a ſort; ſome Nations have fine ſhap'd Horſes, as Spaniſh Genets and Barbs, ſome ſwift Gallopers, as the Perſians; ſome ſtrong and vaſtly large, Coach-Horſes, as in Handers, ſome good Draught-Horſes, as the Swiſs; others good Cuiraſſiers, or Char⯑ging Horſes, as in Holſtein; and other Parts of Germany; but England excels in all the Kinds together, and no Nation goes beyond them.

It is true, the Engliſh have a great deal of Buſineſs for Horſes, and that almoſt in all Parts of the Iſland: They have but little Inland Navigation, and therefore not only their Husbandry requires the Labour of their Cattle, but moſt part of the heavy Goods, which are carried from Place to Place, in Trade, are carried by Land; ſuch as Gro⯑cery-Ware, Corn, Meal, Malt, Wine, Oyl, Wool, and Woolen-Manufacturies, &c. Alſo in many Places even their Metals and Minerals, ſuch as Lead, Iron, Copper, wrought Iron, Stones, and even Coals, and Salt, and other weighty and bulky Goods are car⯑ried by Land-Carriage; ſo that the Horſes in England do really work very hard, and this, perhaps, may be the Cauſe of the old Saying, that England is the Hell of Horſes, tho' I do not think it is juſt neither, for this may really be ſaid in the Caſe, [3] that as the Engliſh work their Horſes very hard, ſo generally ſpeaking, they feed them very well, and take Care of them well alſo, and that better than in moſt Countries that I have been in; ſo I do not think it can be ſaid, 'tis the Hell of Horſes; but that by the way.

As to the Women, and England's being the Paradiſe of Women, it chiefly relates to the good Cuſtoms and ancient Laws made in behalf of the Ladies, by which they have better Proviſions made for them by the Law, with reſpect to their Claim to the Eſtates, and the Effects of their Husbands, after Death, and to the Right of Diviſion among the Heirs in Perſonal Eſtates, and in ſome Copy-holds, and to a Right of Coheirſhip by the Cuſtoms of ſeveral Tenures, and in ſeveral Cities and Corporations, and the like, I ſay, better than in other Countries.

But if we come to talk of the good Uſage of Wives in England, whether we ſpeak of the generality of the Nation, or of particular Perſons, I have not ſo much to ſay for them as perhaps they may expect; the good Treatment of Wives in England is not ſuch, as may be much boaſted of at preſent; nor am I of the Opinion of the antient Writers here, that uſed to boaſt of the Women of England, that if there was a Bridge over the Narrow-Seas, all the Women in Chriſtendom would run over into England.

[4] In the firſt Place I muſt acknowledge, that ſince Drunkenneſs is ſo much encreaſed in England, to which we owe a great many other ill Cuſtoms which were never known in England before; I ſay, ſince this terrible eruption of Drinking in England, the Uſage of Wives in this Country is much alter'd from what it us'd to be in former Times, and even in a few Years paſt: You can not doubt, but that Flood of Infatuation which has ſpread over the whole Kingdom in the manner I ſhall inform you of in its Turn, has had its Effect, not only upon the Morals, but even upon the Sences and good Manners of the Engliſh Nation; the very Blood and Nature of Men ſeems to be chang'd; with their Temperance they have loſt their Temper, and with their Virtue ſo much of their good Humour, for which they us'd to be ſo fam'd, that they ſeem to be quite another Kind of People than their Anceſtors were uſually ſaid to be, and even than I myſelf remember them to be.

In thoſe Days, as the ancient Fathers have reported things, at leaſt to me, there was a Softneſs and Tenderneſs among them, which I can ſee little of now, eſpecially for the Women; they generally treated them with a courteous, kind, and reſpectful Manner, dif⯑ferent in many things from other Nations; and it is to this kind benevolent Temper, to which we owe all the antient Conſtitutions, made in favour of the Women, which they [5] talk ſo much of, and with ſo good Reaſon, in England; for, in ſhort you ſee very little done in their behalf in the laſt fifty or ſixty Years, nay, not in the laſt Century, nor have they any great Proſpect of new Favours; 'tis well if they can retain the Privileges which the good-humour'd Ages of their Anceſtors left them poſſeſs'd of.

For now the Caſe is quite alter'd, Family-Government is exceedingly chang'd, if not inverted, and the Men grow rigid, ſurly, cruel, tyrannick, and outrageous; in a Word, as it is the Cauſe of all the reſt, ſo the Word may well comprehend all the reſt, they grow Drunken, and when I ſay that, I have ſaid all.

The Effect of this is ſeen abundance of Ways in their Families, for 'tis of that I am now ſpeaking, and particularly of their Conduct, and Treatment of their Wives; that they grow Sottiſh and Stupid, more than ever, and by that ſordid way of living, drink away their Underſtandings, and even their Sences alſo, to ſay nothing of their Subſtance and Eſtates; by this they become Brutiſh, and Sour in their Families, and at beſt de⯑prive their Wives and Daughters, not only of their Care and Management, on which the Proſperity of Families ſo much depends, but of the Solace and Comfort of their re⯑lation, of their Company, and of all that Enjoyment which derives from what we call a Social Life.

[6] As Drunkenneſs has encreas'd, ſo indeed, the Comfort and Family-Happineſs of the Women in England are decreas'd in Propor⯑tion, and in that very Article their Paradiſe, if they had one before, is in my Opinion, very much alter'd, and moſt of the Pleaſure of it loſt.

But this is not all, for as Extremes follow one another, and one ill Habit may have a hundred ill Conſequences, ſo this new Uſage of Drinking as it Stupifies and makes Sots of ſome, ſo in others it affects the Paſſions, fires the Blood, raiſes their Spleen, and ſends Men home to their Families mad and out⯑regeous; ſo that inſtead of the kind, mild, and affable Temper, which the Engliſh Nation uſed to be fam'd for, as to their Wives, the Men are now made a Terror to them, and to their whole Families, rageing, ſtorming, and quarreling, and too often fighting; ſo that if you will believe themſelves, the Caſe of the Women in England is truly Deplora⯑ble, and there is ſcarce a good Husband now to twenty that merited that Name in former Times; nor was beating of Wives ever ſo much the Uſage in England, as it is now; the Dif⯑ference is manifeſt, and they tell me, that 'tis ſo frequent now, eſpecially among the meaner ſort of People, that to hear a Woman cry Murther now, ſcarce gives any Alarm; the Neighbours ſcarce ſtir at it, and if they do, if they come out in a Fright, and ask one another what's the Matter, and where is it [7] that they cry Murther? the common Anſwer to one another is only thus; 'tis nothing Neighbour, but ſuch a one a beating his Wife; O dear, ſays the other, is that all? and in they go again, compos'd and eaſie, as hearing a thing of no great Conſequence, that has no great Novelty in it, nor much Danger, and what, if it had, they don't much care to meddle with; in a word, 'tis ſo common a thing now, to bully and abuſe their Wives when they are in Drink, that I believe I may ſay, there are very few Men get Drunk, but that they do quarrel with, beat, or miſuſe their Wives, one way or other: If this be their Engliſh Paradiſe, the Women here may enjoy it by themſelves; I believe none of the Wives in our Country will trouble them, or crowd in upon them for a Share of the Enjoy⯑ment.

But this is not my preſent Deſign neither; the Women's Caſe is too long for this Un⯑dertaking, and deſerves to be conſider'd by it⯑ſelf: It is added, that as England is the Para⯑diſe of Women, ſo it is the Purgatory of Ser⯑vants: This I object againſt, more than I do that of Women, nay, I exclaim againſt it; nothing is more certain, than that as the Wo⯑men's Caſe is made worſe by the change of their Uſage among us, ſo that of the Servants is infinitely varied the other Way; and we muſt allow, that the Proverb ſhould be turn'd, and we ſhould ſay, it is the Purgatory of Wives, and the Paradiſe of Servants; and this is the [8] Subject I intend to entertain you with for ſome time.

Nothing is more viſible, nor indeed, breaks in ſo far upon our Civil Affairs in this Na⯑tion, as the ſurprizing Difference that there is in the Behaviour of Servants of every Rank and Degree among us, from what it was in former Times; from what it is now in other Nations; and from what, indeed, in the Na⯑ture of the thing, ought to be every-where: The Complaint is ſo general, and the Grie⯑vance ſo very notorious, that I need enter in⯑to no Search after Evidence of Fact; I ſhall therefore, give you ſome general Account of it in this Letter, and deſcend to Particulars hereafter.

By Servants you are to underſtand me to mean, the ſeveral Denominations hereafter mention'd; for I am not going to entertain you with a long Complaint of a few Footmen, and Cook-wenches, but the Grievance poſſeſſes the whole Body of the Nation; and all that bear the Name of Servant, may be ſaid to be more or leſs concern'd.

• 1. Apprentices, as well the Apprentices to Merchants, and more eminent Trades-Men, as the Apprentices to meaner People; ſuch as Shop-Keepers, Handicrafts Arti⯑ficers, Manufacturers, &c.
• 2. Menial Servants ſuch as Cooks, Gar⯑deners, Butlers, Coachmen, Grooms, Footmen, Pages, Maid-Servants, Nurſes, [9] &c. all kept within Doors, at Bed and Board; that is to ſay, ſuch as have Yearly or Monthly Wages, with Meat, Drink, Lodging, and Waſhing.
• 3. Clerks to Lawyers, Attorneys, Scriveners, &c. and to Gentlemen in publick Offices, and the like; I ſhall ſpeak of the La⯑bouring Poor, that is, of Servants without Doors, in a Letter by itſelf; for I have much alſo to ſay of them, I aſſure you.

In every one of theſe there appears a viſible and important Difference, in almoſt every Article, which relate to them as Servants; by Difference I mean, between them and Servants of the ſame Claſs in former Years.

The firſt and laſt of theſe, already nam'd, I mean Merchants Apprentices, and Lawyers Clerks, might indeed, be ſaid always to have ſome particular Regard ſhew'd them, as being oftentimes the Sons of conſiderable Families, bred ſomething above the ordinary Rate of Servants, and that gave large Sums to their Maſters, in order to be introduc'd into a capital Buſineſs, which they were likely to have conſiderable Stocks of their own to carry on; yet theſe differ too very much.

In former times it was uſual to give great Sums, I ſay, with Apprentices to Merchants, but then thoſe Sums were call'd great in thoſe times, which are accounted but ſmall Sums now; the Reaſon of that I need not examine; [10] however, I ſay great Sums were given to principal Merchants; as particularly 200l. and ſometimes, but very rarely, and more lately 300l. to eminent Turkey Merchants; To the more conſiderable Spaniſh and Italian Merchants, from 100l. to 150l. and theſe were the firſt-rate Premio's that were given in the City of London, for about 50 or 60 Years ago, nor, if I am inform'd Right, was ever more than 100l. given with an Apprentice to the beſt Turkey Merchant in London, before the Year 1640, or thereabout; and to other Merchants ſuch as Dutch, French, Hamburg, and Eaſt-Country Merchants, in Proportion; to Shop-keepers of the firſt Rank, as Linnen and Woollen-Drapers, Mercers, wholeſale Grocers, and other conſiderable Dealers, 50l. and afterwards 100l. and ſo of other Trades in their Proportion alſo.

But now ſuch a ſtrange Change is there upon the Face of things, that 'tis very ordinary to give a thouſand Pound with an Apprentice to a Turkey-Merchant, 400l. to 600l. to other Merchants; from 200 to 300 to Shop-keepers, and wholeſale Dealers, Linnen-Drapers eſpe⯑cially; and ſo in Proportion to other Trades, and the like with Clerks to Lawyers, Attor⯑nies, Scriveners, &c.

As the Premio's given with ſuch Servants as theſe, are thus ſtrangely differing from what was formerly done, ſo the Uſage of theſe kinds of Servants, in the Families where they are taken, differs alſo; and ſo in Pro⯑portion [11] does their Services they are employ'd in differ; it may be alledg'd, that upon their Maſters demanding ſuch great Sums of Money with their Apprentices, they have reaſon to treat them as Gentlemen, and not as Servants; to let them ſee that they are rather brought into their Counting-Houſes as Pupils to a Tu⯑tor, and Scholars, or Students to a College, than as Servants; that their Buſineſs is to be introduc'd handſomely and reputably into Bu⯑ſineſs, ſent Abroad, and receiv'd into the management of Affairs, and not indeed, to be accounted, or call'd Servants, or to be us'd as ſuch; and this may be granted; but ſtill it breaks into the great Foundation, the Rule of Subordination, which I ſay is eſſential to all Family-Oeconomy, and theſe Youths ſhould be called Lodgers, not Apprentices or Ser⯑vants; for as their coming in differs, as above, in a much greater Proportion does their Be⯑haviour and Conduct differ; the Conſequence of which, in a great meaſure, is, that more of them are ruin'd, debauch'd, and come to nothing, for want of Subordination, and being under Government, than was wont to be the Caſe; to the great Calamity of their Families, eſpecially of their Parents, of which abun⯑dince of lamentable Examples might be given; but neither is this the particular Deſign of theſe Letters, which is more eſpecially to give you a Sketch of Low-Life, and de⯑ſcribe to you the horrible degencracy of the meaner ſort of Servants, and the miſchiefs [12] which this Nation ſuffers upon that Ac⯑count.

From theſe kinds of Servants therefore, I mean Apprentices to Merchants, Wholeſale-Men, and the like, I muſt deſcend to the Apprentices of meaner Tradeſmen, and yet not of the labouring Trades neither, that is to ſay, the Handicrafts, Artificers, and the like, they remain to be mention'd by themſelves.

It is but few Years ago, and in the Memory of many now living, that all the Apprentices of the Shop-keepers and Warehouſe-keepers, as well in London, as in other Places, except the few mention'd before, ſubmitted to the moſt ſervile Employments of the Families in which they ſerv'd; ſuch as the young Gentry, their Suc⯑ceſſors in the the ſame Station, ſcorn ſo much as the Name of now; ſuch as cleaning their Maſters Shoes, bringing Water into the Houſes from the Conduits in the Street, which they carried on their Shoulders in long Veſſels call'd Tankards; alſo waiting at Table, wait⯑ing on their Maſters to the Church, and carrying their Bibles, Prayer-Books, &c. and many more ſuch things; whereas now the Apprentices of the very ſame Claſs, are ſo far from ſtooping to ſuch things as theſe, that 'tis very rarely that they will condeſcend to open or ſhut the Shop-windows, much leſs to ſweep the Shop, or Ware-houſes; but their Maſters are oblig'd to keep Porters or Footmen to wait upon the Apprentices, and do all thoſe things for them; ſo far are they [13] now from cleaning their Maſters Shoes, that the Apprentices ſcorn to clean their own Shoes; but there are poor Women generally attending at the Shop-Doors, to do thoſe things, as well for the Apprentices as for the Maſters, and are paid for it; ſo far are they from being ſubjected to their Maſters, or to their Family Diſcipline, that they think it hard to have any Enquiry made after them when they go out, and keep oftentimes later Hours than their Maſters; and as often are pleas'd to come home in Drink, which alſo their Maſters have ſcarce the Authority to reſent, or queſtion them about.

This unſufferable Liberty, is not ſo much granted by the Maſter, as it is aſſum'd by the Apprentices; and if at any times Words hap⯑pen between them, 'tis very ſeldom but that the Servant is as high as the Maſter, and ſcor⯑ning to give an Account of his Excurſions, takes it very ill to be examin'd, and much worſe to be reſtrain'd; and tho' perhaps, they may reply in Language a little more decent than meaner Fellows talk in, yet they ſhall not fail to tell their Maſters, they did not give ſuch Sums of Money to be confin'd like Pri⯑ſoners, or to be uſed like Foot-boys; and that if they (the Maſters) do not like their Service, (as they wou'd call it) they are willing to be otherwiſe diſpos'd of; not forgetting to add, that if the Maſter conſents to Part with them, they expect Part of their Money back again, and the like; intimating, that the Maſter will [14] bear with their Diſorders, rather than part with them, and refund.

The Effect of this Inſolence, for I can call it no leſs, is, that there are more of theſe Servants, call'd Apprentices, ruin'd by theſe Liberties, than one would think it was poſſible cou'd be found in the whole City; all manner of Wick⯑edneſſes are practiſed by them; and as they are generally but Youths, have their Pockets unadviſedly ſupplied with Monies by their Relations, and thus aſſume Time and Liberty to ſpend it, they indulge themſelves in all ſorts of Liberties: This has been ſo Examplar on many Occaſions, that never was ſo many Maſ⯑ters robb'd by their Apprentices as now; and I think I might give an Account of 11 or 12 young Clerks and Apprentices, that have been Hang'd here in London, or near it, within theſe few Years, beſides innumerable others, ruin'd by the many ſeveral Ways of being undone; of which this Town affords them per⯑haps more, than any other Place in the World.

The next Head, or Claſs, is, that of the lower Menial Servants; and here, whatever is the Occaſion, we find the Wages of almoſt all ſorts of Servants doubled, and of ſome treb⯑bled, as in the Article before; but for the Behaviour of theſe People, their Saucineſs, Drunkenneſs, and abuſive Language on the ſide of the Men-Servants; the gaiety, fine Cloaths, Laces, Hoops, &c. of the Maid-Servants, nay, even to Patches and Paint, are hardly to be deſcrib'd; it would be a Satyr [15] upon the Ladies, ſuch as perhaps, they would not bear the reading of, ſhould we go about to tell, how hard it is ſometimes to know the Chamber-Maid from her Miſtreſs; or my Lady's Chief-Woman from one of my Lady's Daughters; nor can ſhe bear to be call'd any thing leſs than Miſtreſs by the reſt of the Ser⯑vants; or is it altogether improper; as I ſhall ſhew in its Place.

From this gaiety of Dreſs, muſt neceſſarily follow Encreaſe of Wages, for where there is ſuch an Expence in Habit, there muſt be a proportion'd Supply of Money, or it will not do.

The Pocket thus furniſh'd, and the Back thus cloath'd, and the Servant thus exalted, how can it be expected ſhe ſhou'd not be above herſelf, much more above her Buſineſs, and moſt of all, which is to my Purpoſe, above Reproof; to be talk'd to, is to hear how Saucy ſhe can be, and as ſhe is impatient of being told when ſhe is in a Fault, ſo ſhe is ſure to be in as many ſuch Faults, as ever Servants can be ſuppos'd to have been.

But as abundance of Faults are protected by a Saucy Tongue, and every Maſter or Miſtreſs may not be quallified to ſcold with their Foot-men and Chamber-maids, ſo they rather wink at the more venial Miſtakes of their Servants, than be troubled with their Clamour.

Thus I have made my firſt Letter a kind of Index of my whole Deſign, and you will ſee how you muſt be prepar'd to read a black [16] Hiſtory of the Degeneracy of Engliſh Servants: I ſhall illuſtrate it with ſome Examples as they occur to my Obſervations, and are appoſite to the Caſes where I relate them.

In the mean Time, how happy are you in France in this Particular, tho' in many other you do not come up to the Engliſh, as in the ſolid Security of Property, and of Religion, &c. but in this you out-do England indeed; for your Servants are indeed, Servants; a French Footman, if he was to write to his Maſter, might well ſubſcribe, your Humble Servant, even in the literal Sence of it, for your Servants are Humble, and you keep them ſo; they are taught a due Subordination as their Introduction, and you hold them to it, and I am ſure France is in the right of it.

But here there is no ſuch thing as a good Servant, in the true Sence of the Word; whither the monſtrous Evil may ſpread, and what may be the Effect, if ſome Laws are ot ſpeedily made to regulate the Office of a Servant, and to preſcribe to them their Bounds, ſorm them into Claſſes, and then oblige them to do the Duty of a Servant, I ſay, how far it may ſpread, who can tell.

But when I talk of Laws to regulate this, I talk of a thing the moſt difficult to be done, of any-thing of that kind that I know, in England; I ſhall take up your Time a little upon the Subject hereafter.

LETTER II.

BEing, as by my laſt, to give you ſome Account of the Conduct of Low-Life in this Country, where it differs ſo much from all the reſt of the World, I propos'd to be⯑gin it by way of Preliminary, that as I have already laid down Heads of the Grievance in general, ſo I may now lead you a little to the Fountain from whence it flows, and the manifeſt Degrees by which it is ſwell'd to ſuch a Height, as almoſt to overwhelm the National Oeconomy, and embarraſs our Families in conſtant Vexation and Diſorder.

As I hinted in my laſt, the miſerable Circumſtance of this Country is now ſuch, that, in ſhort, if it goes on, the Poor will be Rulers over the Rich, and the Servants be Governours of their Maſters; the Plebeij have almoſt mobb'd the Patricij; and as the Commons, in another Caſe, may be ſaid to be gotten above the Lords, ſo the Cannaille of this Nation impoſe Laws upon their Superiours, and begin not only to be trou⯑bleſome, but in time, may be dangerous; in a word, Order is inverted, Subordination ceaſes, and the World ſeems to ſtand with the Bottom upward.

How and by what Steps things have been brought to this Height, and from whence all [18] this Diſorder proceeds, tho' it may be Difficult to find out all the Springs and Cauſes which have aſſiſted in it, yet ſome Part of it may be ſeen in the following Particulars, which are the Preliminaries I mentioned in my laſt.

• I. AS the People here are univerſally bleſs'd with real and valuable LIBERTY, more than any Nation in the World, SO the common ſort are withal ſo poſſeſs'd with miſtaken Notions of that LIBERTY in general, and of their own Legal Liberties in Particular, that it runs them upon the moſt prepoſterous Follies ima⯑ginable; particularly abuſing that Liberty to indulge their Wickedneſs; ſuggeſting that Liberty is a Freedom to Crime, not a Security againſt Oppreſſion and Injuſtice.
• II. AS the common People, not Excluſive of a great Part of the Nobility and Gentry, are miſerably overwhelm'd in a Dreadful Innundation of Vice and Immorality; infinitely more than was the Caſe in former Days; SO the particular Vices which are moſt concern'd in the preſent Complaint, are thoſe two above all the reſt, namely Drunkeneſs, and prophane Swearing

To the Account of theſe two, I place the Guilt of almoſt all the Evils that I am now to ſpeak of, what additional Helps may have [19] been had from other and leſſer Excurſions of the Poor miſerable People, who I am going to deſcribe, I may ſpeak to as I go on: I will not ſay but that as all the little Brooks and Currents deſcending from the riſing Grounds adjacent to a River, aſſiſt to ſwell the Stream of that River into a Flood, ſo there may be many other ſmaller Helps from Hell, to prompt the ruin of a Nation's Peace; but theſe two like the principal Channels, ſupport the main Current.

It is from theſe that the Paſſions are rais'd, Men put out of their own Government, and the general Temper of the People, as I ſaid in my laſt, chang'd and alter'd; it is from hence that Calm, that Sobriety, that Kindneſs, and goodneſs of Humour which formerly was the fam'd Diſpoſition of the People of England, is chang'd, and become violent and outrageous, from theſe come contempt of Government, quar⯑rellings, and fighting with one another; inſul⯑ting Maſters, Employers, and every Degree of Superiors; and, in a word, innumerable other Diſorders, to the breaking off all manner of Diſcipline and Regulation, the abuſe of them⯑ſelves, and the deſtroying the common Peace and good Neighbourhood of the People one with another.

If in deſcribing this, I come to let you ſee the ſeveral Steps, by which theſe things have encroach'd upon the Conduct of the meaner Sort among as; how, and by what fatal Degrees their Manners were firſt de⯑prav'd, and to what Extreme they are ſince [20] hurried on; I flatter myſelf, it will be both diverting and informing, and you will not think your time loſt in reading my Letters; how⯑ever tedious they may otherwiſe be.

LIBERTT is the Glory of an Engliſhman; 'tis as Natural to him to deſire it, as 'tis lawful to him to maintain it; 'tis his Inheri⯑tance, purchas'd with the Blood of his An⯑ceſtors, and as 'tis his Portion, ſo 'tis his Pride; but 'tis with an Engliſhman about his Liberty, as 'tis with many of them about Popery; there is a kind of national Averſion among them to Popery; 'tis the univerſal Scare-crow, the Hobgoblin, the Spectre with which the Nurſes fright the Children, and entertain the old Wo⯑men all over the Country, by which means ſuch horror poſeſſes the Minds of the common People about it, that I believe there are an 100000 ſtout Fellows, who would ſpend the laſt Drop of their Blood againſt Popery, that do not know whether it be a Man or a Horſe,

In like manner Liberty is a word of Endear⯑ment, 'tis the Hereditary Favourite of the People; 'tis the Nation's Miſtreſs, I was a going to ſay it was the Nation's Whore; in a Word, 'tis talk'd of by every-body, valu'd by every-body, and underſtood almoſt by no-body; this Engliſh Liberty is as blindly eſpous'd, as I ſaid Popery was blindly hated by thoſe who miſtake it in the groſeſt manner.

This leads me to the Conduct of our igno⯑rant People, in the claim they make to this thing call'd Liberty, and their ſcandalous Ma⯑nagement of it on many Occaſions.

[21] Pray take me right as I go along, that I am talking now chiefly of the common People, tho' tis too true, that even among the better Sort there are too many, whoſe Notions of Liberty are not only inconſiſtent with true Liberty, but deſtructive of it; for nothing is more certain, than that true Liberty conſiſts in a freedom to do well, not giving a Looſe to the Paſſions, gratifying every vitious Guſt, and taking off the Reſtraint of Laws, leav⯑ing every Man to do what is right in his own Eyes.

What the People's Notions of Liberty are, I ſhall beſt deſcribe, by giving you ſome hiſtorical Examples of the Behaviour among the Common People, ſuch as have come within the compaſs of my own Obſervation.

England is certainly, in its conſtituted Li⯑berties, the beſt Nation for any Subject in the World to live in, where the Laws, which are their Protection, are likewiſe their Inhe⯑ritance; but then, for the contempt of thoſe Laws, and abuſe of Liberty, I muſt ſay, that no Nation I have been in, comes up to them: I'll venture to give you a double Example of this in one and the ſame Story; the Caſe hap⯑pen'd with in the Verge of my own Houſe, and among my own Neighbours, as follows:

You know there are very ſevere Laws againſt prophane Swearing in this Country, and the Legiſlature, to do them Juſtice, have often repeated thoſe Laws, and to add to their Sanction, have made additional Clauſes, to oblige the Magiſtrate to put thoſe Laws in Execution, [22] and yet I believe Common or Cuſtomary Swearing is no where in the World more frequent and that of a Kind particular to the Engliſh Nation, or perhaps to the Engliſh Tongue, namely, to imprecate Damnation upon themſelves; a thing not only highly prophane and wicked, but abſurdly ſo, eſpecially in that way they practiſe it here.

Several Nations are addicted to the wicked Cuſtom of Curſing, beſides England; and eſpecially when they are angry with, or pro⯑vok'd at a Perſon, but then they will curſe that Perſon pretty freely, and 'tis too much the Practice in common Diſcourſe to curſe one another; but here when a Man is angry with another, he curſes himſelf; he does not ſay Damn you Sir, but Damn me, Sir; which is one of the fooliſheſt as well as wickedeſt Ways of Speaking, that can be imagin'd.

Now this way of ſwearing and curſing is ſo frequent here, among all ſorts of People, that I believe I do the Engliſh no Wrong in ſaying, no Nation in Europe are guilty of it to ſuch a Degree of Madneſs and Abſurdity.

Nor is this the Vice of the common People only, but 'tis among the Gentry, the Quality, and which is ſtill worſe, the Magiſtrates; ſo that nothing is more frequent than to hear thoſe very Men ſwear, who the Law obliges by Virtue of their Office, to puniſh Men for ſwearing; in a word, the Law is not executed, becauſe thoſe who have the executive Power of the Law in their Hands, are guilty of the very Crime which they ought to puniſh; and [23] this I Mention here, becauſe it brings on the Story I refer to above, which is a double Ex⯑ample as well of the Contempt of the Law againſt ſwearing, as of the falſe Notion of Liberty.

I had a little Affair one Day with a Gen⯑tleman here, that is my Neighbour, which occaſion'd ſome Words between us, but the Interpoſition of Friends ſtopt it, before it came to any Height, and we are ſince that, very good Friends again; but I name it on this Ac⯑count, my Neighbour's Servant had let ſome Horſes break into my Ground, and I had fre⯑quently cauſed them to be only turn'd out again, without any Complaint, other than ſpeaking to the Servant to prevent it for the future; but I was ſurpriz'd afterwards, to find that the Servant was ſo far from endeavouring to prevent it, that in the Night he turn'd his Maſter's Horſes in himſelf, and a Perſon I ſet to watch him took him in the Fact.

Upon this I Pounded the Horſes, and went to my Neighbour and complain'd, but inſtead of finding him ready to do me Juſtice, I ob⯑ſerv'd him very much concernd about it, took it very ill that I ſhou'd Pound his Cattle, began to juſtifie his Servant, and added, that he was a very honeſt Fellow: I was ſurpriz'd at that, and when he ſaid his Man was very Honeſt, I told him, I did not believe him to be an honeſt Fellow.

He loſt his Patience at this, and with a Heat, no otherwiſe to be expreſt, than by re⯑peating [24] his mad Words, reply'd, Dam me Sir, what d'ye mean? not believe me, Dam me, what not believe me, Dam me, Sir, I can't take that; what Sir! Dam me, do you give me the Lye? Dam me, Sir, what d'ye mean?

Upon theſe Words thus awkwardly put to⯑gether, and ſo repeated, he gets up, walks up and down the Room, fretting and fumeing, with twenty more Damme's, at laſt he ends it all with coming up to my Teeth, and letting fly at me, with Dam me, Sir, explain yourſelf.

I kept my ſelf as cool as I cou'd, but was oblig'd to ſhow that I was not frighted at him, ſo with a kind of Smile, I ſaid, I ſhou'd have explain'd myſelf with out his Damming ſo often, if he had given me Room to crow'd in a Word among his Curſes.

This provok'd him more than I intended it ſhou'd, and he flew out at me then with the like Number of Damme's all over again, or rather twice as many, for my Laughing; Dam me, Sir, what d'ye Laugh at me? and Dam me, Sir, am I to be Laught at? and the like.

But to carry the Tale no farther than is to the Purpoſe that I am writing of, I then told him the Fact, and that I had not ſaid I did not believe him, but that I did not believe his Man was honeſt; and that my Reaſon was becauſe I had catch'd him opening my Gate with his own Hands, and driving the Horſes into my Field, and that I had brought the Per⯑ſon who ſee him do it, to Witneſs againſt him.

[25] Upon this my Neighour was as calm and as civil as cou'd be deſir'd, for a-while, and begg'd my Pardon for being warm before; after which, the two Servants were call'd in, and heard, and my Man teſtify'd as above; his Servant impudently deny'd it, and my Man as poſitively affirm'd it; but with this, he flies out in the ſame Rage at my Man, as he was in before at me, and then it was Dam me, I won't believe a Word you ſay, you are a lying Dog, you ſee my Man denies it; my Servant then offer'd to go before a Juſtice, and ſwear it, then he flew out again, you ſwear it! you are a Raſcal, G— Dam me, I won't believe your Oath, no more than your Word, and there he went ſtorming, and ſwearing, and rageing about the Houſe, and calling my Man a thouſand Dogs and Villains, and between every two or three Words, was the impre⯑cation upon himſelf of G—d Dam me.

Now, had he ſaid always Dam you, inſtead of Dam me, tho' it had been Wicked in it ſelf to call upon God to Damn any body, and very Unchriſtian too, to curſe his Neighbour, yet it had had ſome ſhew of Sence in it, it had not been both Wicked and Abſurd too; but that it now ſeems to be of Uſe only to ſhow the Do⯑minion that our Paſſions have above our Reaſon, that they content themſelves to talk the gro⯑ſeſt Nonſence, ſo it does but give vent to the Rage that poſeſſes the Mind at that time; for they will frequently call upon God, in their Paſſion, in the ſame kind of Heat, to Damn [26] their Horſes, their Dogs, or any thing that offends them, whether it has a Life of Sence, or vegetative Life, or no Life at all.

In a word, 'tis ſo much a Cuſtom now in England, to Rage, and Damn, and Curſe, in this Manner, that they not only do it with⯑out regard to Reaſon and Sence, but, which is ſtill more wonderful, they do it without Thought, without being in any Paſſion, or under any Provocation, nay, they do it with⯑out Anger, and without any Diſtaſte; with⯑out any Evil in their Deſign, that is to ſay, without thinking at-all, but as in meer Jeſt and Mirth.

But to return to my Neighbour; as I told you, ſome Friends over-hearing the Quarrel, made us Friends again, as to the Matter in diſpute; and one of them a grave, ſober Gen⯑tleman, took the Liberty in a mannerly and courteous Manner, to ſpeak to him about his frequent ſwearing and curſing, and how ill it was for him to do ſo, who was a Perſon of Years, of Learning, and Breeding, and the like; he defended himſelf a-while, by ſaying he thought no Harm, the uſual Defences the Engliſh Gentleman make for it, and which generally is very true; but when the other Gentleman carry'd it a little further, and preſs'd him to reſtrain himſelf in ſuch unlawful Exceſſes, and he cou'd not tell what to ſay more than he had ſaid, he ſeem'd a little warm, and anſwer'd, Sir, I am an Engliſhman, and I love Liberty, pray let me alone, I muſt have my Liberty.

[27] I ſhou'd have told you, while this happen'd, my Servant, to whom, as I ſaid he was very paſſionate, was mightly affronted at being call'd ſuch ill Names, and I heard him ſo very high among his Fellow-Servants in the next Room, that I went out to ſee what was the mat⯑ter; my Man told me, in ſhort, that what I ſaid to him at any time was nothing, for I was his Maſter; but he hop'd I would not expect he ſhou'd take it from Eſq — that he would not be call'd Dog, and Rogue, and Raſcal, by ne'er a Gentleman in the Country; that he valued his Reputation as much as Eſq — at any time, and that his Lively⯑hood depended upon it; that if he was one that would Swear any thing, and was not fit to be believ'd upon his Oath, he was not fit for any Gentleman's Service, and he cou'd not blame any Gentleman for refuſing him, if he had ſuch a Character; and therefore he was reſolv'd to do himſelf Juſtice.

I knew that really all the Fellow ſaid was true, that he was very much injur'd, and that he was, indeed, a very honeſt Fellow in the main, and a good Servant, as Servants in England go now; ſo I gave him good Words, and ſeeing he was heated, and that he had juſt Cauſe to be a little mov'd, I endeavour'd to calm him; but I found it would not do, he inſiſted, that he was reſov'd to do himſelf Juſ⯑tice; why you Fool you, ſays I, what do you mean by doing your ſelf Juſtice? you don't pretend to put yourſelf upon an equal Foot [28] with this Gentleman, and go and demand Sa⯑tisfaction of him, do you? No Sir, ſays he, I know myſelf better than that, too; but is there no way that a poor Servant may take to do him⯑ſelf Juſtice, when he is injur'd, but preſently to Fight with his Superiors? I will do myſelf Right without Fighting, ſays he; I look'd ear⯑neſtly at him upon thoſe Words, What way can you take, ſays I? Why, Sir, ſays he, in the firſt Place, I will make him pay for ſwearing, I hope the Law will bear me out in that.

I mus'd awhile, and it preſently occur'd to me, that if my Man did make Oath that he ſwore 500 times, beſides his curſing, he would do him no wrong, but yet, that if he did ſo, it would renew the Quarrel between my Neighbour and I, for he would preſently ſay it was all my doing; ſo I did all that lay in my Power to perſwade my Man to put it up, and let him alone; beſides, William, ſays I, you know he is a powerful Man in this Part of the County, and if ever he meets you, he will certainly run you Thoro'; in the mean time his Men will abuſe you, and inſult you, and you will have no fair Play with them.

But I found my Man was too Warm to be mov'd by all ſuch Perſwaſions as theſe; nor was that all, but he would ſtay for the Gentle⯑man's coming out, to talk with him again: this I took up, and told him, I would have no Gentlman affronted by any Servant of mine: Well Sir, ſays he, very ſhort, then while I am your Servant, I won't ſay any-thing [29] to him, but then I hope you will diſmiſs me from your Service this Minute, for I muſt do myſelf Juſtice: No Sir, ſays I, angrily, I ſhan't diſmiſs you juſt now neither; why then, Sir, ſays he, I hope you won't take it amiſs that I diſmiſs myſelf, and from this Minute I am your Servant no longer; and as I am a Free-Born Engliſhman, and no Slave, I live in a Free Nation, and muſt have my LIBERTY. O! Liberty, ſaid I to my ſelf, thou art a brave Article to ſet Servants above their Maſters; if I had this Fellow in France now, or in Ger⯑many, or any where, but in England, I knew very well how to handle him; but here I muſt ſubmit to my Servants.

All this I ſay, was only a Reflection in my own Thought; but I recover'd that Confuſion his Saucineſs had put me into, and I anſwer'd him calmly, Well, William, you ſhall be diſmiſs'd; ſo I begun to ask him what Wages was due to him, which was not above two Months, and I paid him; and order'd another Servant to take an Account of ſome things that were in his Cuſtody, and let him go; but now William, ſays I, as you have diſmiſs'd yourſelf from my Service, ſo you muſt let me diſmiſs you out of Doors too, for I will not have you inſult the Gentleman in my Houſe; I ſaw this was ſome Uneaſineſs to him, but I would not ſtir from him, till he had ſtript my Livery off, put on his Frock, and went off.

As he went away, he began to Triumph, for he was now grown, not ſaucy only, but im⯑pudent; [30] and clapping his Right-Hand to his Left Shoulder two or three times; now I am my own Man again, ſays he, now I am at Liberty again Sir, and Liberty is the Birth⯑right of an Engliſhman; Well, William, ſays I to him, for I overheard him, but take Care how you make uſe of it, do not abuſe your Liberty; your being an Engliſhman, and hav⯑ing a right to the Liberty of an Engliſhman, does not make you Equal to a Gentleman; take Care how you behave, you know there's a Whiping-Poſt in the Pariſh, William; yes, yes, Sir, ſays he, I know it, and will take Care; I will indeed; and here he repeated it two or three times in a ſcoffing, ſaucy Tone, I will take Care.

I will, Sir, but I will ſpeak with Eſq — for all that, Sir.

Look you William, ſays I, do not be ill-man⯑ner'd in my Houſe; if you do, I will lay you by the Heels myſelf; I do ſay again, you ſhall not ſpeak to him in my Houſe.

This made him be a little civiler, but yet it was not without ſome Difficulty, that I got him out of my Houſe, and the Fellow was ſo heated with the Uſage he had, and ſo Drunk with his Notion, of being now at Liberty, that he was as much out of his Senſes, as if he had been Drunk indeed with Liquor.

However at laſt I got him out of my Houſe, and ſent another Servant after him, to ſee whither he went; for I had a mind to ſee what he intended to do; it was not above half an Hour before my other Man came in, [31] and told me that William went directly to Juſtice —'s, and offered to depoſe that the Gentleman had Sworn 200 Oaths.

The Juſtice endeavour'd with all his Might, to prevent his Swearing to it, in regard to the Gentleman that he ſwore againſt, who was his Friend, and queſtion'd him ſo many Ways, that he had almoſt puzzled the Fellow, and once or twice he was going away, to ſee for a⯑nother Juſtice, telling that Juſtice, that the Law gave him Liberty, and he was an Engliſh⯑man, and wou'd have his Liberty; and as long as he was ſure he ſwore nothing but the Truth, he would not be directed; that he came there to ſwear to the Truth, and he would take the Hazard of what follow'd.

However, the Juſtice, by good Words, and Perſwaſions, brought him down to threeſcore, and he would come down no lower, but ap⯑peal'd to me, and deſir'd the Juſtice to ask me; ſo the Juſtice took his Oath, and diſmiſs'd him; after this, the Juſtice ſeeing another of my Servants there, as above, beckon'd to him to ſtay; and when the Fellow was gone, he bade him deſire of me, that I would call and ſee him in the Evening.

In the mean time the firſt Gentleman ſtaid in my Houſe, I had given him an Account of all that had happen'd; and much Difficulty I had to keep him from going out, to chaſtiſe this Fellow (as he call'd it) himſelf; however, I did prevail with him, for, indeed, as I knew the Fellow would be ſawcy, and that the [32] Gentleman was warm alſo, and paſſionate, I was afraid he ſhould kill him; and I was wil⯑ling to prevent that kind of Miſchief.

But I was deliver'd from my Anxiety for a Time, by the following Accident: The Gen⯑tleman had two Servants that waited while their Maſter was with me, and they over⯑heard the Account my Servant had given me of what William had done, and they walk'd out into the Street, of their own Accord, (for I can bear their Maſter witneſs, he knew no⯑thing of it) and finding William loitering a⯑bout in the Street, one of them went up to him, and ask'd him what was the Matter, and what he did there? William anſwer'd, very ſurlily, that he waited there to ſpeak with his Maſter, meaning Eſq —; my Maſter! ſays the Servant, What do you mean by that? don't you know where my Maſter, lives? can't you come to his Houſe? what, do you pretend to way-lay him in the Street? If you have any-thing to ſay to my Maſter, come to Morrow Morning, and I'll engage my Maſter will let you ſpeak to him.

William now began to be more in the Wrong, than he had been in the Right before; for I could not ſay, but that at firſt, William was in the Right.

But as the Servant talk'd thus far very calmly, and rationally to William, ſo William talk'd hot, and high; told the Fellow, his Maſter had abus'd him (William) without a Cauſe, and that he was not a Servant now, [33] but at Liberty, and he would not be abus'd by any Gentleman whatever; and he would ſpeak with him, ay, that he would.

Very well, ſays the Servant, jeeringly; ſo you are now my Maſter's Equal, are you? and you intend to demand Satisfaction of him, do you? Pray. where's your Sword, Eſq William? where's your Sword? Liberty has made you a Gentleman, I find that, and Gen⯑tlemen never go without a Sword.

Well, Mr. Servitor, ſays William, if I am not your Maſter's Fellow, you are not my Fellow neither, till you have ſtript off your Livery as I have done; your Maſter has a⯑bus'd me, and I took it from him, but I won't take it from you.

My Maſter abus'd you! Sirrah, my Maſter abuſes no-body, ſays the Servant.

Yes, ſays William, he has abus'd me, and he ſhall know it too, as ſoon as I can ſee him.

You Dog you, ſays the Servant, do you threaten my Maſter? What, do you wait here to aſſaſſinate him? Prethee John, ſays he to his Fellow, go fetch a Conſtable, I'll take Care of Eſq William, ſince he won't ſtay till to Morrow Morning to ſpeak with our Maſter; I'll ſecure him for to Night, and he ſhall wait for him in the Cage.

Away goes John for a Conſtable; but while he was gone, William grew very inſo⯑lent, and giving the Servant ill Language, and upon his Maſter too, they fell from one Word to another, and then to Blows; and tho' Wil⯑liam [34] was a ſtout Fellow of his Hands, yet the other Fellow was too hard for him, and William was upon the Point of yielding, when the Conſtable came, and carried them both before the Juſtice; the ſame before whom William had been ſwearing.

William was as high before the Juſtice, as he was before with the Gentleman's Servant, and behav'd not only warm, but impudent; he was a Free-Man, he ſaid, and not a Slave; and if a Gentleman had injur'd him, he wou'd be at Liberty to tell him ſo.

The Juſtice perſwaded him, and told him, he ought to be quiet, till another time, as the Footman had perſwaded him to be; that to ſtay in the Street, and talk as he had done, was threatning the Gentleman, and that he ought to be ſearch'd, if he had no Weapons about him.

William offer'd himſelf to be ſearch'd, and indeed, he had no Weapons, nor did he intend to do any thing, but to be ſaucy with his Tongue, which he might have paid dear enough for too, as I obſerv'd; but the Juſtice took Care of him for that Night, and the next Morning made him bring Sureties for the Peace, the Servant making Oath, that he gave both his Maſter and him too, threatning Lan⯑guage of his being reveng'd, and the like.

The reſt of the Story is ſhort, viz. William, was humbled for the Liberty of his Tongue, but the Gentleman was forced to pay for his threeſcure Oaths, and ſo for that time William [35] had no great Benefit of his being Free-born, or an Engliſhman.

But William is not the only Example of the proſtituting this glorious thing call'd Engliſh Liberty to the baſeſt Purpoſe; I muſt tell you another Story, which happen'd in the Compaſs of my own Family too.

I had a Steward, or as the Engliſh call them, a Baily, who look'd after a ſmall Concern which I have in the Country, and who I truſted with the whole Management of it, to ſuch a Degree, that he had ſeveral Workmen and Servants employ'd by me, under him, and whoſe Buſineſs was left to his Care and Inſpection.

This Fellow I had a particular Confidence in, and a very good Opinion of, and' very un⯑willing I was to hear any Accuſation againſt him; and the more, becauſe ſeveral things that had been alledg'd againſt him, when they came to be enquir'd into, and examin'd, were ſound either ſo trivial as to be not worth Notice, or he ſo effectually clear'd himſelf, that nothing cou'd be faſten'd upon him.

But one of my Servants, who I employ'd, in another Buſineſs, remote from that where this Steward was employ'd, came very ſeriouſly to me one Morning with a ſad Complaint, viz. that his Wife had been gone from him ſome time, and that, tho' he had with the utmoſt Application ſearch'd her wicked Haunts, and had for ſome Years ſuſpected it, and been aſſur'd of it from others, that ſhe kept Com⯑pany [36] with my ſaid Steward, yet he cou'd never come at a Certainty of it till now; that now he was fully perſwaded it was ſo, and hop'd I would do him ſo much Juſtice as to put a Check to it.

I ſmil'd at the weakneſs of his laſt Requeſt, tho' I pity'd the poor Man in the former part of his Diſaſter; for ſays I, you know 'tis out of my Power: If my Man will be wicked I have no Power to reſtrain him; as if your Wife will be a Whore, you ſee you cannot reſtrain her; Liberty you know, in England, ſays I, is too often claim'd for a Freedom to do wickedly, and what can I do for you?

Beſides ſays I, but what Proof is there of the Fact? for what can I pretend to talk to him about, when upon his denying the Fact, as to be ſure he will, I ſhou'd produce no Evi⯑dence; my Mouth ſaid I, will be ſtopt; he own'd he had no poſitive Proof to produce, but he gave me ſuch particular Diſcoveries, that I was convinc'd it was really ſo, as well as he; ſo I told him I would talk with the Stewart about it.

Accordingly one Morning I took the Liber⯑ty, after other Diſcourſe of Buſineſs was over, to tell my Steward, what Rumour was rais'd upon his Converſation with ſuch a Man's Wife, and that (they ſaid,) he was ſo open, and barefac'd in it, that he kept her at ſuch a Place, and ſo told him other Circumſtances, which began to put him hard to it; however he deny'd it very ſtifly; look ye, ſaid I, if [37] it is ſo, I am very ſorry for it, and I expect you will conſider of it: He anſwer'd, after again denying it, that he had always taken Care of my Buſineſs, and hop'd I would be ſatisfied with that, and that I would not enter into other Matters, and liſten to the falſe Ac⯑cuſations of his Enemies, who were his Ene⯑mies chiefly, becauſe he took Care that they ſhou'd not abuſe and impoſe upon me; and ſo in a Word, did as good as ſay, that if he minded my Buſineſs, I had no Right to meddle with him any further.

I took him a little ſhort there, and told him, that it was true, that I had no Power to examine him, or to puniſh him, if he was guilty; but that if the thing was true, it was really an Inſult upon me, and my Family, the Woman's Husband, as he knew, being a Relation to me, at ſome diſtance, tho' he was my Servant too, and that as he was alſo in⯑truſted and employ'd by me, he might depend I ſhou'd think it hard, that one who receiv'd ſo many Benefits from me, ſhould have ſo little Reſpect for me, as to debauch a Woman who was Marry'd to one of my Relations, and ſhould do it, as it were, under my Noſe.

He reply'd, tho' with Reſpect, that he hop'd I would not think myſelf concern'd in the Clamour; that as he did not own he was guilty of any ſuch thing, and no-body cou'd prove it, he deſir'd I would not believe any thing of it, till it was prov'd.

[38] I told him, as to Proof in Law, it was none of my Buſineſs, but that I doubted there was Proof enough to make it reaſonable to believe it, and that it was not ſufferable; he told me in ſo many Words, that he thought it was hard to be examin'd ſo cloſe about it; that he took Care to mind my Buſineſs, and cou'd not be charg'd with omitting it; as to other things, he was an Engliſhman, and deſir'd to have his LIBERTY, and ſo my Man and I parted.

This is the Uſe, or rather theſe are ſome of the Uſes, they make of Liberty in this Part of the World; I'll trouble you with but one Example more, and diſmiſs this Part; in the late Queen's Reign, when the Earl of Gallaway commanded the Britiſh Troops in Spain, ſent thither as Auxilliaries to King Charles, now Emperor, the Army begining to grow ſickly, it was ſaid the Soldiers got the Flux by eating Grapes, and other green Fruit.

Upon this, the General publiſh'd an Order, that the Soldiers ſhould not eat any Grapes for a certain time, upon Pain of Death; and none of the Suttlers, or Peaſants, were allowed to bring any Grapes into the Camp, upon the like Penalties.

But as Engliſhmen are not fam'd for be⯑ing the moſt eaſie to be reſtrain'd in ſuch Caſes, ſo ſome of the Engliſh Soldiers had got out of the Camp, and not being able to refrain the tempting Fruit, had gorg'd them⯑ſelves with Grapes, and three of them fell [39] Sick of the Flux; upon which the General ſent to have them brought before him; but when the Officers came to fetch them, truly, they were ſo near being dead, tho' not dead, that they were not in a Condition to be ſtirr'd, and I think two of them died that Night; however one of them being told, the General had ſent for them, and being ask'd, if he had eaten any Grapes, he boldly anſwer'd yes; at which the Officer asking how they durſt pre⯑ſume to break the General's Orders, adding, that if he recover'd, he would certainly be hang'd, the Fellow anſwer'd, as for hanging, there was no need to hang them, they were dead Men already; and as to the General's Orders, they had obey'd him in every thing, relating to their Buſineſs as Soldiers; but as to the reſt, they were ENGLISH-MEN, and thought they ought to have their LIBERTY, and that they had a Right to kill themſelves whenever they pleas'd

It ſeems they all died, and ſo prevented Ju⯑ſtice; for the Excuſe was of no Weight, be⯑cauſe the Prince has a Right to the Service of his Subjects, and no Man can kill himſelf, without a Crime againſt his Sovereign, as well as againſt Heaven: But 'tis appoſite to my Purpoſe, namely, the Notion we have of Li⯑berty here, and the Abuſe of that Liberty.

Be pleas'd to obſerve now, that when I ſpeak of Liberty being abus'd in England, I keep my Eye principally upon the Morals of the Nation, upon the Abuſe of the Laws, made [40] for the Preſervation of good Manners among Men, and the Encouragement given by the Neg⯑ligence of thoſe who ought to puniſh the Breakers of thoſe Laws.

There are ſeveral Sorts of Liberty, which are groſsly abus'd here, as well as this; for Example, Firſt, Religious Liberty; it is true, I that abhor Perſecution for Religion, do not complain of this, as if there ought not to be a Liberty granted to conſcientious Chriſtians to worſhip God in the Manner which they be⯑lieve to moſt agreeable to his Will, and moſt edifying to themſelves; but I cannot but think that Liberty groſsly abus'd, when 'tis made uſe of to protect thoſe who deny all Reveal'd Re⯑ligion; who, inſtead of a Liberty in Religion, claim a Liberty to be of no Religion at-all.

I obſerve, the Toleration of Diſſenters, which is what they found their Religious Li⯑berties upon, is commonly call'd, an Act for Liberty of Conſcience; in my Opinion, that very Title explains the Meaning of the Law, that it is to give Liberty to Tender Conſciences to worſhip God. &c. as I ſay above: This can⯑not import a Liberty to harden'd Conſciences, to worſhip no God at all, and to ſear neither GOD or Devil.

There are great Diſputes about Religion in this Nation, as well as in other Places, per⯑haps more here than any-where elſe; but the Diſpute I take Notice of, is not between this and that Religion, or this and that Sect or O⯑pinion in Religion, but betwixt GOD and De⯑vil; [41] a Man ſhall come into my Company, and blaſpheme God, deny his Redeemer, and make a Mock of all Religion, and then tell me, he is an Engliſhman, and claims Liberty; that there is a Law to give Liberty of Conſcience, &c. this is unſufferable, and Liberty of Conſcience has nothing to do in the Caſe; the Man both by the Laws of God, and of all Chriſtian Nations, ought to be puniſhed; there's, nothing of Re⯑ligion or Conſcience in the Caſe.

There is a Parallel Caſe in this very ſame Conſtitution, and Government; we have a per⯑ticular Liberty here, and what we value our⯑ſelves very much upon, and this is call'd, the Liberty of the PRESS, that is to ſay, that every Man is at Liberty to Print and Publiſh what he pleaſes.

But notwithſtanding all this Liberty of the Preſs, the Government frequently take up both Authors and Printers, if they Printany thing of⯑fenſive, or againſt the Adminiſtration; or if they publiſh any Perſonal Reflections, the Perſon in⯑jur'd if theſe Reflections are unjuſt and ſlande⯑rous, has a Right to proſecute the Publiſher and Author, and will have his Remedy at Law.

Again, the Government claim to reſent inju⯑rious Reproaches, Sarcaſms, and Satyrs, upon any foreign Prince or State in alliance with England, and may oblige the Authors and Publiſhers to anſwer for all ſuch Indecencies; for Example, one Author, and a Frenchman too, who wrote a Publick Paper, was taken up here for printing that the Duke of Luxemberg was [42] Hump-ſhoulder'd, and yet you and I, that have ſeen him ſo often at the Head of the French Armies, know very well how eminent a Truth it was.

Another in the Reign of the late Queen, was ſent for upon the Complaint of the Ruſſian Miniſter, Reſident here, for likening the Czar of Muſcovy to a Siberian Bear, and tho' he did not really call his Czariſh Majeſty Siberian Bear, but only liken'd ſome of his Actions to the Behaviour of that Northern Creature, yet he was oblig'd to make his Submiſſion, beg Pardon, and be very thankful for being diſ⯑charg'd ſo cheap.

Yet all this conſiſts with the Liberty of the Preſs, which is (as all Liberty ſhould be) underſtood, a Liberty to do well, but not a Liberty to do Evil.

LETTER III.

IN my firſt Letter I gave you ſome of my Obſervations upon the wretch⯑ed Notions which the People here, have entertained of that glorious thing call'd Liberty: and how that Liberty, which is the beſt of Mankind's Pri⯑vileges, is abuſed in the groſſeſt Sence, and applied to the meaneſt and moſt ſcoundrel Purpoſes; I ſhall now bring it all down to the Deſign I am upon, and let you ſee how theſe falſe Notions of Liberty, getting into the Heads of the common People, have Intoxica⯑ted their Brains, and have, in a word, deſtroy'd all Subordination among us, and joining with the Invaſion of our Morals, of which I am next to ſpeak, has ſet the World, (as I ſaid) with the Bottom upwar'd, and have rais'd ſuch a Devil among our Servants, as will not eaſily be laid.

I am therefore now to lay before you ſome⯑thing of what I call the great Innundation of Vice, that has thus tainted the Nation's Morals, and which in particular, has de⯑bauch'd the common People.

In order to this, I deſire you will take this whole Letter as a Parentheſis, or Degreſion, as it breaks in upon what went before; and after [44] which, I ſhall go on in my next where I left off in my laſt; ſo that you may at any Time connect or join the Obſervations, without this Part, which is rather a Hiſtory, but which you will find ſo neceſiary to the Under⯑ſtanding of the whole, that I believe you will not think it any Interruption in your Reading.

At my very firſt coming into England, having not yet engag'd in ſettled Buſineſs, I lik'd both the Place and the People ſo well, that I reſolv'd to make my ſtated Reſidence here for my Life; in order to this, I began to look upon the Place as my Native Country, and immediately applied to my Friends to get myſelf Naturaliz'd, that I might ſettle my Fortunes here, as Providence ſhould direct.

To this purpoſe alſo, I reſolv'd for one of my firſt Steps, as I would adviſe all Gentlemen to do, whether Natives or Forreigners, to make myſelf thorowly accquainted with the whole Hiſtory of the Country, and then with its Antiquities, ſo that I ſhould be Maſter both of its antient State, its preſent State, and alſo its Government, and Laws, and of the Cuſtoms and Manners of the People; the delightful Study of this took me up ſomething above a Year, in which time I read over, and that very carefully, all the beſt Hiſtories of the Iſland, in which are recorded the general In⯑troduction of Laws, Rights, Soveraignty, and civil Goverment in the Nation; and account of the firſt Inhabitants, and with what Gallantry [45] and Bravery they defended their Liberty againſt the ſeveral Invaſions of the Romans, Picts, Saxons, Danes, Normans, and the Wars and Bloody Battles which afterward happen'd between thoſe contending Nations, for the maintaining the Conqueſts they had made, and keeping the Poſſeſſions, which they had mark'd out to themſelves in this Iſland.

In reading theſe Hiſtories, I came to under⯑ſtand how the People of this Nation came to be poſſeſs'd of ſuch unuſual Privileges and Liberties, ſuch as no Nation enjoy but them⯑ſelves, and what original Plea of Right they have to make for them; a Plea which appears ſo juſt, and excepting ſome Intervals, when their Monarchs, uneaſie to be under the Re⯑ſtraint of Laws, and be, as it were, govern'd by their People, have made Attempts to get out of thoſe Fetters, and free the Crown, as they call'd it, from popular Bondage, in which Attempts too, they have always miſcarry'd; I ſay, excepting which, their Plea of Right has been always ſo demonſtrably juſt, that their beſt Kings have willingly yielded to them, and thought it a ſufficient Glory to their Family, to be poſſeſs'd of a Monarchy ſo flouriſhing, even with all its Limitations.

But as I obſerv'd, there have been In⯑tervals of this Peace, and ſome of their Prin⯑ces, as above, impatient of Reſtraint, have broken the Circle of Government, attempted to make themſelves arbitrary, aſſum'd a deſpotick Right, and trampling on the Laws and Conſti⯑tution [46] of the Kingdom, have broken out into Oppreſſions and Ravages on the Properties of their Subjects, in manifeſt Violation of the Laws, which even thoſe very Princes had ſworn to rule by; but then, on the contrary, it ſhould be obſerv'd alſo, that theſe Violati⯑ons of Right, as I call them, never fail'd to meet with Oppoſition from the Subjects; the People, on all thoſe Occaſions, being aſſiſt⯑ed by the Nobility and Gentry, frequently had recourſe to Arms, to vindicate their juſt Rights, and free themſelves from Tyranny and Op⯑preſſion; and 'tis to be obſerv'd, with ſome Wonder, almoſt upon all theſe Occaſions the Kings had the worſt; as their Claims were unjuſt, their Attempts were unſucceſsful, and ſome of them were compell'd to undo what they had done, and reſtore the People to their Liberty; as King Stephen, and King Hen. III. K. John; K. Hen. IV. and others; and laſt of all, K. James II. Others were entirely ruin'd, de⯑pos'd, and loſt both Power and Life; as King Edw. II. Richard II. &c.

Theſe were the Rights and Liberties of Eng⯑gliſhmen, of which ſo much has been ſaid in the World, and of which ſuch ſtrange Con⯑ſtructions, and ſuch ſimple Uſe is made in theſe Days, of which I ſhall ſay more as I go on; and for this Reaſon it is, I take this Notice of it here.

As thus I made myſelf Maſter of the Hi⯑ſtory, and ancient State of England, I reſolv'd in the next Place, to make myſelf Maſter of [47] its preſent State alſo; and to this Purpoſe, I travell'd in three or four ſeveral Tours, over the whole Iſland, critically obſerving, and carefully informing myſelf of every thing worth obſerving in all the Towns and Coun⯑tries through which I paſs'd.

I took with me an ancient Gentleman of my Acquaintance, who I found was thorowly ac⯑quainted with almoſt every Part of England, and who was to me as a walking Library, or a moveable Map of the Countries and Towns through which we paſs'd; and we never fail'd to enquire of the moſt proper Perſons in every Place where we came, what was to be ſeen? what Rarities of Nature, Antiquities, ancient Buildings were in the reſpective Parts? or, in ſhort, every thing worth the Obſervation of Travellers.

I have often complain'd, that tho' the Engliſh Hiſtorians, eſpecially in their relating Facts, have been very particular and diſtinct; and the Hiſtories of the ſeveral Wars in England are very well written, yet that they are all very indifferent in their Geography, and that the Reader is ſpoken to, as ſuppoſing he knew be⯑fore where every-thing ſpoken of, was done, and how every Town or Country mention'd, was ſituated; whereas I, that was a perfect Stranger to theſe things, ſhould have been greatly at a Loſs: But to remedy this, I had always the Maps of every Country before me, at the ſame time that I read the Hiſtory; as alſo, I had a Book, entitled Britannia, writ⯑ten [48] by that very learned Antiquary, Mr. Cam⯑den, and ſome other Books too, which treat of the natural Hiſtory, as well as the Antiqui⯑ties of every County; with theſe Helps in my travelling, together with my learned Companion, I was generally inform'd of every thing material, wherever I came; whereas, without theſe I might have gone thro' many, Places where valuable Antiquities, and other Curioſities of Nature or Art were to be ſeen, and have known nothing of them; and he that travels England without ſuch Helps, may in many Caſes, almoſt as well, ſtay at Home.

But to come to that which is more particular to my preſent Purpoſe, and which is the Rea⯑ſon of giving you this Account of my Tra⯑vels; by this Means I became particularly ac⯑quainted with the common People, as well as with the Country, in every Place where I came; I obſerv'd their Language, that is, the ſeveral Dialects of it, for they ſtrangely diſ⯑fer in their Way of expreſſing themſelves, tho' in the ſame Tongue; and there is as much difference between the Engliſh Tongue, as ſpoken in the North of England, and the ſame Torgue, as ſpoken in the Weſt, as be⯑tween the French ſpoken in Normandy, and that of Gaſcogne, and Poictou I; ſay, I became accquainted with their Language, Cuſtoms, Manners, Tempers, and above all with their Morals, which is the thing I ſhall have moſt Occaſion to ſpeak of in theſe Letters: I ſhall trouble you now with no more, relating to [49] my Travels, I may in time ſatisfie the other Part of your late Requeſt, and give you a full account of the Country, which indeed, is well worth a Traveller's Pains to ſee, and a Reader's trouble to look over; but I have not now time to reviſe my Journals, and the Minutes which I took of things every where as I paſs'd, which are very critical I aſſure you, and fruitful, of a very diverting as well as inſtructing varie⯑ty; that Part I muſt refer to another Occa⯑ſion.

My Friend who went with me, was very curious alſo, and the more becauſe I requeſted it of him, in making Enquiries into, and Obſervations upon the Cuſtoms and Man⯑ners of the People, which, as I mention'd above, are the principal things which I am now ſpeaking of.

I obſerve ſeveral of the Authors I have juſt now mentioned, have written largely of the antient Families of the Nobility and Gentry of Great-Britain; their Originals, Names, Arms, and ſometimes the Hiſtory of particular Men among them, who have made themſelves famous in the World, of which the Gentry of England have produc'd many.

But I meet with very few that take Notice of the common People; how they live, what their general Employment is, and what the particular Employment of them is in the ſeveral Counties reſpectively, and yet I found this an Enquiry very full of uſeful Obſervati⯑ons, and attended with innumerable Incidents, [50] which gave Light into things of the greateſt Moment, as well in Hiſtory as Antiquity; and which ſeem'd to add a Part in the Knowledge of the Country, which a Traveller cou'd not be without.

To come to the Point, 'tis neceſſary to ob⯑ſerve to you, as the Ground-Work of my whole Deſign, that the common People of this Country have ſuffer'd a kind of general Revolution, or change in their Diſpoſition, Temper and Man⯑ners, within a certain Term of Years, (which I ſhall mark out to you in its Place alſo,) I ſay they have ſuffer'd a general change, ſuch as I believe no Nation has undergone but themſelves; I wiſh I cou'd ſay it was a change for the better; but be that as it will, I ſhall endeavour to give you an impartial Account of it as it is.

It is in the next Place needful to obſerve to you, that I took this Journey at the unhappy Time when this Change, or Revolution in the Manners and Temper of the common People was in the height of its Operation, namely, in the Years 1684, to 1688; for I was near four Year before I finiſh'd my Travels.

I that was then a Stranger to the People, tho' not altogether to the Place, was not fully accquainted with their juſt Character in Times paſt; but my Companion, upon whoſe Judge⯑ment I very much depended, and who being an obſerving as well as an antient Man, had been converſant among them for threeſcore Years before; ſupply'd me in that Part, in a [51] Manner, which no Books or Maps cou'd do, for this Part is, as I have ſaid, ſcarce meddl'd, with in Hiſtory.

‘'He told me, that he firſt was acquainted among the common People by his Father's being a very great Clothier in the Weſt-Country; in conſequence of which Buſineſs, he employ'd many Hundreds, I think he ſaid Thouſands, of the Labouring Poor; that he acted under his Father for ſome Years, but then went into the North and North-Eaſt Parts of England; as firſt, into the Weſt-Riding of York-ſhire, bordering on Lancaſhire, and after that into Lincolnſhire, and Norfolk; and that his Buſineſs was chiefly buying of Lincolnſhire, and Leiceſterſhire Wool, which by the way, is the beſt and fitteſt for Ma⯑nufacturing in England, and by this trading moving kind of Life, added he, I came to converſe among the Poorer ſort of People, Farmers, and Manufacturers of every kind, from Lancaſhire and Weſtmoreland, in the North; down to Lincolnſhire, and Leiceſter⯑ſhire, and thence into Norfolk, Suffolk, and Eſſex; and eſpecially among the Servants of all theſe Countries, ſuch as Husbandmen, Day-Labourers, and Workmen; alſo Ser⯑vants in Gentlemen's and Tradeſmen's and Farmers Families, and the like.’

I liſten'd very carefully to his Diſcourſe, becauſe this was the Part that I more par⯑ticularly intended to inquire into; and often deſir'd him to tell me what that kind of [52] People they were in his Time; for what they were then, and how they behav'd then, we both knew very well.

I look'd earneſtly at him, while he talk'd thus, and after he had done, pray then, ſaid I, when, and from what Cauſes and Beginings, [54] came that ſtrange Alteration of things which we ſee now? for the Country People, as well as the Trades-People in Towns and Cities, are quite another ſort of Folks at this time, than what you ſpeak of? and as for the Ser⯑vants, they move in another kind of Circle, and do not underſtand the Language you talk of.

O, ſays he, 'tis a diſmal and melancholly thing to tell you, how this Alteration has happen'd; and you that are a Stranger, will neither have Patience to hear it, or be able to give Credit to it, when you do.

I aſſur'd him I wou'd convince him of the contrary; for, ſays I, you ſee I am ſo deſirous to know theſe things, that I can never be diſſatisfied with the Relation, however long; and as for giving Credit, I told him, I knew him too well, not to depend entirely upon the Truth of whatever he related to me, as Truth, and of his own Knowledge; for that I was aſſur'd he would not miſlead me in any thing.

Here my Friend clos'd his Hiſtorical Account, as he call'd it, of the growth of Debauchery in England, and the Revolution which the Temper and Diſpoſition of the Peo⯑ple of England ſuffer'd in thoſe Days; he only added theſe Words at the end of it; I will not, ſays he, anſwer for the Exactneſs of the Ac⯑count above; as to the Encreaſe of Victual⯑ling-Houſes, [63] May-Poles, and Brewing, tho' I have great Reaſon to believe they are rather within Compaſs than beyond it; but this I think is certain, that by thoſe means the Morals of the Nation were ruin'd: Let me only add a few of my Remarks to this Diſ⯑courſe; Experience ſhews that it appears much eaſier to conquer and give a Check to this Vice thus broken in among the Gentlemen, than it is to check it among the common People.

At the late Revolution, upon the coming of the Prince of Orange, that ſcandalous Cuſtom of impoſing upon People, and obliging People to drink whether they would or no, receiv'd a Check; with their loſt Liberties, the Nation recover'd the Liberty of Drinking, that is to ſay, of Drinking as they pleas'd; and on a ſudden, from a Mode or Faſhion of putting the Cup to your Neighbour's Noſe, it became the Mode to give every Man leave to Drink as he pleas'd, according to the old Rule at Ahaſuerus's Feaſt; and this was a great Point gain'd too.

But alas! it was too late; the Diſtemper was too far gone; if the Gentlemen would not make the Servants Drunk, the Servants would make one another ſo; the Tennants now began to drink as faſt as the Landlords; the Husbandman as faſt as the Employer, and as every Man in Drinking among the Gentry, had the Liberty to Drink as little as he would, [64] ſo every Man among the common People claim'd the Liberty of Drinking, as much as he would; at the ſame time knowing not how to ſet Bounds to their Drinking-Guſt.

Wonder not that I call the Drunken Vice the worſt of all Brutallity; it appears by its Conſequences in this Nation, to be the Mother Sin, the Parent or producing Cauſe of all Vice; the Sins of Whoreing, Gameing, Thieving, Murther, Rapin, Couzening, and Cheating, and particularly that of Swearing, have been its natural Progeny, and have all enter'd at this one Door; Drunkenneſs has been the great Anceſtor of them all.

That Swearing, Whoreing, and Murther, are the natural Conſequences of Drunkenneſs you will grant me, I believe, at firſt Word; neither is there any need to debate the Point here, Experience proves it; but ſuffer me, I beſeech you, to look a little into it.

• I. The Cuſtom of Prophane Swearing is ſo encreas'd among the poor People, Ser⯑vants, Labourers, &c. that it is trouble⯑ſome to ſober People to go along the Street; they hear the Mouths of the common Labouring Poor ſo continually over-flowing with gall: I remember, being in the Northern Parts of England, beyond Newcaſtle upon Tyne, I met an Engliſh Gentleman, who was juſt that very Day come out of Scotland, and it was ſo greivous to him, that he cou'd [65] not forbear complaning of it to me; his Expreſſion was this, ‘'If I was, ſays he, to be brought out of Scotland into England blindfold, I would tell at the firſt Town I ſet my Foot in, on this ſide the Border, that I was on Engliſh Ground, by hearing the Name of God prophaned by the very Young Children in the Street; the grown People ſwear⯑ing and curſing in all their ordinary Diſcourſe; whereas for the Honour of Scotland, ſays he, I muſt ſpeak it, you hear nothing, or but very little of it there.’

Every-body knows, that this horrid Cuſtom is the ordinary Companion of Drunkenneſs: Swearing and Curſing are the Brats of the Bot⯑tle, that way, and that way only they came in; and tho' the Gentlemen have a little abated the dreadful Exceſs; as if, their Footmen and Servants having learnt to out-ſwear them, it was become a little too Vulgar for them; yet, this I may venture to ſay now, that the Footmen and Servants will not ſo eaſily follow their Maſter's Example in abating it, as they did follow their Example in learning it.

Beſides, (as if the Devil having got hold of the Nation in this manner, was reſolv'd not to part with them) If the Gentlemen have left it off, the Ladies have taken it up; and a certain Dutcheſs is ſaid to be famous for this, namely, that ſhe will out ſwear any of her Footmen or Chairmen.

• 2. Murther; in this I may appeal to the Experience of thoſe that liv'd towards the beginning of the laſt Century, that there was nothing known or heard-of like what we ſee now: I mean Men fighting, wounding, and killing one another in the Streets and in Taverns, and coming out of Taverns, and where one Accident of this kind happen'd then, it may ſafely be ſaid, that five hundred ſuch have happen'd ſince.

How often do we ſee Men come raving out of the Taverns, as void of Sence as a Man out of Bedlam, and ſwear they'll kill the next Man they meet? and how many Gen⯑tlemen of good Families and Fortunes have I ſeen ſince I have been in England, ſent by the Law on that account, to make a trip to St. Tyburn, (the Greve of this City, as the Greve at Paris is the Tyburn of that City,) that is to ſay, hang'd for drunken Murthers? beſides the Numbers who by Favour and Intreſt have obtain'd the Prince's Pardons and Reprieves.

Again, how many ſelf-murthers of this kind too have we daily in our weekly and yearly Bills of Mortallity, thus; kill'd himſelf by exceſſive Drinking; the yearly Bills give us an Account of no leſs than one hundred and ſix and twenty in the laſt five Years, beſides ſuch as periſh by that Enemy, who are ſpar'd in the ſaid Bills, becauſe they ſhou'd not be known; which are, perhaps, twenty times that Number.

[67] 'Tis another Evidence of the truth of my Obſervation on this Head, that the Govern⯑ment have found themſelves oblig'd, to make ſo many new Laws for the more effectual preventing Drunkenneſs and Debauchery; (1.) Obliging Victuallers and Vintners not to keep unſeaſonable Hours; not to draw Drink of a Sabbath-Day, &c. Crimes ſcarce heard of in former Days, and which there was no Occaſion to provide againſt before. (2.) To oblige every Man that is fuddled, or as we call it, in drink, to pay five Shillings to the Poor, or to be ſet an Hour in the Stocks, and the like.

Indeed it has been ſome Obſtruction to the Execution of theſe Laws, that the Magiſtrates are ſo often overtaken themſelves, that they cannot find in their Hearts to puniſh others for what they themſelves deſerve Puniſhment for, more than moſt poor Men can do.

As to the Vice of Whoring, and the near re⯑lation that has, to this of Drunkenneſs, I need take up none of your time upon that Subject, only to remark, what an infinite Number of Debauches of this kind happen every Day a⯑mong us, more than ever were before.

It occurs to me here to tell you a ſhort Story upon this Head, of a certain Colonel of the Army, a particular Accquaintance of mine, who had an Intriegue with a young Lady, and cou'd by no means compaſs his Deſign, her Virtue proving ſtanch againſt all his Attacks; only that ſhe had ſo much reſpect for him, that ſhe would have conſented to Marry him, [68] but that did not ſuit, it ſeems, with his Conve⯑nience, or at leaſt, with his Deſign.

However, he found means one time to get this Lady into his Company, and to get a little Wine into her Head more than ſhe cou'd manage; and when her Head was light, her Heels prov'd ſo to, and he had his Will of her; when ſhe came to herſelf, and was made ſenſible of her Wickedneſs, finding herſelf in-bed with him, that there was no room left for Regret, ſhe put it off, with a Jeſt, and ſaid, well, ſince ſhe had let him come when ſhe was drunk, he might e'en as well come when ſhe was ſober, for it was all one now.

After this, ſhe ſollicited him with all her Skill, to marry her, as he had offer'd to do before, but ſoon found ſhe could not Maſter him that way; but at length, ſhe reſolv'd to try if ſhe cou'd not take him at the ſame Advantage that he had taken her at before; ſhe laid many Snares of this kind for him, but was always diſappointed; after ſome time, finding him one Evening come into her Chamber half drunk, ſhe took the hint, and got him to accept of a Bottle from her, as ſhe call'd it, and ſhe ſat and drank the Bottle out with him, and then another or two; till being very drunk, he wanted to come to Bed to her, but ſhe pretended to refuſe him, becauſe he would not marry her; he anſwer'd, he would marry her, and call'd for a Parſon, tho not knowing well [69] what he ſaid, or did; ſhe, who had got a Miniſter ready for the Purpoſe, having ex⯑pected what happen'd, takes him at his Word, brings in the Parſon, and made him repeat the Words of Matrimony, and had good Witneſſes of it, and then ſhe went to Bed with him.

In the Morning going to riſe, he call'd her by Name; no, no, Colonel —, ſays ſhe, not Mrs. Mary — now, but Mary —, Colonel —'s Wife; what mean you by that, ſaid he? even juſt ſo, Sir, ſays ſhe, (and told him the whole Fact) as you ſerv'd me, before, I hope you can't be angry; well, ſays the Colonel, if I have don't when I was drunk, I muſt ſtand to it when I am ſober; but you have bit me in my own Play, my Dear, ſays he, and made my Lord Rocheſter's Verſes good upon me.

If I was to give you the Detail of the Adventures I have met with of this kind, I might Entertain you with Letters for a great while on no other Subject; it is true, in the Story above, the Man was the Agreſſor, and deſerv'd it; and the Woman was not inten⯑tionally a Whore; but on the other hand, how many young Gentlemen, Heirs to good Families and Eſtates, have been drawn in by the meer Engine of the Bottle, to debauch [70] themſelves with ſcandalous and even diſtem⯑per'd Whores? to the ruin of Body, Soul, and Fortune; and how many, which is ſtill worſe, have wheedled them in to marry them, when they have done: If I ſhould ſay that this Conſequence of Drunkenneſs is more fre⯑quent in this Nation, than ever I cou'd ob⯑ſerve it to be in France, or even in Germany itſelf, I believe I ſhould ſay Truth.

But ſtill this is among the Gentry, and does not reach down to the lower Rank of People, of whom I am principally to ſpeak; but is not the Conſequence of Exceſs in Drink viſible in all the lower Sorts of Men, as well as the other? how are the very Morals and Honeſty of the labouring People ſo ruin'd? that now, as I noted in my laſt, you cannot with ſafety hire a Workman by the Day, to almoſt any kind of Buſineſs, unleſs your Eye be upon him, not only part, but even all the time of his Work; if you do, you are ſure to have your Work either ſpoil'd or neglected, or done contrary to your Order.

The labouring People have their Eyes now not at your Work, but at their own Wages, and if they can but ſecure the laſt, their Buſineſs is to cheat you in the firſt as much as poſſible; but eſpecially, as to Time, formerly honeſt Men were to be found, who whether you were with them, or from them, would be fairly at their Buſineſs, and made Conſci⯑ence of doing their Day's Work for their Day's Wages.

[71] But now the Caſe is quite alter'd; I ſhall give you an Example of this, before I come to ſpeak more particularly to it: I have for ſome Years been concern'd in a large publick Building in the Country, where we kept a great many other Servants, as alſo Horſes, and Carts, conſtantly employ'd; among the reſt we kept an old Servant whoſe Name was Wright, in conſtant Work, tho' paid by the Week; he was a Wheel-wright by Trade, and a Carpenter alſo, and his Buſineſs was to keep the Carts, and Barrows, and Working-Tools and Work-houſes in repair, and the like; it happen'd one Morning that a Cart being Broken-down upon the Road, at ſome diſtance from the Houſe, this old Man was fetch'd to repair it where it lay; while he was buſy at his Work, comes by a Countryman that knew him, and at ſome Diſtance ſalutes him with the uſual Compliment, good-Morrow Father Wright, God ſpeed your Labour; the old Fellow looks up at him, for he did not ſee him at firſt, and with a kind of pleaſant ſurlyneſs, anſwer'd, I don't care whether he does or no, 'tis Day-Work.

I need make no Comment upon this worthy Speech, it explains itſelf; I ſhall have oc⯑caſion to mention old Father Wright again in a more particular Affair of this kind; but I am now more properly ſpeaking of the Effect of Drunkenneſs, upon the Morals of the labouring Poor; and that leads me to obſerve how they are not only become careleſs and [72] Negligent of their Buſineſs, when employ'd by others, but entirely negligent of them⯑ſelves, and of their Families, notwithſtanding they are able by their ordinary Labour, to ſupport them very comfortably; I had in the ſame Building-Works which I mention'd above, a Workman who during the whole Summer-ſeaſon for the Work, which is about ſeven or eight Months, as Weather happens, cou'd ordinarily earn Eighteen Shillings a Week, ſometimes 20, to 22s. per Week; this Fellow work'd very hard too indeed, and yet he would hardly ſave Cloaths to cover his Nakedneſs, and his Wife and four Chil⯑dren were kept by the Pariſh.

But even this does not fully reach the Caſe I am upon; it would take up more Letters than I ſhould be able to write you for ſeven Year, if I ſhould give you a par⯑ticular of the diſmal Effects of Drunkenneſs, upon the People of this ſober Nation; I call them ſo, becauſe ſo they were but a few Years before, and even ſince, ſome that are now alive can remember.

But I muſt ſhorten the Diſcourſe now, my preſent Deſign being chiefly of another kind, viz. to let you ſee what the general Beha⯑viour of Workmen, and hir'd Labourers of both Sexes is; how they manage themſelves, or to ſpeak more properly, how they ma⯑nage their Maſters; for things are come to that paſs now, that tho' Maſters have the Name of Government indeed, the Servants [73] really govern throughout this Nation, and eſpecially that Part of them who we hire for daily Labour, who if but one crooked Word be ſpoken to them, will turn their Backs upon you, and upon your Buſineſs, and be gone, in ſpight of Contracts and Bar⯑gains, and in ſpight of any Damages you may ſuffer by it, as I ſhall ſhew you more par⯑ticularly in my next; alſo of all the other kinds of Servants among us, for they are the ſame in their Degree; ſuch as Coachmen, Footmen, Cooks, Maid-Servants, and Men-Ser⯑vants, Apprentices, and the like, how they behave; how their Conduct is alter'd of late; how terrible a Greivance their Inſolence is in the Families where they are; what Maſters frequently ſuffer by their Negligence and Abuſes; and how hard it is to find Methods for the Regulation of this Evil; it is, I confeſs, very difficult, but I ſhall venture at it a little, and if poſſible, by ſearching into the bottom of theſe things we may find out ſome Remedy, that the Nation may be deliver'd from one of the heavieſt Burthens that ever loaded it, and the moſt difficult to deal with.

I ſhall conclude with obſerving to you, that I am very juſt in laying the Weight of all this upon that Flood of Wine and Strong-Drink, which this Nation ſeems to be drown'd in for ſo many Years paſt, becauſe 'tis evi⯑dent that Drinking is ſtill the ordinary Intro⯑duction of all the particular Diſorders which theſe People commit: 'Tis ordinary to ſay, [74] ſuch an one is a very civil Fellow, and a very good Workman, or ſuch a one is a very good Servant, but he will he Drunk now and then, and when he is ſo, he is mad, and does not care what he does; and the general Excuſe for a ſaucy inſolent Servant, is, why he was in drink, and did not know what he ſaid, you muſt excuſe it, he will be very ſorry for it, and beg your Pardon for it when he is ſober; now it may be, all this ſhall be very true, and the Fellow ſhall come the very next Day and beg Pardon, as was ſaid of him, and ſhall the very next time he gets a little more Drink in his Head be the ſame Man again, and as ſaucy and Inſolent as before, and beg Pardon again, and be drunk again, and ſo on in a kind of rotation to the end of the Chapter.

It is remarkable alſo, that when ſuch a Fellow comes to beg Pardon, he ſhall have the Impudence to ſay to you, that he was in drink, and that therefore he hopes you will paſs it by; whereas his being Drunk is not an aggravation only, but an Addition of Crime, and ſo far from a Reaſon why he ſhould be Pardon'd, that 'tis the beſt Reaſon that can be given why he ſhou'd not.

Another Caſe is, that this Drunkenneſs is certainly the Parent of Oaths, and as our common People are addicted to Swearing in ſuch an execrable manner, as that no Nation in the World is like them; ſo it is moſt com⯑monly when they are in drink: At leaſt, [75] Drunkenneſs has been the grand Introduction to it, nay, many that will never Swear when they are ſober, will Swear in the moſt out⯑rageous manner when they are in drink, and be guilty of the moſt groſs and abomi⯑nable Actions in their Liquor; things which they themſelves would abhor when they were themſelves.

There is an unhappy kind of Swearing, which Cuſtom has brought upon this Nation, which is not the Effect of Drunkenneſs, of which I ſhall give you the Trouble of a Letter by iſelf; and this is the Multiplication of Oaths appointed by Authority, of which this Kingdom has more than ever I met with in any Nation whatever; but of that hereafter.

This way of Swearing, was in its begin⯑ning a high Compliment upon the general Integrity, and gave a great Character of the Principles of the People; arguing that they were ſo conſcientiouſly regardful of their Oaths, that what they once ſwore, it might be depended on they would carefully and reli⯑giouſly obſerve.

But time, and the frequency of taking theſe Oaths, has made kiſſing the Goſpels ſo familiar with them, that ſuch Oaths have loſt much of their Solemnity, and are conſequently brought to be of leſs Importance, and to have leſs Influence on the Minds of thoſe who take them, than it was at firſt believ'd they would have, and then indeed, they ought to have.

[76] If Drunkenneſs and in conſequence of it, this vile habit of Swearing have thus poſſeſs'd the generality of the poor People here, as I have obſerv'd; what then can we expect from them as to their Morals, or Manners? you are not indeed, to expect much from their Morals, but far leſs from their Manners.

What decency of Expreſſion, what Mo⯑deſty in Behaviour can that Man ſhow when he is gorg'd with Drink? when his Head runs round like the Sails of a Wind Mill? as the Vapour blows when he knows nothing what he does, or what he is to do? when he can neither think or act?

They have a very good old Song here on the Subject of Drinking, which has in it one Couple of Lines, that is much to my Purpoſe, viz.

It is literally true here; an Engliſhman, when Drink is in his Head, is a King, an Emperor, Monarch of himſelf, and knows no-body, and values no-body; if he be the meaneſt of your Servants, is your Maſter for that time; he knows nothing about you, or about your Buſineſs; but will roar and ſing, even in your Face, and tell you, he is above all Maſters, and values no-body.

To talk to him while he is in that Con⯑diction, is to talk Goſpel to a Kettle Drum; [77] you get nothing but ſaucy Language, or ſome⯑thing worſe; the beſt way is to get ſome of the other Servants to have him to-bed, and when he has ſlept, and is a little ſober, he will be pretty well again; but then you have this trouble upon your Hands again, viz. That if you do not ſet ſome honeſt, ſtaid, ſober Fellow, to take care of him the next Morning, if he gets but one Mug of Beer in his Hand, he is gone; his Head is not thorowly cool, and he is a Madman or a Sober Man for another Day, juſt as the Company he falls into, firſt happens, to be looſe drinking Fellows, or ſober and grave, and ſometimes he goes on for the whole Week. As this is the Caſe with them in their Drink, it begins to be a kind of a neceſſary Cuſtom, tho' it be owing chiefly to the Cuſtom of drinking; namely, that no Notice is to be taken, no not by the Maſter himſelf, of what a Servant either ſays or does, when he is in Drink.

I ſhall lead you into theſe Particulars more to your Satisfaction, by giving you ſome ſhort Hiſtories of Caſes, which come up to the Perfection of theſe things, and which, I hope, will be both diverting and inſtructing; mean time, I conclude for the preſent, and am,

LETTER IV.

I AM now to lay down ſome things for your farther Admiration in the particular Behaviour of the Engliſh Poor, and give me leave, previous to what I have farther to ſay upon this Head, to add that, 1. This is all, in ſpight of double Pay, at the ſame Time that their Services are leaſt, and their Behaviour worſt, their Wages are beſt, their pay largeſt, and they have the greateſt Obligation laid upon them to be diligent.

This, one would think, ſhould either pre⯑vent their Ill-Behaviour, or be a means to reclaim them, when they had broken in upon their Manners; but on the contrary, it is a general Obſervation at leaſt in the Compaſs of my particular Knowlege, and I ſcarce ever knew it fail, namely, that I never knew a Ser⯑vant, or a Workman in England, one farthing the better for the Encreaſe of his Wages; on the contrary, if you advance a Servant's Wages, it is ſo natural for him to think he deſerves it, or that elſe you would not do it; that inſtead of mending him, it always makes him worſe.

It is a kind of a Proverbial Speech among our People, when they ſee a dull, heavy Fellow [79] go ſlowly on in his Buſineſs, to ſay to him, come mend your Pace, and I'll mend your Pay; but really the Man's return ought to be, do you but mend my Pay firſt, and you ſhall hang me, if I mend my Pace.

2. Servants and Workmen in England, ſeem to act in the Caſe of their Maſter's Bounty, as an old cunning Cart-Horſe does with the Driver, and his Whip; when the Driver ſmacks his Whip, the Cart-Horſe ſhakes his Bells; the Driver makes the Horſe believe he will ſtrike, and the Cart-Horſe makes the Driver believe he'll go; but the Carter does not laſh, nor does the Horſe mend his Pull; ſo that the Horſe cheats the Driver for his Favour, in which, (by the way,) he lets us ſee that Gratitude is not a natural Principle among Horſes.

The Behaviour of the labouring Poor in England, is ſomething a-kin to this; and we find that Gratitude is not a natural Principle among the common People; at leaſt, if it is, they are pleas'd to Sin againſt it in a moſt unnatural Manner; in a word, their Morals being touch'd as before, that Part of their Virtue, which I call Gratitude, and which is the brighteſt Part of an honeſt Man, is in a manner quite ſunk among them: But I ſhall have Occaſion to compliment them upon their Gratitude hereafter.

I return now to the moſt fatal Cauſe of all this Miſchief; I mean the Advance of Wages, for this indeed, is the ſupport of all the In⯑ſolence [80] of Servants, as their ruin'd Manners is the Spring of it: Here indeed, they verifie what was by a late Author made part of their Character.

But to return to the Wages, and here I am to obſerve,

• 1. That tho' advancing the Wages of Servants has not been a publick thing done by the Government or Legiſlature, in the, Na⯑ture of a Law.
• 2. Nor has it been done by a common con⯑ſent, as ſome publick things have been done; obtaining thereby the ordinary Sanction of a Law.
• 3. Nor has it after ſuch a kind of Common Conſent been approv'd or confirm'd by any Authority, as a thing which ought to be; no nor laſtly,
• 4. Has it been ſo much as encourag'd by the Magiſtrates or Government; on the contrary, it is the common receiv'd Opini⯑on, that it ought not to be ſo; and that it ſpoils Servants in the main, and yet guided by we know not what Fate, every-body comes into it; the Servants encroach, and demand high Wages, and the People generally comply with it, and ſo the Evil is grown inſenſibly upon us, till it is become a receiv'd Cuſtom, and is what it may be ſaid, ever body does, [81] and therefore every Servant looks for; and whereas in common Charity one would expect that this ſhould influence the ge⯑nerality of Servants for the better, and help to reclaim them, on the contrary, it is indeed, the Ruin of them all.

Nor is this Advance of Servants Wages any Wealth to them, but as above, their Morals being deſtroy'd, this overplus is ge⯑nerally laid out, either in Luxury or Vanity, that is to ſay, in Strong-Drink by the Men-Servants, and in gay things by the Women-Servants; and take all that little Frugallity which is to be found among them, and ſet it againſt the horrible encreaſe of Pride and De⯑bauchery, that is, Drink, (for I muſt be allow'd to call Drunkenneſs Debauchery) I ſay take all that little Frugallity that is left, I believe it will be granted,

• 1. That the Poor are poorer than when Labour was cheaper.
• 2. Servants lay up leſs, take them one with another, than they did when they were hir'd at half the Wages.

So that upon the whole, neither the La⯑bourer without-Doors, or the menial Servant within-Doors, are one jott the better in their Behaviour, or the richer in their Pockets for all the advance of Pay which they receive, which yet in the whole Kingdom, amounts to an immenſe Sum by the Year.

[82] To begin with the labouring Poor, they are indeed the Grievance of the Nation, and there ſeems an abſolute Neceſſity to bring them, by ſevere regulations, to ſome State of immediate Subordination; their Caſe is briefly ſumm'd up in two Heads.

• 1. Under a ſtop of Trade, and a general want of Work, then they are clamorous and mutinous, run from their Families, load the Pariſhes with their Wives and Children, who they leave periſhing and ſtarving, and them⯑ſelves grow ripe for all manner of Miſchief, whether publick Inſurrection, or private plun⯑der and robbery, and ſeeing they have not Work enough, they will not work at all, and that brings them to wander, ſtarve, beg, ſteal, and be Hang'd.
• 2. In a Glut of Trade they grow ſaucy, lazy idle, and debauch'd; when they may have Work, and may get Money enough to live well, and lay up for a Time of leſs Buſineſs; then inſtead of Diligence and Good-Husbandry which might be expected from honeſt Men, on the contrary they will Work but two or three Days in the Week, or till they get Money enough to keep them the reſt of the Week, and all the other part of their Time they lie in the Alehouſe to ſpend it.

The preſent Juncture of Time, while I am writing this Letter, furniſhes me with fla⯑grant Examples of this kind; there is now, and has been, for near two Year paſt, a pro⯑digious Run of Trade for all ſorts of the [83] Woollen-Manufactures, of which England makes ſo much.

This Demand for Goods makes a propotion'd Encreaſe of Work, and an Encreaſe of Work, of courſe produces an Encreaſe of Wages: This the Poor in France wou'd rejoice at, and any People indeed, that were in their Sences would take it for a Bleſſing from Heaven, and it would prompt their Diligence, and make them work the harder, that they might take the honeſt Advantage of it, and as we ſay, make Hay while the Sun ſhines.

That the Encreaſe of Trade and Wages is real, and the Fact true, you may take it thus in a few Words, viz. The rate for ſpinning, weaving, and all other Manufacturing-Work, I mean in WOOL, is ſo riſen, that the Poor all over England, can now earn or gain near twice as much in a Day, and in ſome Places, more than twice as much as they could get for the ſame Work two or three Years ago: Particularly in Eſſex, Suffolk, and Norfolk, Eaſtward; and in Wiltſhire, Somerſet, and Devon, Weſt; the Poor Women now get 12d to 15d a Day for ſpinning, the Men more in proportion, and are full of Work; whereas before, they cou'd not get half ſo much, and very often not find Employment neither.

And what now is the Conſequence of this? not Diligence, not Thankfulneſs, I aſſure you; leſs is it enriching the Poor, or furniſhing themſelves with Conveniences, Cloaths, and Neceſſaries; leaſt of all is it attended with a [84] provident laying-up for a time of Scarcity; when Work may be wanting and Wages abate again; as 'tis very likely may be the Caſe hereafter: No, No, juſt the contrary; This Proſperity introduces Sloth, Idleneſs, Drunk⯑enneſs, and all manner of Wickedneſs; inſtead of making Hay while the Sun ſhines, they ſlight their Work, and bully their Employers; perhaps they will work two or three Days, or it may be a Week, till they find a few Shillings gingle and chink in their Pockets; but then, as if they cou'd not bear that kind of Muſick, away they go to the Alehouſe, and 'tis impoſible to bring them to work again, while they have a Farthing of it left.

The Manufacturers are diſtreſs'd for Hands; they have Workmen, but they had as good have none, for they will not Work; the Maſters beg and intreat, and with Money in Hand, as we ſay, they Pray and Pay too, but 'tis all one, no Work can be done as long as there's a Farthing of Money in their Pockets.

If we go out of the Manufacturing Towns into the Country-Villages, there they feel the ſame thing another way; the Farmers Wives can get no Dairy-Maids, their Husbands no Plowmen, and what's the matter? truly the Wenches anſwer, they won't go to Service at 12d or 18d a Week, while they can get 7 s to 8s a Week at ſpinning; the Men anſwer they won't drudge at the Plow and Cart, hedging and ditching, threſhing and [85] ſtubbing, and perhaps get 6l. a Year, and courſe Diet, when they can ſit ſtill and dry within Doors, and get 9 or 10s. a Week at Wool-combing, or at carding, and ſuch Work about the Woollen Manufacture.

Now, it is true, the Argument on their ſide would be very juſt, and ſome way unanſwera⯑ble, were the end really to work, and ſo to get as much as they could by a Diligent Ap⯑plication to the Buſineſs, and then by a frugal, honeſt virtuous Life, laying up what they got, for their Uſe in harder times.

But inſtead of this, we find theſe Wenches and Fellows run to the Manufacturing-Towns; there perhaps, they Spin and Work, and when they have got a little Money in their Pockets before-hand, then they turn Vagrant and Idle, ſpend the little they have got in revelling, drinking, and by conſequence ſome⯑thing worſe, till the Magiſtrates have been call'd upon to rout them out, to ſecure the Pariſhes from the charge of their Debaucheries.

From theſe wicked Haunts, they ſpread themſelves about the Villages, where they draw in other young People, (till then ſober and diligent,) into the like Wickedneſs; till we have ſeen ſix or ſeven of them in a Houſe with big-Bellies, to the Shame and Affliction of their poor Parents, and the Scandal of the whole Country.

As ſoon as they can drop their Burthen, they fly, for fear of the Houſe of Correction, and away they go to London to get Services.

[86] London, like the Ocean, that receives the muddy and dirty Brooks, as well as the clear and rapid Rivers, ſwallows up all the ſcum and filth of the Country, and here they need not fear of getting Places; what Servants are likely to come out of ſuch Nurſeries is not hard to ſuggeſt, nor is it any breach of Charity, to ſuppoſe that this helps to fill the Town with a generation of Whores and Thieves, and makes our Maid-Servants recommend themſelves as they do: Hence nothing is more Natural than the com⯑mon Jeſt we put upon the Country-Girls, when we ſee them come up to London in the Carriers Waggons, and on the Pack-Horſes, viz. to ask them if they have been Church'd before they came from home; nor is there any thing unreaſonable in the Queſtion, as things go now in the Country, when Work is ſo plenty and Wages ſo high; for who wou'd come away to London to go to Service, if things were all well at home?

This is one of the Grievances which we want a Law to reſtrain, and which if not taken in Time, and reſtrain'd, will quickly make Servants Wages as dear in the Country as they are now in the City; and the poor Far⯑mers muſt give 6l. and 8l. a Year Wages for Dairy-Maid as the Ladies here do for their Chamber-Maids, and a proportion for Plow-Men, and Carters; of which I ſhall ſay more hereafter.

It is true we have Laws here for regulat⯑ing [87] of Servants, and among the reſt, a Juſ⯑tice of Peace may oblige young People who are idle, and live, as 'tis call'd, at their own Hands, to go to Service, and may, if they refuſe it, ſend them to the Houſe of Cor⯑rection; but this is a Concern which the Law takes for Parents, whoſe Circumſtances being but mean, and their Children lying heavy upon them, are willing to be main⯑tain'd in Idleneſs and Sloth, and refuſe either to Work for themſelves, or go out to Ser⯑vice; in ſuch a Caſe, the Magiſtrate may oblige them to go out, as above.

But if the ſingle Perſon ſo challeng'd by the Juſtice, anſwers that ſhe work'd and main⯑tains herſelf, and is able to maintain herſelf without being a Charge to her Parents, or the Pariſh, I do not find the Magiſtrate can com⯑pel ſuch a one to go to Service.

In the next Place, as this Inſolence of the labouring Poor is, in ſpight of double Pay, ſo it is with this particular Aggravation, that at the ſame Time that their Wages has been rais'd, the Price of Proviſions has been cheaper than it has been for many Years before; particularly Bread-Corn has been ſo low that none can complain, except the poor Farmers, who cannot pay their Rents, by reaſon of the Cheapneſs of Corn; and I am Witneſs to this, that when Bread, about 16 or 17 Years ago, was ſold for double the Price that it is now, the Wages for ſpinning and Manufacturing, was not much above half the Price that it [88] is now, ſo that they gain'd leſs, and ſpent more, and yet were able to ſubſiſt, even then.

This makes good the ordinary Remark here, viz. that the poor are always poor; it is very plain, when Wages were cheap, or low, and Proviſions high and dear, the Poor were not poorer than they are now; and now Wages are higher, and Proviſions ſo much lower than it was then, yet the Poor are not richer now than they were then; but this Riddle is eaſily expounded, by ſaying, 1. The Poor are, (as above,) idle, proud, and ſaucy, and when Wages are good, they won't work, any more than from Hand to Mouth; or if they do work, they ſpend it in Riot and Luxury; ſo that it Turns to no Account to them.

While this, then, is the Temper of the la⯑bouring Poor, what are we to expect from them, but that, as above, they will be mutinous when they want Employment, and idle and ſaucy when they have it? Would the poor Maid-Servants who chooſe rather to ſpin, while they can gain 9s. per Week by their Labour, than go to ſervice at 12d. a Week to the Farmers Houſes, as before; I ſay, would they ſit cloſe to their work, live near and cloſe, as labouring and poor People ought to do, and by their Frugality, lay up ſix or ſeven Shil⯑lings per Week, none could object or blame them for their Choice; but while, on the contrary, they either play half their Time, and neglect the Work they have; or if they [89] do work, ſpend it all in Drink and Debauchery, as is too much the Caſe, this height of Wages is by it made a publick grievance; the Poor are ruin'd, even by that which is their Bleſſing, or would be ſo, were it rightly made uſe of; I mean plenty of Work, and good Pay; nay the very plenty of Proviſions which was always receiv'd by reaſonable People, and eſpecially by Chriſtians, as the Gift and Mercy of Heaven, is curs'd to them, and becomes their Ruin; for while they have Bread, they won't work, and when they do not work, 'tis eaſie to judge what elſe they do, and how they employ their Time.

Again, as ſoon as Trade receives a check, and there is a little diſcouragement upon the Clothiers and Manufacturers, ſo that Work is a little ſtop'd, and the Maſters and Employers can give no more Wool out to ſpin, or perhaps but a little, and that in conſequence of this; the Price abates too; what follows? why, then they grow clamorous, noiſy, and, as I ſaid before, mutinous and ſaucy another way, and in the mean time they diſperſe, run away, leave their Families, and eſpecially the nume⯑rous throng of Baſtards, which, (as I hinted,) the Wickedneſs of their Working-Life had produc'd, upon the Pariſhes, and wander about in Beggary and Diſtreſs.

In conſequence of this, it has been obſerv'd, that in our great populous Manufacturing Towns, whenever a run of Trade has hap⯑pen'd, and after it the Poor diſperſe again, [90] there is generally an Encreaſe of Baſtards, greater than in any of the precedent Years, and I could give ſuch particular Examples of this in the Weſtern and Northern Counties, as would be ſurpriſing.

Thus Gods Bleſſing, and the Bounty of Providence, is abuſed by theſe ſorts of People not to encreaſe and encourage their Dili⯑gence, their frugality, and thriftineſs, to lay up in a time of plenty of Work, for a time of ſcarcity and deadneſs of Trade; but on the contrary, to ſupport them in their extravagant Follies and Wickedneſs, prompt their Vices, and fill them with Pride and Inſolence, both againſt God and Man.

And ſo far are they from improving the Advantages of a Glut of Buſineſs, that as ſoon as it ſtops, even the very firſt Week, perhaps the firſt Day, they are reduced to their Origi⯑nal Poverty and Diſtreſs; for having not laid up a Shilling, but juſt working from Hand to Mouth; as ſoon as the Workmaſter ſtops, the Workman or Workwoman ſtarves, and it muſt be confeſs'd ſuch as theſe deſerve no Pity, ſeeing their waſtefulneſs, and the Ex⯑pence both of their Money and their Time, was in the very Teeth of that merciful Pro⯑vidence, which ſuppyl'd them with double Work, and double Pay, and that they had reduc'd themſelves by their Sloth to want when they might have been, as we call it, before-hand in the World.

[91] In a certain Town of Note, which I have been well acquainted with, a poor Workman was brought before the Magiſtrate by his Employer, becauſe he would not finiſh his Piece of Work which he had begun, it was a Piece of Serge, or Drugget, or ſome ſuch Stuff which the Maſter had hir'd him to weave, and he had begun it, but would not make an end of it, or at leaſt, not in the time agreed for, and it produced a moſt edifying Diſcourſe between the Juſtice and the Wea⯑ver; of which I ſhall give you a Part.

The Clothier told his Story firſt, and his complaint was as follows; that Edmund Pratt, the Perſon brought before him, was a Jour⯑neyman Weaver; that he had given him a Piece of Work to do, which he promis'd to finiſh for him out of hand, and that now he had neglected it; that he had done part of it, but did not finiſh it; that he had oblig'd himſelf to deliver it by ſuch a Day, and ſhould loſe the Sale of it, if it was not finiſh'd and ſent to London in the time; that he had deliver'd him the Warp ſuch a time, which was about 3 Weeks before; that he might have finiſh'd it in a Fortnight if he would work; but that he had not above half done it, and that he lay Drunk and ſotting in the Ale⯑houſe, and would not work; that he promis'd him from time to time to go to Work, and ſtill whenever he came to look at him, he was abſent, and gone to the Alehouſe; that at laſt, when he entreated him to go to work, [92] he anſwer'd him flat and plain, he would not work; that he did not want Money, and would not work, not he; and for this Reaſon he came to his Worſhip for a Warrant to bring Edmund before him.

The Juſtice anſwer'd him very ſencibly; firſt, that as he (Edmund) was not an Appren⯑tice, or a hir'd Covenant-Servant, bargain'd with for the Year, that is, for a certain time and the like; the Caſe did not lie before him; and that if the Fellow was a Knave, and would not perform his Agreement, he muſt ſue him for his Bargain, and would recover Damages againſt him at Law; but that it was not the work of a Juſtice of the Peace, and that he cou'd not make the Fellow work unleſs he would do it willingly: However, ſays the Juſtice, I'll ſend for him, and talk to him, I cannot well grant a Warrant for him on ſuch an Occaſion, but pray go and tell him I would ſpeak with him.

This I mention, becauſe I think, if the Laws of England are deficient in any thing, it is in this, namely, that they do not em⯑power the Juſtices to compel labouring Peo⯑ple who undertake work, to finiſh it before they be Employ'd by any other; it is true, the Law of Treſpaſs, and of Right and Wrong, gives the injur'd Employer a Right of Action againſt ſuch a Man, and he ſhall upon hearing, be condemn'd in ſuch a Sum as will compen⯑ſate the Damage to the Perſon injur'd, and perhaps, do Pennance in the County Jail at [93] laſt; but then the Suit is long, chargeable, and uncertain, and the Fellow perhaps poor, ſo that you ſue a Beggar, and catch an Eng⯑liſh Proverb; whereas cou'd the Juſtice of the Peace determine it in a ſummary way, and oblige him to give Bail to perform the Work, or ſend him to the Houſe of Correction till he was humble enough to go about it, I ſay, if this was the Caſe, much of the Miſchief would be remedied that way.

But this Deficiency of the Law, it ſeems the Fellow knew, and this made him not only ſaucy and peremptory to his Employer, but very pert, and almoſt impudent before the Juſtice himſelf, as you will ſee.

As ſoon as he was told the Juſtice would ſpeak with him, he anſwer'd readily, he wou'd wait upon the Juſtice immediately, and accor⯑dingly went; when he appear'd, the Juſtice told him the Complaint which was made againſt him; when he had done, the Fellow looking ſomething Confident, but giving no Anſwer, the Juſtice ſpoke to him thus:

You hear the Charge, Edmund, what do you ſay to it?

Nothing, Sir, ſays Edmund; and ſo the Dialogue begun.

Nothing! what do you mean by that, Sir?

And 't pleaſe your Worſhip, I ſee no Anſwer it requires.

What! does it require no Anſwer?

No, I think not, he has told your [94] Worſhip a fine Story, and your Worſhip has heard it; what would he have more?

It is plain what he would have; he would have his Work done.

I believe he would, and't pleaſe your Worſhip.

And you promis'd to finiſh it.

And has he told your Worſhip ſo?

Yes he has.

Then I ſuppoſe he has ſaid all he has to ſay.

Well, and what do you ſay to it then?

Nothing Sir,

Why I find you are an impudent Fel⯑low.

Nay, and't pleaſe your Worſhip, can I be impudent in ſaying nothing?

Yes you are impudent in not anſwer⯑ing me, when I ask you a Queſtion.

I have anſwer'd every Queſtion your Worſhip has ask'd me.

I tell you what Mr. — charges you with, and I ask you if it is true or not?

Now indeed your Worſhip asks me that Queſtion, but you only ask'd me before, what I had to ſay to Mr. — or to his Charge; and I anſwer'd, that I had nothing to ſay to it.

Well, you pretend to be nice in your Diſtinctions I ſee; but what do you ſay to my Queſtion now, Is the Charge he brings, true or not?

I hope your Worſhip will not be angry, if I anſwer the Queſtion by a Queſtion; am I oblig'd to accuſe myſelf?

Why no, you are not, Edmund, that is true, I ſhall call him to prove it then.

Will your Worſhip allow me to ask another Queſtion?

Ay, what is your Queſtion?

Won't your Worſhip be angry, if I do ask a Queſtion you ſhould not like?

No, no, I won't be angry, if you are not rude and ſaucy, Edmund, I ſhall not like that.

I ſhan't be rude, Sir, but my Queſtion is this, if your Worſhip calls Mr. — to prove the Tale he has told you, and he ſhou'd prove it, are you empowr'd to try the Cauſe between us?

Why thou art a ſubtle Rogue, Edmund; I'll be very plain with thee, I don't know whether I am or no, but it's pity I ſhould not, for I think you deſerve to be well handled, if what he ſays is true.

If I deſerve it never ſo much, I ſhall have no reaſon to be ſorry, if it may be out of your Worſhip's Power to handle me.

Well, it may be in my Power too, for ought I know; I ſhall talk with Mr. — again, and you ſhall hear farther; pray attend here again to morrow Morning.

Yes Sir, ſo the Follow was diſmiſs'd, and the Juſtice ſent for the Clothier.

The Clothier being come, ſays the Juſtice to him, well Mr. — I have talk'd with your Workman, and as I told you before, that [96] I thought the Matter did not lye before me, ſo I aſſure you, he has told me ſo too, in as merry a Manner as I could deſire, and ſo he recited the Diſcourſe that had happen'd between his Worſhip and the Journey-Man Weaver.

He's an impudent Fellow, ſays the Clothier, I am ſure; he ought to be ſent to the Houſe of Correction, for his ſaucy Tongue.

Why, that is true, ſays the Juſtice; but yet he ſpoke ſo warily, and with a kind of ſaucy Good-Manners, with your Worſhip, and your Worſhip at every word; that tho' it was ma⯑nifeſt he ridicul'd the Charge, and ridicul'd you, yet he was mighty civil to me; and as he ſaid indeed, I could not lay him by the Heels for anſwering me that he had nothing to ſay to you.

Now the Caſe is this, ſays the Juſtice, 'tis evidient he has had ſome bad Counſel, and ſomebody has inſtructed him what to ſay; he demands you ſhou'd prove the Charge you bring, and ſo indeed, you muſt, that is, you muſt prove that he undertook your Work; bargain'd to finiſh it by ſuch a Time; and that he has neglected it; and that you are Damni⯑fied by his Neglect.

All this I can eaſily prove, Sir, ſays the Clothier.

Well, but when you have done all, ſays the Juſtice, as Edmund ſaid, I do not ſee that I can Try the Cauſe; it muſt be heard in the Court of the King's Bench, or Common Pleas, [97] and the Verdict and Damages muſt be given by a Jury; 'tis a Breach of Covenant, or Treſ⯑paſs, and you muſt proſecute it in the ordinary Courſe; ſo the poor Clothier went away, it was not worth his while to ſue the Fellow, and be at the Charge of a Proſecution, which, tho' the Fellow was ſure to be Caſt, and con⯑demn'd to pay the Coſt and Damages, the Conſequence would be only that he would run away, or go to Jayl; neither of which would turn to Account to the Clothier.

Well, however, the Juſtice had a-mind to have another Dialogue with this Edmund, and ſee whether he could make any thing of him or no; ſo he ſent for him again the ſame Day, and when he came, the following merry Dia⯑logue began between them.

Come in Edmund, I have talk'd with your Maſter —.

Not my Maſter, and 't pleaſe your Wor⯑ſhip, I hope I am my own Maſter.

Well, your Employer, Mr. E—, the Clothier; will the word Employer do?

Yes, yes, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, any thing, but Maſter.

Well, but why will you not finiſh the Piece of Work you began?

Does he ſay, I won't finiſh it Sir?

He ſays you don't finiſh it.

There's much Difference, and 't pleaſe you, between don't and won't.

There's no great Difference on his ſide, the Damage is the ſame, for he wants the [98] Goods, and that is a great loſs to him.

But there's a great deal of difference to me Sir; if I had refus'd to finiſh it, perhaps he might have had ſome Advantage on me.

All that you can ſay to that is, per⯑haps, that you have been too cunning for him, that he did not tye you to a Time, and take it under your Hand, that you would finiſh it by that Time; but Edmund, you muſt not neglect the Man's Work when you have undertaken it.

It may be I ſhould not; but as for muſt not, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip I don't under⯑ſtand that.

Why you muſt not, that is, you cannot, and be an honeſt Man.

Why then if I do, he may call me Knave, that's all.

And it ſeems you do not matter that, Edmund?

Not much, indeed, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip.

Nay, I confeſs he that don't matter being a Knave, may do a great many wicked things, and yet not be liable to every Ma⯑giſtrate to take hold of him.

Your Worſhip is pleas'd to miſtake me, I did not ſay I did not matter being a Knave; but that I did not matter his calling me ſo; I have done no diſhoneſt thing by him.

Why is it not diſhoneſt, not to finiſh his Work according to Agreement?

Yes, if any Agreement had been made.

No doubt he put it to you, expecting you would finiſh it in time.

That he cou'd not do, becauſe he knew my way of Working before.

Pray what is that, Edmund, and what did he know?

Why he knew, that I never finiſh any peice of Work, till I pleaſe.

And does he know when that is too, Edmund? pray when do you uſually pleaſe to finiſh the Work you undertake?

Why, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, when I have finiſh'd ten — Yards, I come for my Money, which is ten Shillings, as by Agree⯑ment, and then I go to another Work.

What Work? what do you leave his Loom, and go and work in another, Edmund? that would not be honeſt, I am ſure.

No no, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, I go to the Alehouſe, and work hard to ſpend it, and when it is all ſpent, then I come to work again.

And not before?

No Sir, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, never before.

And is this honeſt Edmund?

I don't enquire into that; 'tis my way.

Your way! but what's that to Mr. E—, the Clothier?

Why, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, 'tis this to him, that he knows 'tis my way; that I never did otherwiſe, and never ſhall; and [100] he knew this before he put the Warp into the Loom, and I did not promiſe I would do any otherwiſe, ſo I am no Knave in it; if I had promis'd otherwiſe, then indeed, he had ſomething to ſay.

Very well; ſo that as he knew your Cuſtom, you ſuppoſe he put his Work to you upon a ſuppoſition that you would act ſo.

Yes, Sir.

But can't you break your ſelf of this wicked way, Edmund?

It would be very hard to do it, Sir, after 40 Years practice.

Thou art an old Drunkard, I find Edmund; have a care, If I happen to catch thee with a Giddy-Head, I ſhall cure thee of the Staggers.

O Sir, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, you are very welcome; if you catch me in the Corn, put me in the Pound; I am never fuddl'd, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip.

But to ſit Tippling; to keep bad Hours; go to the Alehouſe a-Sundays; all thoſe things come within my Reach, Edmund; have a care.

I am provided againſt all that, Sir; and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, I lodge in an Alehouſe, ſo that I am always at Home; he can't keep bad Hours that is at-home in good Seaſon; nor you can't deny me Drinking in my own Chamber, tho' it be on a Sunday; I hope I am ſafe there?

Thou art a crafty Knave, Edmund, why thou ſetteſt up to be too cunning for the Law it ſelf.

No, no, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip, I am an honeſt Drunken Fellow.

Well, but Edmund, ſhall I perſwade thee to go and finiſh Mr. E—'s piece of Stuff, and he ſhall give thee thy Money before-hand.

And 't pleaſe your Worſhip, by no means; then I ſhall never do it at all, I am ſure; no it would be impoſſible, and 't pleaſe your Worſhip; by no means.

Why will nothing oblige you to be Honeſt?

Yes, yes, want of Money, that does it; when I want Money I always go to-work.

And never but then?

No, and pleaſe your Worſhip, I work for nothing but Money; and why ſhould I work if I do not want Money? would any⯑body work if they had Money enough?

No, not if they had enough, it may be, they would not; but what do you call enough?

Why, if in the Morning I have enough to ſpend for that Day, that's enough to me; for to Morrow I can work for more.

So you lay up nothing?

Lay up, Maſter! what ſhould I lay up for? I have no Wife or Children to cry after me.

Well, but hereafter, Edmund, you ſhould conſider hereafter; you may be ſick, or lame, or grow old.

I ne'er trouble myſelf with hereafter, not I; alas! and pleaſe your Worſhip, what ſhould I think of hereafter for? while I can keep myſelf, all is well; I trouble no-body, and when I can't, the Pariſh muſt.

So that the only way to get you to finiſh the Clothier's Work, is to get you to it next time your Money is ſpent, and then let you have no more Money till 'tis done.

That would do it effectually indeed; but then I may chance to run away, go to Work for ſomebody elſe, and never finiſh it at-all.

So that, in ſhort, there is no way to deal with a Drunkard, but to let him alone, and let him go on his own Way: Well, I think the Clothier ſhall try you, Edmund, and if you do run away, I'll tell him how he ſhall fetch you again without a Juſtice of Peace; unleſs you run quite away, and then the Country will be well rid of you.

There was a great deal of farther Diſ⯑courſe between them, in which Edmund was at laſt ſo ſaucy, that the Juſtice found he was half-Drunk, and ſet him in the Stocks, and took care afterwards to have him puniſh'd too for ſome other Miſ-Behaviour; but all the Juſtice, or the Clothier cou'd do, cou'd not make him finiſh his Piece of Work, till he pleas'd, and that was a good while after.

[103] This Story has ſeveral uſeful Inferences depending upon it, which is the reaſon of my being ſo particular in a thing of ſo ſmall moment.

• 1. As above, it diſcovers a Deficiency, as I ſaid, in the Laws here, by which it is evi⯑dent, the Inſolence of our labouring-Poor cannot be ſo effectually governed, as it were to be wiſh'd it might be; Edmund, ſhould elſe have been humbled, and have lain in Jail, till he had come and begg'd the Clothier to give him leave to finiſh the Piece of Work, without any Wages; or that the Wages ſhould have been given to the Poor.
• 2. It is obſervable, what a perfectly thought⯑leſs temper poſſeſſes the Minds of the People here, that they never lay up in the Time of Plenty for a Time of Scarcity.
• 3. That they are not to be oblig'd either by fair means, or foul, to do their Work, if but a Pot of Strong-Beer, to which they are Slaves, be in their way, according to the Character given them by one of our Eng⯑liſh Writers.
  In Drink and drunken Company, delight,

  And what they get by Day, they ſpend at Night,

  Subjecting all their Labours to their Pots,

  The greateſt Artiſts, are the greateſt Sots.

[104] I ſhall conclude this Letter with adding another Obſervation, which I draw from the Story above, and which I have by Experience found true alſo, of theſe labouring Poor; name⯑ly, ſo little does a Sence of Juſtice, or of Gra⯑titude reſt upon their Minds, that not only they are thus Inſolent in ſpight of Double Pay, but in ſpight of prompt Pay, or as ſome call it Pay by Advance.

Nothing is more dangerous of its Kind, than to Pay them by Advance; and 'tis ten to one, as Edmund ſaid of himſelf, if ever you have your Work done at all.

There is a Proverb among the working People, that there are two ſorts of bad Maſters.

• 1. Thoſe that Pay before-hand,
• 2. Thoſe that never Pay at-all.

And both, they ſay, make bad Servants, and never ſhould have their Work well, finiſhed.

It is true that this is the Reſult of a general Baſeneſs in the Servant; but nothing is more certain, than that to Pay before-hand, is to ruin, your Buſineſs, and your Servant too; and that if you have your Work done at-all, it is never well done, and always with an ill-will; but of this hereafter.

LETTER V.

I have given you a Sketch of the Inſolence of our labouring Poor: It is but too much Influence that this matter, however triffling it may ſeem, has had upon the general Tranquility of this Nation and is therefore well worth Notice.

They are greatly miſtaken, who think that the poor People are below our Concern, it is true, in many Caſes they are below our Re⯑ſentment; but 'tis apparent that the many Ways which the Poor find to make themſelves uneaſie to the Rich, are ſuch, and the Advan⯑tages which they have in this Country, by the Privileges they enjoy, are alſo ſuch, that they bid fair for inverting the Order of things; in a Word, it is already true, in a great mea⯑ſure, that in England the Poor govern, and the Rich ſubmit; the Caſe is, in ſhort, that they clamour their Maſters into, and out of, every thing they pleaſe, and unleſs Men will be ever contending and ſcolding with them, he can neither Trade with them, or Employ them.

Nay, let me go farther; we are aw'd by the Poor; nothing is more frequent than to ſee Gentlemen, bear the vileſt Treatment from the meaneſt Fellows, and that for meer fear; pardon [106] me, I do not ſay they are afraid of their Hands, but really they are afraid of their Tongues; and it is not altogether without reaſon, as you ſhall hear at large, in its Place.

Nor is it eaſie for a Gentleman to live in any Place long, without ſuffering the beaſtly Treatment of the Tongue, from the Canaille or Mobb of the Place; no Conduct, the beſt, the mildeſt, the moſt prudent, can protect him.

• 1. If he is eaſie, kind, and good to them, they impoſe upon him, and that in the groſſeſt Manner; and no ſooner have they done it, but they expoſe him, laugh at him, and make their Boaſts among their Gangs, how they cheated him; that he is Eaſie, that is to ſay, is a Fool, and how they can impoſe upon him at any time.
• 2. If he is ſharp with them, and exact, will not be cheated, and when he ſees it, reſents, expoſes and detects them, and turns them off; then they rail at him the other way, that he is hard and cruel, will let no-body live by him; would ſtarve the Poor, and would have a Poor Man's Labour for nothing; and the like.
• [107] 3. If he is Generous and Free, they ſtrain that Generoſity to its utmoſt Extent; craving till the moſt bountiful Hand in the World muſt ſtop at laſt, and deny, or be blind, and not ſee it ſelf abuſed; and then, whenever you ſtop, you loſe all your Character (for Generoſity) at one blow: 'Tis too true of the Tem⯑per of theſe People, what one of my Neighbours ſaid to me, from his dear⯑bought Experience, that if you carry an Engliſhman 19 Mile on your Back, and won't carry him 20, you loſe all the Title to his Favour, and cancel all Obligation; the 19 Mile is forgot, the odd Negative Mile is only remember'd: Nay, ſays he, if you carry him all the 20 Miles, and at laſt do but ſet him down hard, he will curſe you to your Face.

Upon the foot of this Temper, you may expect to hear of ſome of the rudeſt, un⯑juſt, and moſt impudent things put upon the Gentlemen in this Country by the common People, that you can imagine poſſible.

As they impoſe upon the Generous, ſo on the other-ſide they hate the Frugal; if ſome Gentlemen live more ſparingly than others, and are more near and ſaving than theſe People like, ſo that they cannot make a Spoil of them, as they do of others; if they will not ſuffer themſelves to be impos'd [108] upon, or cheated, and reſent it when they ſee it offer'd to them; theſe they attack with opprobrious Language, and revile them with Covetouſneſs, and not living as they ought to do; with oppreſſing the Poor; being cruel and barbarous to Poor Men, and the like.

Theſe Reproaches, eſpecially where they are not Juſt, are very grievous to Gentlemen, to ſuch eſpecially, whoſe Livesare really blameleſs, and who ought to be Judges of their own way of living, as they beſt know what they can or cannot expend, or is proper for them to expend, in the Port of Families; and as theſe Gentlemen are loth to have ſuch Cha⯑racters among the Neighbourhood without reaſon, this makes them bear with a Thouſand Indignities; and ſometimes ſee themſelves im⯑pos'd upon, and us'd ſcurvily, and yet take no Notice of it; becauſe they would not be mark'd for Severity, or for hard Treat⯑ment of poor Men; this is what I call being afraid of the Poor; and they really are ſo afraid of them, that they ſuffer themſelves to be ill-us'd a thouſand Ways, when they ſee it plain enough, but wink, and make as if they did not ſee it at-all, only for fear of being counted ſo and ſo, niggardly, cruel, hard to the Poor, and the like.

I was going, a few Days ago, to viſit a Friend in a Country Village not far from London, and being come to the Town where my Friend liv'd, but not knowing his Houſe, I rode paſt it, and paſt two more, before I [109] found any-body to enquire of; but at laſt, I ſaw a Cluſter, or little Crowd of young Fel⯑lows ſtanding together, and chatting upon their earneſt Affairs, (I ſuppoſe) they ſeem'd to be all Servants, four or five of them had Liveries, on, of ſeveral ſorts; the other look'd like Gardeners, and one or two like Bricklayers; when I came up to them, I ask'd them what Gentleman liv'd at that Houſe? pointing to the firſt Houſe that I had paſs'd, and which was indeed, the Gentleman's Houſe who I was to go to: When I ask'd, what Gentleman liv'd there? the Rogues grinn'd, and look'd upon one another, and laugh'd; Gentleman! ſays one; Gentleman! ſays another; but gave me no preſent Anſwer; I ſaw them a little merry, ſo I ſmil'd too, and ſpeaking pleaſantly, Well, ſays I, if that is not as it ſhould be, pray who lives at that Houſe? Why Sir, ſays one of them very civilly, but ſtill laughing, we beg your Pardon, we did not laugh as you, but at your miſtake⯑ing the Perſon that lives there, for a Gen⯑tleman; if you pleaſe to take it in our way of talking, 'tis one Dog K—d, adding the Gentleman's Sirname; well ſays I, and pray who lives there? pointing to the next Houſe; why that's ſuch another too, ſays the Fellow; that's Dog E—, adding there the Sir⯑name of another; well, ſays I, that's very good ſtill; and who lives at that Houſe? pointing at the third Houſe; O, ſays he, that [110] is a very honeſt Gentleman indeed, that's Mr. —, naming him with a great deal of Reſpect.

Well Gentlemen, ſaid I, and made myſelf as familiar with them as I could, I ſee you are very merry upon your Neighbours, pray let me ask you how you come to diſ⯑tinguiſh thus among 'em? Why Sir, ſays the Fellow, Dog K—d, is vaſtly Rich, and lives like a Hog in his Stye; does no-body any good, but like a Dog, ſnarles at the Rich, and bites the Poor, and therefore we think he lives more like a Dog, than a Gentleman.

Well, ſays I, and what's Mr. —? He's juſt ſuch another, ſays the ſaucy Rogue, he is worth the L—d knows how many thou⯑ſand Pounds, and he that ought to keep a Coach and ſix Horſes, keeps one Pair of Horſes for two Coaches; makes his Coach⯑man work in his Garden, becauſe he will keep but one Gardener, when he ought to keep three; and inſtead of a thorow Livery, gives his Men nothing but a Coat, Hat, and Stockings; and is not that a Dog of a Gen⯑tleman, Sir, ſays the Fellow? and clos'd it all with a broad D—n him, by way of Elegance.

I agreed to all this, that I might have the reſt of it out, and it pleas'd them all mighti⯑ly, to ſee me laugh; well, ſays I, and what is the Gentleman at this Houſe? O! ſays another of them, that's as honeſt a Gentle⯑man as any in the Country, and he lives like himſelf; he keeps a better Houſe, and [111] more Servants, than both thoſe Miſers, and gives a better Livery, and has more Horſes in his Stable than both of them, and yet he has not half their Eſtate; but it may be, ſaid I, he ſpends more than his Eſtate can afford; 'tis no matter for that, ſays the firſt, he lives like a Gentleman, and every-body loves him; a poor Servant gets ſomething in his Houſe, there's Gentlemen, and Ladies, always a viſiting there, and they are as merry as the Day's long, and when they go away, the Servants are the better for them; the two Dog-Gen⯑tlemen are always at London almoſt, a Stock⯑jobbing, or ſomewhere or other, I don't know where; they are ſeldom at-home, ſo that they have no Company, and keep no Houſe worth a Farthing; no-body is the better for them.

I took my Leave of this knot of Gentle⯑men ſoon after, gave 'em Sixpence to drink my Health, and rid round another-way to come into the Street again, where I did at firſt, that they might not ſee me go to the firſt Dog's Houſe, as they call'd him, where I was really going,

I took this time to think what a Liberty theſe Scoundrels took with the Gentlemen, and how ſubject every Family is to the ſcur⯑rilous Tongues of ſuch People as theſe; for when I came to conſider the Circumſtances of the three Families, it ſtood thus: The two firſt were exceeding Rich, liv'd well, and kept very good Equipages, Servants, Coaches, and Horſes, as many as they had Occaſion [112] for, and not very few neither; for I think the ſecond kept twelve Servants, and the firſt five or ſeven; but they were both what we call managing-Men, that did not with-hold what was proper, as might be ſeen by the Houſes they liv'd in, which are indeed, more like Palaces than Private-Gentlemen's Houſes; but they were Men that did not make Ducks and Drakes of their Money, and throw it away on purpoſe for others to pick it up, and laugh at them.

But the third, who they call'd an honeſt Gentleman, was indeed, of a differing kind, one that kept a good Houſe indeed, but ſpent twice as much as his Revenue brought in; kept more Horſes and Servants too, than he cou'd afford; run into every-body's Debt; was every now and then haunted with Bay⯑liffs, and arreſted for Triffles, and dunn'd continually by the Butchers, Bakers, and Corn-chandlers, and ſuch like People; and this was the honeſt Gentleman; and in a few Years he was fain to take up, put off Houſe-keeping thereabouts, and go into the Country to live cheaper.

But the reaſon of my telling this Story, is to let you ſee, what Treatment the Gentle⯑men ſuffer on theſe Accounts, and that this is really a reſtraint upon them, that they bear with a thouſand Inſolences from the People, as well the Servants within-doors as the Workmen and trading People without⯑doors, becauſe of their Tongues, and becauſe [113] they would not be made the Scoff of ſuch inſolent Rogues without Cauſe; and this in⯑deed, encourages the Crime, for if they would contemn it more, they would be inſulted with it leſs, nothing encouraging ſuch ill Uſage more, than the Concern the Gentlemen ſhew about it; but to proceed.

I don't know any-thing can give you a more perfect Idea of the Behaviour of theſe ſort of People, who I call the Labouring-Poor, than their Combinations in their Buſi⯑neſs; impoſing upon the Gentlemen in the way of their Employments; tho' all Com⯑binations in order to raiſe the Price of Goods, or Workmanſhip, are againſt the known Laws of the Country.

One Inſtance of this happens juſt now among the ſame ſort of People, who I have been mentioning; I mean the Manufacturers, who in the Weſt of England, that is to ſay, the Cloathing-Counties, (which we call the Weſt, tho' they are South-Weſt) rais'd a kind of Rebellion to ſupport their Inſolence againſt their Maſters, and Employers: The caſe was this, as I ſaid before, there has been a ſud⯑den Run of Trade, which has laſted now about two Years, and the Workmen in the Country found that the Maſters had preſſing Orders for Goods.

Taking the advantage of this, they had twice before clamour'd to have their Wages raiſed, and the Maſters had rais'd them, and that conſiderably; but demanding a third ad⯑vance [114] of Pay, the Maſters, tho' in very civil Terms, refus'd them; nor were they able to give more Wages, without loſing by their Goods, and told the Workmen ſo.

Upon this, the Workmen, particularly the Weavers, form'd a Combination among them⯑ſelves, not to Work for the Clothiers, unleſs they rais'd their Wages to ſuch a certain Rate, as they had alſo agreed on among them⯑ſelves: They carried on this Combination to ſuch a height, as to gather together in a tu⯑multuous manner to bring all the reſt of the Workmen to join with them; to this End they troop'd about the Towns, and entring by Force into the Houſes of ſuch honeſt Wea⯑vers as they found were at Work; they broke their Looms to pieces, ſpoil'd the Warps, and cut in pieces the Goods which they had been at Work upon, inſulting alſo the Maſters and Employers in an outrageous manner, to make them yield to raiſe the Wages, which ſome were oblig'd to do for fear of their Lives, or for fear of having their Houſes plunder'd: On the other-hand, many of the quieter innocent poor Men who would have been glad to have gone on with their Buſi⯑neſs, ſuffer'd extremely, for having Work to do, and the Wages before being ſufficent to maintain them, and their Families perhaps wanting a ſupply, yet they durſt not Work, for fear of being Mobb'd, as above; in ſhort, they carry'd this Game on, till the Govern⯑ment was oblig'd to ſend ſome regular Troops [115] down to protect the Clothiers, and keep the Peace, and reduce theſe mad Fellows by Force; which was eaſily done, and ſeveral of them had the Favour of being ſent to Jail, as they deſerv'd; but the Clemency of the Government ſpar'd them as to Puniſh⯑ment, when it came to that Point.

The next Account I ſhall give, has a little more Mirth in it: In a certain conſiderable Market-Town in England, there was a Com⯑bination of Pump-makers, that is, the Pump⯑makers in that, and two or three conſiderable Towns round, made an Agreement, that ſuch and ſuch Gentlemen ought to have new Pumps; upon the Reſolutions of this worthy Society, no Gentleman in the Neighbour⯑hood cou'd order a Pump to be mended when it was out of order, but the Pump-makers would tell him it was good for nothing him; it cou'd not be mended, and ſo his Worſhip muſt have a new Pump; if he thought they impos'd upon him, and that his Pump might be mended, he would probably ſend for another Pump maker; but it was all one, for the other would be ſure to tell him the ſame Story, that the Tree was rotten below; that it could not be mended; nothing cou'd be done to it; but (juſt as before) his Worſhip muſt have a new Pump; and thus ſeveral of the Gentlemen, it ſeems, were ignorantly drawn in to the Expence of new Pumps, without any manner of Neceſſity, only for the Gain of thoſe Rogues the Pump makers.

[116] It happen'd that a particular Gentleman, a Juſtice of the Peace, and of a very good Eſtate in the Neighbourhood, who was a little ſharper than the reſt, fell under their Management; he had a Pump which belong'd to his Stable-Yard, that happen'd to be out of order, and he ſent a Servant to the Market-Town near him, for a Pump-maker: The Pump-maker came readily, look'd upon the Pump; told the Gentleman the Pump cou'd not be mended, but he muſt have a new one, for the Fault was in the Tree, it was rotten between Wind and Water, and there was no Remedy.

The Gentleman told him he did not doubt but his Pump might be mended, for that it was a new Pump but a little while before, and he would not have a new one again, but muſt have it mended: Upon this the Fel⯑low told him, he would take it up, and look; and accordingly takes it out of the Well; the Gentleman being preſent all the while the Pump was taking up, the deſigning Rogue was not able to play the Prank he intend⯑ed, for he purpos'd to have made a hole in it, if he did not find one there; but not being able to do that, he acknowleg'd then that it might be mended, and appointed to come the next Day to do it.

To Morrow coming, and two or three to⯑Morrows, but no Pump-maker; the Gentle⯑man ſent for him, and ſo for many Days after one-another; and ſtill his Anſwer was, [117] he would come ſuch or ſuch a Day; on Tueſday he would come on Thurſday; and on Thurſday he would come a Saturday; and on Saturday he would come a Tueſday; and ſo from Tueſday to Saturday, he kept the Gentleman in ſuſpence, and his Well lying open too, for four or five Months: Upon this, the Gentleman ſent to another Town, a larger than the other, about ſeven Miles off, and there he met with the ſame Treatment exact⯑ly; and by this time, and not before, the Gentleman perceiv'd it was a Trick agreed upon among them.

To confirm himſelf in the Opinion of its being a Trick, as above, he ſends his Ser⯑vant once more, and bids him tell the Pump⯑maker, that the Pump which he took out of the Well, had met with a Diſaſter, and was ſpoil'd by Accident, as it lay in the Yard, and a great Piece burnt off of it; and that his Maſter deſir'd him to come and make an Agreement with him for a new Pump; the Pump-maker perfectly deceiv'd, ſaid yes, he would wait upon Eſq — , the next Morning, and accordingly he came; when he came, the Gentleman took no Notice of the Meſſage he had ſent, but ſaluted him thus; O! Mr. L—, I am glad to ſee you; what you are come to do my Pump, are n't ye? indeed you have been unkind, to be ſo long; the Fellow ſaid nothing a good-while; upon which, the Gentleman call'd one of his Servants; here Tanner (his [118] Man's name) here is Mr. L—, the Pump-maker come, to mend the Pump; go with him, and ſhow it him: Sir, ſays the Pump-maker, I underſtood you had reſolv'd to have a new Pump; a new Pump! ſays the Gen⯑tleman, why you know you told me this would ſerve, and you cou'd eaſily mend it: Sir, ſays the Pump-maker, your Man told me you wanted a new Pump; upon this the Gentleman call'd his Man, who he had in⯑ſtructed before, what to ſay.

Jacob, ſays his Maſter, did you bid Mr — come over to me to make me a new Pump? Yes, Sir, ſays Jacob; but who order'd you to ſay ſo Jacob? ſays the Maſter? why, ſays Jacob, I had been twenty times at his Houſe to bid him come over to mend the old-one, and your Worſhip knows he never came; and I found what he wanted, ſo I told him he ſhould come to make a new-one; that I knew would bring him preſently.

The Pump-maker would have deny'd it at firſt, but Jacob told his Maſter plainly, it was ſo, and that he had been at the other Pump-maker's, in the Town, and he would not come at all, pretending it was the other Man's Work; with this he laugh'd; No, if he bad, ſays the Pump-maker, I would have ſtuck by his Skirts; and began to be very ſawcy.

Well, well, ſays the Gentleman, come, go about it now, and all will be well; Sir, ſays the Fellow, I can't do it now, I'll come a [119] Tueſday and do it for you, upon my Word.

No, no, ſays the Gentleman, I know you can do it now, if you pleaſe; if you will not do it, tell me ſo; if not, I muſt ſend for another; at that the Fellow laugh'd im⯑pudently, and ſaid, do if you pleaſe; what do you mean by that? ſays the Gentleman; you are very rude; I don't doubt but I may have my Pump mended for my Money.

Do then if you can, Sir, ſays the Pump-maker, for I won't meddle with it.

Well then, go about your Buſineſs, ſays the Gentleman, I will find Pump-maker's enough, I warrant ye.

Not in this County, ſays the Fellow, jeering, nor the next, and away he went.

The Gentleman finding it was a general Combination of the Society, but reſolving not to be impos'd upon by them, waited a⯑while, intending, tho' it ſhould coſt him the more, to ſend to London for a Pump-maker; but at length he got Notice, that at a Town eight or ten Miles from him, there was a Pump-maker newly ſet-up, and who, it was probable, was not got into the Knot yet, and beſides did not know the Names of the Neighbouring Gentlemen yet, or know their Faces or Dwellings; ſo he concluded to ſend for him, not to tell him what it was for, or where he was to go.

The Servant did his Buſineſs ſo well, that the Pump-maker came with him, and manag'd ſo well when he came, that in [120] about two Hours he fully mended the Pump; when he had done, and while the Gentle⯑man was paying the poor Man, ſomebody by accident call'd the Gentleman by his Name; at which the Pump-maker ſeem'd a little ſurpris'd, and ſmil'd; the Gentleman took Notice of it, and ask'd him what he ſmil'd at? the Man declin'd it a little, but having mended the Pump, and being well paid, he confeſs'd at laſt, that if he had known the Gentleman's Name before, he durſt not have come; why ſo, ſays the Gentleman? why Sir, ſays he, we had all Notice that it was reſolv'd in the Society, that your Pump ſhould not be mended, and we durſt not have done it; what then? ſays the Gentleman, what was to be done with me? nothing Sir, ſays he, only that you ſhould be oblig'd to have a new Pump.

Well, ſays the Gentleman, I hope you will tell them you have mended it, won't you? No indeed, Sir, ſays the Pump-maker, I dare not, and I hope your Worſhip will not do me ſo much Prejudice: The Gentleman pro⯑mis'd Silence, and away went the Pump-maker.

But the Jeſt of the Story is ſtill behind; the firſt Pump-maker finding he was ſent for no more, was mighty curious to know what was the reaſon of it; and at length, by ſome means or other, come to know that the Pump was mended, and ſet up again; that encreas'd his Curioſity exceedingly, for then he wanted [121] to know who had done it; but that he could not come at by any means; at laſt, he offer'd the Gentleman's Servants to give them a Bowl of Punch to tell him; upon this, that Servant that had been ſo often ſent to him, took the hint, and laid a Plot for him, for he ow'd him a ſhrewd Turn for making him have ſo many Winter-Journeys for no⯑thing; ſo he told the Pump-maker that he would not tell him himſelf, but if he would come to their Town, and give them the Punch there, that they might be merry, he ſhould know by one means or other.

He promis'd and came accordingly, and very merry they were, not at the Gentle⯑man's Houſe, but at a Publick-Houſe hard by: In their Mirth they drank the Gentle⯑man's Health, and at laſt, the Pump-maker's Health, that mended the Pump: At length, being moſt of them very drunk, the un⯑lucky Fellow that contriv'd it all, propoſed to the Company, that they would all go and drink the Pump's Health in a draught of fair Water, to cool them; it was preſently agreed to, and ſo they jogg'd away to his Maſter's Houſe, he being gone to London ſome Weeks before; when they came to the Pump, they agreed to drink on their Knees at the Spout of the Pump, without any Mugs or Glaſſes, and ſo they did; but when the Pump-maker's Turn came to drink, whether they held him faſt, or whether they threw him down, or whether he being ſoundly [122] drunk, fell down, and ſomebody kept him there; Hiſtory does not acquaint us of the Particulars, but they pump'd him ſo heartily, and ſo effectually, that never was Pick-Pocket better pump'd in the Streets of London; and it being withal, a cold Night, he had but a very indifferent Journey home; however, being very warm within, he got no hurt by it; nor could he ever tell who had done it for him, or how he was manag'd, at-all.

In another Place I met with the following Story of a Combination of Thatchers, and 'tis as material to my Purpoſe, as the other, tho' not ſo long a Story: A certain Gentle⯑man in Kent, who had the Management of ſome Part of his Eſtate in his own Hands, and having every Year a great deal more Corn than his Barns would hold, ſet up the reſt in great Stacks or Reiks in his Yard, as is uſual in like Caſes; a Thatcher in the Neighbourhood was uſually employ'd every Year to thatch this Gentleman's Stacks, and his Work generally came to fifty Shillings or three Pound every Year.

It happen'd one Year, that a ſtraggling Welchman who was hir'd for Harveſt-work, as is common in that County, offer'd his Service to thatch the Stacks, and having ſhown by his doing one, that he underſtood it very well, and could do it much better than they were done before, and cheaper too; the Gen⯑tleman employ'd him, and he thatch'd the Stacks ſo well, that he got Work in other [123] Places as well as there, and afterwards ſet⯑tled in the Country, and took a ſmall Farm of the Gentleman, ſo that he became a Tennant; by which, together with the Merit of his Workmanſhip, he had a kind of a Title to the thatching of the Stacks ever after.

Some time after this, the Gentleman had a Houſe to thatch for a Tennant, a Storm of Wind having blown off great Part of the old Thatch, and the poor Family being Sick, they were in great Diſtreſs to have the Houſe cover'd; the Gentleman ſent for his Welchman to thatch the Houſe, but was ſur⯑priz'd that the poor Man told him, he cou'd not do it; that the thatching of a Houſe was done quite another way and with other Tools, than thatching Stacks of Corn or Hay, and he did not underſtand it at-all.

The Gentleman then ſent to his old Thatch⯑er; but he ſaid, no, let him that thatch'd his Stacks, thatch his Houſe; he ſent to another, and he anſwer'd, no, Goodman — was the Eſquire's Thatcher, and he would not take his Work out of his Hand; he ſent to a third, and he anſwer'd no; where was his Welch Thatcher? he had brought a Welchman into the Country to take poor Men's Trade away, and he would not Work for him.

This, in ſhort, went ſo far, that the poor Family was ſore diſtreſs'd, and the Gentleman was oblig'd to remove them into an empty Houſe for the preſent, and buy Tiles to cover [124] his Houſe, that he might not be at the Mercy of the Thatchers any more.

I cou'd load you with Examples of this kind, and divert you too, with agreeable Tales upon the Subject; but tho' it would make my Account as pleaſant to you as poſ⯑ſible, yet I would not have my Letters be a meer Collection of Story; theſe may in⯑timate to you, that the Behaviour of which I complain, is not confin'd to one or two Claſſes of Men, but, in a word, a general Spirit of Inſolence and Diſhoneſty poſſeſſes the People I am ſpeaking of, and the Greivance is come now to ſuch a height, that it calls for a ſpeedy Remedy; for if ſome Laws are not very quickly made, effectually to regulate the Conduct of theſe People, the Gentlemen in England will live far leſs hap⯑pily than in other Parts of the World; and above all, far leſs than they uſed to do in this Part of it.

There are two other ſorts of People here, whoſe Inſolence is ſo very particular, that indeed, there is ſometimes no bearing it, and theſe are Hackney-Coachmen and Watermen: Theſe are two ſorts of People, who have not the Goods, but the Lives of the People they are concern'd with, in their Charge.

The firſt of theſe, have once by their over-grown Rudeneſs oblig'd the Government to take Notice of them, and make Laws for their Regulation; and as there are Commiſſi⯑oners appointed for receiving the Tax they [125] pay to the Publick, ſo thoſe Commiſſioners have Power to hear and determine between the Drivers and their Fair, upon any Abuſe that happens.

And yet the ordinary Coachmen abate very little of their abuſive Conduct, but not only impoſe in Price upon thoſe that hire them, but refuſe to go this or that way, as they are call'd; whereas the Law obliges them to go wherever they are legally requir'd, and at reaſonable Hours: This treatment and the particular ſaucy impudent Behaviour of the Coachmen, has been the Occaſion of in⯑numerable Quarrels, Fighting, and Abuſes; afronting Gentlemen; frighting and inſulting Women; and ſuch Rudeneſſes, that no civil Government will, or indeed, ought to ſuffer; and above all, has been the Occaſion of the killing ſeveral Coachmen, by Gentlemen that have been provoked by the villainous Tongues of thoſe Fellows, beyond the Extent of their Patience.

It was but very lately, that a Gentleman coming out of a Tavern in Fleetſtreet, call'd a Hackney-Coach about ten a Clock at Night; the Fellow came immediately, which made it evident that he was not hir'd, or in waiting; when he came, he ask'd the Gentleman where he was to go, before he open'd the Door; the Gentleman told him, he would tell him when he was in his Coach, and bade him open the Door.

[126] This the Gentleman did, becauſe he ſuſ⯑pected by his Queſtion, that he would not carry him, he being to go to the King's ſlaughter-Houſe, near Eaſt-Smithfield.

Upon the Gentleman's refuſing to tell him, he ſaid, that then he would not carry him, and getting up into his Coach-box, drove away Weſt to the Standing where he was when he was call'd; one of the Drawers of the Tavern ſtanding by, tells the Gentleman, that if he pleas'd to tell him where he was to go, he would bring the Fellow back, and make him carry him; ſo the Gentleman told him it was to Eaſt-Smithfield.

Away goes the Boy to the Coachman, and without ſaying a word to him, till he was juſt at the Coach-ſide; here Coach, ſays the Boy; and opening the Door himſelf, jump'd in, and ſhut the Door again, before the Fel⯑low could get down; when the Coachman got down, turn about, ſays the Boy, not giving the Coachman time to ſay, where muſt I go: The Coachman after ſome grumbling, turn'd about, but would then know where he was to go; I'll tell you preſently, ſays the Boy, drive on; when he had gone a little farther, the Boy call'd to him to hold, which being juſt at the Tavern-Door where the Gentleman had ſpoken to him, the Coachman began to ſee he was catch'd, and that it was the ſame Perſon; upon which he drove on a good-way, the Boy ſtill calling to him to hold, but to [127] no purpoſe, till the Fellow had hurried him down as far as Fleet-Bridge.

The Clamour the Boy made, oblig'd the Fellow to ſtop at laſt, ſo he gets down to let the Boy out; but the Boy held the Door faſt, and would not come out; but bad him turn about again, which the Coach⯑man refus'd, and offer'd to pull the Boy out, but he was too ſtrong for that; ſo that the Coachman was puzzl'd, and knew not what to do, but offer'd to go back, if the Boy would tell him where he was to go; but the Boy would not do that neither; upon this, the Coachman got up in the Box again, and making as if he would turn again, turns half-about, and whipping his Horſes, on a ſudden, drives down by the ſide of Fleet-Ditch, and ſtops of a ſudden in the Dark, whipps off the Figures from both ſides of his Coach, having obſerv'd that thev had not yet taken the Number of it, and when he had done this, he drives on again; the Boy ſuppoſing he had Advantage enough of him, let him go on, to ſee where the Fellow would drive him; but here the Coach⯑man was too many for him; for at the ſame time that he whipp'd off the two Figures from his Coach, he had very dextrouſly hang'd on a wrong Figure in the ſtead of them

The Boy letting him go on, as I have ſaid, he drove him into Leather-Lane in Holbourn, and there would have perſwaded the Boy to come out again, but to no pur⯑poſe; [128] upon which he takes both the Horſes out, leaves the Coach in the Street, and the Boy in it, and getting up upon one of the Horſes, rides away.

The Boy was not aware of this for a great-while, but after ſome time finding how he was trick'd, he gets out, gets a Watchman to bring his Lanthorn, and taking the Num⯑ber of the Coach, goes his way home; thinking, as indeed had it been true, if he had gotten the right Number or Figure, that he had Ad⯑vantage enough of the Coachman.

The Coachman had ſet a Spy to obſerve what paſs'd, who giving Notice that the Boy was gone, he ſent another Man with a Pair of Horſes, and fetch'd away the Coach.

The next Day the poor Coachman whoſe real Number this Fellow had put upon the Coach, inſtead of his own, was ſurpriz'd with a Summons left at his Houſe, to appear be⯑fore the Commiſſioners; but as he had it ſeems, had no Broil upon his Hands, nor given any Cauſe of Complaint that he knew of, he went frankly to the Place, to ſee what was the Matter.

The Gentleman, and the Drawer, both appear'd, and made a grievous Complaint, as well they might, and then the Coachman was call'd; but the Gentleman and Drawer was confounded when they ſaw a Man ap⯑pear, which they neither of them knew any thing of; the Boy inſiſted upon the Num⯑ber of the Coach, and brought the Watchman [129] to ſupport his Evidence, one ſwearing it was the Number which was upon the Coach, in which he was driven about by Force; and the Watchman ſwore it was the Number upon the Coach which was left in the Street, and which the Boy call'd him to.

This put the poor innocent Coachman to prove where he was all Day, and what Peo⯑ple he carried, which, as it happen'd, he was very well able to do; ſo it was concluded, that the other Coachman had got a Counter⯑feit Figure, and they cou'd make no more of it, the Coachman having been too cun⯑ning for the Boy; but you will obſerve on the other-hand, that had they found the right Perſon, which they would eaſily have done if they had had his right Figure, they would have puniſh'd him very ſeverely.

• 1. For refuſing to carry the Gentleman, when he was firſt call'd.
• 2. For carrying the Boy away when he call'd to him to hold.
• 3. For leaving the Coach with the Boy in it, who, tho' a Boy, was actually his Fair, and ought to have been carry'd where he had given Orders.

But the Coachman was too old for the Boy in that, ſo he eſcap'd what he deſerv'd at that time, and they do indeed, often eſcape, and run the venture of being puniſh'd; which makes them ſtill ſo inſolent, that it is grie⯑vance [130] almoſt unſufferable; many People give them juſt what they will have, rather than have the trouble of proſecuting them, and this hardens them; but on the other-hand ſometimes they meet with Juſtice, or rather Juſtice meets with them, and then they are handled as they deſerve,

The next are the Watermen; and indeed the Inſolence of theſe, tho' they are under ſome Limitations too, is yet ſuch, at this time, that it ſtands in greater Need than any other, of ſevere Laws, and thoſe Laws being put in ſpeedy Execution.

Some Years ago, one of theſe very People being Steers-man of a Paſſage-boat, between London and Graveſend, drown'd three and fifty People at one time: The Boat was bound from Graveſend to London, was very full of Paſſengers and Goods, and deep loaden: The Wind blew very hard at South Weſt, which being againſt them, oblig'd them to turn to Windward; ſo the Seamen call it, when they tack from ſide to ſide, to make their Voyage againſt the Wind, by the help of the Tide.

The Paſſengers were exceedingly frighted when in one tack ſtretching over the Stream, in a Place call'd Long-Reach, where the River is very broad, the Waves broke in upon the Boat, and not only wetted them all, but threw a great deal of Water into the Boat, and they all begg'd of the Steers-man, or Maſter, not to venture again: He, ſawcy and impudent, [131] mock'd them, ask'd ſome of the poor frighted Women if they were afraid of going to the Devil; bid them ſay their Prayers, and the like, and then Stood-over again, as it were, in a Jeſt: The Storm continuing, he ſhipp'd a great deal of Water that time alſo: By this time, the reſt of the Watermen begun to per⯑ſwade him, and told him, in ſhort, that if he Stood-over again, the Boat would founder, for that ſhe was a great deal the deeper for the Wa⯑ter ſhe had taken in, and one of them begg'd of him not to venture; he ſwore at the Fellow, call'd him Fool, bade him let him alone to his Buſineſs, and he would warrant him; then uſed a vulgar Sea-Proverb, which ſuch Fel⯑lows have in their Mouths, Blow Devil, the more Wind, the better Boat.

The Fellow told him in ſo many Words, he would drown all the Paſſengers, and before his Face began to ſtrip, and ſo did two more, that they might be in Condition to ſwim for their Lives: This extremely terrify'd the Paſſengers; who having a Cloth, or Tilt, over them, were in no Condition to ſave their Lives, ſo that there was a dreadful Cry among them; and ſome of the Men were making way to come at the Steers-man, to make him by Force let fly the Sail, and ſtand back for the ſhore; but before they could get to him, the Waves broke in upon the Boat, and car⯑ried them all to the Bottom, none eſcaping but the three Watermen, that were prepar'd to Swim.

[132] It was but poor Satisfaction for the Loſs of ſo many Lives, to ſay, the Steers-man was drown'd with them, who ought indeed to have died at the Gallows, or on the Wheel; for he was certainly the Murtherer of all the reſt.

I have many times paſs'd between London and Graveſend with theſe Fellows in their ſmaller Boats, when I have ſeen them in ſpite of the Shrieks and Cries of the Women, and the Perſwaſions of the Men-Paſſengers, and indeed, as if they were the more bold, by how much the Paſſengers were the more afraid; I ſay, I have ſeen them run needleſs Hazards, and go as it were, within an Inch of Death, when they have been under no Neceſſity of it, and if not in Contempt of the Paſſengers, it has been in meer Lazineſs to avoid their rowing; and I have been ſome⯑times oblig'd, eſpecially when there has been more Men in the Boat of the ſame Mind, ſo that we have been ſtrong enough for them, to threaten to cut their Throats, to make them hand their Sails, and keep under Shore, not to fright as well as hazard the Paſſengers, when there was no Need of it.

One time, being in one of theſe Boats all alone, coming from Graveſend to London, the Wind freſhn'd, and it begun to blow very hard after I was come about three or four Mile of the way; and as I ſaid above, that I always thought thoſe Fellows were the more ventu⯑rous, when their Paſſengers were the moſt [133] fearful, I reſolv'd I would let this Fellow alone to himſelf; ſo I lay down in the Boat, as if I was a-ſleep, as is uſual.

Juſt when I lay down, I call'd to the Water⯑man, It blows hard Waterman, ſaid I, can you ſwim? no, Sir, ſays he; nor can't your Man ſwim neither? ſaid I; no, Sir, ſays the Servant; well then, ſays I, take care of yourſelves, I ſshall ſhift as well as you, I ſuppoſe; and ſo down I lay: However I was not much diſpos'd to Sleep, but kept the Tilt which they cover their Paſſengers with, open in one Place, ſo that I could ſee how things went.

The Wind was fair, but over-blow'd ſo much, that in thoſe Reaches of the River, which turn'd croſs-way, and where the Wind by conſequence was thwart the Stream, the Water went very high, and we took ſo much into the Boat, that I began to feel the Straw which lay under me at the Bottom, was wet; ſo I call'd to the Waterman, and jeſting, told him, they muſt go all-hands to the Pump; he an⯑ſwer'd, he hop'd I ſhould not be wet, but it's bad Weather Maſter, ſays he, we can't help it: No, no, ſays I, 'tis pretty well yet, go on.

By and by I heard him ſay to himſelf, It blows very hard, and every now and then he repeated it, and ſometimes thus, 'Twill be a dir⯑ty Night, 'twill be a terrible Night, and the like; ſtill I lay ſtill, and ſaid nothing.

After ſome time, and his bringing out ſe⯑veral ſuch Speeches, as above, I rouz'd as if I had but juſt wak'd; well, Waterman, ſays I; [134] how d'ye go on? very indifferently, ſays he; it blows very hard; ay, ſo it does, ſays I; where are we? a little above Erith, ſays he; ſo down I lay again, and ſaid no more for that time.

By and by he was at it again, it blows a Frett of Wind; and it blows very hard, and the like; but ſtill I ſaid nothing; at laſt we ſhip'd a daſh of Water over the Boat's-head, and the ſpry of it wetted me a little, and I ſtarted up again, as if I had been aſleep; Waterman, ſays I, what are you doing? what did you ſhip a Sea? ay, ſays the Waterman, and a great one too; why it blows a Frett of Wind; well, well, ſays I, come have a good Heart, where are we now? almoſt in Gallions, ſays he, that's a Reach below Woolwich.

Well, when we got into the Gallions Reach, there the Water was very rough, and I heard him ſay to his Man, Jack we'll keep the Weather-Shore aboard, for it grows dark, and it blows a Storm; ay thought I, had I deſir'd you to ſtand in under ſhore, you would have kept off in meer Bravado; but I ſaid nothing; by and by his Maſt broke, and gave a great Crack, and the Fellow cry'd out, Lord have mercy upon us! I ſtarted up again, but ſtill ſpoke chearfully; what's the matter now? ſays I; L—d Sir, ſays he, how can you ſleep, why my Maſt is come by the board; well, well, ſays I, then you muſt make a Gooſe⯑wing; a Gooſe-wing! why, ſays he, I can't car⯑ry a knot of Sail, it blows a Storm; well, ſays I, if you can't carry any Sail, you muſt drive up [135] under ſhore then, you have the Tide under foot, and with that I lay down again: The Man did as I ſaid, a piece of his Maſt being yet ſtanding, he made what they call a Gooſe⯑wing Sail, that is, a little Piece of the Sail out, juſt to keep the Boat ſteddy, and with this, we got up as high as Blackwall; the Night being then come on, and very dark, and the Storm increaſing, I ſuffer'd myſelf to be perſwaded to put in there, tho' five or ſix Mile ſhort of London; whereas indeed, I was reſolv'd to venture no farther, if the Waterman would have done it.

When I was on ſhore, the Man ſaid to me, Maſter you have been us'd to the Sea, I don't doubt; why you can ſleep in a Storm without any Concern, as if you did not value your Life; I never carry'd one in my Life that did ſo; why 'twas a wonder we had not founder'd; why, ſays I, Friend, for that, you know I left it all to you; I did not doubt but you would take care of yourſelf; but after that, I told him my other Reaſon for it; the Fellow ſmil'd, but own'd the thing was true, and that he was the more cautious a great deal, for that I took no thought about it; and I am ſtill of Opinion, that the leſs frighted and timerous their Paſſengers are, the more cautious and careful the Watermen are, and the leaſt apt to run into Danger; whereas if their Paſſengers appear frighted, then the Watermen grow ſawcy and audacious, ſhow themſelves vent'rous, and contemn the Dangers which they are really expos'd to.

[136] I have heard abundance of Tragical Stories of theſe Fellows, and I know ſome of them to be true; indeed, there are very many Lives loſt by their audacious Carriage: What I have ſaid, may give you a true Idea of their general Behaviour; and that, in a word, they are beyond Belief, abuſive, inſolent, and ſaucy, even to the People that they get their Bread by; inſomuch, that 'tis an Evil ſo growing, and ſo offenſive, that there is a general Cry againſt it, and yet ſuch is this glorious thing call'd Engliſh Liberty, that I ſcarce ſee it probable there can be any ſuita⯑ble Proviſion made againſt it.

LETTER VI.

I HAVE, in my laſt, given you a ſhort View of the Behaviour of our labouring Poor, who I call Servants without-Doors, and per⯑ticularly, let you ſee that, as I ſaid before, they are not at-all the better for the advance of Price on their Labour, but that on the contrary, that it is all in ſpite of Double-Pay.

It is hard to ſay it of rational Creatures, and ſuch as we are to call Chriſtians, but I ſhall be juſtified from the Experience of moſt of the Gentlemen that employ Workmen, and keep Servants, that the Poor are not to be won, it is impoſſible to oblige them; no, not with the advance of their Wages.

I ſhall now give you the trouble of ſhowing you, that it is the ſame thing in its Degree with the Servants within Doors; only with this Diſtinction, that the Aggravations are greateſt in the latter, becauſe their Obligations are generally greater, and they are treated with more Diſtinction, of which I ſhall ſpeak at large in its Order; but I confine myſelf to the Particular of encreaſe of Wages, in which Caſe it is not my Opinion only, I aſſure [138] you, that this raiſing the Price of Wages has ruin'd the Servants, and made them worſe; I ſay, 'tis not my Opinion only, 'tis the Ex⯑perience of the whole Nation; and yet unhap⯑pily all the Maſters and Miſtreſſes in England are drawn into it by an unaccountable Con⯑currence of Cauſes, which it is not eaſie to give a Reaſon for.

• 1. The general Complaint of the badneſs of Servants, makes thoſe few that are good for any-thing, ſo valuable, that Maſters and Miſtreſſes think they can never do too much to encourage them; ſo they level themſelves to them in their Intima⯑cies, load them with Gifts, with Cloaths, and other Advantages, and the mechanick Spirit not able to make a right Judgment of things, judges preſently in his own Favour; namely, that his own Merit has procur'd him all that; this exalts him in his own Opinion, and, in a Word, ruins him; for Pride and a good Servant are as inconſiſtent, as Darkneſs with Light: Thus the few good Servants that come upon the Stage of the World, are ruin'd and ſpoil'd, and that very Bounty which is the Reward of their early good-Behaviour, and ſhould be the Encourage⯑ment of their Diligence and Humility, makes them unſufferable; makes them familiar, arrogant, proud, impertinent, and at laſt, impudent: But I ſhall give [139] you a long Letter upon the Subject of the Uſage of Servants by their Maſters; I am at preſent upon the Alternative, viz. the Uſage of Maſters by their Servants, and that under the Obligations of advance of Wages, or, as I call it, in the Caſe of Labourers Double Pay.
• 2. Some think that the demand for Servants is greater in England than it us'd to be, and I believe it is ſo; not that I will un⯑dertake to ſay the Nation is richer, be⯑cauſe that might be diſputed; but that Luxury, and living is encreas'd, that I believe no-body will deny; that People live more profuſely, keep greater Equi⯑pages, and more Servants, than ever was done before.
• 3. As there is a greater Demand for Ser⯑vants, ſo they are not only oblig'd to take up with ſuch as can be had; but to give more Wages than uſual, to procure them.
• 4. There may be ſomething in the publick Circumſtances of the Nation, which has been drein'd of People (Men eſpecially) by a long and fatal War of near 30 Years, which carried away, if the Judgment of thoſe who underſtand that Part, may be depended upon, above five Hundred Thouſand Men out of the three King⯑doms, firſt and laſt; either kill'd, or run into foreign Service, or dead of Diſeaſes in the Service, or otherwiſe remov'd from the general Body of the People.
• [140] 5. Our Plantations carry off every Year ve⯑ry great Numbers of Servants, eſpecially of the Female Sex; of which, they tell us, that there has, within thirty Years paſt, above 200000 gone away volunta⯑rily to Virginia, and the neighbouring Colonies, meerly to ſeek their Fortunes, as they call it, which, in a word, is the main Support of thoſe Colonies, as well for their Service, as for breeding and mul⯑tiplying the People there; for thoſe do not go on the Terms of tranſported Fe⯑lons, but they bind themſelves for five Years, more or leſs, and generally when their Time is expir'd, ſometimes before it, get marry'd and ſettl'd; turn Plant⯑ers, and by Induſtry grow rich; or get to be Yearly Servants in good Families, upon Terms; that is, to have Wages, and not to work in the Fields, as at firſt they did; and theſe, as I am aſſur'd, make much better Servants, than thoſe they leave behind them in England.
• N.B. The chief Numbers of theſe Voluntier Servants, go out of Scot⯑land, Ireland, and the Weſt and North of England; many more than from London.

Now it may be true, that theſe things leſ⯑ſening the Numbers of Servants, and on the other hand, the manner of living among the better Sort, cauſing a greater Number of Ser⯑vants [141] to be wanted; both together may cauſe the rate of Servants Wages to riſe, as ſcarcity of any Goods, and the encreaſe of the De⯑mand for them, raiſes the Value at Market.

But the Myſtery of all this is, What ſhou'd be the reaſon why the Servants ſhou'd be the worſe for it? for that, I refer you to what I ſaid before, namely, the Error is in their Mo⯑rals; the Money prompts their Vice, and their Vice depraves their Manners; ſo that very Advantage which ſhou'd encourage them to Diligence, and an humble Behaviour, is the ruin both of their Diligence, and Behaviour.

I have a remarkable Story to tell you, to il⯑luſtrate and confirm this; in which, not the Brutiſhneſs of one Servant is concern'd, but after it the Behaviour of a great Number; and I think indeed, it may give you an Idea of the general Temper and Conduct of Ser⯑vants among us; great part of the Story I am particularly acquainted with; and can there⯑fore vouch the Truth of the Fact.

A Gentleman, a particular Friend of mine, (and by that means, as I have ſaid, I came to a true Account of the Caſe) had a Groom, whom he took from the Horſe-Heels, to be his par⯑ticular Footman, or Serving man, to wait up⯑on him wherever he went; upon which Re⯑move, he conſiderably augmented his Wages; and as my Friend lov'd Sport, and kept a good Pack of Fox-Hounds, he took the more Delight in this Fellow, becauſe he was a good Horſeman, lov'd the Game too, and was al⯑ways [142] a keen Sportſman in the Field; and which ſtill added to the Value he had for him, he knew him to be a very ſtout Fellow of his Hands, and had often ſeen him try'd.

This Fellow however, as is the Fate of moſt Scoundrels, cou'd not bear his good For⯑tune, but believing himſelf advanc'd not in Kindneſs to him, but on a pure account of his wonderful Merit, grew proud, and in the firſt Place uneaſie to his Fellow-Servants, by his haughty Carriage; and ſometimes he took upon him to be ſaucy to his Maſter.

It was upon an Accident happening one Day in their Sport, viz. that he rid over one of the Hounds, that his Maſter was, it ſeems, in ſome Paſſion with him upon it; and Edward, (ſo they call'd him) gave his Maſter two or three very inſolent ſaucy Anſwers, that ſo provok'd his Maſter, who was angry before, that he lifted up his Cane at him once or twice, as if he intended to lend him a Turn or two with it, but did not ſtrike at that time; when Edward, inſtead of ſhifting from his Maſter, (as a modeſt Fellow wou'd have done) fac'd⯑about to him; and as his Maſter's Hand was lifted up as if to ſtrike, tho', as he ſaid, he did not intend to ſtrike him; he ſaid to him, with a kind of a ſawcy Air, and a Grin, Sir! Sir! don't ſtrike me, pray don't ſtrike me: Why Sir, ſays the Maſter, why ſhou'd I not ſtrike you? I'm ſure you deſerve it: But Sir, ſays Edward, I deſire you wou'd not ſtrike me, becauſe I ſhall be apt to ſtrike again.

[143] Say'ſt thou ſo, Edward, ſays the Gentleman his Maſter, ſmiling; (and as he ſaid to me, all his Paſſion went away that Moment) Come Edward, Thou baſt a good Stick in thy Hand, and I'm ſure, a better than mine; but ſince it is come to that, here's no-body by, and I give thee my Word for it, thou ſhalt have fair Play, and if thou art too hard for me, I forgive thee, and do thy beſt; but, he added, depend upon it, Edward, if I have the better of thee, thou wilt feel me a little; therefore look to thy ſelf, Edward.

If the Fellow had been Maſter of the leaſt Grain of Modeſty, he wou'd have ask'd his Maſter's Pardon, and ſaid, that he did not de⯑ſire to engage with him; and he might eaſily have ſeen that his Maſter, (who indeed was one of the beſt-humour'd Gentlemen in England,) at one ſoft Word, wou'd have forgiven him all that had paſs'd; but he was the ſame ſaw⯑cy Edward as before, and return'd in a grum⯑bling ſawcy way, That he wou'd not be can'd by ne'er a Maſter in England.

Never hereafter, it may be, Edward, ſays his Maſter; but it happens ſo, I doubt, that you muſt now; and with that Word, he laid him home a ſmart Blow or two upon the Shoulders, not ſtriking at his Head at firſt; when Edward felt it come hard, it rais'd his Mettle, and he ſtruck again indeed, as he ſaid he wou'd, and follow'd it with a ſtrong Hand, and a good Heart, for a great while; nay, he play'd his Staff ſo well, and his Blows came ſo thick, [144] that, as his Maſter ſaid, Edward for a-while beat him a little out of his Play, and hurt one of his Hands, at the firſt or ſecond Blow.

But his Maſter, who underſtood a Staff ſomewhat better than Edward, took all his Blows upon his Cane, and return'd them ſo warmly, that at laſt Edward cry'd Quarter; No, no, Edward, ſaid his Maſter, No Quarter; Fight or Run is the Word, and ſo follow'd him with his Blows very thick: Well, Ed⯑ward was ſtout too, and he cou'd not Run, but defended himſelf again a little while, and then cry'd Quarter again: No, Edward, ſays his Maſter, no Quarter I tell you, and laid fu⯑riouſly at him, ſo that he broke his Head in two or three Places: Edward ſeeing the Blood come, was rather enrag'd than daunted, and ſaid aloud, and in a kind of Fury, What do you intend to murther me? No, no, Edward, ſays his Maſter, a broken Head won't kill you; Fight or Run, Edward, that's the Bargain you know; and ſtill they laid on a-both ſides: You may kill me if you pleaſe, ſays Edward, I'll ne⯑ver Run for the ſtouteſt Man alive, tho' I die upon the Spot; and with that he flung himſelf off of his Horſe (for the firſt of the Fight was on Horſeback) and comes up to his Maſter, in a Rage, and almoſt unhors'd him: But his Ma⯑ſter ſpurring his Horſe, ſprung from him a lit⯑tle, and throwing himſelf off from his Horſe alſo, came at him on-foot too; Edward ſeeing that, ſtrove to cloſe-in with his Maſter, but cou'd not eaſily do it, yet after ſome time he got [145] within his Blows, and boldly collar'd him; but his Maſter being a ſtrong Man diſingag'd himſelf, and ſtruck up his Heels. Now Ed⯑ward (ſays his Maſter) the Fight's over; I am no more fighting with thee as thy Equal: But now, as thy Maſter, I muſt correct thee for thy Impudence; upon which he can'd him hearti⯑ly, and very ſeverely, and the next Day ſent him to the Houſe of Correction, where he was ſoundly laſh'd; then ſent him his Wages, and diſmiſs'd him his Service.

Here was a Specimen of an Engliſh Ser⯑vant, who, had not his Maſter been one of the braveſt and ſtouteſt Gentlemen in the King⯑dom, Edward had triumph'd over him; for Edward was really a bold, daring, reſolute Fel⯑low, as the whole Encounter teſtifies.

When you read this Story, you will blame the Gentleman, perhaps, for engaging thus Voluntier with his Servant, eſpecially at ſuch Weapons too; that many a courſe brawny Fellow may be an Over-match for a Gentle⯑man; that he ought to have conceal'd his Reſentment 'till he had brought him home, and then have ſent him to the Houſe of Correction, as he did afterwards; or that at firſt (inſtead of caning him) he ſhould have run him thro', and ſent him to the Devil for a better Maſter.

But ſeveral Things alter the Caſe; firſt, as for killing Servants for their Inſolence, that will not do in England at all; neither would it be well, if it were lawful, for many Rea⯑ſons; the Conſtitution of England refers all [146] Juſtice of that Kind to the Laws, and it would have brought the Maſter into a Labyrinth of Trouble, beſides the Crime of it.

It is true, the Maſter levell'd himſelf too much; and, as a neighbouring Gentleman af⯑terwards told him, it was a Kind of Exceſs of Gallantry to meaſure his Staff with his Foot⯑man, who eat his Bread, and wore his Livery; but as he ſcorn'd to be threat'ned with the Battoon of a Scoundrel, and on the other-hand knew his own Ability to deal with him, it was a Kind of Sport to him at firſt; tho', as he told me in relating the Story, for I had it from his own Mouth, He did not think he ſhould have had his Hands ſo full with him as he had.

Again, as to killing him, or running him thro', you are to obſerve, that our Engliſh Gentlemen (when they are a hunting) do not ride with Swords or Fire-Arms, as you do in France, but with a ſingle white Belt about them, and a long Whip (which they call a Hunting-Whip) in their Hands; and it was by meer Accident that this Gentleman had a good Cane in his Hand; for Edward had a ſtrong Oaken Plant, as they call it here, which is a very good Weapon in the Hand of a ſtout Fellow, as Edward was.

But this is by the by; the Caſe was as above, and Edward was handſomely can'd, as he deſerv'd; and was very courſly us'd too afterwards, as I told you, at the Houſe of Cor⯑rection, whither his Maſter ſent him; for as [147] his Maſter was in Commiſſion of the Peace, he was capable of committing him to the Houſe of Correction, without another Magiſtrate.

But I have not quite done with Edward yet, for he went about the Country, raving afterwards at his Maſter; reporting, That he had beaten him unmercifully, with [...] any Provocation, or Fault; that he would have murther'd him, if he had not at [...] been forced to reſiſt him; and that now [...] had ſent him to the Houſe of Correctio [...] becauſe he could not have his Will of him▪

This grew into a Clamour about the [...] ⯑try; and it came to that Height, that ſome [...] the Fellow Servants began to talk round⯑ly about it: One ſaid, He would not be us'd ſo by any Maſter in England; and that, as they knew Edward to be a ſtout Fellow, they ſaid he was able to have defended himſelf, and he was a Fool he did not; and in ſhort, they carried it ſo far, that they began to be ſaucy, and to inſult the Gentleman as he went about the Country: Once in particu⯑lar, as he was riding on Horſe-back thro' a little Village not far from the Place where he liv'd, there happen'd to be a Gang of Footmen, and Gentlemen's Gardeners, and ſuch Fellows, at an Alehouſe Door, and they began to flout him, and throw out their ſau⯑cy Jeſts at him; and one call'd out to his Man, You Ralphſon (that it ſeems was the Fellow's Name) have a Care, you'll have a Drubbing next time, it may be: The Gen⯑tleman [148] took no Notice of it at all; only as he was riding before on a pretty full Trot, he check'd his Pace a little upon it, and went ſoſtly to hear what elſe they ſaid; and as they were far from being modeſt in their Speech, one of them calls out to another who ſtood over the Way, JACK, would you have been ſerv'd ſo, JACK? Jack anſwer'd No not I, and ſwore to it by his Maker; the firſt return'd, No, Damn him, nor I; I would I had been in Edward's Place, Jack, I would have ſhewn him the Difference of it, and then added the uſual Oath, B— G—, I would not have ſtood ſtill to be murther'd; I would have let him known Servants are not Dogs; there's never a Gentleman in En⯑gland ſhould have us'd me ſo: Ay! ſays a Third, Edward was a Fool; every-body knows Edward is as ſtout a Fellow as any in all the Country, and was able to have dealt with him; ay, with two ſuch as he, ſays the other! But Edward's a modeſt Fellow, and was loth, becauſe it was his Maſter: Loth! Says the other; if it had been the beſt Maſter that ever wore a Head, I wou'd not have took it of him; I wou'd it had been my Lot, he ſhou'd have repented abu⯑ſing a Servant as long as he liv'd, G— Damn him.

The Gentleman ſtopt his Horſe ſhort at this Fellow's Words, but did not turn about, or look behind him; nor did the Fellow baulk his Language for his being heard; but [149] the Gentleman, I ſay, ſtopping a little, and calling his Servant up to him, Whoſe Ser⯑vant is that, ſays he? His Man told him, Sir Edward W—'s; Very well, ſays his Ma⯑ſter, and whoſe Servant is Jack, pray? And his Man told him whoſe Man he was alſo.

One of the Gang, while the Gentleman call'd his Man up to him, calls out to the Firſt, and with the uſual Oath Damn me, he knows you, Tom, ſays he, he asks his Man if you are not Sir Edward W—'s Coach⯑man; know me, ſays he, Damn me let him know me, any-body may know me, I am Sir Edward W—'s Coachman, I a'n't aſha⯑med of my ſelf; Damn me my Maſter's a very honeſt Gentleman; Damn me, if I had ſuch a Maſter as he, I wou'd overthrow him the firſt time I drove him over Chalk-hill, and break his Neck B— G—, he ſhould mur⯑ther no more Servants I warrant him.

All this was ſo loud, and with ſo much Inſolence, that, as my Friend told me, he had a great deal to do, to reſtrain his Paſſion; but he conſider'd that they were all Foot⯑men, and Gardeners, and ſuch Fellows, Ser⯑vants among the neighbouring Gentlemen [...]; and that he might have better Sport with them (as he call'd it) another Way; alſo it came into his Head, that this very Fellow, as ſaucy as he was, ought to have Juſtice done him; for that it was certain by his Way of talk⯑ing, that Edward, or ſome-body for him, had [150] told a Pack of horrid Lies to this Fellow; and that the Story had not been handed about as it ought to be told; ſo he went off, and rode immediately to the Gentleman's Houſe, whoſe Servant had treated him thus, and find⯑ing him at home, tells him the whole Story, what his Coachman had ſaid of him, and the Manner of it; then deſiring a Pen and Ink, and Paper, he ſet it all down in Wri⯑ting, and call'd in his own Servant, who Sir Edward examin'd upon Oath (for they were both Juſtices) to the Particulars; and the Servant both remembring the Words ex⯑actly, and knowing the Fellows, made Oath to the Subſtance of it all; his Examination agreeing exactly with his Maſter's Narration of the Fact.

When he had done thus, he added, And now Sir Edward you muſt give me Leave to obſerve to you, that I am ſatisfied your Coach⯑man, and all the reſt of them, have one Thing to be ſaid in their Favour; namely, That they have Edward's Story wrong, and that they underſtand I ſtrook and can'd my Man, ei⯑ther without Cauſe, or without a ſufficient Cauſe, and that I would have murther'd him, and the like; for I have been told the Fel⯑low does make out his Story in ſuch a Man⯑ner, being aſhamed to tell the whole Truth of it; ſo that I find I am obliged by theſe Gentlemen (Servitors) to tell the Truth, and make the Story publick, that I may not paſs for ſuch a Maſter as your Coachman thinks [151] me to be: Pray therefore give me Leave to let you into the ſhort Hiſtory of the Affair between my Man Edward and I.

With all my Heart, ſays Sir Edward, for I have been told the Story a great many Ways already, and perhaps none of them right; upon this the Gentleman tells him the whole Story, in the Manner as I have related it above.

Well Sir, ſays Sir Edward, upon my Word you have but given him Part of his Due; tho' indeed you acted a Kind of Exceſs of Gallantry, to meaſure your Staff with a Foot⯑man, who eat your Bread: I aſſure you Ed⯑ward wou'd have been too hard for me, if I had done ſo: But after all, added Sir Edward, what had my Rogue to do with it? I aſſure you I ſhall take him to Task for it another Way: No Sir, ſays my Friend, if your Ser⯑vant cou'd but be found, I wou'd firſt be glad to hear in what Manner he has been inform'd of the Story; for if, as I ſay, he he has been miſinform'd of the Thing, and that by Edward himſelf, then he is not ſo much to blame, and I muſt take Care to pre⯑vent Edward's telling his Tale any more, or I ſhall be mob'd by all the Gentlemen's Servants in the Country.

Truly Sir, ſays Sir Edward, I think we, and all the Gentlemen in the Country, are mob'd by our Servants already; but I promiſe you, Sir, I will take Care to do you Juſtice upon my Servant, he ſhall inſult you no more; [152] upon this he call'd another Servant, and ſent him out to look for Thomas the Coach⯑man.

Thomas had ſuſpected that the Gentleman was gone to his Maſter's, and watch'd him; and ſuppoſing he ſhould be ſent for, took care that when his Fellow Servant came for him, he ſhould lye for him, and carry back Word that he could not be found; for, that Servants will always lye for one another is no new Thing here: But as ſoon as ever he underſtood Eſq C— was gone Home, he comes, and takes care (tho' at a Diſtance) that his Maſter ſhould ſee him, rather before any-body ſhould tell him he was come, that he might rather ſeem to offer himſelf than be call'd.

As ſoon as his Maſter ſaw him, he, in a Manner that might let the Fellow ſee he was angry, call'd to him, Come hither, Miſter, I muſt ſpeak with you a little; on the other hand, Thomas, to let his Maſter ſee a little that he intended to be ſaucy, anſwer'd very loud, Yes, Sir, and ſo comes on; when he was come, What's the Meaning, Sir, ſays Sir Ed⯑ward, that you behave ſo, that Gentlemen are oblig'd to come to me, and complain of your abuſing them on the Highway.

Sir, ſays Thomas, I abuſe no-body: Says Sir Edward, Yes, you have abus'd an honeſt Gentleman, and one that all the County knows to be ſo; and you have abus'd him in ſuch a Manner, as no Villain but your [153] ſelf could have the Impudence to do, and as no Servant of mine ſhall be ſuffer'd to do, I aſſure you.

As you pleaſe, Sir, for that, ſays Thomas; I know who you mean, Sir, Eſq C— has been here, I ſuppoſe, and made his Com⯑plaint; I wiſh I had been at home, you ſhould have heard me ſay all that I ſaid of him, to his Face, I do not think any Servant ought to be civil to him.

What mean you by that, Sir, ſayr Sir Ed⯑ward? I aſſure you, it was well for you then, that you was not here, for if you had ſaid that to his Face, and in my Houſe too, Sir, that you have ſaid behind his Back, I aſſure you, I wou'd have ſent you to the Houſe of Correction my ſelf; you begin ve⯑ry ſaucily, methinks; what a Maſter have I been to you, that you ſhou'd give me ſuch an Anſwer?

To the Houſe of Correction! Sir, ſays Thomas, with a Kind of a Grin, and for Eſq C—! I ne'er was ſent to the Houſe of Correction yet, nor never threat'ned with it before, and I have done nothing to de⯑ſerve it now, Sir; if you don't like my Ser⯑vice, Sir, you may pleaſe to provide your ſelf, I won't be ſent to the Houſe of Cor⯑rection for talking to ſuch a Man as Eſq C—

Very well, Sir, ſays Sir Edward, I'll take your Warning; but that is not to the Pur⯑poſe, I muſt ſtill have Satisfaction from you, Sir, about your abuſing a very honeſt Gen⯑tleman, [154] for I will have the Story out to the Bottom.

A Gentleman! Sir, he's no Gentleman, ſays Thomas; he does not deſerve the Name of a Gentleman, and I will affront him as of⯑ten as ever I ſee him, let it be where it will, tho' it was in the very Church, and ſo will all the Gentlemen's Servants in this County.

Say you ſo, Sir? ſays Sir Edward; then, I perceive, there's a Combination among you, is there, to abuſe this Gentleman? I aſſure you, Sir, he is a Match for you all, and he may chance to bring ſome of you to the Gal⯑lows, if you go on.

Thomas replies, He a Match for us all! I wiſh I had been in Edward's Place, I wou'd have let him ſee, that Servants are not Dogs, nor to be murther'd every Time a Maſter plea⯑ſes to be in a Paſſion for Nothing.

Yes, I ſuppoſe, ſays Sir Edward, you wou'd have uſed me as that Villain offer'd to uſe his Maſter, wou'd you? I aſſure you, Sir, if you had offer'd it, or threat'ned it, as he did, I wou'd not have given you the Favour of a Baſtinado; I wou'd have ſhot you thro' the Head, or the beſt Dog of you, that ever wore a Livery.

Then I think 'tis Time any Man ſhou'd quit ſuch a Maſter; if you ſhould tell Ser⯑vants ſo before-hand, Sir, ſays Thomas impu⯑dently, no-body will take your Livery: Well that is not the Queſtion with you, Sir, [155] ſays Sir Edward; but ſince you have not on⯑ly abus'd a Gentleman, who you know is your Maſter's Friend, and given him impu⯑dent Language, but threaten to do the like, and acknowledge a Combination among you, and other Gentleman's Servants, to be ſau⯑cy to this Gentleman hereafter, I muſt en⯑quire farther into it; this is a dange⯑rous Buſineſs, Servants are come to a heigth, I find, that in a little Time, they will tell their Maſters what they ſhall, or ſhall not, ſay to them; I'll have none of the Socie⯑ty in my Service, I aſſure you.

Well, Sir, ſays Thomas, I am ready to quit your Service then, for I will be at Liberty to ſpeak my Mind to Eſq C— I ſaid Nothing of you, Sir, that are my Maſter, and as for him, I value him not; if I muſt give an Account to you, Sir, I ſhall fetch you my Livery, Sir, I hope I do you no Injury, Sir, in leaving your Service.

No, no, not at all, Thomas, ſays Sir Ed⯑ward calmly, bring your Cloaths, and give them the Steward, and take your Wages, 'tis Time to be rid of ſuch Servants.

Away went Thomas, hot and fiery, and ſaucy enough, even to his Maſter too, as you may ſee; I ſay, away he went to fetch his Livery; in the mean time Sir Edward ſent not a Servant (for they ſeem'd to be all in the Quarrel, ſo that he would not truſt them) but one of his Sons to fetch the [156] Conſtable, and order'd him not to meddle with Thomas, 'till they were quite parted, 'till he had his Wages, and left his Livery, and every thing; and that then he ſhould take him juſt as he was without the Door, going away, and bring him in again, and for this he gave him his Warrant, as a Juſtice of the Peace.

When the Fellow had brought down his Livery, and deliver'd up his Charge (as Coachman) to the Steward, the Steward came in to let Sir Edward know it, and ask'd if he ſhould pay him his Wages, and diſmiſs him, or whether he would ſee him again? Sir Edward ſaid, No, no, prithee don't let me be troubled any more with his Saucineſs, I ſhall but be provok'd, per⯑haps, to uſe him as he deſerves: In the mean-time it was eaſy for Sir Edward to ſee, that even the Steward himſelf ſeem'd to be of Thomas's ſide, and think he had hard Meaſure, to be queſtioned for affronting ſuch a Man as Eſq C—

However, Sir Edward (who had all his Meaſures ready, and his Son with the Con⯑ſtable attending without the outer Gate) waited to ſee the Iſſue, and Thomas was diſ⯑miſs'd; when he had his Wages, and all was over, Thomas wanted to ſee his Ma⯑ſter; no, ſays the Steward, my Maſter ſays he has nothing to ſay any more to you, and won't be diſturb'd; at this he began to be very rude, and loud, and he would ſee [157] Sir Edward; he was not his Maſter now, he ſaid, but he wanted to ſpeak with him; and other Servants, ſeeing him rude, deſi⯑red him to be eaſy, and go about his Bu⯑ſineſs, but he would not ſtir, and ſwore, and hector'd, that he would ſpeak with Sir Edward, he did not then call him his Ma⯑ſter, but Sir Edward; that he had Buſineſs with him, and would ſpeak with him; the Steward ſaid, Sir Edward was buſy, and would not be diſturb'd; well, it would not do a great while; he told the Steward, he an⯑ſwered for Sir Edward without his Order; if he would go to Sir Edward, and tell him he deſired to ſpeak with him, and he refu⯑ſed him, then he knew what he had to do, but he would not take an Anſwer from him.

Why, ſays the Steward, if I do, perhaps you will not take the Anſwer from me then, any more than you will now; yes, he ſaid, if he came back, and told him (upon his Word) what Anſwer Sir Edward gave, he would be ſatisfied; ſo the Steward went in to his Maſter, and Sir Edward, who had heard all that paſs'd, ſtood at the Door of his Parlour, and calling aloud (but calmly) to his Steward, that Thomas might hear, bade him tell Thomas, that if he would be quiet, and not be ſaucy, he would ſpeak with him again in an Hour, and ſo he might come again in that Time; ſo Thomas went away.

[158] As ſoon as he was out of the outer Gate, the Conſtable meets him, and takes him up, telling him it was on the Complaint of Eſq C— and that he muſt go in again; the Steward, who was not parted from him, and was ſecretly his Friend, but angry that he had been ſo rude to his own Maſter, ſaid to him, You need not have been in ſuch Haſte, I ſee, to ſpeak with my Maſter, I find you are like to ſee him ſooner than he propos'd to you.

Thomas gave him little Anſwer, but the Conſtable, ſhewing his Warrant, ask'd for Sir Edward, and they were order'd to come in.

When they were call'd in, the Conſta⯑ble, who had been furniſh'd with the In⯑formation, ſworn to by Eſq C—'s Man, and with the Account given by Eſq C— in Writing, preſented them both to Sir Ed⯑ward, as Juſtice of the Peace, and told him there was Eſq C—'s Servant at the Door, to juſtify all he had ſaid: So Sir Edward, and his late Servant, after reading the Paper, had the following ſhort Dialogue.

Well Thomas, I find I am to be troubled with you again ſooner than I intended; you hear what Mr. C—'s Ser⯑vant has depos'd, what do you ſay to it?

Say to it, Sir, what wou'd you have me ſay to it? Sir, the Fellow is a Raſcal, and a Villain, to come with ſuch a Story here; and his Maſter, I think, is little [159] better; all the Country knows the Story as well as I, and there's not a Gentleman's Servant round, but wou'd have ſaid as much as I did; he muſt expect it where ever he goes.

Thou art very hot, Thomas, and a little impudent to me too, to anſwer in this Manner; I have nothing to do with the reſt, but my Buſineſs is with you at pre⯑ſent, and you had beſt not be ſo ſaucy, I ad⯑viſe you to it.

I was born ſaucy, Sir, I can't help it.

I have known many a Child be cur'd of Diſtempers they were born with, and I think you might have been cur'd of it by this Time, you are old enough.

That may be, Sir, but I ſhall never be cur'd of it: But that's nothing to the Caſe before your Worſhip; what am I brought here for?

As to that, Thomas, I thought to have talk'd with you upon it indeed, if you had been able to behave as become you; but I muſt take another Courſe with you firſt; I'll try if I can't cure you of being ſaucy firſt, that Diſtemper which you ſay you were born with: Here, Conſtable, do you ſecure this Fellow, 'till I make his Mit⯑timus; I muſt ſend him to a Doctor, to be cur'd.

What you pleaſe, Sir, if you ſhew me the Way into a Priſon, Sir, I'll find the Way out again, I can find Bail.

I ſhall not meddle with that, Thomas; you may bring your Habeas Corpus, if you pleaſe, but I'll make you take a little Phyſick firſt.

Here Mr. Conſtable, carry him to the Houſe of Correction, and bring him before me again to mor⯑row Morning.

What do you mean by that, Sir? I go to the Houſe of Correction! For what, Sir?

For your Want of Manners, Tho⯑mas.

Why Want of Manners, pray? Your Worſhip is not my Maſter now.

No, Thomas, I do not talk of your Saucineſs to me, while I was your Maſter; I cou'd have taken that better, as you ſee I did an Hour or two ago; but as I am a Magiſtrate, and in the Commiſſion of the Peace, and bear the King's Authority, I am bound to maintain it, and not ſee a Juſtice of the Peace inſulted by an impudent Fel⯑low, as you are, when he comes before him in a Way of Juſtice.

You can't ſend me to the Houſe of Correction for any Thing I have ſaid now.

If I do any-thing illegal, I'll anſwer it to the Law; but what I have done, I will ſtand to: Conſtable, do you do your Duty.

[161] As he was going into the next Room, ſome of the Servants ſpoke to Thomas, to beg Sir Edward's Pardon; you know your Maſter, Thomas, ſaid one of them, had al⯑ways a Reſpect for you, don't provoke him: Damn me, Sir, ſays Thomas, I'll ask Pardon of no Man upon Earth; what have I done to ask Pardon? I won't ask Pardon, by — and ſwore ſo loud, that his Maſter heard him; upon which Sir Edward return'd im⯑mediately into the Room; hold, Goodman Waters, ſays Sir Edward, (meaning the Con⯑ſtable) I think I heard him ſwear: Here, Thomas, ſays he, you muſt pay for ſwearing.

I'll pay Nothing, not I.

Well, well, you may refuſe to pay indeed, but then you muſt ſit in the Stocks, Thomas, you know that Law: Go, Goodman Waters, ſays Sir Edward, put him in the Stocks firſt a little.

Thomas rag'd, and grumbled out a good many Oaths more, but the Juſtice not hearing it, that paſs'd over, and Thomas was carried to the Stocks.

While he ſat in the Stocks, all the Foot⯑men round about, that were near enough, came to viſit him, and there they ſat, an Alehouſe being juſt by, and Chairs brought out for them, and there was a Conſultation of Rogues, curſing their Maſters, and abu⯑ſing Eſq C—, calling him all the Scoundrels, and Raſcals, that they could think of; and here they treated Thomas, and on [...] drank to him, and another drank to him, [162] 'till Thomas was ſo drunk, that when he had fulfill'd his Pennance, that is to ſay, an Hour in the Stocks, he was in no Con⯑dition to walk to the Houſe of Correction; but if they would have him there, they muſt get a Cart to carry him.

The Juſtice, who had ſome Spies among them, and particularly ſome to take an Ac⯑count of their ſwearing, found there was an abſolute Neceſſity to put a ſtop to this new-faſhion'd Behaviour of the Servants, ſo he ſends to Goodman Waters, the Conſtable, to leave Thomas well guarded in the Stocks, and to come to him, which he did; and he gave him a Warrant to take ſome Aſſi⯑ſtance, and bring away five Fellows, whoſe Names he wrote down, and againſt whom he had taken Information for ſwearing; four of theſe five were Gentlemen's Servants in the Neighbourhood, and the fifth a Farmer's Son, one of Sir Edward's own Tennants in the Village: The four Servants were oblig'd to pay three, or four, or five Shillings each for ſwearing; and two of them, who were very ungovernable, Sir Edward order'd to be carried Home to their own Maſters, where one of them behav'd ſo impudent⯑ly to his Maſter, that he was oblig'd to ſend him to Bridewell too, and he got there before Thomas; the other had his Livery ſtript off his Back by his Maſter, and he came back, hallowing thro' the Town, to the Place where they all were, and got as drunk [163] as Thomas; but ſome of the Neighbours kindly got him to Bed out of the Way, or elſe he had been ſet in the Stocks too.

All this made a great Hubbub in the Town, and two or three honeſt Men, Inhabitants of the Place, came to Sir Edward, and begg'd for Thomas, that he might not go to the Houſe of Correction that Night; offering that they would be Security for him, that he ſhould come, and beg Pardon for his Behaviour the next Morning: But Sir Edward was poſitive that he ſhould go, on⯑ly, whereas his Order was in his Mittimus, that he ſhould have the Correction of the Houſe that Night, he ſent a Note to the Keeper of the Priſon, that he ſhould defer that Part 'till the next Day, and order'd the Neigh⯑bours, who had interceeded with him, to come to him in the Morning.

Next Morning Thomas was not quite ſo outragious as he was over-night; but he would not ſubmit to come and beg Pardon, 'till he ſaw a freſh Order from Sir Edward, and three Juſtices more, intimating, That he ſhould not be corrected in the Houſe, but ſhould be carried to the Whip⯑ping-Poſt in the Town, and ſhould be pub⯑lickly laſh'd there, unleſs he ſubmitted him⯑ſelf before ſuch a Time; this, and the Im⯑portunity of his Friends, humbled him a little; and indeed it was but a little, for Matters did not end here.

[164] While this was doing, and before Thomas had his Liberty, and well it was for him that he had not his Liberty at that time; I ſay, while this was doing, a Gang of about fourteen or fifteen of the Gentlemen's Ser⯑vants, and young Fellows in the Neighbour⯑hood, ſwearing to one another that they would be ſecret, diſguis'd themſelves; and going to Mr. C—'s, the Gentleman who had baſtinado'd his Man Edward, reſolv'd to in⯑ſult him if they could come at him: The firſt Thing they did, they met with his Park-keeper, but he a ſtout Fellow, and as it happen'd, having a long Keeper's Staff in his Hand, arm'd at both Ends, was aware of them: Indeed, the Park-keeper ſeeing them diſguis'd, for their Faces were ſmear'd over with Soot and Greaſe; ſome of them had great Whiskers made upon their Lips, others had falſe Beards, and the like, I ſay he took them for Deer-ſtealers, come to rob his Maſter's Park, and talking with them at a Diſtance, would not let one of them come in with him: At length, one of them, running in to him, by main Force had collar'd him, but was immediately faſten'd upon by the Keep⯑er's Dog, which made him quit the Keeper; but to deliver him, another came up, and the Keeper, to reſcue his Dog, knock'd him down; however, the reſt coming in, the Keeper, ſeeing ſo many, was forc'd to fly, and call'd off his Dog, who wou'd elſe have been kill'd.

[165] During this Skirmiſh, the reſt went up to the Gentleman's Houſe, and two of them asking for Sam, (as they call'd him) which was the Servant, who was with his Ma⯑ſter when Thomas bullied him in the Town; they told him they would ſpeak with him, ſo the Fellow innocently walk'd out with them, when immediately they ask'd him, if he had not been before the Juſtice, and ſworn to the Words that Thomas ſaid? and the like; the Fellow ſaid, yes, he did, but pleaded, that it was ſore againſt his Will, but that his Maſter carried him to Sir Edward —, and there they made him do it be⯑tween them; and begg'd heartily for his Life at firſt, for he believed they intended to mur⯑ther him,

Well, they told him, they would make an Example of him to all Rogues, that ſhould betray any Servant to be ill us'd; and upon this they dragg'd him to a Pond in the Park, where they duck'd him, and dragg'd him to-and-again in it, 'till they had almoſt drown'd him; then took him, and toſs'd him in a Blanket; then tying his Hands behind him, and a Halter about his Neck, ſo ty'd that he could not untie it, with the long End hanging down behind upon his Back; in this Plight they ſent him Home, and bade him tell his Maſter, That they would ſerve him juſt in the ſame Manner, the firſt Time they cou'd come at him; and that there was [166] fifty of them had ſworn to do it, for the ſake of his Man Edward.

They alſo made the Fellow ſwear, that he would not fail to tell his Maſter all they ſaid; but that they need not have done, for poor Sam told his Tale as ſoon as ever he came Home, that his Maſter might not come to any Miſ⯑chief.

By this Time the Keeper was come Home too, but firſt he had been raiſing the Pariſh, to look for Deer-ſtealers; and was got ten or twelve ſtrong, having pick'd up a Warrener or two, and their Servants, and a Gentleman's Huntſ⯑man, and ſeveral others, enough to have given theſe Fellows their due, if he had met with them: But, as their Good-luck guided them, the Keeper watching for them among the Thickets, and Cover of the Park, where ſuch People, as he took them to be, might be expected, and their Buſineſs being not among the Deer; I ſay, as their Good-luck guided them, the Keeper miſs'd them, and came Home juſt as Sam was come in, and had told his pitiful Story.

Their Maſter, with two or three neigh⯑bouring Gentlemen with him, was at Home, taking a hearty Bottle (as they call it) all this while, and knew nothing of the Mat⯑ter; but when the poor half-drown'd Fel⯑low came in, the Noiſe was too great in the Houſe, for the Maſter to be long ignorant of it; and immediately he caus'd the poor [167] Young-man to come into the Parlour, and tell his Story to all the Gentlemen.

No ſooner had he told his Tale, but the Keeper came in, and told his Story alſo, and the Houſe was all in a Hubbub; every one got up, and the Gentleman lending his Friends Fire-Arms, and the Keeper's Men Horſes, they all mounted, and went in Purſuit of them; but it was to no Purpoſe, for they knew well enough they ſhould be purſued; ſo they made all clear off by contrary Ways, got Water, and waſh'd their Faces; and dropt (one by one) to their Maſters Houſes; and no-body was miſs'd, for they were not long about their Work, and not the leaſt News cou'd be heard of them: But to return to Thomas.

Thomas, drunk, and incapable of knowing any thing of what had befallen him the Night before, wak'd (you may ſuppoſe) in the Morning, in a Kind of courſe Lodging, in the Houſe of Correction, and had ſoon his Friends about him, as above, who letting him know his Circumſtance, and how the Juſtice (his late Maſter) had had the Good⯑neſs to ſpare him the laſt Night at their Requeſt; and that they had been bound for him, that he ſhould ask him Pardon for the Rudeneſs of his Behaviour; they alſo let him know, that he was quite in the wrong to behave as he did to Sir Edward, who had been a good Maſter to him; and that he might ſtand in need enough of his Friend⯑ſhip [168] ſtill in the other Caſe, for that not Eſq C— only, but almoſt all the Gentle⯑men in the Country, were reſolv'd to en⯑quire fully into the Affair, and to go to the Bottom of it; for that they found they ſhould none of them dare to reprove a Ser⯑vant, or to be ſafe, if they gave them but an ill Word; and then they told him the Story of the Fellow's Management at Eſq C—'s Houſe, and aſſur'd him, there would very ſoon be a Publication from all the Bench of Juſtices, with a Reward of an Hundred Pound to any one (or two) of the Gang, to diſcover the reſt.

Thomas was prevail'd upon by all theſe Demonſtrances, to ask his Maſter, Sir Ed⯑ward, Pardon for his Rudeneſs the Night before; and the Neighbours had petitioned Sir Edward to accept it, and ſo Thomas was ordered to be brought up by the Keeper in the Afternoon.

But in the mean Time, for the ſearching farther into the Combination of Servants, which, it was apparent by Thomas's Words, was made among them, there was about five or ſix Gentlemen more aſſembled at Sir Ed⯑ward's, all Juſtices of the Peace, to take this Fellow's Examination: When he was brought in, he kneel'd down very ſubmiſſively to Sir Edward, to beg his Pardon for his Rude⯑neſs to him, and Sir Edward forgave him, and ſo the Fellow thought to have been diſ⯑miſs'd: But he was thunder-ſtrook, when he [169] was told by one of the other Juſtices, in a ſolemn Manner, ‘'That tho' his Maſter, Sir Edward, had been ſo good as to forgive him, for what he had done to offend him, and that Part was over, yet that they were aſſembled there, to enquire into his abu⯑ſive Carriage to ſuch a Gentleman (na⯑ming the Perſon) and the rather, becauſe he had intimated a Conſpiracy, or Com⯑bination, of the other Servants, in the Country about, to join in their inſulting that Gentleman; and had perſonaliy threat⯑ned him in his Diſcourſe, as the Gentleman was riding thro' the Town; and they ſaid, they muſt know the Meaning of theſe things, before they quitted him; and the rather, becauſe this Combination had appeared to be real, by what had happen'd ſince.’ At which they repeated what had happen'd the Night before at Eſq C—'s Houſe, and told him, ‘'He would do well, to make a timely Diſcovery of the Thing, if he knew any thing of it; otherwiſe, they muſt take ſuch a Courſe with him, as ſhould be judg'd proper; as well to detect the Confederacy it ſelf, as to puniſh him, for his miſuſing a Gentleman, who had offer'd him no Injury, and was peaceably going along the King's Highway.'’ Tho⯑mas was a bold Fellow, and withal very full of Tongue; ſpoke much, but pretty well too, only very apt to be fancy; had liv'd with ſeveral Perſons of Quality, and [170] been Coachman to a Duke or two, and valued himſelf very much upon it: So, when he began his Tale, he told them, ‘'That he had liv'd with ſuch and ſuch Lords, and Dukes; and that he had driven a Coach and Six ſo many Years; and that he had never been us'd thus by any Ma⯑ſter in his Life; That he was but a poor Fellow, 'twas true, and they took. Advan⯑tage of his being heated with talking of that Gentleman, &c.’

Here the Juſtice, that ſpoke before, in⯑terrupted him, and told him, ‘'This was all nothing to the Purpoſe; if he had ſerv'd ſuch noble Perſons, as he ſaid, he ought to have learnt better Manners in their Service; that every Gentleman, that pays a Servant Wages, has a Right not to the Service only, but the Reſpect due from ſuch Servant to him that employs him; but that however, as to his Saucineſs to his Maſter, that was not the Queſtion, but he was ſent to Priſon for his Rude⯑neſs to Sir Edward, not as his Maſter, (for he was not then his Maſter) but as a Magiſtrate; but even as a Magiſtrate (upon his Submiſſion) he was forgiven; which he ought to be very thankful for; but he was queſtion'd then upon the Infor⯑mation of Eſq; C—, confirm'd (upon Oath) by his Servant, for inſulting him on the Highway, and threat'ning him, not perſonally only, but alſo with a Com⯑bination [171] of other Fellows againſt him; which had in part appear'd to be a Rea⯑lity by what had happen'd, as above.’

Thomas made a long Harangue again, up⯑on his having ſerv'd ſo many Gentlemen, &c. as above; but was bid let that alone, as no⯑thing to the purpoſe, and ſpeak to the Point; he ſaid, he knew not what Point they meant; they anſwer'd, his inſulting Mr. C— &c. He ſaid, he did not underſtand how that lay before them; that what he had ſaid of Mr. C— was true; that he had abus'd an honeſt Fellow, that was his Servant, in ſuch a manner, that he thought no Servant cou'd owe him any Reſpect; and that all Servants were ſo far concern'd in that Uſage, as that they cou'd not help telling him of it, where⯑ever they met with him; and that he might thank himſelf, for that Servants were not hir'd to be us'd like Dogs, or to be mur⯑ther'd upon every time their Maſter was pleas'd to be mad; and what he had ſaid, he believ'd, was no more than he ought to have ſaid, and he ſhou'd not be afraid to ſay it again; and thus he run on, a little like what he had ſaid in Mr. C—'s hearing, only with a little more Reſpect; and added, that it was true, that he ſaid, he wiſh'd he had been in Edward's Place, he ſhou'd not have ſerv'd him ſo; and he hop'd, he might ſay ſo again.

Why, what wou'd you have done, ſays one of the Juſtices? Why, Sir, ſays he, be⯑fore [172] I wou'd have been beaten ſo like a Dog, I wou'd have defended myſelf: Ay, ſays one of the Juſtices, and have murther'd your Maſter, it may be, if you cou'd.

I wou'd have kill'd any Man in the World, ſays he, rather than he ſhou'd have kill'd me; the poor Fellow is not murther'd indeed, that is, he is not dead yet, but he may be ſoon; he was beaten ſo unmercifully, that he is in the Surgeon's Hands, and no-body knows whether he will live or die; I think 'tis time poor Servants ſhou'd ſpeak, when 'tis come to this.

Well, Thomas, and what was all this for, pray, ſays the Juſtice, was there no Provoca⯑tion given: No, ſays Thomas, none that requir'd ſuch Uſage; he happen'd to over⯑ride one of the Hounds in their Sport, and that was not with Deſign neither; the Fellow lov'd the Dogs as well as his Maſter did, and wou'd not have done it, if he cou'd have help'd it.

Well, Thomas, and you think this was the Occaſion of it all, do you, ſays the Ju⯑ſtice? Think ſo, Sir, ſays Thomas, I know it, for I had it from his own Mouth.

Pray, Sir Edward, ſays one of the Juſtices, be pleas'd to let the whole Caſe be read at large; not for Thomas's Satisfaction, (for he does not deſerve it) but for the Satisfaction of all the People here; for I ſee, half the Town are come about us, to hear the Cauſe, and they are all (it ſeems) impos'd upon as [173] well as he: So Sir Edward caus'd one of his Clerks to read the Account that Eſq C— had given, under his Hand, of the whole Combat at large, in the manner I have given it you above.

At the reading this Story, there was a general Murmur among the People, in the Hall, where they ſtood to hear the Cauſe; one ſaid, he was a Rogue; another, a Vil⯑lain; another ſaid, he had not half his Reward, (that is to ſay, meaning Edward) ſome ſaid, they never heard ſuch a Story in their Lives; others ſaid, he deſerv'd to be hang'd; and in ſhort, every-body ſaid, the Story was told quite another way, all over the Town; and that they had been abus'd in the Relation of it.

But Thomas cry'd out, it was all falſe, not a Word of it true.

The Juſtices bid him have a care what he ſaid, for this was the Account the Gentle⯑man gave himſelf, and that he was ready to make Oath of it; however, they told him, that as he had boaſted, that if he was ſent to Priſon, he knew the Way out again, and that he cou'd get Bail; they told him, they thought, the leaſt thing they cou'd do was to bind him over to the next Quarter-Seſ⯑ſions, and in the mean time, to require Sureties of him for his good Behaviour; and ſo they left him with the Keeper, to detain him 'till all this was done.

[174] It was near a Week before Thomas cou'd get Security, but at laſt he did, and got his Liberty; but as ſoon as the Story came abroad, and how it had really been, all People cry'd ſhame of the Footmen; and the firſt thing to be heard of (in order to a further Diſcovery of Things) was, that about eight Footmen, in ſeveral Gentlemen's Fami⯑lies, were run away; any one might conclude they were thoroughly frighted with Thomas's Story; beſides, when it was known, that ſo ma⯑ny were gone, it was eaſy to know what they were guilty of: As for Thomas, his Fate is not determin'd yet.

There is a great deal more in the Hiſtory of this Affair, but it is not ſignificant enough to trouble you with; you will ſee thro' ev'ry Part of what I have written; an Air of uncommon Inſolence, upon the Conduct of Servants all the Country round, and that is the Reaſon of my giving you this Account: Before I diſmiſs this Subject, I muſt obſerve to you, That this inſolent Behaviour is not among the falſe and thieviſh Servants (ſuch we may always expect to be impudent;) but this is the Conduct of the honeſt Part of Servants, at leaſt thoſe we call honeſt: I cou'd give you an Account of Servants robbing, ay, and murthering their Maſters, and thoſe now more than ever; but a⯑mong ſuch, nothing is to be wonder'd at, and ſuch are in all Nations as well as here; but I confine my ſelf to the Point in hand, name⯑ly, [175] the inſolent, unſufferable Conduct of Ser⯑vants, that is to ſay, of thoſe that call them⯑ſelves honeſt, and value themſelves upon being ſo.

Nor is it every Servant that will fight his Maſter, as Edward did, becauſe it is not every Servant that dares do it; but I muſt alſo add, that there is not one Servant in twen⯑ty now, that will take a Blow from a Maſter, but with their Tongues will inſult them at that rate, that it is very hard for any Gen⯑tleman to bear it; nor do I wonder at any thing more, than that there are not ten Servants for one kill'd by their Maſters, the Treatment which Maſters receive from them, being now ſuch, as indeed 'tis very hard for any Temper to ſubmit to: I ſhall give you ſome Inſtances of this Kind in my next Letter.

LETTER VII.

MY Laſt gave you a kind of Tragi-Comedy, between a Friend of mine and his Man Edward; I ſhall fill up my Account with ſome of every kind that offers.

I muſt acknowledge to you, that it is not the eaſieſt thing in the World, for a Gen⯑tleman to bear the ſawcy Language of a Ser⯑vant, on any Account whatever; and there are ſome Actions of Servants, that a Maſter cannot but reſent, and reprove them for, when they upon theſe juſt Reproofs, re⯑turn impudent, ungrateful Language, and in⯑ſulting Behaviour; as is the very Caſe I am upon: It is not every Temper that (in ſuch provoking Caſes) can reſtrain it ſelf; and this has been the Occaſion of ſending many a Servant to the Devil, before their Time; and as killing a Servant is not in England ſo light a matter as it is in France, eſpecially killing a Servant, in a Paſſion, or in drink; ſo ſome Gentlemen, who have had the Misfortune to puſh their Reſentments a little farther than they ought, have been put to great Diſtreſſes, and ſome have been quite ruin'd on that Ac⯑count; [177] and this brings to my Mind a Story, which alſo happen'd within the Reach of my own Knowledge.

There happen'd, in a Country Town, with⯑in about Eleven Miles of London, a very odd Paſſage of a Servant and a Maſter, which ended more tragical than that in my Laſt: The Gentleman was a Colonel in the Mili⯑tia, and of a very good Eſtate, and had on⯑ly two Daughters; his eldeſt Daughter, a fine beautiful Lady, and very well bred, was ſaid to be in Love with ſome-body, but it cou'd never be found out who it was with: She was ſo unſuſpected by her Father (as to her Vertue) that there was no need to keep any Watch over her: She often took the Coach (or the Chariot) with her Siſter, to go to London, or any where elſe, and ſometimes without her, but always came home in good time; and if her Father ask'd her, at any time, where ſhe had been been, ſhe wou'd ſay, ſhe only took a turn out upon the Forreſt, or upon ſuch a Heath, or ſuch a Way, for the Air; which was an Anſwer ſatisfying enough; and ſometimes (without the leaſt Suſpicion in his Head) he wou'd ask the Coachman, which Way he drove, or how far? And he wou'd give him the like Anſwer.

This paſs'd for a great while, 'till it was obſerv'd at laſt, that ſhe took the Chariot out (for airing) without her Siſter, or any-body elſe with her, oftner than uſual; and her Father, [178] who had heard a Rumour, that his Daugh⯑ter had an Amour with ſome-body, began to ſuſpect; upon this Suſpicion (one Evening) he examin'd the Coachman, in a friend⯑ly obliging manner, whether any-body met his Daughter upon thoſe Airings and Ridings out? The Fellow, with a ſawcy Fleer at him, ſaid, No, and laugh'd; this mov'd him a little, and he call'd him ſawcy Fellow, or ſomething to that purpoſe; Why, Sir, do you think, ſays the Coachman, that if my young Miſtreſs had any Love-Intrigue with any-body, and truſted me to carry her, I wou'd betray her, and tell you of it?

Very well, Sir, ſays the Colonel, then you may ſay, you will be faithful to my Daugh⯑ter, but you cou'd not boaſt of much Ho⯑neſty to your Maſter; 'tis no matter for that, Sir, ſays be, I never betray my Truſt; yes, Sir, ſays the Colonel, you do in that very thing, for as you are my Servant, when you carry her abroad, 'tis I truſt my Daugh⯑ter in your Hands: I think nothing of that, ſays the Fellow, 'tis the Lady truſts me with herſelf, and that's more than you truſt me with.

Well, well, if that be your Principle, ſays the Colonel, then I ſhall truſt you no more with her, and you ſhall carry her out no more: However, it happen'd, that about a Week after, or thereabout, the young Lady call'd her Coachman (her Father being from home) and rode out as uſual; the Colonel, co⯑ming [179] home, while they were abroad, and hearing of it, never lighted off his Horſe, but rode about, to ſee if he cou'd meet her any where, and diſcover any thing.

It was his Misfortune to ride round and round the Country, a great way, but not to meet with them; but being juſt come back, ſo near, as that he was within ſight of his own Door, if it had been Day-light, he heard the Coach ſtop juſt before him; upon this, he ſtop'd, and got off of his Horſe, and hang⯑ing his Bridle to another Door, ſtept for⯑ward on the other ſide (it being very dark) believing he ſhou'd ſee ſome Spark or other come home with his Daughter, to bring her to the Door; and he was the more con⯑firm'd in his Expectation, when he ſaw the Coach ſtop a little ſhort of the Door.

But judge what Rage, what Horror muſt take hold of his Soul, when he ſaw the Coachman (after opening the Coach-Door to his Daughter) take her out of the Coach in his Arms, and holding her in his Arms a good while, kiſs her ſeveral times, and ſhe (on the other-hand) throwing one of her Arms about his Neck, give him leave to do it, as long as he wou'd.

Blame not the Gentleman, if he had not Patience enough to reſtrain his Paſſion, at this killing Sight; but, he run in upon them, Unhand her, Villain! ſaid he to the Coachman, or I'll this Minute ſend you to the Devil: The Fellow (ſurpriz'd you may [180] ſuppoſe) ſet her down, but gave his Maſter the moſt impudent Language imaginable; and which the Gentleman not able to take, gave him a large Cut over the Face, with his Sword; I'll mark thee now, ſays he, for a Dog, that I may know thee again to morrow.

The Fellow cry'd Murther at firſt, but immediately flying back, gave his Maſter two or three Laſhes, with his Whip, and was coming at him (in a Rage) with the thick End of it, when, the frighted Lady having rung the Bell, other Servants came, and open'd the Door, and the Maſter ſtept in, which put an End to the Fray for that time.

Then the Gentleman came to the Door again, and pull'd in his Daughter; Come, Miſtreſs, ſays he, Come you in, I'll take care of you, whatever I do with him: The Lady was terribly frighted to be ſure; however, the Fellow drove the Coach round into the Stable-Yard, and having put up the Horſes, ſent one of the Servants in, to tell his Maſter, he deſir'd he might ſend for a Surgeon; his Maſter ſent Word, he might go to a Surgeon's, if he wou'd, for he ſhou'd ſleep no more in his Houſe: He ſent Word again, very ſawcily, he wou'd not ſtir in that Condition, and at that time of Night, but that in the Morning he wou'd let him know more of his Mind.

[181] However, the Gentleman was perſwaded to let him ſtay that Night, his Lodging-Room be⯑ing over the Coach-Houſe, and ſo not within the Dwelling-Houſe, and locking up his Daughter in her Chamber, he ſat up him⯑ſelf, to ſee that no Miſchief might happen: In the dead of the Night, he heard ſome Noiſe in the Yard, and putting himſelf in a Poſture to hear as much as he cou'd of it, and not to be diſcover'd, he heard his Daughter calling out, at a little Window, to the Coachman, to ask him how he did; and telling him, ſhe wou'd find ſome way or other to come out, the next Day, to him, for all this, with ſome other little Tenderneſſes between them; which, howe⯑ver, ſerv'd to inform him how Things were: He reſtrain'd his Paſſion, and did not diſcover himſelf at all, but took care of her Chamber-Door, and that ſhe ſhou'd not get out of the Window.

The next Morning he call'd his Coachman to him, paid him his Wages, and diſmiſs'd him: The Coachman ſaid nothing to him, but look'd and behav'd ſurlily, 'till he was paid, and was going away, as he thought, when he turn'd ſhort upon him, and told him ſaucily, He hop'd he wou'd give him ſome Satisfaction for cutting him on the Face; his Maſter anſwer'd, He ought to be thankful to him, he had not cut his Throat.

[182] For what, ſays the Coachman?

For your Impudence, ſays the Maſter.

The Coachman ſaid ſomething very rude, upon that, about his Daughter; intimating, that tho' he was but a poor Servant now, yet he was a Gentleman born, and of as good a Family as he (meaning his Maſter) and 'twas no Diſhonour to his Daughter to engage with him; for, Sir, ſays he, I have as good Blood in my Veins as your⯑ſelf, with ſome other Language, which the Colonel cou'd not bear; upon which, he took his Sword in his Hand, which lay on the Table, and opening the Door, ſaid (with a little Smile) Then, Sir, if you don't immediatly get out of my Houſe, I'll let ſome of your Gentlemanly Blood out for you, and that preſently too.

Sir, ſays the Coachman, I am none of your Servant, now, but as good a Man as your ſelf: This provok'd the Colonel farther, and he roſe up (tho' in his Gown and Slippers) and thruſt the Villain out of his Door, and kick'd him down the Steps.

When the Fellow was out, he fac'd him again; Sir, ſays he, go tell your Daughter, you owe your Life to Her, and were it not for her ſake, I'd trample you under my Feet this Moment.

The Colonel was not a Match for the Brute, perhaps, at his Fiſt (tho' in Courage infinitely ſuperior) but flies into his Parlour for his Sword, and comes inſtantly out [183] to him again, but he was gone a little way from the Door; he call'd after him, but he anſwer'd, he wou'd go but a little way farther, and wait on him again, by and by.

About two Hours after, the Fellow comes again, dreſs'd up very genteely, and a Sword by his ſide, and two Fellows with him.

When his Maſter ſaw them, he call'd one of his Servants, and bade him go to the Stable, and fetch him two Pitchforks, for, ſays he, I'll deal with this Dog in his own way; accordingly the Servant brought them, and he bade him, and his Fellow-Servant, keep in the next Room with them, and not ſhew themſelves, unleſs he call'd them.

When this was done, he bade a Maid-Servant go, and deſire the two Men, that were with the Coachman, to walk in, and bid the Coachman ſtay without.

When they were come in, he treated them very courteouſly, and ask'd them, if they had any particular Buſineſs with him? They anſwer'd, very civily too, that their Buſineſs was only this; that William, his Coachman, had deſir'd them to come with him; that he had been wounded by him, the Evening before, in his Paſſion; and that he was afraid, he might be in Danger again; and that he deſir'd them to come with him, to prevent any Miſchief.

[184] Pray, Gentlemen, ſays the Colonel, did he acquaint you with the Reaſon of my being ſo provok'd? They anſwer'd, No; only that he had ſaid, it was without any Provocation at all.

It's the only obliging thing, ſays the Colo⯑nel, that William cou'd do; but depend up⯑on it, Gentlemen, I cou'd never be guilty of uſing a Servant ſo hardly, as cutting him over the Face, if I had not had the greateſt Provocation in the World.

As to that, they ſaid, they knew nothing of it, and if they had, they wou'd not have appear'd in it, for they wou'd not countenance any Servant in abuſing his Maſter.

Well but, Pray, Gentlemen, ſays he, what need is there to bring you to guard him, now he is out of my Service, and has no Buſineſs with me? If he does not come in my Reach, I can do him no Hurt, and my beſt Advice to him is, to keep out of my way.

But, Sir, ſays one of the Men, he ſays, his Buſineſs now was to ſee, what Satisfaction you will give him, for wounding him.

Says the Colonel, my Anſwer to that is plain; what the Law will give him, I'll ſubmit to, I ſhall give him no more Sa⯑tisfaction; I ſuppoſe, he does not come to to challenge me; if he thinks, he has not merited much more than I gave him, I leave him to take any Courſe he pleaſes: Pray, [185] what Satisfaction does he demand, ſays the Colonel, have you any thing to offer in his Name? I am ready to anſwer, as be⯑comes me, in any Caſe, ſays he; and if he had been a Gentleman, and indeed any thing but my own Servant, I knew what Anſwer to make.

N.B. Here the Colonel began to imagine a Challenge; but they had not any Inſtructions, they ſaid, not foreſeeing they ſhou'd ſpeak with him firſt, or alone.

Well then, Gentlemen, ſays he, tell him from me, I have no Buſineſs with him, and I think he has none with me; if he keeps away from my Houſe, he has nothing to fear from me, and ſo needs no Guard; and with this he diſmiſs'd them.

When they were gone, he perceiv'd, that when they came to the Door where the Coachman waited, and gave an Account to him of the Diſcourſe they had with his Maſter, he appear'd very uneaſie; that he came from them twice (in a Kind of a Paſ⯑ſion) towards the Door, but that they call'd him back again: But, however, he came on the third time; and the Colonel obſerv'd, that when he came from them, the third time, they ſhook their Heads, and went away, as if they had ſaid, If you will go, we will have nothing to do with you: How⯑ever, he came to the Gate, and knock'd (or rung) very hard; the Colonel, who had ſeen him, order'd his Servants not to open [186] the Gate, but let him knock (or ring) a⯑while; at length, He order'd one of his Men, to go out at the Back-door, and come round, and ſtand in a Place in the Yard, which was on one ſide of the Houſe, where he might ſpeak to him out at Window, and where the Fellow at the Gate might ſee him too.

When the Servant was come to the Place, his Maſter call'd to him aloud, John, what does that Fellow want, that rings at the Gate there? John anſwer'd, 'tis William, Sir. Well, ſays his Maſter, I know that, what wou'd he have? The Coachman anſwer'd, I wou'd ſpeak with you, Sir: The Colonel anſwer'd nothing to him; upon which, John, the Servant, ſaid, He ſays he wou'd ſpeak with you, Sir, Tell him, ſays his Maſter, I have nothing to ſay to him, bid him go about his Buſineſs.

Well, William wou'd not ſtir, but call'd to his Maſter aloud, Tho' you have nothing to ſay to me, you may bear what I have to ſay to you: I tell thee, FELLOW, ſays the Colonel, I have no Buſineſs with thee, and will have none with thee.

Then he deſir'd he might be admitted to ſpeak with his Daughter; that he rejected with Indignation, and in ſome harſh Terms: Why, ſays William, I deſire but to ſpeak with her at the Window, and in your Hear⯑ing; I am not aſham'd you ſhou'd hear what I have to ſay to her.

[187] But ſhe ought to be aſham'd to ſpeak to you, ſays the Colonel, or hear you ſpeak to her, and much more that I ſhou'd hear it: Beſides, I have remov'd her out of your Reach, ſo you may go about your Buſineſs.

Remove her where you will, ſays William, I will ſpeak with her, do your worſt, and have her too, if you ha'n't murther'd her.

How it came to paſs, that the Daughter got ſo much Liberty, he cou'd not tell; but, in the middle of all this Diſcourſe, ſhe got to a Window, on the Side of the Houſe, and call'd aloud to William, and giving the Lye to her Father, as it were, told him, ſhe was not remov'd, nor wou'd not be remov'd; but ſhe wou'd find a Way quickly to come out, or to that Effect; and William anſwer'd her in ſuch Terms, as made her Father fear they were married.

This was very provoking to her Father (you may be ſure) to have his Daughter give him the LYE, in that manner as ſhe did; and extorted ſome raſh Words from him to the Fellow, and he (as much inflam'd) re⯑turn'd him very ſcurrilous Language, in ſo many Words, and bade him, Come out into the Yard, if he was not afraid to ſhew his Face to an honeſt Man.

The Colonel, a Man of Spirit, ran to his Cloſet, took a Fuſee in his Hand, that was loaded with a Brace of Bullets, which he always kept ſo loaded, in caſe of Thieves, and boldly open'd the Door; but the Fellow, [188] who was without the Gate, ſeeing the Gun in his Hand, upbraided him with Cowar⯑dice, in bringing out Fire-Arms to a na⯑ked Man; but moving off, deſir'd him to have Patience, and he wou'd wait upon him again, in a Condition fit to talk with him, notwithſtanding his Gun; ſo in a Quarter of an Hour, he return'd with a Fuſee in his Hand alſo.

But by this time, the Neighbours, alarm'd by ſome of the Colonel's Servants, inter⯑pos'd, and the Fray was ended for that time, without Miſcheif: It is not material to the preſent Purpoſe, how the Gentleman and his Daughter manag'd; he wou'd have ſent her into the Country, but the Girl wou'd not go; he knew not well where to put her, but that, if ſhe had a Mind to be miſerable, and take the Fellow, ſhe might find Means to do it; ſo he thought it fafeſt to keep her in his own Houſe, where he thought his Anthority might prevent her Deſigns, and his Reaſoning might (in time) prevail with her, to alter her Mind.

But about five Days after, the Fellow ha⯑ving found Means, by flaſhing of Gun Powder, and other Tokens agreed between them, to let her know, that he was ready, and ſhe having found Means to give him notice of her Reſo⯑lution, ſhe let herſelf down from the third Story, in the Night, and he, with two more, ſtood ready to carry her off, at the Bottom.

[189] She was ſafe at the Bottom, and had juſt ſet her Foot upon the Ground, when the Colonel hearing, or ſuſpecting ſome Noiſe, ſtarted up, run to the Window with his Gun in his Hand, and having juſt Light enough to ſee his Daughter putting herſelf into the Arms of his Coachman, ſhot him dead upon the Spot.

The Lady, frighted almoſt to Death, fell flat upon the Ground, and the Father be⯑lieving he had kill'd his own Daughter, was for a-while in a dreadful Agony, and run out to bring her in, but was better ſa⯑tisfied, when he found ſhe was only frighted: It coſt the poor Gentleman a great-deal of Trouble and Affliction afterwards, and in a manner ruin'd the Family; for the Laws here are very nice in ſuch Caſes, where there appear'd a former Quarrel: But all this had its Beginning in the Inſolence of the Servant; and ſo far is to the purpoſe I am writing about, the reſt of the Story being too long to trouble you with now.

N.B. You may note that on the Tryal it was effectually prov'd,

• 1. That at one a-Clock in the Morning (or thereabouts) three Men were ſeen in his Yard.
• 2. That he ſaw them carrying off his Daughter; which was neceſſarily con⯑ſtrued to be a Robbery.
• [190] 3. But ſuppoſe not, it was allow'd to be an unſeaſonable Time of Night, and that the Gentleman not going out of his Houſe, had a Right to defend his Houſe, which he had Reaſon to believe was in Danger to be robb'd.
• 4. That he call'd out ſeveral times, Who's there; but was anſwer'd by one of them (not the Coachman) No-body; at which he gave notice that he wou'd fire, and bade them ſtand off at their Peril: All which Particulars were, it ſeems, effectually prov'd in his Favour.

However, it was very unhappy to the Father, and afflicted him all his Days, to the laſt Degree; for the Blood of a Man (tho' a Villain in what he did) is very grievous, to a Mind ſenſible of the World, and of the Nature of killing a Fellow-Crea⯑ture, however faulty.

This Story I tell you in Confirmation of what I have ſaid, namely, That the Provo⯑cations, given by Servants in this Country, are ſuch, that 'tis next to impoſſible, that any Gentleman ſhou'd bear them; and were it ſo in France, I believe you will be of my Opinion, that there wou'd be 500 Footmen in a Year, ſent into another World by their Maſters own Hands; and I muſt add my Opinion too in the other Part, namely, That it is becauſe Maſters in France will not bear [191] ſuch Uſage from their Servants, that Servants in France behave after another manner.

I remember, when the Inſolence of Ser⯑vants in France caus'd that happy Edict of our late Great Monarch, That no Servants, that is to ſay, no Footmen, or as we call 'em, Valets ſhou'd wear Swords: But even this was occaſion'd by their Rudeneſs to other People, and ſometimes to one another; but it was ſcarce ever heard in France, that a Footman behav'd otherwiſe to his Maſter, than with the moſt profound Submiſſion; or that if they did, they always met with the ſe⯑vereſt Correction.

The very Name of Footman intimates, That they are bred at the Foot of their Maſter; their Buſineſs is to clean his Shoes, and to be always ready at his Foot, that is to ſay, for the moſt ſervile Employment; their Poſt is to go or ride behind, and they ought not to come into the Maſter's Preſence, but with Hat in Hand, bare-headed, and with all the Tokens of an entire Submiſſion: This ever was the Uſage, and is ſtill in our Coun⯑try, and ought to be in every Country: But I can aſſure you, the Caſe is quite alter'd in England, and tho' the Carriage of a Footman is ſeemingly ſubmiſſive, their real Behaviour is quite another thing than it was.

They are now drunken, ſawcy, unman⯑nerly, negligent; not only above Correction, but even above Reproof; I ſhall tell you [192] afterwards what cauſes it; I am now upon the Fact, and letting you know that it really is ſo.

A Gentleman of my particular Acquain⯑tance, having Occaſion to be in Scotland, thought it a good Place to get a Servant in, his Engliſh Servant, that he carried down with him, was not able, as he ſaid, to live as Servants liv'd in Scotland, and ſo he de⯑ſir'd to be diſmiſs'd, which was granted; he had after that a Fellow recommended to him, that had a great Deſire to ſerve an Engliſh Gentleman, for he had heard much what good Maſters they were, and how well they us'd their Setvants; upon this the Gentleman ſent for him.

The Fellow ſeem'd to have the Face of a good Servant, far from being unacquaint⯑ed with the loweſt Submiſſion; and when they talk'd of going to England, he told my Friend, That if his Honour pleas'd to carry him to England, he wou'd run at his Horſe Foot all the Way, for he ſhou'd not need to buy a Horſe for him: Now my Friend thought indeed that he had been fitted; he had Occaſion to travel ſome ſhort Journeys, while he remain'd there, being employ'd in publick Buſineſs, and his new Man was the moſt tendible Servant, that ever Gentleman cou'd deſire.

The Maſter generous, like an Engliſh Gentleman, and kind, cou'd not bear to ſee the poor Fellow run on Foot, up Hill and [193] down-Hill, over the Mountains, thro' the Rivers, in the coldeſt Weather as well as in the hotteſt, while his other Servants had Horſes always to ride on; ſo (with⯑out his Man's Sollicitation) he furniſh'd himſelf with another Horſe, for his new Valet, and mighty thankful the Fellow was.

The Gentlemen, among whom my Friend convers'd, and to whom Harry (that was his Name) was frequently ſent of Errands, and on Buſineſs of great Conſequence, ſhew'd their Reſpect for his Maſter, by being very bountiful to his Servant; ſo that Harry began to feel Money ring in his Pocket, which had never been his Caſe before.

The firſt Conſequence of this was, that Harry threw away his Bonnet, which was all the Covering his Brains had ever known in Aberdeenſhire (from thence he came,) and bought himſelf a good Caſtor Engliſh Hat.

His Maſter had promis'd him his Livery, when he came to England, but was not wil⯑ling to have it made there, for many Rea⯑ſons; but having Occaſion to ſtay ſome Months longer in Scotland than he expect⯑ed, Harry found Ways and Means, by the ſame Bounty of the Scots Gentlemen, to buy an old (or ſecond-hand) black Coat, which, his Maſter being at that Time in Mourning, was ſuitable enough, and Harry began to call himſelf his Maſter's Gentleman.

It was not long, before his Maſter had Oc⯑caſion to ſend Harry from Edinburgh to [194] Queen's-Ferry, upon Buſineſs of Conſe⯑quence; and his Horſes and other Servants, being gone to Glaſgow, on ſome other Oc⯑caſion, Harry was oblig'd to go on Foot, at which he ſhew'd a viſible Reluctance; at length, when his Maſter told him it muſt be ſo, he ſaid, loud enough to be heard, it was a little over-far to gang on his Foot.

Well, his Maſter took no Notice of it, at that time, but Harry went the long Journey, and came back the ſame Day; but at Night, when his Maſter wanted Harry for ſome Buſineſs (I know not what) truly he was gone to his Bed; and the next Morning his Maſter had two or three lit⯑tle Rubbs of his great Wearineſs; upon which, a Day or two after, he call'd his Man Harry, and, with good Humour in his Face, ask'd him, if his Wearineſs was over? Harry ſaid, Yes, but that indeed it was a hard Journey: Why, Harry, ſaid his Maſter, did not you offer to run at my Horſe-Foot to England, when I hir'd you.

Harry wou'd ſain have forgot, that he had ſaid ſo; but his Maſter reminded him of the Particulars in ſo plain a manner, that he cou'd not deny it; but he came off with ſay⯑ing, He was always willing to ſerve his Honour, ſo all Servants call their Maſters there, but he found he was willinger than able.

No, no, Harry, ſaid his Maſter, not leſs able, but a little leſs humble (I doubt) than you [195] were; you and I muſt talk about that, Harry; pray get you another Maſter: Yes, Sir, ſays Harry, without any Heſitation, and away he went.

However, Harry bethought himſelf, and made Friends to be continued in his Ser⯑vice, and that he might go to England, for that was all he deſir'd it ſeems, when he came firſt; upon this Submiſſion Harry was receiv'd again into Favour, and came to En⯑gland with his Maſter; when he had been in England a little while, he grew like the Engliſh Servants, ſawcy and proud; but with this Addition to it, that he did not like the Wages his Maſter gave him, but he under⯑ſtood, that other Servants in England got more Wages than he did, and he wanted more Wages: Well, his Maſter, being wil⯑ling to have kept the Fellow, conſented to give him 40s. a Year more Wages, than he had agreed with him for before.

It happen'd, that Harry did ſomething wrong, that his Maſter had ſet him about, and it being ſomething of Buſineſs, which being wrong done, was ſome Diſappointment to his Maſter; he was a little angry, and took Harry up ſhort, but gave him not one hard Name, or any thing of that Kind; Harry told him impudently, He did not under⯑ſtand ſuch Language, that he had not been us'd to be ſo talk'd to, in that manner; and a great many Words he made of it.

[196] Some time after, Harry took Occaſion to let fall ſome inſolent Words among the Servants, as that he wou'd not be talk'd to by any Maſter in Britain; that his Relati⯑ons were Men of honourable Families, and he was a Gentleman, tho' he ſerv'd his Maſter ſo-and-ſo.

His Maſter heard of this, but took no no⯑tice of it; but, ſome time after, Harry had done another Fault, and it was a Fault, that in⯑deed in a Servant is intollerable; that when ſome Gentlemen had been to ſpeak with his Maſter, who was abroad, and had left Word with Harry, that they had been there, and told their Names, Harry took no care to let his Maſter know any thing of it.

When his Maſter came to hear of it, he was very much provok'd, as indeed he had Reaſon, and calling up his Man, he exa⯑min'd him, if ſuch Gentlemen had not been there, at ſuch a time? Harry own'd they had been there, and left their Names too: Well, ſays his Maſter, and what was the Reaſon that you did not give me an Ac⯑count of it, when I came home: Harry an⯑ſwer'd firſt, that he thought he had told him: His Maſter alledg'd, That cou'd not be, for then he ſhou'd not have forgot to own it to the Gentlemen, that Buſineſs be⯑ing of Conſequence to himſelf: Then Harry wou'd have ſaid he forgot it; this made his Maſter doubly angry: Why, then, did you not, ſays his Maſter, ſet it down in [197] the Book? It ſeems, his Maſter had given him a Minute-Book, and Pen and Ink, on purpoſe to ſet down ſuch Buſineſs as might happen in his Abſence.

Truly, Harry, being driven to the Ne⯑ceſſity of owning a Fault, which if he had done, there had been an End of it, grew ſawcy, and after grumbling and muttering to himſelf a-while, and his Maſter asking what he ſaid, he told him, in ſo many Words, that truly he did not give himſelf much Trou⯑ble to remember ſuch Things.

What do you mean by that, Sir, ſay his Maſter? Is it not my Buſineſs? Are you a Servant, or are you not? Harry replied, tho' he was a Servant, he was not to be talk'd in that manner to, as he had been, and he ſhou'd not trouble himſelf with Men's Buſineſs, that us'd him ſo.

Blame him not, if the Gentleman was in ſome Paſſion at this; but he turn'd ſhort upon him with a Smile; What, Harry, do you bear Malice? 'Tis above a Month ſince I ſpoke to your Worſhip in the manner you talk of, and I am ſure you deſerv'd it; and if any had Occaſion to remember it, I ſhou'd, for you were impudent enough, and do you pretend to bear it in Mind now? Yes, he ſaid, he did, and he wou'd never forgive any Man, that ſhou'd talk to him in that manner: Why then, ſays his Maſter, I am ſorry I had not can'd you then, and kick'd you out of Doors, for a Raſcal, as you deſerv'd; then [198] you had had ſomething to remember, and bear Malice for.

Harry had not much to ſay then, but ſtill kept grumbling; at length ſays his Maſter, It ſeems, I had diſoblig'd you before, Harry, and ſo you neglected my Buſineſs now on purpoſe to be even with me, was that the Caſe? Indeed, ſays Harry, ſomething of that Kind, for I do not underſtand ſuch Treat⯑ment as this: With that, his Maſter had indeed no more Patience, but flew at him, and giving him a good Kick on the Back⯑ſide, took up his Cane to have broke his Head, being provok'd at his Ingratitude; You ungrateful Dog, ſays he, did I take you to run at my Horſe Foot, and can you talk thus to me; and with that, I ſay, flew to his Cane.

But Harry was as nimble as he, and tho' he was as ſawcy as Edward, yet he had not Edward's Courage, but fled out of Doors, and walk'd off for that Night, and ſtaid two or three Days, 'till he thought his Maſter's Paſſion was over, and then he came again, and ſent in another of the Servants, to tell his Maſter, he was come to ask his Pardon.

His Maſter was eaſy enough to forgive him, but order'd his Clerk to pay him his Wages, and diſmiſs him, which was done; but there was another thing ſtill at the End of Harry's Submiſſion, and that was, he did not deſign coming back to his Duty, and [199] Service, for the Time was not up that he was hir'd for, but he was told by his Coun⯑try-men, that he might have more Wages; and he ſtudied to diſoblige his Maſter, that he might be turn'd off; but ſtill he wanted a Certificate, this is what we call (in France) a Teſtimonial of Fidelity and good Behaviour.

His Maſter told him, Ay, he wou'd give him a Certificate, ſuch as he deſerv'd: Why, Sir, ſays Harry, in his Country Tone, Have I not been honeſt and juſt? Yes, ſays his Maſter, but thou haſt been ſawcy and im⯑pudent too: Well but, Sir, ſays Harry, and you'll certify to my Honeſty; you have for⯑given me the reſt; pleaſe to certify the firſt Part.

Nay, ſays his Maſter, tho' I have forgi⯑given your Behaviour, Harry, I cannot cer⯑tify, that you did not misbehave: E'en cer⯑tify what you like, Sir, ſays Harry, and was very humble; for Harry found, that he cou'd not get a Place, without a Certificate; and his Maſter perceiv'd it, and was wil⯑ling to humble him, ſo he wrote a Certificate thus, ‘I — — do hereby certify, That Harry D—, the Bearer, ſerv'd me three Quarters of a Year, having been hir'd for a Year; that he was honeſt in what Matters of Truſt I committed to him, but diſmiſs'd by me for his inſolent Be⯑haviour, [200] and ſawcy Language. Witneſs my Hand, the 10th Day of Auguſt, 1707.’

Harry heard the Contents of this with a ſtaring Countenance, and an inexpreſſible Surprize (for his Maſter read it to him) and when he had done, only ſaid, Is that the Certificate you will pleaſe to give me? And without waiting for an Anſwer, turn'd his Back, and went off: However, Harry, like a true Villain, that cou'd fawn 'till his Purpoſe was ſerv'd, and be impudent again when it was ſerv'd; I ſay, Harry made Friends to the Gentleman's Lady, and ſhe interceeded for him to his Maſter; and conſidering it might be the poor Fellow's Ruin, at laſt he gave him a Certificate.

It was ſome time after this, that Harry being dreſs'd mighty fine, comes to the Gentle⯑man's Houſe, and his Maſter being not at home, ſent in his Name to his Lady: The Lady was ſome-how or other engag'd, but bade one of the Servants tell him, his Ma⯑ſter was not at home; ſhe cou'd not ima⯑gine indeed, the Gentleman had any Buſineſs with her, unleſs it had been to thank her for her Interceſſion; but ſhe order'd the Servants, to have him into the Kitchin, and make him eat and drink; ſo he went away; but about three or four Days after, ſends a ſawcy impudent Letter to the Lady her⯑ſelf, full of fooliſh (but rude) Language, becauſe ſhe was pleas'd to order her Servants [201] to entertain him, but did not wait upon him herſelf.

The ſame Gentleman, I mention'd above, had the Exerciſe of ſeveral ſuch Servants as theſe, and ſome worſe; one of the princi⯑pal Reaſons, that I can aſſign for it, was, that if the general Character of the Gen⯑tleman was juſt, he was only the kindeſt, and moſt conſidering Maſter imaginable to his Servants; always compaſſionate of them, eaſy with them, doing good to them, making their Lives eaſy, and their Service pleaſant.

But I muſt now give you an Example, where this Evil has prov'd tragical, both to Maſter and Servant; for as I hinted before, that the Provocations, given by Servants, are unſufferable, and that it is not always eaſy for Gentlemen, to govern their Paſſions in ſuch Caſes; ſo you may reaſonably ſuppoſe, that all Gentlemen have not the ſame Govern⯑ment of themſelves; Men are not equally patient, nor equally Philoſophers; and ſome Examples may be given, where this inſolent Behaviour of Servants has provok'd Maſters beyond their Patience.

There was a Country Gentleman of a very good Eſtate, but being a ſingle Man, (ſo they call Men here, that are not married) and having no Family, he liv'd privately, and only kept two Servants; one was a Groom, the other a kind of Gentleman to him, that is to ſay, one that always attended his [202] Maſter, dreſs'd him, and travell'd with him, and at other times was a kind of Stew⯑ard to him, did Buſineſs for him, Re⯑ceiv'd his Rents, paid Money for him, and was truſted by him to a very conſiderable Degree; and as he had always appear'd to be very honeſt, and his Maſter none of the beſt Managers, he rather too much de⯑pended upon this Servant, and ſeldom took any regular Account of his Behaviour, but left all to him.

Time and good Uſage had the uſual Ef⯑fect upon this Servant, that is to ſay, that as the Cuſtom of moſt Servants is in this Coun⯑try, that they ſoon get out of the Know⯑ledge of themſelves, they take all the Kind⯑neſs of their Maſters to be not a Favour, but a Debt to their extraordinary Merit; this Fancy of extraordinary Merit ſwells them with extraordinary Pride; and from that Time they neither know how to be⯑have to Fellow-Servants, or to Maſters them⯑ſelves: So it was here; and firſt this Fel⯑low began to mend his Figure, get a long Wig, ride with a Sword, wear a Watch in his Pocket, and the like: In conſequence of this, he look'd upon himſelf to be above the Rank of an ordinary Servant, and at length, by his particular Intereſt with his Maſter, obtain'd to throw off his Livery, and dreſs as a Gentleman.

From one Step to another, Pride knows no Bounds, firſt he learnt to inſult over his [203] Fellow Servant, and in a little time more be⯑gan to briſtle up, even to his Maſter himſelf; and that in Spight of innumerable Favours, Benefactions, and Civilities; which he had receiv'd from a Gentleman, who, however he was warm and paſſionate in extraordina⯑ry Caſes, was yet to him the beſt-humour'd Gentleman living.

His Maſter, who had ſhew'd him by a thouſand Tokens, that he had an ex⯑traordinary Reſpect for him, cou'd not yet bear to have him grow upon him, and was very nice in taking notice of it, did many Ways check, and take him ſhort in the Be⯑ginning of his new Behaviour, and ſome⯑times talk'd roundly to him about it; but it was all-one, he grew the more pert, and ſhort with his Maſter, 'till in Time, the Evil growing upon him, and he became down-right ſawcy on many Occaſions.

I cannot but obſerve here, for the Cau⯑tion of all Gentlemen, on the like Occaſi⯑ons, that they ſhou'd (if poſſible) avoid ſuch common catch-word Sayings, as have any thing ominous in them upon themſelves: This Gentleman, in reproving his Steward, as I may call him, us'd this extraordinary Ex⯑preſſion, almoſt upon all Occaſions, Prithee Humphry, don't be ſawcy; I can't bear your in⯑ſolent Tongue; I'll kill you, you Dog, if you talk ſo to me, I tell you, I'll kill you; this he often ſaid in Jeſt, after he had us'd it pretty much; if he ſent him for Money to his [204] Tennants, he wou'd add jeſtingly, Go, and get me ſome Money, I'll kill you, you Dog, if you don't bring me ſome Money; and the like, upon many other Occaſions.

Among the reſt of this unhappy Gentle⯑tleman's Misfortunes, this was one, viz. That he drank very hard, and ſometimes this impudent Fellow wou'd take upon him to reprove his Maſter for it, and that not in a modeſt way, as a cautioning him of the Miſchief of it, which he had good Humour enough to have taken very kindly; but he wou'd laugh at him, ridicule, and expoſe his Maſter, rather than modeſtly cover his Infir⯑mity; and upon his Maſter's being acquaint⯑ed with this, one time, after he had been a little in Drink, he calls his Man to him, and upbraided him with it; but he gave him ſawcy Language, which was the Occaſion of the firſt Breach between them, for his Maſter told him in few Words, he did not deſerve the Favours he had ſhewn him, and ſo in ſhort, turn'd him off.

However, in a few Days, the Fellow be⯑gan to be ſenſible of his Loſs, and went to his Maſter, ask'd him Pardon, and was, with an Abundance of good Nature, receiv'd into his Place again, and in as much Favour as ever.

By that time he had been in Place again, long enough to forget the Favour, and to forget the Senſe he had had of it before, he be⯑came [205] juſt as ſawcy and inſolent as he was before.

It happen'd, one Night, that his Maſter ſtay'd out very late, and his Gentleman ſit⯑ting up for him, was very finely gotten faſt aſleep, in his Maſter's Parlour, and in his eaſy Chair, by the Fire: About four a-Clock in the Morning, his Maſter rung at the Door; and the Groom, or Footman, comes running into the Parlour, to call the Stew⯑ard, believing he might be aſleep; and he was indeed ſo dead aſleep, that he cou'd not be preſently wak'd; ſo that while the Foot⯑man was waking him, his Maſter was at his Heels, and was come into the Parlour him⯑ſelf: The Dialogue between the Groom and the Steward was very ſhort, but being much to the Purpoſe, 'tis very needful to give you the Particulars of it, as follows.

Mr. Humphry, Mr. Humphry, my Maſter's come.

Ha, what? And then Hum⯑phry ſnor'd again.

Nay, Mr. Humphry, wake; I tell you my Maſter's come.

What? Ha! Come! Who's come? What? And ſnores again.

Why, my Maſter's come, Mr. Hum⯑phry; he'll be here this Minure; get up, I ſay.

O, O, Is he come? Is the old Dog come then? D— him, 'tis very well [206] indeed; a fine Time of Night, D— him; a fine Time, truly: I ſuppoſe, the old Rogue is drunk enough; pray, who brought him home?

All the while the Sot ſaid this laſt Part, his Maſter ſtood, and heard every Word of it, for he was come in within the Parlour-Door; ſo when he had done, his Maſter be⯑gan: O, Mr. Humphry, ſays he, what, are you got drunk before me to Night? And ſpoke it merrily enough; for it happen'd, to Mr. Humphry's Misfortune, that his Maſter was not drunk that Night; or at moſt, not ſo drunk as he uſually was, ſo that he had Temper enough to manage his Gentleman Mr. Humphry, pretty well; for he caus'd him to give up all his Truſts and Books, which he uſually kept, that very Night, and turn'd him out of Doors the next Morning.

Mr. Humphry wou'd fain have ſtaid next Morning, and gave his Maſter very good Words; but it wou'd not do; his Maſter was warmer then, by a great deal, than he was over-night: No, no, Humphry, ſays he, you and I muſt part; I can't bear ſuch as this; adding, I ſhall certainly kill you, one time or other, if you ſtay, therefore get you gone, I ſay, or I am ſure I ſhall kill you: So Mr. Humphry was oblig'd to pack up, and be gone.

Well, notwithſtanding all this abominable Treatment, Mr. Humphry, upon an Acknow⯑ledgment of his Fault, and the Interceſſion [207] of ſome Friends, which he got to ſpeak to his Maſter in his Favour, was taken in again a third time, about half a Year after, and was re-inſtated in the ſame Place as be⯑fore.

He had, upon his Application to his Maſter to be reſtor'd, humbled himſelf ve⯑ry much, acknowledg'd that he was in Drink, and knew not what he ſaid; and asking Pardon, had aſſur'd his Maſter of his future good Behaviour, and for ſome time he was a tollerable good Servant.

But there is no changing of Nature: Mr. Humphry ſoon forgot the Eaſy Chair, and the Story of calling his Maſter hard Names, as above; and grew juſt the ſame individual Mr. Humphry as he was before; and in particular, as ſawcy to his Maſter, upon ſeveral Occaſions: It happen'd one Night, that his Maſter got ſo very drunk, at a neighbouring Gentleman's Houſe, that he cou'd not get home, but as he was ri⯑ding homewards, fell off from his Horſe; but it being in a Country Village where he was known, the People at an Inn, took him up, and ſent to his Houſe, for his Ser⯑vants to come and fetch him.

He kept no Coach, nor he cou'd not fit on Horſe-back; ſo his two Men thought themſelves oblig'd to carry him home in a Chair (it being near two Miles off) and that, not a Chair (as we call it) ſuch as [208] ply in the Streets of London, but a meet plain Country Chair; when they were juſt coming out of the Inn, comes up Mr. Hum⯑phry, and he falls upon his Maſter, with a thouſand inſolent Reproaches; calling him Drunken old Rogue, and the like; and in a Word, made the two Men ſet him down, and get a Cart to carry him home in.

Every-body cry'd out againſt Mr. Hum⯑phry, for offering ſuch an Affront to his Maſter; told him it was a Shame, and the like: But his Maſter, that cou'd juſt ſpeak, and that was all, call'd out, that he wou'd have the Cart, ay, he wou'd have the Cart; Humphry, you Dog, ſays he, bring the Cart, I will have the Cart, I tell you; and at laſt adds, I'll kill you, you Dog, if you don't give me the Cart: This made the Country People quiet; and ſo Mr. Humphry (like him⯑ſelf) put his Maſter into the Cart, and carried him home.

The next Day, when his Maſter was ſo⯑ber, and come to know, how he had been us'd by his Man, he conceiv'd ſuch an ir⯑reconcileable Grudge againſt him, as was ne⯑ver to be wip'd off, and was at laſt fatal to them both.

That Part of the Story is tragical, and wou'd be too long for a Letter; neither is it to my preſent Purpoſe: But the ſhort of it is this, that this unhappy Gentleman be⯑ing another time a little in Drink, and Humphry [209] giving him ſome provoking Language one Night, as they were going home from a Ta⯑vern, his Maſter (in a Paſſion) run him into the Body, and laid him dead at his Foot; for which he was try'd at the Country AſſI⯑zes, and the old Grudge being prov'd, the Jury brought him in guilty of wilful Mur⯑der, and it coſt him his Life.

LETTER VIII.

I Told you, at my Beginning to write on this flagrant Subject, I did not intend to trouble you with an Ac⯑count of the Diſhoneſty, the thie⯑ving, and whoring among Servants, for that theſe had been frequent, not only in all Ages, but in all Nations: There have always been Thieves and Whores, who get into Peo⯑ples Houſes, under the Characters of honeſt Servants, even with Deſign to rob the Fami⯑lies, and the like; and to talk of theſe wou'd be, to ſay nothing new; yet you muſt allow me to obſerve, that there were never ſo ma⯑ny ſuch as now. I have been told, our famous Thief-taker (as they call him) has a Liſt of 7000 Newgate-Birds, now in Services in this City, and Parts adjacent, all with Intent to rob the Houſes they are in; and the Reaſon of this I hinted at in one of my laſt, namely, that it is certainly encreas'd by the Pride and Inſo⯑lence, which Servants in general are now ar⯑riv'd to; for that (as I ſaid then) when once Servants are brought to contemn the Perſons and Authority of their Maſters, or Miſtreſſes, or Employers, they ſoon come to deſpiſe their [211] Intereſts; and at laſt to break into their Proper⯑ty; and thus they become Thieves, in a man⯑ner inſenſible, and by the meer Conſequence of the Thing.

But I am now to deſcribe to you, that Sort of Thieving and Robbery, which is practis'd by thoſe we call honeſt Servants in England, or at leaſt, by thoſe who call themſelves ho⯑neſt; and who, as I ſaid in my Laſt, wou'd think themſelves very much affronted, if they ſhou'd be call'd diſhoneſt, or be deny'd Teſti⯑monials of their Honeſty.

The firſt is Loſs of Time: If I hire a Ser⯑vant, or a Workman, by the Day, or by the Week; the Meaning of the Agreement is, that my Money is their Due, when the Hours, which they were to work, are expir'd; and their Time is my Due, if they expect their Wages: He that defrauds me of any Part of the Time that he makes me pay for, is as much a Thief, as if he broke open my Cabi⯑net, and took away ſo much Money, as thoſe Hours (ſo waſted) came to: This is certainly juſt, but it is impoſſible to perſwade any Ser⯑vant of this, and they ſo little value it, as a Diſhoneſty, that (generally ſpeaking) they ſcorn to acknowledge it, either to God or Man.

A Friend of mine, in the Country, had a warm Scuffle with one of theſe honeſt Ser⯑vants, upon this Foot, a few Months ago: He had order'd his Gardener, in particular, to make a Hot-bed, for the raiſing ſome nice [212] Plants, which he (being curious that way) took great Delight in, and had a Value for: The Fellow took his Orders, and went out into the Garden, as if he went to make the Hot-bed; but it happen'd, that in a Field, juſt without his Garden-Wall, there was ſome young Fellows playing at Cricket, a Sport which the Country People, in this Part of En⯑gland, very much delight in.

Three times the Gentleman went down in⯑to his Garden, to ſee what Progreſs his Gar⯑dener had made in the Hot-bed; at the firſt time he found him at the Work, having made a Beginning, which was as much as he cou'd expect for the Time that he had been about it: The ſecond time he went down, which was two or three Hours after, and found he had not done one Stroke towards it, more than he had done at firſt, and that he was not at the Work; whereupon calling him, he found he was at the Back-door of the Garden, look⯑ing out into the Field: As ſoon as he heard his Maſter call him, he came in, fell to the Work, told him, that he was but juſt ſtept to the Door, from the Work, that Minute; which, tho' it was falſe, yet paſs'd well enough, and my Friend ſaid little to him at that time; nor did he know any-thing of the attractive Sport that was in the Field, which occaſion'd his Gardener's idle Humour at that time; but ſeeing him fall to work hard while he ſtaid, he left him again for two or three Hours more, and then comes again, to look at the Work; [213] but, inſtead of the Work going on, his Gar⯑dener was at the ſame Sport, and at the ſame Garden-Door as before, only that being pret⯑ty ſharp in looking out for his Maſter, he was ſo nimble as to ſhut the Garden Back⯑door, and ſculk behind ſome fine trim'd Hedg⯑es, that ſtood convenient for his Purpoſe, and ſo get to the Hot-bed before his Maſter; but as Eyes are quicker than Feet, his Maſter happen'd to ſee him, tho' he thought he had not.

As the Gardener thought he had not been ſeen, ſo his Maſter did not let him know, at firſt, that he had ſeen him; but when he came to the Hot-bed, and found little or no⯑thing done, more than was done when he left him before, he queſtion'd him (tho' calmly) what was the Meaning that his Orders had not been executed, and the Hot-bed made? he knowing that the Plants he had to ſet in it, had lain out of the Ground all the while, and wou'd be in Danger of ſpoiling: The Fel⯑low ſaid, He had work'd very hard at it, and done what he cou'd, and he cou'd do no more than he had done, in that Time, and the like; grumbling a little, as if he was not juſtly blam'd.

His Maſter, ſtill concealing that he knew any-thing of what was the Caſe, argued with him a-while how little was done, and told him, that if an Hour's Work or two in a Day had been miſſing, he might indeed not have been able to perceive it, or at leaſt, his Gardener [214] might pretend to impoſe upon him; but when, inſtead of miſſing an Hour or two's Work in a Day, there was not an Hour's Work done in the Day, he cou'd not be de⯑ceiv'd ſo much; and that he expected, when he order'd a Thing to be done, it ſhou'd be diſpatch'd, and not the Time ſpent at Back⯑doors, and chatting with Companions, &c.

This was enough to make a Fellow, who had Manners little enough without it, to be ſurly, and (perhaps) ſawcy: However, he began a little low at firſt, told his Maſter, he work'd as hard as he cou'd, and he (his Maſter) was never ſatisfied; that he cou'd not work harder, not he, and the like.

Perhaps you may work hard, when you are at it, ſays his Maſter, and, perhaps, you may work as hard as you can; but then you can't ſay, you have work'd as long as you can too, or as long as you ought: I was only out at the Back-door two Minutes in the Morning, ſays he, no Maſter in England wou'd make ſo many Words about ſuch a Trifle, and I am ſure I have ſetch'd it up ſince: The Maſter ſmil'd at him, and ſaid nothing for a-while; but finding him ſtill grow hot and ſawcy, he told him, that in Pity to him, and to pre⯑vent his telling more Lyes, he wou'd let him know, that he found him the ſecond time at the Garden-Door, and told him, how long he had been there, and how he ſlunk in, and which way he went round to the Hot-bed, to avoid his ſeeing him.

[215] Inſtead of modeſtly acknowledging his Fault, and asking his Maſter's Pardon, he told him, he had little to do indeed, to watch a poor Servant, that he cou'd not ſtir to ſpeak to a Friend, but he muſt be at his Heels; that he was a Servant, but wou'd not be a Slave; that he knew how to do his Work, as well as another, without being watch'd: And thus the Fellow run on impudentiy, as if his Maſter had injur'd him, in the higheſt Degree, by diſcovering him: However, his Maſter commanded his Paſſion all this while, but when he ſaid, he knew how to do his Work well enough without being watch'd, his Ma⯑ſter took him up, as if with a kind of a Jeſt too; Well, ſays his Maſter, but you know, 'tis natural to watch a THIEF.

A Thief! Says the Gardener, a Thief! And repeating it ſeveral times, flew into, not a Paſſion of Sawcineſs, but even a Rage; told his Maſter, he was as honeſt a Man as him⯑ſelf; that he ſcorn'd a Maſter that ſhou'd call him a Thief, and he wou'd not take it from the beſt Maſter that evet kept a Servant; he had robb'd him of nothing, and was no Thief, and wou'd not be call'd ſo, and he wou'd make him prove it, and the like.

Well, hold, ſays his Maſter, don't be ſo hot; if you put me to prove it, I do inſiſt upon it, and I ſhall not only prove it, but puniſh you for it too; I ſay, you have robb'd me of the Time which I pay you for, not only to Day, but many Days; and that Servant, that robs [216] me of my Time, and of his Work in the time that I hire him for, robs me of my Mo⯑ney, and is as much a Thief, as if he ſtole my Money out of my Houſe, or out of my Pocket.

O dear! ſays the Gardener, is that your Thieving you charge me with? Will you make a Man a Thief for that? I think, and know myſelf to be as honeſt a Man as any in England for all that: Why, hark you, Sir, ſays his Maſter, do I pay you your Wages, or do I not? Well, he ſaid, he did not deny but he had his Wages: And what do I give you Wages for, ſays his Maſter?

Why, for my Work, ſays the Gardener.

And what if you do not work, ſays his Ma⯑ſter, and yet take my Money as if you did, as is the Caſe to Day?

Why, he ſaid, he did not ſay, but it was wrong to take his Money, and not do his Work, but he did not do ſo.

Prithee, ſays his Maſter, don't tell me of its being wrong, and ſuch Stuff as that, I tell thee, 'tis Thieving, and neither better nor worſe; and when you tell me a Lye, and tell me you have been at work, when I know you have been at the Alehouſe, and out of your Buſineſs, and by that Cheat you take my Mo⯑ney, as if you had been at work; I ſay, that is robbing me, and when you do ſo, you are a Thief; there's no mincing the Matter.

[217] Well, this Word Thief ran ſo in his Head, and ſtuck ſo in his Stomach, that notwith⯑ſtanding his Maſter talk'd all this very calm⯑ly to him, yet his Blood was fir'd with it, and he cou'd not work; but, as ſoon as his Maſter's Back was turn'd, he ſtuck up his Spade, and his Fork in the Ground, and away he goes out, at the Back-door, to the Alehouſe; gets very drunk, and came not home, 'till about one a-Clock in the Morn⯑ing; when being, by his Maſter's Order, ſhut out, he went back, and lodg'd as he cou'd; and in the Morning, when he came again, his Maſter order'd his other Servants, to tell him at the Door, that his Maſter had no more Buſineſs for him.

He made many Attempts, and got ſeveral Perſons to interceed for him, for he had a very good Place of it; but his Maſter was inflexible; ſo he came for his Tools, had his Wages, and was diſmiſs'd.

When he was going away, he told his Ma⯑ſter, that as he had ſerv'd him ſo long, and had never differ'd with him before, he hop'd he wou'd give him a Certificate: I ſhall ex⯑plain what is meant here by a Certificate hereafter, when I come to that Part.

A Certificate, ſays his Maſter! Yes, I'll give thee a Certificate, if thou deſireſt it.

Yes, ſays the Gardener, I deſire it, if you pleaſe.

Why, ſays his Maſter, I believe thou had'ſt better take no Certificate; you know, added [218] his Maſter, you ſaid you cou'd have Places enough.

Well, Sir, ſays the Gardener, but I hope you won't ſcruple ſuch a Trifile as that.

No, ſays his Maſter, but I tell thee, thou may'ſt do better without it.

Why ſo, Sir, ſays the Gardener?

Why, ſays the Maſter, becauſe it will do thee no Good.

Yes, he ſaid, it wou'd do him good to be ſure, when he came to ſee another Place.

Why, look you, ſays his Maſter, ſuch a Cer⯑tificate as I muſt give you, will do you no good, indeed.

Why, ſays he, will you not give me ſuch a Certificate as the Law directs?

Yes indeed will I, ſays his Maſter, and that is ſuch as is according to your Deſert.

Why, ſaid the Gardener, I have been an ho⯑neſt Servant.

No, hold there, ſays the Maſter, I can't ſay that indeed.

Why, ſays the Gardener, what, will you put this little trifling Difference into a Certi⯑ficate?

I'll put in nothing but the Truth, ſays the Maſter.

What Truth, ſays the Gardener? And be⯑gan to be ſawcy again.

Look you, ſays the Maſter, don't be ſawcy again, for I will not lye for you, nor aſſiſt you to deceive any-body elſe, as you have me.

[219] Well, ſays the Gardener, give me a Certi⯑ficate, and put what you will into it, ſay your worſt, I value it not.

Say you ſo, ſays his Maſter, well, my Cer⯑tificate ſhall be juſt and fair, and make you your beſt of it; upon which he wrote his Certificate, as follows.‘I A— W— do hereby certify, that the Bearer G— M—. ſerv'd me as my chief Gardener, two Years and one Quar⯑ter; that he is a Perſon capable of diſ⯑charging the Place of a Gardener, but was diſmiſs'd by me for neglecting his Buſineſs, robbing me of my Time, and for his ſawcy Tongue. Witneſs my Hand this twentieth Day of Auguſt, 1721. A— W—’

I ſhall have Occaſion to give you a farther Relation of this Affair of the Certificate, ſo I ſay no more to it now, only this; the Fellow took it, and went away, and had ſo little Wit as to ſhew it among his Comrades, and Fellow-Gardeners, which he did (as he thought) to expoſe his Maſter; but they in return made it publick, and the poor Fellow became ſo known by it, that indeed it was an effectual Certificate to him, for no Gen⯑tleman wou'd employ him, and he kept out of Place, 'till he was almoſt ſtarv'd; but of that alſo hereafter.

[220] I ſhou'd have told you, that in he firſt Diſcourſe between this Gentleman and his Gardener, he ask'd the Fellow the Queſtion in few Words, that I formerly ask'd my O⯑verſeer, namely, Whether he did not think it a Theft to rob his Maſter of his Time, if he took Wages of him for it, and did not work? He ſaid, as above, he own'd it ſhou'd not be ſo, and that it ſhou'd not be ſo often: But when his Maſter ask'd him again, and kept him to it, that it was Robbery, he anſwer'd, no indeed, he did not think any-thing like it; he might ſay it was a Fault, but every Fault did not make a Man a Thief.

No, no, ſays his Maſter, I ſuppoſe you count nothing Thievery but what a Man muſt (or may) be hang'd, or tranſported for.

Truly, he ſaid, he thought it was no Theft, for the Law had not made any Puniſhment for it, and if it had been Theft, there wou'd have been a Law againſt it.

Very well, ſays his Maſter, there is no Law expreſly to puniſh a Man with corporal Pu⯑niſhment for being a Bankrupt, and yet we of⯑ten ſay, that in ſome Caſes a Bankrupt is no better than a Highwayman; nay, that he deſerves to be hang'd a thouſand times more than one that robs upon the Road.

The Gardener, however, wou'd not yield to it on any Account whatſoever, that rob⯑bing his Maſter of his Time ought to be cal⯑led Robbing him at all, or Theft; that it was but what the Spaniards call a Peccadillo, a [221] ſmall Fault, that there was nothing in it, but it was what every-body did as well as he, and therefore he might do it as well as every⯑body elſe.

This impudent barefac'd robbing their Ma⯑ſters of their Time, and juſtifying that it is no Theft, is the Foundation of almoſt all the impudent Carriage of thoſe kind of Servants, whoſe Service conſiſts in Labour; for (firſt) it makes them impatient of Reproof, and ſawcy, if they are ſpoken to, as if they were injur'd, not their Maſters; that they ought to have the Liberty to play at their Work, when they thought fit, and that the Maſter had not Right to take any Notice of it; and if they are put away for ſuch Behaviour, they take upon them to rail plentifully at the Injuſtice of it.

And this brings me to a Part I have not ſpoken to yet, namely, the manner in which the Servants generally behave here in Eng⯑land, when they are diſmiſs'd any Service.

• 1. It is very ſeldom that a Servant can be put away by any Gentleman, but that, as above, they are full of it, that they are injur'd; that they were put away for nothing, or ſome Trifle; nay, 'tis very ſeldom they will own, that they were put away at all; but that they wou'd ſerve no longer; that they did not like; and that they had come away upon ſome very juſt Diſcontent; and 'tis [222] very rare, but on ſuch Occaſions they will raiſe ſome ſcandalous Lye or other on the Family they come from.
• 2. But on the other-hand, if the Crime is notorious, and they have nothing to ſay to hide it, then their Behaviour is ſtill worſe, and they rail at, and abuſe the whole Family, in the groſſeſt manner poſſible.

From one or both theſe Caſes it generally happens, that whenever a Gentleman turns away a Servant in this Country, he is ſure to make an Enemy: I hinted this before, when I told you how far this goes with the Gentlemen here, and how patiently they ſub⯑mit to be bullied and inſulted by their Ser⯑vants, for Fear of being rail'd at, and abus'd by them, when they are gone: But I muſt add alſo, that it is not always ſo neither; ſometimes an unthankful Rogue meets with a Maſter that knows how to deal with him; and for your Diverſion I ſhall here give you a Story that has very lately been the Subject of Satisfaction to all our Neighbourhood.

A certain Citizen, who had his Country Houſe in a Village near London, had a Ser⯑vant, who he had kept many Years, and had employ'd him in ſeveral matters of Buſineſs, as well as meer Servitude; and having had him ſo long, that he was (as it were) natu⯑raliz'd [223] to the Family, it appear'd that he had really a Kindneſs for the Fellow.

Had the Man had the uſe of but a mo⯑derate Share of common Senſe, he might have conſider'd, that tho' his Maſter had a Kindneſs for him, and did often bear with, and paſs by his Miſdemeanours, yet that he might one time or other come to be tir'd of him; and that it was not in human Na⯑ture to be always winking at the Abuſes, and ill Behaviour of a Servant; it was eaſy for him to know, that his Maſter did not wink, becauſe he cou'd not ſee, for he knew his Maſter was no Fool; and he was himſelf not Fool enough to be ignorant, that whatever he was formerly, he was now be⯑come a very unſufferable Fellow, and ſuch as no Maſter cou'd, or indeed ought to bear with.

But whatever he might ſee, and know of himſelf, nothing cou'd bring him (it ſeems) to reform, or to mend his Manners; but he grew worſe and worſe; was drunken, idle, pilfering, and withal, an intolerable Swear⯑er: To compleat it all, he grew ſawcy and inſolent to his Maſter; as I have told you, they all do; and whenever he got Drink in his Head, was more particularly abuſive to his Maſter, than at other times.

His Maſter, whoſe particular Averſion was the Vice of Drunkenneſs, but more eſpecially in his Servants, had ſeveral times differ'd with him upon that particular Occaſion; [224] and ſometimes, as well as he lov'd him, had turn'd him away for it, but was ſtill prevail'd with, by ſome Interceſſion or other, and par⯑ticularly by his Reſpect which he had for the Fellow, to take him again.

This Fellow harden'd in that Part of his Carriage, which particularly merits the Name of Ingratitude, and which render'd him moſt baſe, becauſe offer'd to a Maſter, and a Fa⯑mily, to which he was bound by infinite Ob⯑ligations; ſuch as rating the Station he was in, namely, of a Servant, were as binding in their Nature as he was capable of receiv⯑ing; yet behav'd ſo, that he became a Nu⯑ſance even to the whole Family; and indeed unſufferable, for he was not only a Thief, a Drunkard, idle, and negligent in his Buſineſs; and withal, intolerably rude, and ſawcy, when reprov'd; but he introdu'd other Thie⯑ving into the Family, which were at laſt ex⯑pos'd, by the very Obſervation of the Neigh⯑bours, who cou'd not ſee the Family ſo abus'd, without acquainting them of it.

Upon this, his Maſter turn'd him, and his Dependants off, and diſmiſs'd him his Service; and yet even this his Maſter did with Calmneſs, and without doing himſelf that Juſtice upon him, which the Law wou'd have juſtify'd him in; for the Laws here in matters of that Nature, are ſuch, that this Fellow wou'd have been tranſported, if his Maſter had thought fit to have carried his Re⯑ſentment [225] on to Extremity; but in Compaſ⯑ſion to him and his Family he forebore that Part.

But no ſooner was the Fellow diſmiſs'd, but he run about the Town, raging, and ſwearing at, and damning his Maſter, and the whole Family, from whom he had re⯑ceiv'd ſo much good Uſage, and ſo many Favours; repreſenting his Uſage as unjuſt, and injurious, and as if he had done nothing to merit being turn'd off, or that being put out of his Service had cancell'd all the Ob⯑ligation of former Favours; a thouſand ſcan⯑dalous Lies were rais'd, and ſpread about by him, thro' the Town; and, in a Word, he fail'd not to give all poſſible Teſtimonies of the utmoſt Spite, Malice, and Rage, a⯑gainſt the whole Family; where he, and his Family, had (for ſeveral Years together) been ſo well us'd, and ſo much oblig'd.

But as the Characters of the Family were plac'd by Providence out of his Reach, and that all the Neighbourhood knew how much better they had merited from him, it re⯑turn'd all in his Face; nor did his Maſter, or the Family, much mind him; for as it was below their Reſentment; they took not the leaſt Notice of it, or of them; but the Fellow grew infamous by it, and gradually grew poor alſo, which muſt be the Iſſue of ſuch Conduct, for no Families of Note wou'd entertain him.

[226] It is true, Contempt is the beſt, and indeed the only way to treat ſuch Fellows with, and 'tis ſo ſevere a Puniſhment upon them, for their Behaviour, that it exceeds either the Stocks, or the Correction-Poſt; but the Hardſhip upon Gentlemen, even in the Pra⯑ctice of ſo much Self-denial, as that of ſup⯑preſſing their own Reſentments in ſuch Ca⯑ſes, is very great; and there are ſome Caſes in Families, where the Abuſes receiv'd by ſuch People can't be paſs'd by; and this leads me to ſome Particulars, which really good Families are ſo much abus'd in, by the Villany of turn'd-off Servants, both Men and Women, that it can't, I ſay, be put up, without infinite Injuſtice to themſelves.

Nor indeed can this Article be well omitted, becauſe it has gone a greater Length in Family-Miſchiefs, than any Part I have yet ſpoken to, and has been the Ruin of ſome Families of Note, within theſe few Years: The Fact is branch'd out into two Particulars.

• 1. The Liberty theſe abuſive Creatures, call'd Servants, take with the Reputa⯑tion of the Families they go from; and, in particular, ſacrificing the Characters of the Young-Ladies, wherever they come.
• 2. The Treachery of them, in betraying Young-Ladies of Fortune, into the Hands of Villains, and Scoundrels; [227] either to debauch them, or to Marriages, many ways as fatal as the other wou'd be.

That the Inſults of Servants is riſen up to the firſt Pitch of Villany, is now ſo notorious, that a thouſand Inſtances is to be given of it, and the Remedy is ſo hard to be found, that the only Hope now left us for the Evil of it, ſeems to lie in the Pra⯑ctice, being ſo ſcandalous, that no Perſons, of any tolerable Degree of Prudence, will lay any Streſs upon it: The Inſtances of ſuch Attempts, having appear'd meerly ma⯑licious, are innumerable: Some Examples of this I cannot omit; it is true, they carry me a little off from the Men-Servants, this Part being chiefly in the way of the Wo⯑men, or Maid-Servants; but the Men are not without their Share of it.

A certain eminent Family, within the Com⯑paſs of my Knowledge, had a particular Affront of this Kind put upon them, by a certain Maid-Servant, as ſhe was ſuppos'd to be: The Lady being newly dead, the Gentleman (having three or four Child⯑ren) had hir'd a Houſe-keeper to manage the Family, and kept two Maid-Servants under her, beſides the Cook.

The Houſe-keeper was a ſober, grave Wo⯑man, that had a bad Husband, but he was yet alive, and as her Family was reduc'd by his Extravagance, and himſelf got faſt by the [228] Heels in the Fleet-Priſon, ſhe was glad to get into ſuch a Place as this was, for her Support; her Maſter, directing what Ser⯑vants he intended to keep, had left it to this Woman (his Houſe-keeper) to hire ſuch as ſhe thought proper for his Buſineſs; and ſhe letting her Husband know that they wanted a Chamber-Maid (perhaps innocently too) that he might, if he heard of any, ſend them to her, he ſends her a Creature, of his own procuring, to be hir'd; and as the moſt impudent Creatures are ſometimes more than ordinarily qualify'd to counterfeit that Mo⯑deſty, which they are not at-all bleſs'd with, ſo this Maid appear'd with the Air of a mo⯑deſt ſober Girl, as much as cou'd be deſir'd, and not only the Houſe-keeper, but the Maſter himſelf was very well pleas'd with her.

She had not, however, been long in the Family, but, with a Subtlety beyond the Devil, ſhe cauſes a Feud in the Family, be⯑tween the Houſe-keeper and another Maid, who was properly call'd the Nurſery-Maid; and this ſhe manag'd with ſuch Dexterity, that even the two Parties themſelves did not ſo much as ſuſpect, that ſhe (the Chamber Maid) had any hand in it: This Quarrel run up to ſuch a Height, that, in a Word, it begin to embroil the Family; for every Day (more or leſs) this Nurſery Maid was affronting the Houſe-keeper, 'till at length, the Cauſe came before the Maſter of the [229] Houſe, who ſeeing his Houſe-keeper evident⯑ly in the right, began calmly to perſwade the Maid to be quiet, and to make no more Diſturbance in the Family, but to mend what was complain'd of, and do her Buſi⯑neſs as ſhe ſhou'd do.

The Maid ſeeing her Maſter, tho' he had ſpoken very little to her Diſadvantage, yet apparently againſt her, inſtead of taking qui⯑etly the Reproof which was ſo much her Due, flies out in a Kind of Paſſion, and went raving about the Houſe, among the other Servants, telling them, it was eaſy to ſee which way things went, and that the Houſe-keeper wou'd be ſure to trample poor Ser⯑vants under Foot, when ſhe had her Maſter on her ſide; and, in a Word, behav'd very ſawcily, and indeed impudently to her Ma⯑ſter, intimating little leſs, but that ſhe had been told, that he was, in ſhort, too great with his Houſe-keeper.

So great is the Power of Scandal, and ſo greedily do the Minds of the common People entertain any thing that ſavours of Reproach, that tho' the Maſter himſelf, believing his Character to be out of the Reach of ſuch Tongues, deſpis'd it, yet he ſoon found, that it had got Vent in the Family, and even in the Neighbourhood alſo; for ſome, who were concern'd for the Reputation of the Gen⯑tleman himſelf, came and acquainted him with it.

[230] He was a little alarm'd at it then in⯑deed, and call'd his Houſe-keeper to a hear⯑ing, for ſhe was alarm'd at it, as well as he; the Servants were then call'd together, and examin'd before the Houſe-keeper's Face, and the two Neighbours preſent; all the Servants gave her a Character greater than ſhe deſir'd, and declar'd, that they never ſaw the leaſt Indecency in her Behaviour, in their Lives; and it was more particularly obſerv'd, that the two Servants, who were really the Traytors in this Wickedneſs, were the forwardeſt, when it came thus to a hear⯑ing, to juſtify their Maſter, and the Houſe-keeper alſo, and with the greateſt Expreſſions of Kindneſs to the one, and Reſpect for the other.

But this look'd ſo ill among the reſt of the Servants, that one of them, who indeed had been ſuſpected, took the Occaſion (in order to vindicate herſelf) to take the Maid ſhort, and tell her, before her Maſter, and the Houſe-keeper, that ſhe had been the for⯑wardeſt to talk of the Houſe-keeper, in a manner that did not become her, and began to be particular with her, and ſeem'd in⯑clin'd to enter into ſome Diſcovery.

But the ſubtle Wench, the Nurſery-Maid, took her up ſhort, and ſaid, that was only in Mirth, and jeſting with one another, when ſhe had told a Story of a certain Gentleman, that had been a little familiar with his Houſe keeper; but that ſhe had not the [231] leaſt Thought of what was now ſuggeſted; that her Maſter had indeed been againſt her, in a Diſpute between her and the Houſe⯑keeper, but that was as he pleas'd, ſhe thought no Harm upon that Account; and down ſhe falls upon her Knees, and makes loud Imprecations on herſelf, if ever ſhe en⯑tertain'd a Thought to the Prejudice of her Maſter's Reputation, or of the Houſe-keep⯑er's either; and this Part of what ſhe ſaid was really true, for ſhe knew (within her⯑ſelf) that ſhe did not believe what ſhe had reported, but that ſhe had rais'd it all ma⯑liciouſly, and of her own Head, or at leaſt by the Inſtigation of the other Maid, mention'd above, who, ſhe alſo knew, did it with a Deſign to ſupplant the Houſe⯑keeper.

However, this Creature manag'd her De⯑ſence with ſo much Art, and fac'd down the other Maid with ſo much Confidence, and ſo many Words, that they were all diſmiſs'd; the Maſter was defam'd, and the poor Houſe⯑keeper not only blaſted in her Reputation, but her Husband was enrag'd, and (tho' a Priſoner) was hardly kept from inſulting the Gentleman, and his Wife too; and tho' all this went on to a very unhappy Length, yet ſtill the Servants were all purg'd, and ſtood clear of being the Inſtruments.

But the Maſter of the Houſe, as he was made uneaſy at firſt, was much more ſo, when he found that (notwithſtanding all his [232] Servants had ſaid) the Scandal encreas'd, and ſpread farther and farther upon him; and beſides that, he had ſome Intimations, that this Nurſery-Maid, notwithſtanding all ſhe had ſaid before, and notwithſtanding all her Imprecations, had ſtill let fall ſome lit⯑tle Reflections, and had ſhewn, that nothing but Fear reſtrain'd her, for ſhe was reſolv'd to ruin the Houſe-keeper, if ſhe cou'd, ha⯑ving retain'd an implacable Grudge againſt her, from the firſt Quarrel, as above.

Upon this, the Gentleman order'd that Maid to be turn'd off, and giving her a Month's Wages (not a Month's Warning) had her turn'd out of Doors that very Night; he wou'd not order the Houſe-keeper to do it, becauſe he wou'd not encreaſe the Quarrel between them; then as he found, that howe⯑ver innocent the poor Woman was, the Re⯑proach wou'd never die, unleſs ſhe was re⯑mov'd too, he reſolv'd to put her off al⯑ſo; tho', as he was fully ſatisfy'd of the Wrong done to her, he thought it was par⯑ticularly hard upon her, as it was alſo upon himſelf, with Reſpect to his Family, becauſe ſhe was a very uſeful and faithful Servant.

The poor Woman was under a great Affliction, the Loſs of her Place being a Kind of Ruin to her, the Circumſtances of herſelf, and of her Husband conſider'd; but ſhe was confounded, and her coming from her Place made leſs grievous to her, when [233] going from her Maſter's Houſe, directly to her Huſband in the Fleet Priſon, inſtead of receiving her kindly, as he us'd to do, he flew out in a Rage at her, abus'd her, and fell upon her with his Hands too, that ſhe had much a-do (and not but by crying out, and ſome of the Priſoners coming in to help her) to eſcape with her Life, and all the while knew nothing what the Reaſon of it all was; after his firſt Fury was over, and ſhe cou'd get Room to talk with him, he charg'd her poſitively with being a Whore, and a Whore to her Maſter, and ſhew'd her a Letter, which he had written to her Ma⯑ſter, reproaching him with abuſing him in debauching his Wife, intimating, that if his Misfortunes had not pinn'd him down in ſuch a Place as he was in, he wou'd have come, and taken his Revenge with his own Hands.

When the poor Woman ſaw this Letter, and what Miſchiefs had been ſo near her, ſhe was glad in her Mind, that ſhe was come away from her Maſter, for that ſhe ſaw things were gone too far to have been otherwiſe; but ſhe ſet herſelf with all her Cunning, to find out (if poſſible) who it cou'd be, who had carried their Malice to ſuch a Height.

There was a poor Woman in the Priſon, whoſe Buſineſs it was to clean the Rooms, run of Errands, tend ſick Priſoners, and any ſuch things as Occaſion offer'd, to get her Bread; this Woman was a ſenſible good [234] Sort of body, and ſharp enough, and above all, had a ſingular Character in the Place for her Faithfulneſs, and Honeſty to her Truſt.

This poor Creature was either in the Man's Chamber, or near it, when he fell foul on his Wife, as is ſaid above, and did her En⯑deavour to deliver the poor Wife out of his Hands, and conſequently came to know ſome⯑thing of the Caſe.

After the Man's Wife (the Houſekeeper) had, as I have ſaid, got a little farther into the Affair, and found how it ſtood between her and her Husband, ſhe took this poor Woman aſide, and engaging her to Secrecy, and to aſſiſt her, told her the whole Caſe, and withal (giving her ſomething in hand, with Promiſe of more) employ'd her to find out (if poſſible) who it was that cou'd be thus malicious, to bring ſuch a horrid Story to her Husband.

In the mean time, to go back to the Nur⯑ſery-Maid, as ſhe was turn'd off with ſome Reſentment, ſo ſhe went away full of Reſentment; and ſhe was no ſooner out of the Houſe, but ſhe went about, railing at the Houſe-keeper, and at her Maſter too; openly calling the firſt a Whore, and not forbearing to ſay, ſhe was ſo to her Maſter; and ſo im⯑politick was ſhe in her Diſcourſe, that ſhe form'd ſeveral Stories, which ſhe pretended to ſay were of her own Knowledge; particularly, that ſhe ſaw the Houſekeeper go into her [235] Maſter's Chamber, ſuch a Night (naming the time) and that ſhe ſat up all Night to watch the Door, and that ſhe was ſure, ſhe did not come out till the next Morning; that at ſuch a time, ſhe ſaw her Maſter kiſs her, and ſeveral other Paſſages too dirty to be repeated here; that ſhe went another time into her Maſter's Chamber, preſently after he was gone down Stairs; and that there were two Pillows in the Bed, and the plain Mark of two Bodies, as having lain in the Bed all Night.

You muſt take it with you as you go, that the other Servant, who, as I hinted, had kindled this Flame from the Beginning, was the Perſon that privately ſet all theſe Wheels at work, and gave this fooliſh Wench (the Nurſery-Maid) all her Cue; told her thoſe Stories of the Houſe-keeper's being in her Maſter's Chamber all-Night, of the Print on the Pillows, and in the Bed; and affirm'd that ſhe watch'd, and that ſhe ſaw them, but brought the other Wench (who was forward enough of herſelf to be reveng'd of the Houſe-keeper) to take it all to her⯑ſelf, and tell the Story in her own Name, which ſhe did, as above.

This ſubtle Creature alſo made the ſame hot, paſſionate Girl go to the Houſe-keeper's Husband in the Priſon, and tell him all the vile Stories the cou'd invent, which had put him into ſuch a Rage, and made him beat his Wife; and to propoſe to him, that he ſhou'd [236] affront the Gentleman, in the manner he intended to do by his Letter.

Nor did ſhe fail of her Deſign, for eve⯑ry-thing anſwering her End, ſhe got the Houſe-keeper turn'd away, as you have heard; after which, with a Smile in her Face, and a ſmooth Tongue, ſhe went and offer'd her Service to her Maſter, to be Houſe-keeper, 'till (as ſhe pretended with a feign'd Mo⯑deſty) he cou'd provide himſelf more to his Mind.

In this Addreſs to her Maſter, ſhe fail'd not to rail plentifully at the Rudeneſs of the Nurſery-Maid, ſuggeſted how ſhe had certainly wrong'd the poor Houſe-keeper, and been the Cauſe of her Ruin, and how juſtly his Worſhip had put her away; that ſhe deſerv'd to be puniſh'd, for that ſhe had certainly done it in meer Malice, on Ac⯑count of the Quarrel they had with one another, when his Worſhip (ſo ſhe call'd her Maſter) decided in favour of the Houſe⯑keeper; that ſhe had heard her ſay ſhe wou'd be reveng'd of her, and the like.

Thus ſhe ſacrific'd the very Impliment ſhe had made uſe of, and expos'd her as much as ſhe had made her expoſe the Houſe⯑keeper, and all to ſerve her own turn, and get into the Houſe-keeper's Place; which, by her ſawning Tongue (her Treachery not be⯑ing ſuſpected) ſhe brought to paſs, and was accordingly made Houſe-keeper, as ſhe deſir'd.

[237] All this while the old Houſe-keeper was waiting, and uſing an unwearied Diligence to find out (if poſſible) who had thus ſup⯑planted her, and above all, who had us'd her ſo baſely to her Husband, as to ſet him againſt her, as had been done; and beſides the honeſt poor Woman, who ſhe had em⯑ploy'd at the Priſon, ſhe ſet another Woman to work, who kept a Shop, in the Town where her Maſter had his Country-Houſe, and where all theſe wicked things were done; and ſhe told her Caſe to her, and begg'd of her, that if the Maid came to her Shop, as ſhe knew ſhe wou'd, ſhe wou'd en⯑deavour to get ſome of the Particulars out of her, if ſhe cou'd; for ſhe ſuſpected (tho' ſhe cou'd not prove it) that all this abo⯑minable Stuff came from her, for their old Quarrel; tho' ſhe cou'd not ſo much as think ſhe had any hand in the other Part, about her Husband, for ſhe was ſatisfy'd, ſhe did not ſo much as know ſhe had a Husband, much leſs where he was, or in what Condi⯑tion.

She had not ſet theſe Wheels a working many Days, but ſhe found the Effect of her Diligence; for this Wench, who had been fully inſtructed by the other, who was now the Houſe-keeper, comes in the Morning to the Priſon, to the Husband, and there ſhe begins her Story again from the Beginning; affirm'd again, that ſhe ſaw his Wife go in⯑to her Maſter's Chamber at Night, after he [238] went in, to go to Bed, and that ſhe ſat up all-Night, and was poſitive ſhe never came out 'till Morning; alſo the viſible Appearance of two having been in the Bed, and the like; then ſhe run on in a great ma⯑ny Tokens of more than ordinary Kindneſs that was between them; that ſhe did not treat him with the Diſtance and Reſpect due from a Servant, but with a kind of Freedom more like a Wife; and that her Maſter did not uſe her like a Servant, but with a kind of Familiarity, that any-body might ſee thro', and the like.

It being in the Morning, the poor Woman, I mention'd above, was in the Room, doing neceſſary things, as was her Place; at firſt the Maid ſeem'd a little ſhy of ſpeaking, but he encourag'd her, and ſaid, you may ſpeak freely, that is only a poor Woman that tends the Chambers here, ſhe minds nothing; and ſo the Wench went on with all the Free⯑dom ſhe wou'd have done, if they had been alone.

The poor Woman buſied herſelf here and there, about the Room, as uſual, and ſeem'd to take no Notice of any-thing; but as ſhe had liſten'd very attentively to all ſhe had ſaid, and (with Deteſtation) obſerv'd how ſhe endeavour'd to inſinuate Jealouſy into the Man, and exaſperate him againſt his own Wife, ſhe reſolv'd to hear a little more of it, if ſhe cou'd; ſo finding ſhe had ſully vent⯑ed her Rage, and ſuppoſing it wou'd not be [239] long e'er ſhe wou'd go away; ſhe goes out firſt, and planting herſelf in the Way, at her going out, the Man, when he ſaw her, call'd to her, to ſhew her (the Maid) the way out, and get the Door at the Stair-foot open'd.

She readily offer'd her Service, but when ſhe came to the Door, ſhe pretended the Turnkey was not at the Door, but wou'd come immediately; and ſo ask'd her to go into a little Room, which ſhe knew to be empty, and ſit down; ſo ſhe gets her into the Room.

Here ſhe falls a bemoaning her poor Maſter above Stairs, that he ſhou'd have ſuch hard Luck, and be ſo treated by his Wife, when he was under the Affliction of being in Pri⯑ſon, and ſo brought the Wench, who was full of it, and apt enough to be talkative, I ſay, ſhe brought her to tell all the Story over-again, and to name the Houſe-keeper's Name, and her Maſter's Name, the Place where he liv'd, and all ſhe cou'd think of; which was what the wiſe poor Woman wanted, for above ſhe had heard the Story, but had not the Knowledge of Perſons and Names; but here the unwary Fool told her Story without any Reſerve, without the leaſt Caution, not dreaming ſhe was juſt taken in her own Snare.

The poor Woman join'd with her in every-thing, ſaid Ay and Yes to all that requir'd it, and got the Bottom of her Reſentment [240] out; and then pretending the Turnkey was come, went with her to the Door, and let her go.

When ſhe was rid of her, ſhe went im⯑mediately, while it was freſh in her Memo⯑ry, and ſet down in Writing every-thing that was material, that ſhe had ſaid; with the Names, and Circumſtances, and Times of every Action; as well what ſhe had ſaid to her below, as what ſhe had ſaid before to him above Stairs; and this ſhe did, that ſhe might be ſure to do Juſtice to the Man's abus'd Wife, and that ſhe might do no Wrong to the Wench.

When the Houſe-keeper came again, which was not 'till two or three Days after, ſhe ſtop'd her, and wou'd not let her go up to her Husband; for, ſaid ſhe, he is in a Range again, for here has been an Agent with him, enough to enflame ten Husbands; ſo ſhe took her into the ſame Room, ond told her the whole Story, as above.

It ſeems, this revengeful Creature, the Nurſery-Maid, being bent upon doing all the Miſchief ſhe was able, and being heated with the Diſcourſe ſhe had had here, both above Stairs and below, went directly from the Priſon, up to the Chandler's Shop, where ſhe us'd to go in her Maſter's Neigh⯑bourhood, and there ſhe ſits down to refreſh herſelf, it being ſome Diſtance from the City.

[241] The Woman, who kept the Shop, expect⯑ed what happen'd, namely, that ſhe wou'd fall upon the old Story, and thinking it wou'd not be convenient, that ſhe ſhou'd be brought in as an Evidence againſt any Servant, and for what might be ſaid in her Shop too, for that then no Servants wou'd care to come to her Shop, ſhe ſlipt into a Back-room, where ſhe (as it happen'd) had another Wo⯑man, a Friend, that was come from London to ſee her; ſo ſhe brought out her Friend into the Shop, upon ſome Pretence or other, and growing all familiar together, it was not very long e'er the Maid began her Story, about her being turn'd away at ſuch a Houſe, and why her Maſter put her away; boldly hinting that ſhe had ſeen a little too much, and the like; then the Stranger put in her Que⯑ſtions, and holding up her Hands, made an Admiration that ſuch a thing ſhou'd happen, ſo-and-ſo, and in ſuch a Family too, ſhe thought the Gentleman had been quite another Per⯑ſon, and the like; this drew the weak paſſionate Wench in, to tell all her Tale, ay, and more than her Tale too; ſo that wherever ſhe came, ſhe found room to add ſomething or other to the Story.

The Houſe-keeper got a full Account of this alſo, and being thus effectually furniſh'd with two ſufficient Evidences, beſides hear⯑ing it in Pieces and Parts, in ſeveral other Places among the Neighbours, ſome here, ſome there; I ſay, being now fully ſatisfy'd [242] who had been the Incondiary, ſhe (upon good Advice) cauſes the Creature to be arreſted in the firſt Place, in an Action of Slander, and left her Husband might (upon Ap⯑plication to him) diſcharge her, ſhe went and acquainted the Gentleman (her former Maſter) of the whole Story, who carrying her before a Juſtice of Peace, had her bound over, and committed to the Houſe of Cor⯑rection, 'till ſhe ſhou'd find Sureties to appear at the Quarter-Seſſions. In this Pickle ſhe found herſelf, the very firſt two or three Days, after her having been at the Fleet Pri⯑ſon, with the Houſe-keeper's Husband.

However, ſhe found Friends at ſome length of time, and giving Bail, ſhe got her Liberty again for a-while; and not foreſee⯑ing what was like to follow, ſhe was at firſt as ſawcy as ever; but her Friends, who knew better things, and who found, that the Gentleman reſolv'd to proſecute her very warmly, eſpecially for the poor Woman's Sake, and more eſpecially when they came to know what Evidence they had againſt her, warn'd her a little of her Dan⯑ger, and ſo ſhe behav'd ſomething quieter.

She began now to find ſhe was betray'd, and that ſhe was in Danger to ſuffer for the Rudeneſs of her Tongue, and as, I ſay, this made her a little more humble, ſo in her Diſcourſe ſhe let ſome Words fall, that what ſhe ſaid was not altogether of her own Head, but [243] that ſhe had good Authority for what ſhe had ſaid.

Some of her Friends carried this to the Houſe-keeper that proſecuted her, but ſhe anſwer'd, ſhe was a poor Woman, and ſhe cou'd not afford to proſecute two or three Folks; and beſides, ſhe might ſay what ſhe had ſaid, only to ſlip her own Neck out of the Collar, and when a Proſecution ſhou'd be begun againſt the Perſon ſhe had accus'd ſhe might deny it all again, or might run away, and not appear at the Trial, and ſo ſhe (the Houſe-keeper) might be caſt for Want of Evidence; and for theſe Reaſons, ſhe ſaid, ſhe wou'd not run the venture of going from one to another; but the Nurſery-Maid was her Mark, ſhe had ſufficient Evidence againſt her, and ſhe wou'd look no farther; that beſides ſhe was the Perſon who had en⯑deavour'd to ſet her (the old Houſe-keeper's) Husband againſt her, by a forg'd and ſlande⯑rous Charge, and had made him abuſe her, as he had done, and ſhe wou'd have the Truth of it out, if ſhe cou'd; but wou'd look no farther for her Enemy, than where ſhe had found her.

But this Accident of the Nurſery-Maid, pretending to ſay ſhe had Authors for what ſhe had ſaid, had a farther Effect than what has been yet obſerv'd, and that in two dif⯑fering ways; firſt, the new Houſe-keeper, who, as I have ſaid, was at the Bottom of all the Miſchief, and had been ſo from the [244] Beginning, but had craftily conceal'd herſelf, began to be apprehenſive, that this Wench wou'd diſcover her, as the Author of all; and therefore ſhe under-hand puſh'd on the old Houſe-keeper not to accept of the Offer of a Diſcovery; and put all thoſe Arguments into her Mouth, which I have juſt menti⯑oned, and preſs'd her to proſecute the Maid with the utmoſt Severity, and to bring her to a Tryal with all the Speed ſhe cou'd.

This ſhe manag'd with ſuch Dexterity, that the Tryal was haſten'd, all her Pro⯑poſals of a farther Diſcovery were rejected, and ſhe was left to expect the worſt, which indeed was bad enough for her; for, upon a full Tryal, the Maid was ſentenc'd to pay a Fine to the Proſecutor, for her Damage in the Loſs of her Place (I do not remember the Sum exactly) and to be whipp'd publick⯑ly at the Cart's Tail, thro' the Town where her Maſter's Country. Houſe was, and where ſhe had liv'd; which was executed on her to the utmoſt, as indeed ſhe very well deſerv'd; ſhe was laſh'd, it ſeems, very heartily, and no-body pitied her, but all the Neighbours ſaid ſhe ought to ſmart for it.

But the Story does not end yet; the poor Wench (tho' ſhe had been ſoundly laſh'd) had a Fine alſo to pay to the Houſekeeper, for Reparation of Scandal, and Loſs of Em⯑ployment; this they took hold of, and ſhe having intimated that ſhe cou'd make ſome Diſcovery, the Houſe-keeper, wil⯑ling [245] to know who had been her Friends, and who her Enemies in this Affair, went to her in the Priſon, and preſs'd her to make this Diſcovery, offering her good Encou⯑ragement, if ſhe wou'd tell who ſet her on upon all thoſe wicked things.

But the Wench was then obſtinate; No, ſhe ſaid, they had done their worſt to her, and ſhe had no Obligation to gratify them; if they had deſir'd it of her, before ſhe had been us'd as ſhe was, ſhe might have ſerv'd them, but now ſhe wou'd ſay nothing: They argued with her, that there was ſtill room for them to be kind to her; that ſhe lay under a Fine, which ſhe was to be kept in Priſon for 'till ſhe paid, and the Proſecutor offer'd to forgive her all the Money ſhe was to pay her for Damages, on Condition of the Diſcovery; No, ſhe ſaid, it was be⯑low her to betray any of her Fellow-Ser⯑vants, and ſhe wou'd tell them nothing; that as to getting out of Priſon, ſhe wou'd do that as well as ſhe cou'd, but ſhe wou'd make no Diſcovery; ſo they went away, concluding it was only Talk, and ſhe was not able to diſcover any-thing; but the old Houſe-keeper wou'd not give it over ſo, for ſhe had ſome Reaſons to believe there was ſomething in it, ſo ſhe follow'd her ſtill, and one Day preſſing her very home, and telling her firſt, what ſhe wou'd give her, namely, remit the Damages, and gratify her beſides, the Maid told her jeſtingly, ſhe might go a⯑mong [246] the Servants, and enquire there, per⯑haps ſhe wou'd hear of it in the Family with⯑out her Help.

The Houſe-Keeper took her ſhort there, and told her, as for Fellow-Servants, ſhe ſhou'd not pretend any-thing of that Nature; for ſhe was very well ſatisfy'd, there was none of the Fellow-Servants but were ſo provok'd, at the barbarous Treatment of her (the old Houſe-keeper) and eſpecially of their Maſter, that they had all of them declar'd, ſhe deſerv'd what ſhe had had; and had been eager with her, to go on with the Pro⯑ſecution.

Ay, ſaid ſhe, ſhe was ſure that cou'd not be, they wou'd not ALL ſay ſo.

Yes, ſays the Houſe-keeper, every one of them.

The Maid laugh'd at her again, and, with a kind of a Jeſt, repeated the Words, not every one, not every one, ſeveral times.

The Houſe-keeper anſwer'd, ſhe wou'd prove it, that every one of them had openly ſaid ſo.

The Maid then fell to railing, and told her ſhe ly'd, it cou'd not be, and if they had ſaid ſo, it was only to blind and deceive her, and make a Jeſt of her.

The Houſe-keeper return'd, yes, they had all told her ſo, and particularly, the new Houſe-keeper had told her, ſhe wou'd be un⯑juſt to herſelf, and unkind to her Maſter's Reputation, if ſhe did not proſecute her to [247] the utmoſt; and ſhe wou'd bring her to ſay ſo to her Face.

The Maid ſoon diſcover'd (by her Coun⯑tenance) that ſhe meant the ſame Perſon, when ſhe ſaid, not every one; for upon her naming her, as above, ſhe flew into a great⯑er Paſſion, told her it cou'd not be, and that ſhe was ſure it was a Lye, and the like.

Well, ſays the old Houſe-keeper, I'll go and fetch ſuch Witneſs of it, as ſhall convince you of the Truth of what I have ſaid; and with that ſhe left her, and went out; the next Morning ſhe went to the new Houſe⯑keeper, innocently told her all their Diſcourſe, and wou'd have had her gone with her to the Priſon, to have juſtify'd what ſhe had ſaid; for ſhe had ſpoken with ſuch Eagerneſs againſt the Wench, that the old Houſe-keeper cou'd not imagine, but ſhe was hearty in it all, and wou'd have ſaid the ſame to her Face.

But ſhe excus'd herſelf; firſt, ſhe ſaid, ſhe did not love fending and proving, what Ad⯑vice ſhe had given her, ſhe had made uſe of, and it had anſwer'd the End ſhe gave it her for, namely, that ſhe had got Reparation of her Credit, and the Wench had been ſe⯑verely puniſh'd, and ſhe thought ſhe ought to be ſatisfy'd with it; and ſo, in ſhort, ex⯑cus'd herſelf from going to the Maid, or having any more Trouble about it; 'twas time, ſhe ſaid, to let it all drop and die, that [248] the World might not be always goſſiping a⯑bout the Affairs of the Family.

But this did not ſatisfy the Woman, ſo ſhe went to her Maſter, and told him, what the Maid had ſaid, viz. That there was ſome⯑body ſtill in his Family, who had been the Original of all this Scandal; that ſhe had not rais'd it of herſelf, but that ſhe had it from ſome-body in the Family; then told him the Reaſons ſhe had to believe it was the new Houſe-keeper, and what Steps ſhe had taken with her to bring them Face-to-Face, but that the Houſe-keeper declin'd it; her Maſter bade her be eaſy, he wou'd ma⯑nage that Part for her, for that he wou'd the next Day ſend the new Houſe-keeper of an Errand to the Maid, to carry her ſome Relief, for that tho' he was ſatisfy'd ſhe ſhou'd be puniſh'd, yet he was not willing ſhe ſhou'd ſtarve, and he would ſend her ſomething by the Houſe-keeper, as if ſhe (the Houſe-keeper) had given it of her own Accord.

She was jealous this would not do, and that the Houſe keeper wou'd ſham it, and not go, but ſend ſome body elſe; but, the Houſe-keeper was not ſo cunning, but did come, believing that carrying Money to the Maid, and giving it to her as her own Gift, wou'd ſecure her; and this Thought made her Fool enough to go.

When ſhe came there, the old Houſe-keeper, who had watch'd her narrowly, follow'd quick [249] after, and clapp'd in upon her (as if ſhe alſo had come caſually to ſee the Maid) and ſhe came ſo ſuddenly and unlook'd for, that ſhe cou'd not avoid their being all together; being thus met, they began to talk roundly of the Matter, and after ſome time the old Houſe-keeper reminded the new one of her for⯑merly expreſſing honeſtly, as the old one call'd it, her Deteſtation of the Fact, and preſſing her to have her (the Nurſery-Maid) proſecuted and puniſh'd; and told her the Nurſery-Maid wou'd not believe her, but ſhe hop'd ſhe wou'd not deny it now: When ſhe repeated that Part, ſhe (the new Houſe-keeper) broke out in a Paſſion at it, told her, it was a Lye of her own inventing, that ſhe had perſwaded her not to go on with the Proſecution, but to pity the poor Girl, and the like.

The Houſe-keeper was a little ſurpriz'd at firſt, with ſuch a Token of Aſſurance, but recovering herſelf, ſhe, with a Smile, told her, ſhe was very glad ſhe had found out the Firebrand of the Family; that if ſhe had known it a little ſoouer, the poor Nurſery Maid ſhou'd have been pardon'd; that ſhe wou'd not only prove ſhe had ſaid ſo to her, but that ſhe had ſaid the ſame thing to her Maſter as well as to her, perſwading him to proſecute the Girl in her (the old Houſe-keeper's) Behalf; and to prove the Truth of it [turning to the Nurſery-Maid] Suſan, ſaid ſhe, has ſhe not given you ten Shillings? [250] Yes, ſays Suſan: And has ſhe not given it you as her own Bounty, Suſan? Yes, ſays Suſan: Well, ſays ſhe, 'tis my Maſter's Mo⯑ney, Suſan, which he ſent in Pity to you; for be ſaid, tho' you were juſtly puniſh'd, and tho' you had injur'd him, he wou'd not let you ſtarve; and, he knows, this Creature has puſh'd on your Tryal with him, as I ſaid before, as well as with me, and he ſhall own it to her Face.

This ſo ſtunn'd and ſtupify'd the new Houſe-keeper, that ſhe had not a Word to ſay; at which the Maid Suſan firſt fell a⯑crying, then flew upon her in a violent Rage, and fell a tearing the Cloaths off of her Back and Head; what! She ſaid, had ſhe ſerv'd her ſo? And after that (for the old Houſekeeper ſtept in and took her off from her) I ſay, after that ſhe told the old Houſe-keeper the whole Story from the Beginning; and how all the Stories of watching their Maſter's Chamber-Door, and the like, came from this Creature; and, in a Word, that it was ſhe that ſent Saſan to the Fleet Priſon, to rail at her (the old Houſe-keeper) to her Husband, that he might take her away, or by affronting their Maſter, cauſe him to turn her off.

Now the Saddle was ſet upon the right Mare; and had not poor Suſan had a ter⯑rible Whipping on her bare Back, ſhe might have come off free, but that Part cou'd not be taken off again; however, they all part⯑ed [251] in a kind of Wrath; the old Houſe-keeper went directly to her Maſter's Houſe, intending to have confronted her Adverſary before her Maſter's Face; and the new Houſe-keeper went the ſame way alſo, with De⯑ſign to pack up her Cloaths, quarrel with her Maſter, and be gone; ſo to be out of the Reach of farther Miſchief.

To the great Diſappointment of the for⯑mer, her Maſter was gone to London, and it being very uncertain whether he wou'd return at Night or no, and ſhe ſo warm and eager that ſhe cou'd not wait, ſo ſhe reſolv'd to go to his City Houſe, and ſpeak with him there; but ſhe miſs'd him there too, and at laſt heard he was gone to his Country Houſe again; but then it was too late for her to go ſo far, ſo ſhe was oblig'd to defer it 'till next Morning, reſolving to be there before he was up.

But the new Houſe-keeper had the better Luck, and ſhe manag'd it wickedly enough, if ſhe cou'd have carry'd it afterwards as ſhe ought to have done; for her Maſter coming home, and ſhe having thereby an Advantage to tell her Tale by herſelf, ſhe boldly comes up to him, and deſir'd to ſpeak with him; ſo he went into a Parlour by himſelf, and call'd her in.

She was cunning enough to take hold of the Advantage which the Occaſion put into her Hands, and which he knew not how to get off of; for ſhe began with a Shower of [252] bold Reproaches on him, for betraying his own Secret, as ſhe call'd it, and expoſing her to Suſan; that he had ſent to Suſan by her Hands, but gave her Order to conceal his Name, and give it her in her own Name; and that then he had diſcover'd it to his Favourite Mrs. —, the old Houſe keeper, and had ſent her after, to tell Suſan that it was his Money.

As I have ſaid above, this plung'd him a little, for it was ſo in Fact, and he knew not what to ſay to it; he was heartily vex'd that the old Houſekeeper had acted ſo fooliſhly, or falſly, he did not well know which; and 'till he could ſee her, he ſcarce knew what to think of it all; but recollecting himſelf a little, and remembring what the other Houſekeeper had told him, he found himſelf oblig'd to bring it out ſooner than he intended, and to charge her downright with the Fact, namely, with being the Original of all the Noiſe that had been made in the Houſe, and the Abuſes both upon Mrs. — the old Houſekeeper, and alſo upon himſelf; and yet that ſhe had prompted both of them to proſecute poor Suſan, when ſhe was herſelf the Cauſe of it all; that Suſan was but her Tool to kindle the Flame; and that all this was done to get the old Houſekeeper out, and to get into her Place.

She pretended to be the more enflam'd at this; deny'd the thing with great Aſſevera⯑tions (for ſhe knew Suſau, who was her [253] Accuſer, was not at-hand) but threw back the Dirt of it in his Face with an unlucky Advantage, and impudently told him, It ſeem'd truly now, not ſo unlikely to be true, as She had thought it had been, that he was ſo great with his old Houſe-keeper, and, for ought She knew, there might be ſomething in it; ſeeing he held ſo cloſe a Correſpon⯑dence with her, that when he had entruſted her with a ſecret Errand, he ſhou'd go and diſcover it himſelf to that very Woman, and ſend ſuch a Creature as that after her, to expoſe her; and that there muſt be ſome⯑thing more in it than ordinary, that there was ſuch a Confidence between them; that ſince it was ſo, ſhe thought ſhe had ſtaid long enough among them, and that if he pleas'd to order her to be paid her Wa⯑ges, ſhe wou'd deliver up her Charge, and be gone, for ſhe was reſolv'd ſhe wou'd not ſleep another Night in his Houſe, and he might go to Bed to his old Favourite as freely as ever, ſhe wou'd not interupt him.

The Gentleman was really out done by her, for ſhe had ſuch a plauſible Ground of Complaint, that he was confounded: However, tho' ſhe had treated him with moſt provoking Language, yet he calmly told her, he had his particular Reaſons for letting Mrs. — know what he had done, that yet he did not bid her go, and make it known to Suſan; but if ſhe had done ſo, he did not value it, and did not doubt but [254] Mrs. — had ſome Reaſons for what ſhe had done too, which he ſhou'd know when he ſaw her, and he did not doubt alſo but ſhe wou'd ſoon let him hear of it: It ſeems his Houſe-keeper had been ſo nimble upon him (for ſhe was as ſharp as a Hawk) that ſhe had not given him time to hear in the Family, that the old Houſe-keeper had been there to ſpeak with him, and was gone to London to ſeek him, as ſhe had left Word.

But having calmly, I ſay, given her this Auſwer, ſhe continued the more ſawcy, and grew inſolent to the laſt Degree; boaſted much of her being faithful and honeſt, and reproach'd him in ſuch an unſufferable Man⯑ner with his ſecret Correſpondence with the other Houſe-keeper; that, in ſhort, he was almoſt provok'd to kick her out of Doors; but he reſtrain'd his Anger, and did not touch her himſelf, but cauſing her Wa⯑ges to be immediately paid her, and her Boxes and Trunks, or what ſhe had in the Houſe, given her, he caus'd her alſo to be turn'd out that very Hour, which was indeed what the cunning Jade wanted; and thus they parted with as much Reſentment, as Suſan and they had done before.

But when Mrs. —, the old Houſe-keeper, came the next Morning, and gave the Gentleman an Account of the whole Story, as it really was, then he found he had been much in the wrong; that ſhe had gain'd a Point of him, in letting her [255] go ſo quietly away, and that heought to have ſent her immediately to the Houſe of Correct⯑ion: He wou'd have retriev'd the Miſtake, and ſent to ſeveral Places in the Town to have ſtopt her again, but ſhe had been in too much Haſte to get away over-Night, to be ta⯑ken hold of again in the Morning; in a word, ſhe provided for her own Safety, and was fled.

She had indeed, as I have ſaid, a vaſt Ad⯑vantage over him in the firſt Part of the Sto⯑ry; I mean that which related to his ſending the Money in the Woman's Name, and diſ⯑covering the Secret to his old Houſe keeper; and this Creature; who told her Tale after⯑ward in the Street, told that Part of it ſo well, and ſo effectually kept it ſeparate from the Reaſon of the Diſcovery, which was the Counter-part of the Fact, that, in ſhort, all the Neighbours ran away with it, and it did more towards fixing a real Re⯑proach upon the Gentleman himſelf, than all that had been done or ſaid before; nor did the crafty Creature want Emiſſaries to ſupport the Reflection, which ſhe ſo diligently ply'd, and ſo artfully ſupported herſelf in, that it blacken'd the Gentleman, in a Manner never to be effectually wip'd off; tho' he was innocent, as an unborn Infant, of the Charge, or of any Appearance of it.

So dreadful a thing is Slander, on the Tongue of a ſubtle Inſtrument, and ſo much is the Reputation of the moſt innocent Per⯑ſon [256] in the World at the Mercy of an inſolent Servant, when turn'd away, be the Occaſion ever ſo juſt.

Nor was the puniſhing this malicious Creature able, either to wipe off the Blot, or to ſtop her Mouth; ſome thought indeed he was in the wrong to purſue her, but ha⯑ving the Evidence of the Maid Suſan, and of another, which ſhe brought in againſt her, he at laſt taking hold of her by Accident, brought her to Juſtice, and had her laſh'd as ſeverely as Suſan had been before her; but it had not ſo good an Effect upon her, as it had upon Suſan; ſhe went raving and rail⯑ing ten times the more at him, and at the other Houſe-keeper too, only by how much ſhe had ſmarted for it before, ſhe was now more wary of her Words, and ſpoke, tho' not with leſs Malice, yet with more Crafr, framing her Words ſo as that they cou'd not be taken hold of, and continued implacably bent to ruin the Reputation of the Gentle⯑man as much as poſſible; and this way of abuſing her Maſter was as fatal and miſchie⯑vous to him, tho' not ſo dangerous to her, as the other, nor was there any Remedy for it but Patience; ſo vile a thing is the Tongue of an inſolent Servant, when puniſh'd for their Diſorders; and this is one of the things which we want a Law againſt in England, and which is one of the Reaſons of my giv⯑ing you this Story; for if there is no Me⯑thod [257] taken better to curb their inſolent Tongues, when turn'd away, all the Ma⯑ſters and Miſtreſſes in England will in a lit⯑tle while ſtand in Awe of their Servants, or be at the Mercy of them, which is much at one.

LETTER IX.

IHIS comes to acknowledge the Favour of Your's, of the 10th, in Anſwer to my Laſt, in which, I obſerve, you ſuggeſt two things as Doubts, upon the Accounts I gave you of the Inſolence, and unſufferable Pride of Ser⯑vants in this Country.

• 1. You ſay, that certainly the Engliſh muſt be very cruel, arbitrary, and (which is ſtill worſe) unreaſonable Maſters, or
• 2. Surely England has no Laws of Subor⯑dination in Force, for the particular Regulation of Servants, for ſecuring their Obedience, and ſtating what is, or is not their Duty.

[258] I confeſs, 'tis very rational to ſuggeſt in general, that there muſt be ſomething or other uncommon, that ſhou'd be the Reaſon of ſuch things as theſe; that it is not thus in other Nations; and that Servants are more at Command, and more ſubject to their Maſters, or more eaſily to be puniſh'd in other Countries; and that if it is not ſo here, there muſt be ſome Reaſon to be aſſign'd for it, and that you think one of theſe muſt be the Caſe.

But as I know you will bear with my Freedom, I take the Liberty to ſay, particu⯑larly as to theſe two things you are en⯑tirely miſtaken; and, Firſt, as to the Beha⯑viour of Maſters to Servants; I hope you will allow, (to avoid frequent Repetitions) that when I ſay Maſters, I ſhou'd be un⯑derſtood to mean Miſtreſſes as well as Ma⯑ſters, for they ſtand in the ſame Place, in Point of Argument.

And, Firſt, the contrary is true to an Ex⯑tream, and it is partly to the Account of this very thing I place the firſt Riſe of the Inſolence of Servants; 'tis ſo far from being owing to the ill Uſage of Servants by their Maſters, that the unſeaſonable Lenity, Kind⯑neſs, and Tenderneſs to Servants in this Coun⯑try, is the very Cauſe of it: In a Word, as I may truly ſay, that the poor know not what it is to be Servants, ſo the Rich, I muſt acknowledge, know not how to be Ma⯑ſters.

[259] I remember a Paſſage of the famous Co⯑lonel Kirk, who commanded a Regiment of Engliſh Soldiers in the French Service, and was fam'd for his Severity of Diſcipline: He had order'd a Sergeant to correct a pri⯑vate Centinel for ſome Error in his Exer⯑ciſe, when he was ſeeing the Regiment han⯑dle their Arms; go and knock that Dog down, ſays the Colonel; the Sergeant belie⯑ving the Colonel meant, that he ſhou'd cane him only, did it very ſeverely; when he had done it, the Colonel call'd the Sergeant to him; when he came, lend me your Hal⯑bert, ſays the Colonel, which the Sergeant did very ſubmiſſively; look here, ſays the Colonel, I'll ſhew you how to knock a Sol⯑dier down, and with the Words, knock'd the poor Fellow down with his own Halbert: It is true, Kirk was ſaid to be too unmer⯑ciful and ſevere, but on the other-hand, he had the beſt diſciplin'd Regiment in the whole Engliſh Body, which conſiſted of five Brigades; he was faithfully ſerv'd, and if he had commanded his Men to have jump'd into the Fire, they wou'd certainly have done it.

They have a Proverbial Saying in this Country, which, they ſay, was taken from the late Uſurper Oliver Cromwell, who his worſt Enemies acknowledge to be a good Soldier; they tell us that it was his Saying, that to have a good Army you muſt hang well and pay well; and his known, that his own Regiment (which wore white Cloaths [260] and were call'd Cromwel's Lambs,) wou'd follow him thro' Fire and Water, never were known to turn their Backs in the Field, but had cut in Pieces many a Re⯑giment of the beſt Cavalry the King had; while at the ſame time, 'tis ſaid, he had firſt or laſt piſtol'd three of them with his own Hand, when they had mutiny'd up⯑on ſome Occaſion or other, and refus'd to march.

There is ſince that, another Proverbial Saying upon the very Subject I am upon, namely, That the Engliſh are the beſt Maſters, and the worſt Servants in the World: If I were to invert that Saying, I wou'd place it thus, That the Engliſh have the uneaſieſt Servants, becauſe they are the eaſieſt Ma⯑ſters in the World: In a Word, as I hinted juſt now, we may ſay, that in England the Rich know not how to be Maſters, and there⯑fore the Poor know not how to be Servants.

There is a Town in Hertfordſbire, not far from London, of which they ſay, That there is no-body Poor enough to keep the Town-Hogs, or Rich enough to keep a Hog-herd: This Town is an Emblem of the Country it ſelf, but eſpecially of the Poor, and 'tis very much to the preſent Purpoſe, for tho' the Poor are too low to keep a Servant, yet they are ge⯑nerally too high to be Servants themſelves.

I cannot ſay, that the Engliſh are the beſt Maſters in the World, but that they are the eaſieſt, kindeſt, tendereſt Maſters to Ser⯑vants, [261] that is certainly true, and this is cer⯑tainly the true Reaſon of the Miſchief I am ſpeaking of; In a Word, as a ſlack Rein in Government encourages Factions and Rebel⯑lions, ſo eaſy Maſters make ſawcy Servants; the Maſter that will bear to be impos'd upon ſhall be impos'd upon; nay, I have heard ſome ſay, he that will be inſulted ought to be inſulted; I will not ſay ſo, becauſe 'tis an Ingratitude in the Servant, but I muſt allow it is an unpardonable Folly, and Miſtake in the Maſter.

I have often diſguiſs'd myſelf for this pur⯑poſe, and mingl'd in among the Mob of ſuch Fellows as thoſe, who we call Footmen; I have convers'd with them over a Mug of Porter, as they call their Alehouſe Beer and Ale; and there how have I heard them boaſt over their Maſter's Kindneſs to them, and how they cou'd do any-thing they pleas'd? that they valued not their Maſters a Shilling, and that they durſt not be angry with them; that if they did quarrel, d— 'em they wou'd be gone, and their Maſter cou'd not do with⯑out 'em.

One Fellow was talking thus, and I entred into a ſhort Dialogue with him about it; I ask'd him what his Maſter wou'd ſay to him if he got drunk, and if at another time he ſtaid out all-Night, and the like?

Say to me, ſays he, why, he wou'd ſwear at me, it may be.

Well, ſays I, and what then?

[262] Why then, ſays he, I wou'd ſwear, it may be, as faſt as he, and d— as faſt he.

And it has been ſo then ſometimes between you, ſays I, has it?

Yes, very often, ſays he:

Well, but that was when you was drunk, ſays I, wa'n't it?

Yes, ſaid he:

But next Morning, ſays I, how was it with you both then?

O, ſays he, my Maſter wou'd be a little ſurly, and it may be, not ſpeak for a good while, and I wou'd take no Notice of it, but go about my Affairs, as I uſe to do; and he wou'd come-to again in a Day or two; but if he took any Notice, I wou'd tell him I had got a little Drink; that I did not remember I was rude, if I was, I was very ſorry, but I was in Drink, and the like.

Well, and what then, ſaid I?

O, ſaid he, I knew one good Word wou'd pacify him, and he wou'd be pleas'd preſently, for my Maſter is the eaſieſt good-natur'd Man in the World.

Very well, ſays I, that is to ſay, your Ma⯑ſter is the eaſieſt Fool in the World:

Nay, ſays he, I cannot deny but my Maſter is eaſy, and that makes his Servants all play upon him, as they do:

Why, ſays I, do you not own you are very much oblig'd to your Maſter, for being ſo good⯑humour'd?

[263] Yes, ſays he, but I muſt own I don't make him a bit the better Servant for that:

How do you mean, ſays I, not a bit bet⯑ter?

Mean! ſays he, why, I am the eaſier to be drunk again, and to ſwear at him again, be⯑cauſe I know for a Word ſpeaking I can make it all up again; and then be drunk again, and ask Pardon again, and ſo on.

Well, but, ſaid I, Jack, you muſt own you are a Dog, an ungrateful Dog to him, to im⯑poſe upon his good Nature in that Man⯑ner?

I don't value that a Farthing, ſays Jack, if my Maſter is a Fool, it's the better for me, is it not; then I can be Maſter when I pleaſe?

But have you a good Place too, Jack, ſaid I?

Yes, ſaid he, a very good Place:

Well, then, ſays I, why don't you behave better, Jack, that you may not loſe it?

No, no, ſays he, my Maſter does not love to change Faces, he can't abide to put away Servants; we may do any-thing, and ſay any-thing, if we do but give him a good Word the next Day, and ſay we beg his Pardon, all is over with him preſently.

Well, ſays I, and are not you all the better Servants for that?

No, no, ſays he, but much the worſe, for there's ſcarce a Day in the Week, but one or other [264] of us give ourſelves a looſe, for we know we can make it up again with a Word.

Prithee, Jack, ſaid I, where did you learn this Principle of Honeſty and Gratitude?

O, ſays he, 'tis not ſo much Ingratitude, but 'tis Policy; an eaſy Maſter muſt be us'd ſo, and we fare never the worſe for it, for we keep him at Bay by it, he expects no other.

Well but, Jack, ſays I, if you were a Ma⯑ſter, wou'd you take it of a Servant, wou'd you be ſuch an eaſy Maſter?

O, ſays Jack, that's quite another Caſe; no, no, what, do you take me for, a Fool?

Well, but how wou'd you act, ſays I?

How, ſays he! D— 'em, I'd ſee my Buſi⯑neſs done, and have it done at a Word, or I'd make my Cane walk among them.

Well but, ſays I, what if your Servant d— as faſt as you, as you ſaid juſt now, and hector'd you, as you ſay you do your Maſter, what wou'd you do then?

Do, ſays he! I'd make 'em fly me as a Pidgeon does a Hawk; I'd open the Door, and kick 'em out and bid 'em go to the Devil.

Very well, and they wou'd go, I ſuppoſe, ſaid I, and the next wou'd be the ſame, and ſo on.

Why then, ſays he, I wou'd turn the next a⯑way in the ſame Manner, and ſo on as you ſay, 'till I bad a good Servant, if I turn'd off a hun⯑dred in a Year.

[265] And do you think then, ſaid I, that this kind treating of his Servants is a Fault in your Maſter, and that you are all the worſe for it?

AY, moſt certainly, ſaid he, and he will ne⯑ver have a good Servant while he does ſo; a Fool-Maſter always makes a Rogue-Servant; I'll tell you a Story, ſays Jack, and ſo he begins, as follows.

‘'There was a poor honeſt Maſter Weaver in our Country kept ſeveral Apprentices, and (as I ſuppoſe) being poor, and having but little Houſe-room, he and his Apprentices lay all in a Chamber together, tho' not all in a Bed; one Night his Maſter being gone to Bed, in cold Winter Weather, and the Candle out, feeling a cold Wind come in ſomewhere, calls to his Boy thus, Jack, ſays the Maſter; ^* Ay, Maſter, ſays Jack: I believe that Win⯑dow is open, Jack, ſays the Maſter: I believe it is Maſter, ſays Jack; ſo they lay ſtill awhile. By-and-by the Maſter feeling the Cold ſtill, calls again, Jack: Ay, Maſter, ſays Jack: The Wind blows very cold at that Window, Jack, ſays the Maſter: Ay, ſo it does, Maſter, ſays Jack: Some time after, the Maſter finding the Boy did'nt ſtir, calls again; Jack, ſays he: Ay, Maſter, ſays Jack: Wou'd that Window was ſhut, Jack; ay, wou'd it was Maſter, [266] ſays Jack; but ſtill Jack did'nt ſtir: By this time the Maſter's Patience was ſpent, and feeling the Cold come in at the Window ſtill, he rouzes up himſelf like a Man; Why, Jack, ſays he? Ay, Maſter, ſays Jack again very impudently: You lazy Son of a Whore, ſays the Maſter, why don't you riſe and ſhut the Window there? Muſt I come and rouze you? Get up you Dog, and ſhut the Window, Yes, Maſter, ſays Jack, now you ſpeak in earneſt;’ ſo he gets up, and ſhuts the Win⯑dow, and all was well.

And this, ſays I, is the true Picture of you Servants, is it?

Yes, indeed, ſays he, it is ſo all over the Na⯑tion, and will be ſo; while Maſters act without the Authority of Maſters, Servants will ne⯑ver ſhew the Submiſſion and Obedience of their Place.

And you learnt it of Jack, did you, ſaid I?

Yes, ſays he, that was my firſt Leſſon, in⯑deed, but I am improv'd ſince by farther Ex⯑amples.

And pray, ſaid I, what is that you call im⯑prov'd?

Why, ſays he, to do as little Work as I can, to get into good Company as ſoon as ever my Maſter's Back's turn'd.

Ay, ſaid I, to come home drunk, and be ſawcy too, is that a Part of it?

Why, as to that, ſays he, it will happen ſo ſometimes, but that's nothing; I do well e⯑nough with my Maſter for that, for give him [267] but a good Word again, when I come to myſelf, all is over with him preſently.

Ay, ſaid I, and that encourages you to do ſo again, perhaps, the next Opportunity that offers.

Why, truly, ſays he, in all Difficulties, when Folks come off eaſy, they are the for⯑warder to venture again: We had a great deal of Diſcourſe more beſides this; I feign'd my ſelf to be a Servant too, but that I had a very ſevere ſtrict Maſter, that wou'd not bear with a Servant being abſent from his Buſineſs; that if any of the Servants were heard to ſwear, it was with the greateſt Interceſſion imaginable that they avoided being turn'd away; but if once they got drunk, they had no more to do, but ſtrip, and be gone; off with their Livery, take their Wages, and out of Doors; they had as good go voluntarily as ſtay to be turn'd out, for I aſſure you, ſaid I, my Maſter never gave a Servant Occaſion to be drunk twice in his Service.

That's very hard, ſays he; why any poor Servant may be overtaken, and not deſign it.

It's all one, ſays I, our Maſter makes it ſo ſtated a Rule in the Family, that it is no Hard⯑ſhip, becauſe all the Servants know it as ſoon as they come into the Houſe.

Well, ſays he, and you are all ſober Dogs, ar'n't you? Pray what kind of Servants has your Maſter? are they good for any-thing?

All very good Servants, I aſſure you, ſaid I, except myſelf.

[268] Nay, ſays he, it is certainly the only way, your Maſter is in the right of it, to be ſure, and none but ſuch Maſters will have good Servants; but I wou'd not live with him if he wou'd give me double Wages, for all that.

Why, wou'd you not reſtrain yourſelf to have a good Place?

Not I, ſays he, 'tis not the Way among Servants at this time; I have been us'd to be Maſter wherever I have been, and I can't bear thoſe ſtrict Orders of Families, not I; Con⯑finement won't do with me, I muſt drink with my old Friends ſometimes.

Well, ſo do we too, ſaid I, for if we ask Leave, we are never deny'd; he is as civil and kind that way, to us, as we can deſire; only we muſt keep our time when we pro⯑miſe to return, and not come home Drunk; and I do not ſee any great Harm in that, not I.

No Harm in it! ſays he; why 'tis making a Jail of his Houſe, ſuch a Service would be Bridewell to me; I wou'd as lieu beat Hemp, ſays he, every jot, and then he pour'd out two or three G—d d—mn him's at ſuch a Maſter; but all the way he own'd that they were the Maſters that got good Servants; only that he wou'd not ſerve any Man in England upon ſuch Terms, not he, for he wou'd have his Liberty, ay that he wou'd.

From this ſhort Diſcourſe between this Fel⯑low and I, you may ſee the ſtate of the Caſe, in ſbort, that 'tis the Eaſineſs and Kindneſs of Maſters in England that has ruin'd the Ser⯑vants; [269] you will ſay indeed, 'tis a Token of a prodigious Baſeneſs in the Minds of the Poor of this Country, that they may be forc'd by Diſcipline, but are not to be oblig'd by Kind⯑neſs, and that, ſaid he, cannot be help'd.

Among the civil Uſage giveu to Servants in England, I muſt place the Privileges they have in their Places: The Huntſmen have their Field-Money, and are allow'd to carry out the Hounds upon all Occaſions, to gra⯑tify the Gentlemen round, that is to ſay, to get their Field-Money.

The Game-keepers are truſted with Powers to take away Guns and Dogs from the mean⯑er People, and they abuſe the Truſt, as you ſhall hear, and the Game too.

Head-Carters and upper-Plowmen are often ſent to Market, and entruſted both to buy and to ſell, and you ſhall hear how they improve.

Your Coachmen have Privileges of their own making, namely, of having Compliments from the Tradeſmen, that is to ſay, all thoſe who ſupply you with things needful to the Equigage; ſuch as the Coachmaker, Harneſs⯑maker, Corn-chandler, Farrier, &c. and the like is the Caſe with all the Stewards, But⯑lers, &c. Theſe are Advantages which our Gentlemen in France are too wiſe to put into the Hands of Mercenaries and Scoundrels, ſuch as many times have them here; I aſ⯑ſure you 'tis far from obliging theſe Gentle⯑men, as they call themſelves, who I am talking of; far from engaging them to be more faith⯑ful [270] to their Maſters, more careful of their Maſters Intereſt, or more affectionate to their Service; on the contrary, it fills their Pockets with Money, and that ill-gotten too; ſo that it eats a Hole into their Conſciences, and makes them ſcruple no Villany to encreaſe it; that Money makes them proud, inſolent, and un⯑ſufferable within-Doors, and drunken and wicked without-doors: But let me take them in their ſeveral Capacities acting to theſe Prin⯑ciples, and conſider them apart.

Your Huntſman, if you do not give him Leave to take the Hounds out when he plea⯑ſes, and can get Company, ſhall take care you ſhall have little Sport enough when you go out your ſelf; nay, he ſhall batter your Hor⯑ſes, baulk your Hounds, and ſhow you no Sport, or to be ſure kill you nothing; while at the ſame time, he turns Poacher for the unfair Sportſmen, and ſhall ſhow them a Hare ſitting as often as they pleaſe, for the uſual Bribe of a Schilling: If you find him out, and make a Fault of it, he turns ſhort upon you, and tells you ſaucily, It is his Fees, or Vails, (as they call it here) and if you wou'd Hunt in Company, as other Gentlemen do, that the Huntſman might get his Field-Money, he wou'd not do ſo; ^(a) that is to ſay, he wou'd have you keep a Pack of Hounds, like my Lord-Mayor, not for your ſelf, but for your Huntſ⯑man, [271] that he may get all the young Rakes round the Country, and all the looſe Peo⯑ple he can, into the Field, and hunt what, and where, and how they bid him, for the meer ſake of his Field-Money, which they call the Huntſman's Fees; till they beat out the Hounds, and hackney them till they are good for little or nothing; and if you will not do that, you ſhall, as above, go out two or three Days together perhaps, and have no Sport your ſelf; kill nothing, nay perhaps, find nothing, while your Huntſman, who at the ſame time knows of a Brace or two of Hares ſitting, ſhall on purpoſe to miſs of them, draw quite another Way; if you hap⯑pen to diſlike, and bid him go this or that Way, he'll tell you, he beat all that Ground in the Morning, before you came out; or per⯑ſwade you, that he knows where there is a Hare that way that he is beating, and ſo draw you off from the Game that he is not willing you ſhou'd find, till you are thorowly fatigu'd, and your Horſes too; and if he lets you kill one ſingle Hare, you are to take it for a great Favour.

The next is your Ranger, or Park-keeper: It is his Buſineſs not only to range the Park, and ſee that the Pale is in repair, and the Co⯑vert in order, but to preſerve the Deer; and he has ſeveral large Privileges; ſome, when any Deer is kill'd for his Maſter's Houſe; but greater, when any Preſents are made of Deer alive, or of Veniſon; and theſe Advantages [272] make the Keeper's Place a very good thing.

But inſtead of being the more faithful, un⯑leſs you conſider him extraordinary, and eve⯑ry now-and-then give him Leave to ſell a fat Buck for you, to ſome great Feaſt, and the like, you ſhall feel the Conſequence of it; for you ſhall have the Park never fail of being robb'd three or four times in every Seaſon, and the beſt Bucks carry'd off, four or five Brace at a time: Then to ſolve his own Cre⯑dit, he has the Impudence to accuſe ſeveral of the young Fellows round the Country, who know nothing at-all of the Matter; and if any of them cannot give a good Account of themſelves, they are at leaſt, loaded with a Scandal, and render's ſuſpected not only there, but to all the Gentlemen in the Country; when at the ſame time your Keeper has Hor⯑ſes ſent to fetch the Veniſon, by his own Or⯑der, and as punctually as his Maſter himſelf, from certain Paſtry-Cooks, and ſly Merchants in London, who deal in ſuch Goods; and per⯑haps you chance, if you come to London, to give a couple of Guineas to ſome or other of them, for a Haunch of your own Veniſon: On the other hand, if in the Country you want any Veniſon for your own Table, or to make a Preſent of to any neighbouring Gentle⯑men, your Park keeeper ſhall tell you, there is very little fit for your Uſe, and that if you kill any more 'till next Seaſon, you will ſpoil your Park.

[273] This is ſo known a Practice, that I need but converſe with a few Gentlemen in the Neigh⯑bourhood of this City, and I might furniſh you with a great many diverting Stories upon this Subject; and two or three Park-keepers are, I think, at this very time in Priſon for ſuch Rogueries.

This indeed may be ſaid to be a kind of Thieving, and ſo not to come directly into the Subject I am upon; but as it is one of theſe Sorts of Thieving, which the Servants of this Age will not allow to be Robbery, I place it rather upon the inſolent Temper of the Men; for 'tis certain, thoſe that trade with them in this wicked Trade, call it no⯑thing but a Love of Sport, and to have an honeſt Keeper or two befriend them in it; but the Laws are of late more ſevere in this Caſe than formerly, and we ſhall ('tis hop'd) find ſome Examples made e'er long, of which I ſhall not fail to give you an Account.

But I return to the Villany which more immediately reſpects the Perſons of their Ma⯑ſters: The next is the Game keeper, or as it was call'd formerly, the Falconer.

Your Game keeper ſhall lead you about, with your Dogs and your Nets, and hardly ſhew you a Covey of Birds, in riding over a whole Lordſhip: At the ſame time he is un⯑der Contract with the Higglers, for ſo many Dozen of Partridges in the Seaſon, which he ſupplies by going out in the Night with a Pair [274] of Trammels, with which he kills all the Birds about your Eſtate.

If you ſend him out with your Gun, he ſhall go about all the Morning, and (perhaps) ſend you home a Hen Pheaſaut, and at the ſame time ſend all the reſt to Market; if he ſhoots a Woodcock or two now and then, or a Snipe, you muſt count it a Rarety, while at the ſame time he ſets his Snares in all the ſpringy ſwampy Places in the Woods, and near you, and takes from five to ten Brace in a Night.

In a Word, while the Gentlemen in the Parliament Houſe are making Laws to preſerve the Game, their own Servants are the greateſt Poachers in the Country; and under Pretence of killing the Game for their Maſters, they make a Property of the Sport, and ſupply the Huckſters and Carriers with all kinds of Fouls, which the Law forbids them to touch.

It was on this very Account, that the Gen⯑tlemen found it neceſſary to get farther Laws made for preſerving the Game, and particu⯑larly one which forbids, upon ſevere Penalties, any Partridges, Pheaſants, Quails, &c. being ſold in the Shops or Markets; or by any Hig⯑lers, Poulterers, or ſuch Perſons whatſoever; but notwithſtanding that, and even in Spight of Laws and Penalties, the Trade goes on ſtill.

By this Means all the Laws for preſerving the Game are only made Laws for raiſing the Price of the Game in the Poulterer's [275] Shops; for as 'tis a kind of contraband Trade, they drive it on clandeſtinely, and under-hand; but Hares, Partridges, Pheaſants, &c. are to be bought now as eaſily as before, only they make the Buyer pay double Price; and whereas a good Hare might have been bought before for a Shilling or eighteen Pence, now they will have four or five Shillings for it, but ſtill the Game is as much deſtroy'd as before.

From theſe very modeſt Fellows come we next to the Plowmen and Carters, Husband⯑men, and the like.

Suppoſe you now to be a Gentleman in En⯑gland, that keeping Part of your Eſtate in your own Hands, keep alſo a Head Carter, or Baily, to manage your Team of Horſe, ſee your Land plow'd, order the Cows, the Sheep, and the like; the Servants are all under this Man, as the Director of their Labour; he orders them when to plow, when to ſow, and in what Places; how, and where, and when the Sheep are to be folded, the Calves and Lambs ſuckled, the Fat Cattle ſold off, and all ſuch things; and ſometimes he is truſted ſo far, as to be ſent to Market to ſell what is to be diſpos'd of: In all which he underſtands his Buſineſs to be, that no-body ſhall cheat you but himſelf; while you are eaſy at all he does he is eaſy with you too, becauſe he makes his Market of you, but if you ſtraiten him, and pretend to look after him, his Manners are all vaniſh'd on a ſudden, and he is as ſour [276] and ſurly you ſcarce know how to ſpeak to him.

If you anger him, or find Fault with his Management, he ſhall in his Paſſion whip your Horſes, ſtarve your fatting Swine, ſuckle other Men's Calves with your Cows, and carry on your Affairs with a general Neg⯑lect, 'till you give him ſome kind Words again, and ſo make him Satisfaction, by putting it in⯑to his Power to cheat you again (if it be poſ⯑ſible) worſe than he did before.

Every Market-Day, 'tis ſuppos'd, you ſend him to Market with ſomething or other of the Produce of the Farm; 'tis not worth your while to go (perhaps) 7 or 8 Miles, to ſell a Score of Sheep, or a Couple of incalv'd Cows, or a Load of wheat or Barley; but Thomas, the Carter, goes to Market with them, and when he returns, he very honeſtly tells you he ſold them for ſo much; when 'tis very ordinary to have him ſell them for 40s. in 10l. more than he gives you an Account of: If you dare but ſuppoſe, that they might ſell for more, he begins with you (for Thieves are always the firſt to cry out of being ſuſpected) he tells you, that he wonders your Worſhip will not take the Trouble to go to Market yourſelf; that he wou'd much rather you wou'd go, and ſee every thing ſold to your Mind; that he wou'd go with all his Heart, and ſtand in the Market, you need but be at the Tavern hard by, and he wou'd bring eve⯑ry Chapman to you, and your Worſhip might [277] make your own Bargains, take the Money yourſelf, and ſo be ſatisfy'd that you are not cheated; that he thinks nothing of the Trouble of going to Market, but hates the truſt of it, for that if the Markets run low, it al⯑ways makes a poor Servant be ſuſpected.

All this while going to Market is his only Aim, and he is undone if he does not; and yet if you went yourſelf, unleſs it were without him too, he wou'd cheat you to your Face, and whiſper a low Price to the Buyer, tho' he ſhar'd the Profit with him; and ſo cheat you of 40s. to get but 20 of it for himſelf.

I wou'd not load innocent Men willingly, but this I may venture to ſay, viz. That ſuch is the Degeneracy of the Servants of this Country, that, in ſhort, except here and there an extraordinary Servant, and I ſcarce know where that extraordinary Man is to be found; I ſay, except ſuch an extraordinary one, no Gentleman can ſend his Servant with Corn or Cattle to Market, but he ſhall be cheated.

It is but the very Week theſe Sheets were writing that a Gentleman of my Acquain⯑tance, living in the Country, ſent up about 50 Load of Hay to London by Water, to ſell, en⯑truſting a Man to ſell it for him, intending to ſend a much greater Quantity, Hay being this Year between three and four Pound per Load, at London Market.

His Servant gave him an Account of the firſt ten Load, as ſold ten Shillings per Load [278] cheaper than (as he found by neighbouring Farmers) Hay was ſold for thoſe very Market Days; this made him Maſter of ſo much Jealouſy, as to ſet a more faithful Perſon, as a Spy, to watch his Servant at the Market, and (if poſſible) to inform himſelf how he ſold; by the means of this Intelligence he arriv'd to a Diſcovery, that his Servant had put 10s. per Load in his Pocket, out of eve⯑ry Load of Hay of the whole Parcel, having ſold it for ſo much more than he gave his Maſter an Account of; and the doing him⯑ſelf Juſtice upon this fraudulent Servant is now upon his Hands.

Again, come to the Plowman, and meer la⯑bouring Husbandman; if he ſows in the Field, or threſhes in the Barn, he will cheat you of your Corn, even to your Face: A Country Farmer that I knew, employ'd a poor Man to threſh Wheat in his Barn, and every Evening, to prevent his being cheated, look'd upon the Heap of Corn, lock'd up the Barn-Doors, and ſent the poor Threſher home to his Cottage, ſeeing him out himſelf, that he might be ſure he was not wrong'd.

But one Day, having ſome Suſpicion of his Man, he took Occaſion to ſend the Threſher out in a Hurry, telling him there were Hogs gotten into a Cloſe newly ſow'd with Wheat, and which lay near the Barn; when the Man was gone, he makes that an Opportunity to ſearch about the Barn, and in a Corner of the Mow, he finds hid a little leather Bag, with a⯑bout [279] half a peck of Wheat in it; he took no Notice, nor did he remove the Bag, but cuts a little Bit out of it, with a pair of Sciſſars, to⯑wards the top, ſo that the Corn wou'd not run out, that he might know his Bag again, and leaves it as he found it: At Night he diſ⯑miſs'd the Threſher, as uſual, who walk'd away; but as ſoon as he was gone, the Maſter runs a nearer way, and meets him in a narrow Field which he knew he would go through, and finds the little Bag of Wheat upon his Head, carrying it Home, as he ſuppos'd.

He did not appear angry, or ſurpriz'd, at⯑all, but after ſome other trifling Diſcourſe, he ſays to him, and art thou going home di⯑rectly? Yes, ſays the Threſher; and what haſt thou got there, Goodman Thomas? ſays the Farmer; I doubt that's ſome of my Corn: The Fellow wou'd have denied it a little at firſt, but ſeeing himſelf diſcover'd, Why yes, ſays he, 'tis ſome of the Sweepings of the Floor, but 'twas ſuch a little, ſaid he, I thought you wou'd not ſcruple ſuch a ſmall Parcel, 'tis nothing but what you would have thrown to the Poultry: Poultry! Thomas, ſays the Farmer, but my Poultry are my own, and they help to pay my Rent; I aſſure you, I thought you wou'd not have carried away any of my Corn.

Here Goodman Thomas began to be ſurly, ſeeing himſelf detected, and ſaid, he never work'd for any Maſter before, that wou'd not give him a handful of Corn for his Cocks and [280] Hens: Well but Goodman Thomas, and ſo per⯑haps wou'd l, ſays the Farmer, if you had assk'd me, but I don't love to have it taken without my Leave: The Fellow grumbl'd, and began to be ſawcy, and offer'd to go: Well, well, Goodman Thomas, ſays the Farmer, I expect you'll bring it back-again in the Mor⯑ning when you come to Work.

Next Morning he came to Work; but when the Farmer ask'd for the Bag of Corn, Goodman Thomas made light of it, and ſaid, he hop'd he wou'd not ſtand with him for ſuch a ſmall Matter: No, Goodman Thomas, ſaid the Farmer, if you will ingenu⯑ouſly own how often you have done ſo; how often, ſays Thomas, why as often as we want it at home, I always take a little for our Ba⯑king: Why Maſter, ſays he, don't all the Threſhers for you, do the ſame? I hope not, ſays the Farmer; I aſſure you, they that Threſh for me, ſhall not, if I can help it: Well, well, ſays Goodman Thomas, ſee where you'll get a Man to Threſh for you, that don't do it: I thought it no Crime, not I, and ſo laugh'd it off, and his Maſter forgave him, but diſmiſs'd him from his Work.

But Goodman Thomas's Words were all made good, for as this made the Farmer more jealous, and conſequently more careful, the next three Threſhers he hir'd, he took them all in the ſame Fact; with this Difference on⯑ly, that as Thomas ſtole under half a Peck, one of them ſtole a Buſhel at a time, and the [281] other Two about half as much each: So hard is it to get a Servant now, but will not only defraud you, and cheat you, but like Good⯑man Thomas, grin and laugh in your Face when they are diſcover'd, and think it very hard to be reſtrain'd; or huff and inſult you, and tell you, 'tis no Crime; that 'tis their Fees, and they expect it; and that they wou'd not work with you for ſuch Wages, if it was not for the other Advantages they make.

And it is on this Account that I name the Behaviour of theſe ſort of Servants, I mean Husbandmen; for it is the ſame Pride and and Inſolence by which the Footmen and Houſhold-Servants are made ſawcy, that the other are made thieviſh and diſhoneſt; and this is what we muſt expect will follow in time, among all the reſt of our Servants; for when once they grow ſawcy and impudent, they will not be long before they grow Thieves, 'tis a natural Conſequence of the thing; for when once Servants are arriv'd to a Con⯑tempt of their Maſters Perſons, they can ne⯑ver be ſuppos'd to have a ſincere Regard to their Intereſt; and if they come to be regard⯑leſs of their Intereſt, they will ſoon come to have the ſame Diſregard to their Property.

There is a kind of a Conteſt in England be⯑tween Maſters and Servants, which I never met with any-where elſe, concerning Honeſty, and the Servants here have as odd a Notion of Honeſty, as really they have of Liberty; and this falſe Notion of Honeſty is ſuch, that, [282] in ſhort, it makes Thieves of half the Servants in England, and yet at the ſame time, they have the Impudence to call themſelves very honeſt Fellows, and wou'd think it very hard to be denied a Character as ſuch, when they go from you: You ſee Goodman Thomas thought taking a little Wheat for his Family, for their baking, was no Diſhoneſty, 'twas what every-body did, and why ſhou'd not he do it as well as another?

I mention'd the honeſt thieving of their Time before, which they think nothing of; their making their Maſters pay for thoſe Hours which they ſpend at the Alehouſe to get drunk, I need not repeat it, that is one.

Leaving their Maſters, and running from their Work when there is the greateſt Neceſ⯑ſity of their Service, is another: I knew a poor Farmer had his three Men-Servants run from him in the Prime of his Harveſt, being got into Company, and drunk, and left the poor Man deſtitute of Hands to get in his Corn.

A Soldier deſerting his Colours, eſpecially in time of Service, is ſhot to Death, without Mercy, and reaſon good, becauſe the Safety of his King and Country is betray'd by his de⯑ſerting, as much as it is poſſible for him to be⯑tray it.

A Servant who hires himſelf to a poor Farmer, to do his Buſineſs, and runs from him in Harveſt, as much as in him lies be⯑trays him, and ruins him; and this very thing is ſo notoriouſly practis'd at this time, [283] and is ſo much a Grievance, that the Parlia⯑ment, ſince my writing theſe Letters, have it under Conſideration to oblige Servants to per⯑form their Agreement, and ſtay out the Year; and to empower the Juſtices of Peace, and proper Officers, to puniſh fugitive Servants; and I doubt not but we ſhall ſoon have a very ſevere Law upon that Subject. But of this hereafter.

LETTER X.

I Intended in this Letter to have enter'd into the great Article of the Behaviour of Women Servants, which, I aſſure you, is at this time grown up to be as great a Grie⯑vance as the other; and I have by me ſeveral little Hiſtories of their Behaviour; particularly with reſpect to the Havock they make of the Reputation of the Families they live in; their Pride, haughty and inſolent Behaviour; gay dreſſing, and profuſion of Cloathing; by which it is now become frequent in middling Families, that the Chambermaids have better Laces, and finer Silks than the Miſtreſſes, and it is not eaſie to know the Servants from the Daughters of a Family; and ſome of theſe little Hiſtories wou'd have pleas'd you very well: As particularly of a Gentleman in a Viſit lately at a Houſe of good Faſhion, who being recommended to one of the Gentleman's Daughters, miſtook the Chambermaid for her who was deſign'd for his Miſtreſs, and unhap⯑pily ſtepping up to her, ſaluted her firſt, which Misfortune coſt him the loſs of his Miſtreſs, and the impudent Wench the loſs of her Place.

[285] I ſhou'd alſo have furniſh'd you with ſome very good Accounts of the Diſaſters of three of four ſeveral Ladies of Fortune, ſold, or rather deliver'd into the Hands of Scoundrels, by their Maid-Servants; the Ladies wheedl'd in to marry them, as Fortunes, and the Wenches impudently aſſiſting the Raviſhers, for they cou'd be call'd little leſs, to violate that Honour which was with too eaſie a Confidence put into their Hands; one of which She Devils we have ſince ſeen deſervedly brought to the Gallows

I ſhou'd likewiſe have diverted you with the over-and-above Inſolence of Female Servants in the Duty of their Family-Buſineſs, very proper for the Information of the Senior La⯑dies, and for their Caution in the managing ſuch Creatures, and for their Conduct when it is their Lot; as whoſe is it not ſometimes, to be afflicted with ſawcy and inſolent Ser⯑vants?

But I am already ſwell'd to a Bulk beyond my Expectation, and muſt forbear dwelling any longer upon this Part, however enter⯑taining it may be: The Contents of my laſt Letter brings me neceſſarily back to that Part of your Enquiry which reſpects the Laws which we have in England againſt this Evil, and how thoſe Laws are put in Execution: I remember your Words were, That ſurely we are deficient in England in point of Regu⯑lation; and that we want good Laws to ſe⯑cure the due Subordination of the People; you inſinuate, that it cou'd not be, that Ser⯑vants [286] cou'd thus ſet up to be Maſters, and govern even the Maſters themſelves, and their Families alſo, as it is apparent they do, if we had Laws ſufficient to enforce their Obedi⯑ence, or if thoſe Laws for enforcing Obedi⯑ence, were ſufficiently obſerv'd, or duly exe⯑cuted.

My Anſwer indeed is, That our Deficiency is double.

• 1. That the Laws now in Force are not ſufficient; the Laws are good, but 'tis long ſince they were made; the Circum⯑ſtances of things are alter'd in the Na⯑tion; the way of living is alter'd; the Rate of Things advanc'd; Wages are higher; Pride encreas'd; Vice grown rampant; Drunkenneſs (which is the Ruin of Servants) broke in like a Flood; Good-Manners declin'd; and in a Word, all Sence of Subordination is loſt among us.
• 2. Thoſe Laws which we have, and which are in Force, are ill executed; Magi⯑ſtrates are degenerated in themſelves, and Vice is crept in, even on the Bench; ſo that it is not ſo eaſie to get the Drunk⯑enneſs and Debaucheries of the Poor diſ⯑countenanc'd and puniſh'd, as it wou'd be if the Magiſtrates were untainted with the Crimes they are to puniſh.
• 3. But laſtly, which is yet worſe, the very Maſters and Miſtreſſes of Families them⯑ſelves, [287] by their Remiſsneſs in taking legal Remedies againſt the Inſolence of Ser⯑vants, and againſt their refuſing to ſerve and ſubmit to their ſaid Maſters and Mi⯑ſtreſſes, as the Law directs, is the great, and indeed, the chief Reaſon why the Laws have not their due Effect upon the lower Claſs of Mankind, and why a due Subordination is not preſerv'd between Maſter and Servant, as the Law directs.

But you will be agreeably ſurpriz'd, when I ſhall tell you, that all this, and not this only, but all that I have already ſaid upon the Subject of Servants, is confirm'd by the Parliament which is now ſitting, having ta⯑ken this very Matter into their Conſideration, and thinking it worth their while to inſpect the Laws which are now in Being between Maſters and Servants, in order to a new Re⯑gulation, and in order to making thoſe Laws more effectual.

It is evident that the Legiſlature ſees the Neceſſity of rectifying this Matter; they ſee that the Rudeneſs and Inſolence of Servants is an unſufferable Burthen; that it is become ſo general, as to deſerve the Name of a Na⯑tional Grievance, and to call for an additional Force of Law to ſuppreſs it.

In this the Parliament acts as the antient Romans, who, when their Slaves rebell'd, re⯑ſolv'd to arm themſelves with Whips, for their Correction, rather than with Swords, to ſub⯑due [288] them by Conqueſts, ſcorning to attack them on the equal foot of Soldiers, and Men of Honour; or to let it be ſaid, that they ſtoop'd to the Fear of their Arms; but went out arm'd againſt them as a baſe and Scoundrel Race, whoſe Spirits were levell'd to their Condi⯑tion, and knew not how to ſhew their Faces to thoſe who they us'd to tremble at before.

Thus our Parliament here, in England, have acted in this Caſe; for the Law is a Whip for the Offender; the Authority of the Lictor is arm'd with theſe Rods and Axes, and ſup⯑ported by the Magiſtrate; and the baſe, rebel⯑ling, inſulting Servant is order'd to remember his proper Station, and look that he behaves with due Obedience to his Superiour, or to ex⯑pect the Correction which his Inſolence de⯑ſerves.

This coming at the very Juncture of my writing theſe Letters, gives a very ſatisfactory Sanction to my Opinion, viz. That the Grie⯑vance was flagrant, and that I was not giving you the Trouble of writing to you on a Sub⯑ject which was trifling, and not worth Notice; I ſhall therefore ſtop here for the preſent, and wait a-while, till we ſee what ſufficient Pro⯑viſion the Parliament will make in this Exi⯑gence for preſerving the Government of our Families from the Encroachments and Uſur⯑pation of our Servants; for really, as things are now, Maſters, or Heads of Families, are no more Maſters; Subordination ſeems to be at a Criſis, and the Government is ſhar'd be⯑tween [289] the Head and the Tail, the Maſter and his hir'd Servant; the laſt receives the Wages indeed, but the Work is done when and how the hir'd Gentlemen pleaſe to perform; and if they think fit, 'tis often not done at-all.

I ſhall give you here, as a Concluſion to the whole Work, a Repreſentation which has been prepar'd, for the Inſtruction of, and due Caution to the Houſe-keepers of Great-Britain, in this very needful Caſe; I dare ſay you will be pleas'd with the Sight of it, becauſe it of⯑fers ſomething towards a Remedy of this fla⯑grant Miſchief; and which, if the Advice is taken, we may be in Hopes, that in Conjun⯑ction with the new Proviſion now making in the Parliament, Servants may in a little time be brought to their Senſes again, be made to know themſelves a little, and the Peace and due Government of Families may be again re⯑ſtor'd.