Page:The London Magazine, volume 7 (January–June 1823).djvu/521

 at the Golden Sow. He was accordingly shown up to No. 5: and, finding a bed under an alcove, he got into it dressed as he was; and, in one moment, had sunk into a profound slumber.

Half an hour after came the true claimant; who, being also drunk, went right up stairs without troubling the waiter: and forthwith getting into bed, laid himself right upon Mr. Jeremiah Schnackenberger.

this heavy quilt,” said the student, waking up and recollecting the hundred-pounder of the preceding night; and, without further ceremony, he kicked the supposed quilt into the middle of the room.

Now began war: for the “quilt” rose up without delay; and Mr. Schnackenberger, who had been somewhat worse handled than his opponent by the devil of drunkenness, would doubtless have come by the worst, had he not in his extremity ejaculated “Juno!” whereupon she, putting aside all selfish considerations, which at the moment had fastened her to a leg of venison in the kitchen, rushed up on the summons of duty, and carried a reinforcement that speedily turned the scale of victory. The alarm, which this hubbub created, soon brought to the field of battle the whole population of the inn, in a very picturesque variety of night-dresses; and the intruding guest would in all likelihood have been kicked back to the Golden Sow; but that the word of command to the irritated Juno, which obviously trembled on his lips, was deemed worthy of very particular attention and respect.

At half-past ten on the following morning, at which time Mr. Schnackenberger first unclosed his eyes, behold! at the foot of his bed was sitting my hostess of the Golden Sow. “Aye,” said she, “I think it’s time, Sir: and it’s time, I think, to let you know what it is to affront a creditable body before all the world.”

“Nay, for God’s sake, old one, what’s the matter?” said Mr. Schnackenberger, laughing and sitting bolt upright in bed.

“Old? Well, if I have a few more years on my head, I’ve a little more thought in it; but, perhaps, you’re not altogether so thoughtless as I’ve been fancying in your actings towards me poor unfortunate widow: if that’s the case, you are a base wicked man; and you deserve—deserve—” [sic]

“Why, woman, how now? Has a tarantula bit you; or what is it? Speak.Speak.” [sic]

“Speak! Aye, I’ll speak; and all the world shall hear me. First of all come you riding into my bar like a crazy man: and I, good easy creature, let myself be wheedled, carry you meat—drink—every thing—with my own hands; sit by your side; keep you in talk the whole evening, for fear you should be tired; and what was my reward? ‘March,’ says you, ‘old witch.’ Well, that passed on. At midnight I am called out of my bed—for your sake: and the end of that job is, that along of you the Sow is half burned down. But for all that, I say never an ill word to you. I open the late Mr. Sweetbread’s clothes’-presses to you: his poor innocent wedding-shirt you don over your great shameless body; go off; leave me behind with a masterful dog, that takes a roast leg of mutton from off the spit; and, when he should have been beat for it, runs off with it into the street. You come back with the beast. Not to offend you, I say never a word of what he has done. Off you go again: well: scarce is your back turned, when the filthy carrion begins running my rabbits up and down the yard; eats up all that he can catch; and never a one would have been left to tell the tale, if the great giantical hostler (him as blacked your shoes) hadn’t ha’ cudgeled him off. And after all this, there are you hopping away at