Page:The London Magazine, volume 7 (January–June 1823).djvu/512

 to say the truth, every part of the house seemed to sympathise admirably with the unclean habits of it’sits [sic] patron image, nevertheless, Mr. Jeremiah thought proper to comply with the instincts of his horse; and, as nobody in the street, or in the yard, came forward to answer his call, he gave himself no further trouble, but rode on through the open door right forwards into the bar.

“The Lord, and his angels, protect us!—As I live, here comes the late governor!” ejaculated the hostess, Mrs. Bridget Sweetbread; suddenly startled out of her afternoon’s nap by the horse’s hoofs—and seeing right before her what she took for the apparition of Don Juan; whom, as it afterwards appeared, she had seen in a pantomime the night before.

“Thunder and lightning! my good woman,” said the student laughing, “would you dispute the reality of my flesh and blood?”

Mrs. Bridget, however, on perceiving her mistake, cared neither for the sword nor for the dog, but exclaimed, “Why then, let me tell you, Sir, it’s not the custom in this country to ride into parlours, and disturb honest folks when they’re taking their rest. Innkeeping’s not the trade it has been to me, God he knows: but, for all that, I’ll not put up with such work from nobody.”

“Good, my dear creature; what you say is good—very good: but let me tell you, it’s not good that I must be kept waiting in the street, and no soul in attendance to take my horse and feed him.”

“Oh that base villain of a hostler!” said the landlady, immediately begging pardon, and taking hold of the bridle, whilst Mr. Schnackenberger dismounted.

“That’s a good creature,” said he; “I love you for this: and I don’t care if I take up my quarters here, which at first was not my intention. Have you room for me?”

“Room!” answered Mrs. Sweetbread; “Ah! now there’s just the whole Golden Sow at your service; the more’s the pity.”

On Mr. Jeremiah’s asking the reason for this superfluity of room, she poured out a torrent of abuse against the landlord of The Double-barreled Gun, who—not content with having at all times done justice to his sign—had latterly succeeded, with the help of vicious coachmen and unprincipled postillions, in drawing away her whole business, and had at length utterly ruined the once famous inn of The Golden Sow. And true it was that the apartment, into which she now introduced her guest, showed some vestiges of ancient splendour, in the pictures of six gigantic sows. The late landlord had been a butcher, and had christened his inn from his practice of slaughtering a pig every week; and the six swine, as large as life, and each bearing a separate name, were designed to record his eminent skill in the art of fattening.

His widow, who was still in mourning for him, must certainly have understood Mr. Schnackenberger’s words, “I love you for this,” in a sense very little intended by the student. For she brought up supper herself; and, with her own hand, unarmed with spoon or other implement, dived after and secured a little insect which was floundering about in the soup. So much the greater was her surprise on observing, that, after such flattering proofs of attention, her guest left the soup untouched; and made no particular application to the other dishes—so well harmonising with the general character of the Golden Sow. At last, however, she explained his want of appetite into the excess of his passion for herself; and, on that consideration, failed not to lay before him a statement of her flourishing circumstances, and placed in a proper light the benefits of a marriage with a woman somewhat older than himself.

Mr. Schnackenberger, whose good-nature was infinite, occasionally interrupted his own conversation with Juno, the great dog, who meantime was dispatching the supper without any of her master’s scruples, to throw in a “Yes,” or a “No,”—a “Well,” or a “So, so.” But at length his patience gave way, and he started up—saying, “Well: Sufficit: Now