2. Henry Fielding, S. Choir. Sir. My design being to speak a word or two in behalf of novel writing, I know not to whom I can address myself with so much propriety as to yourself, who unquestionably stand foremost in this species of composition. To convey instruction in a pleasant manner, and mix entertainment with it, is certainly a commendable undertaking, perhaps more likely to be attended with success than graver precepts. And even where amusement is the chief thing consulted, there is some little merit in making people laugh, when it is done without giving offence to religion or virtue or good manners. If the laugh be not raised at the expense of innocence or decency, good humor bids us indulge it, and we cannot well laugh too often. Can one help wondering, therefore, at the contempt with which many people affect a talk of this sort of composition? They seem to think it degrades the dignity of their undertakings, to be found with a novel in their hands, and take great pains to let you know that they never read them. They are people of too great importance, it seems, to misspend their time in so idle a manner, and much too wise to be amused. Now, though many reasons may be given for this ridiculous and affected disdain, I believe a very principal one is the pride and pedantry of learned men, who are willing to monopolize reading to themselves, and therefore, fastidiously decry all books that are on a level with common understandings as empty, trifling, and impertinent. Thus the grave metaphysician, for example, who, after working night and day, perhaps for several years, sends forth at last a profound treatise, where A and B seem to contain some very deep mysterious meaning, froze indignant to think that every little paltry scribbler, who paints only by the characters of the age the manners of the times and the working of the passions, should presume to equal him in glory. The politician, too, who shakes his head in coffee houses and produces now and then from his fund of observations a grave, sober political pamphlet on the good of the nation, looks down with contempt on all such idle compositions as lives and romances which contain no strokes of satire at the ministry, no unmanorly reflections upon handover, nor anything concerning the balance of power on the continent. These gentlemen and their readers join all to a man in depreciating works of humor, or if they ever vouchsafe to speak in their praise, the commendation never rises higher than, yes, tis well enough for such a sort of a thing, after which the grave observer retires to his newspaper, and there, according to the general estimation, employs his time to the best advantage. But besides these, there is another set who never read any modern books at all. They, wise men, are so deep in the learned languages that they can pay no regard to what has been published within these last thousand years. The world is grown old, men's geniuses are degenerated, the writers of this age are too contemptible for their notice, and they have no hopes of any better to succeed them. Yet these gentlemen of profound erudition will contentedly read any trash that is disguised in a learned language, and the worst rivalry of Aristophanes shall be critiqued and commented on by men who turn up their noses at Gulliver or Joseph Andrews. But if this contempt for books of amusement be carried a little too far, as I suspect it is, even among men of science and learning, what shall be said to some of the greatest triflers of the times who affect to talk the same language? These surely have no right to express any disdain of what is at least equal to their understandings. Scholars and men of learning have a reason to give. Their application to severe studies may have destroyed their relish for works of a lighter caste, and consequently it cannot be expected that they should approve what they do not understand. But as for bows, rakes, petit mitiers, and fine ladies whose lives are spent in doing the things which novels record, I do not see why they should be indulged in affecting a contempt of them. People whose most earnest business is to dress and play at cards are not so importantly employed, but that they may find leisure now and then to read a novel. Yet these are as forward as any to despise them. And I once overheard a very fine lady condemning some highly finished conversations in one of your works, sir, for this curious reason. Because, said she, to such sort of stuff as passes every day between me and my own maid. I do not pretend to apply anything here said in behalf of books of amusement to the following little work of which I ask your patronage. I am sensible how very imperfect it is in all its parts and how unworthy to be ranked in that class of writings which I am now defending. But I desire to be understood in general or more particularly with an eye to your works which I take to be masterpieces and complete models in their kind. They are, I think, worthy the attention of the greatest and wisest men, and if anybody is ashamed of reading them or can read them without entertainment and instruction, I heartily pity their understandings. The late editor of Mr. Pope's works in a very ingenious note wherein he traces the progress of romance writing justly observes that this species of composition is now brought to maturity by Mr. DeMarie Vaux in France and Mr. Fielding in England. I have but one objection to make to this remark, which is that the name of Mr. DeMarie Vaux stands for most of the two. A superiority I can by no means allow him. Mr. Marie Vaux is indeed a very amiable, elegant, witty, and penetrating writer. The reflections he scatters up and down his Marianne are highly judicious, gracious, and infinitely agreeable. But not to mention that he never finishes his works which greatly disappoints his readers, I think his characters fall infinitely short of those we find in the performances of his English contemporary. They are neither so original, so ludicrous, so well distinguished, nor so happily contrasted as your own. And as the characters of a novel principally determine its merit, I must be allowed to esteem my countryman the greater author. There is another celebrated novel writer of the same kingdom now living, who in the choice and diversity of his characters perhaps exceeds his rival, Mr. Marie Vaux, and would deserve greater commendation if the extreme libertinism of his plans and two wanton drawings of nature did not take off from the other merit of his works. Though at the same time it must be confessed that his genius and knowledge of mankind are very extensive. But with all due respect for the parts of these two able Frenchmen, I will venture to say that they have their superior, and whoever has read the works of Mr. Fielding cannot be at a loss to determine who that superior is. Few books of this kind have ever been written with a spirit equal to Joseph Andrews, and no story that I know of was ever invented with more happiness or conducted with more art and management than that of Tom Jones. As to the following little piece, sir, it pretends to a very small degree of merit, tis the first essay of a young author, and perhaps may be the last. A very hasty and unfinished edition of it was published last winter, which meeting with a more favorable reception than its writer had any reason to expect, he has since been tempted to revise and improve it in hopes of rendering it a little more worthy of his reader's regard. With these alterations he now begs leave, sir, to desire your acceptance of it. He can hardly hope for your approbation, but whatever be its fate he is proud in this public manner to declare himself your constant reader and sincere admirer. End of dedication. Book 1, Chapter 1 of The History of Pompey the Little. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Pompey the Little or the Life and Adventures of a Lap Dog by Francis Coventry. Book 1, Chapter 1. A Panagyric upon Dogs, together with some observations on modern novels and romances. Various and wonderful in all ages have been the actions of dogs, and were I to collect, from poets and historians, the many passages that make honorable mention of them, I should compose a work much too large and voluminous for the patience of any modern reader. But as the politicians of the age and men of gravity may be apt to censure me for misspending my time in writing The Adventures of a Lap Dog, when there are so many modern heroes whose illustrious actions call loudly for the pen of an historian, it will not be amiss to detain the reader in the entrance of this work with a short panagyric on the canine race to justify my undertaking. And can we, without the basis in gratitude, think ill of an animal that has ever honored mankind with his company and friendship from the beginning of the world to the present moment? While all other creatures are in a state of enmity with us, some flying into woods and wildernesses to escape our tyranny, and others requiring to be restrained with bridles and fences in close confinement, dogs alone enter into voluntary friendship with us, and of their own accord make their residence among us. Nor do they trouble us only with a vicious fidelity and useless goodwill, but take care to earn their livelihood by many meritorious services. They guard our houses, supply our tables with provision, amuse our leisure hours, and discover plots to the government. Nay, I have heard of a dog's making a syllogism, which cannot fail to endear him to our two famous universities, where his brother logicians are so honored and distinguished for their skill in that useful science. After these extraordinary instances of sagacity and merit, it may be thought too ludicrous, perhaps, to mention the capacity they have often discovered for playing at cards, fiddling, dancing, and other polite accomplishments. Yet I cannot help relating a little story which formerly happened at the playhouse in Lincoln's Inn Fields. There was, at that time, the same emulation between the two houses as there is at present between the two great republics of Drury Lane and Covent Garden, each of them striving to amuse the town with various feats of activity when they began to grow tired of sense, wit, and action. At length, the managers of the house of Lincoln's Inn Fields, possessed with a happy turn of thought, introduced a dance of dogs, who were dressed in French characters to make the representation more ridiculous, and acquitted themselves for several evenings to the universal delight and improvement of the town. But one unfortunate night, a malicious wag behind the scenes threw down among them the leg of a fowl which he had brought thither in his pocket for that purpose. Instantly, all was in confusion. The marquee shook off his peruque, Madame Waselle dropped her hoop petticoat, the fiddler threw away his violin, and all fell to scrambling for the prize that was thrown among them. But let us return to grave or matter. If we look back into ancient history, we shall find the wisest and most celebrated nations of antiquity, as it were, contending with one another which should pay the greatest honor to dogs. The old astronomers denominated stars after their name, and the Egyptians in particular, a sapient and venerable people, worshiped a dog among the principle of their divinities. The poets represent Diana as spending great part of her life among a pack of pounds, which I mention for the honor of the country gentleman of Great Britain. And we know that the illustrious thesseus dedicated much of his time to the same companions. Julius Pollux informs us that the art of dyeing purple and scarlet cloth was first found out by Hercules' dog, who roving along the sea coast, and accidentally eating of the fish murex or perpura, his lips became tinged with that color, from whence the hint was first taken of the purple manufacture. And to this lucky event, our fine gentleman of the army are indebted for the scarlet, with which they subdue the hearts of so many fair ladies. But nothing can give us a more exalted idea of these illustrious animals than to consider that, formerly in old Greece, they founded a sect of philosophy. The members whereof took the name of cynics, and were gloriously ambitious of assimilating themselves to the manners and behavior of that animal from which they derived their title. And that the ladies of Greece had as great a fondness for them as the fair ones of our own isle may be collected from the story which Lucian relates of a certain philosopher, who, in the excess of his complacence to a woman of fashion, took up her favorite lap dog one day, attempting to caress and kiss it. But the little creature, not being used to the rude grip of philosophic hands, found his loins affected in such a manner that he was obliged to water the sage's beard, as he held him to his mouth, which so discomposed that principle if not only seed of his wisdom as excited laughter in all the beholders. Such was the reverence paid to them among the nations of antiquity, and if we descend to later times, neither there shall we want examples of great men's devoting themselves to dogs. King Charles II of Pius and Immortal Memory came always to his council-board accompanied with a favorite spaniel, who propagated his breed and scattered his image through the land almost as extensively as his royal master. His successor, King James, of Pius and Immortal Memory likewise, was distinguished for the same attachment to these four-footed worthies, and his reported of him, that being once in a dangerous storm at sea, and obliged to quit the ship for his life, he roared aloud with a most vehement voice, as his principal concern, to save the dogs and Colonel Churchill. But why need we multiply examples? The greatest heroes and beauties have not been ashamed to erect monuments to them in their gardens, nor the greatest wits and poets to write their epitaphs. Bishops have entrusted them with their secrets, and prime ministers deigned to receive information from them when conspiracies were hatching against the government. Islands likewise, as well as stars, have been called after their names, so that I hope no one will dare to think me idly employed in composing the following work, or if any such critic should be found, let him own himself ignorant of ancient and modern history, let him confess himself an enemy to his country, and ungrateful to the benefactors of Great Britain. And as no exception can reasonably be taken against the dignity of my hero, much less can I expect any will arise against the nature of this work, in this life-writing age especially, when no character is thought too inconsiderable to engage the public notice, or too abandoned to be set up as a pattern of imitation. The lowest and most contemptible vagrants, parish girls, chambermaids, pickpockets, and highwaymen find historians to record their praises, and readers to wonder at their exploits. Stargazers, superannuated strumpets, quarreling lovers all think themselves authorized to appeal to the public, and to write apologies for their lives. Even the prisons and stews are ransacked to find materials for novels and romances. Thus we have seen the memoirs of a lady of pleasure and the memoirs of a lady of quality, both written with the same public-spirited aim of initiating the unexperienced part of the female sex into the hidden mysteries of love, only that the former work was rather a greater air of chastity, if possible, than the latter. And I am told that illustrious mimic Mr. F-T, when all other expedience fail him, designs as the last effort of his wit to oblige the world with an accurate history of his own life, and which view one may suppose he takes care to checker it with so many extraordinary occurrences, and selects such adventures as will best serve hereafter to amaze and astonish his readers. This, then, being the case, I hope the very superiority of the character here treated of, above the heroes of common romances, will procure it a favorable reception, although perhaps I may fall short of my great contemporaries in the elegance of style and graces of language. For when such multitudes of lives are daily offered to the public, written by the saddest dogs, or of the saddest dogs of the times, it may be considered as some little merit to have chosen a subject worthy the dignity of history, in which single view I may be allowed to paragon myself with the incomparable writer of the life of Cicero, in that I have deserted the beaten track of biographers, and ventured to snatch a laurel, whom de Prius newly valorant tempura mousseau. Having detained the reader with this little necessary introduction, I now proceed to open the birth and parentage of my hero. End of Book 1, Chapter 1 Book 1, Chapter 2 of The History of Pompey the Little This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Pompey the Little or the Life and Adventures of a Lap Dog, by Francis Coventry. Book 1, Chapter 2 The birth, parentage, education, and travels of a lap dog. Pompey, the son of Julio and Phyllis, was born AD 1735 at Bologna in Italy, a place famous for lap dogs and sausages. Both his parents were of the most illustrious families, descended from a long train of ancestors, who had figured in many parts of Europe, and lived in intimacy with the greatest men of the times. They had frequented the chambers of the proudest beauties, and had access to the closets of the greatest princes. Cardinals, kings, popes, emperors were all happy in their acquaintance, and I am told the elder branch of the family now lives with his present holiness in the papal palace at Rome. But Julio, the father of my hero, being a younger brother of a numerous family, fell into the share of an Italian nobleman at Bologna, who was about this time engaged in an intrigue with a celebrated courtesan of the place, and little Julio, often attending him when he made his visit to her, as it is the nature of all servants to imitate the vices of their masters, he also commenced an affair of gallantry with a favorite little bitch named Phyllis at that time, the darling of this fiede d'joie. For a long while she rejected his courtship with disdain, and received him with that coiness, which beauties of her sex know very well how to counterfeit. But at length in a little closet devoted to Venus, the happy lover accomplished his desires, and Phyllis soon gave signs of pregnancy. I have not been able to learn whether my hero was introduced into the world with any prodigies preceding his birth, and though the practice of most historians might authorize me to invent them, I think it most ingenuous to confess, as well as most probable to conclude, that nature did not put herself to any miraculous expense on this occasion. Miracles are unquestionably ceased in this country, whatever they might be in some former ones. There needs no Dr. Middleton to convince us of this, and I scarce think Dr. Chapman himself would have the hardiness to support me if I should venture to relate one in the present age. Be it sufficient then to say that on the 25th of May, NS 1735, Pompey made his first appearance in the world at Bologna, on which day, as far as I can learn, the sun shone just as usual, and nature wore exactly the same aspect as upon any other day of the year. About this time an English gentleman who was making the tour of Europe to enrich himself in foreign manners and foreign clothes happened to be residing at Bologna, and as one great end of modern traveling is the pleasure of intriguing with women of all nations and languages, he was introduced to visit the lady above mentioned, who was at that time the fashionable and foremost courtesan of the place. Little Pompey, having now opened his eyes and learned the use of his legs, was admitted to frolic about the room as his mistress sat at her toilet or presided at her tea table. On these occasions her gallants never failed to play with him, and many pretty dialogues often arose concerning him, which perhaps might make a figure in a modern comedy. Everyone had something to say to the little favorite, who seemed proud to be taken notice of, and by many significant gestures would often make believe he understood the compliments that were paid to him. But nobody distinguished himself more on this subject than our English hilario, who had now made a considerable progress in the affections of his mistress, for partly the recommendation of his person, but chiefly the profusion of his expenses, made her think him a very desirable lover. And as she saw that his ruling passion was vanity, she was too good a dissembler and too much a mistress of her trade, not to flatter this weakness for her own ends. This so elated the spirits of hilario that he surveyed himself every day with increase of pleasure at his glass, and took a pride on all occasions to show how much he was distinguished, as he thought, above any of her ancient admirers. Resolving therefore to outdo them all as much in magnificence, as he imagined he did in the success of his love, he was continually making her the most costly presence, and among other things, presented master Pompey with a collar studded with diamonds. This so tickled the little animal's vanity, being the first ornament he had ever worn, that he would eat biscuit from hilario's hands with twice the pleasure with which he received it from any other persons, while hilario made him the occasion of conveying indirect compliments to his mistress. Sometimes he would swear he believed it was in her power to impart beauty to her very dogs, and when she smiled at the staleness of the conceit, he, imagining her charmed with his wit, would grow transported with gaiety, and practice all the fashionable heirs that custom prescribes to an intrigue. But the time came at length that this gay gentleman was to quit the scene of his pleasures, and go in quest of adventures in some other part of Italy. Nothing delayed him but the fear of breaking his mistress's heart, which his own great love of himself joined with the seeming love she expressed for him, made him think a very likely consequence. The point therefore was to reveal his intentions to her in the most tender manner, and reconcile her to this terrible event as well as he could. They had been dining together one day in her apartments, and hilario after dinner, first inspirating himself with a glass of toque, began to curse his stars for obliging him to leave Bologna, where he had been so divinely happy. But he said he had received news of his father's death, and was obliged to go settle cursed accounts with his mother and sisters, who were in a hurry for their confounded fortunes. And after many other flourishes concluded his rhapsody with requesting to take little Pompey with him as a memorial of their love. The lady received this news with all the artificial astonishment and counterfeited sorrow that ladies of her profession can assume whenever they please. In short, she played the farce of passions so well that hilario thought her very life depended on his presence. She wept entreated, threatened, swore, but all to no purpose. At length she was obliged to submit on condition that hilario should give her a gold watch in exchange for her favorite dog, which he consented to without any hesitation. The day was now fixed for his departure, and having ordered his post-chase to wait at her door, he went in the morning to take his last farewell. He found her at her tea table ready to receive him, and little Pompey sitting innocently on the setee by his mistress's side, not once suspecting what was about to happen to him, and far from thinking himself on the point of so long a journey, for neither dogs nor men can look into futurity or penetrate the designs of fate. Nay, I have been told that he ate his breakfast that morning with more than usual tranquility, and though his mistress continued to caress him and lament his departure, he neither understood the meaning of her kisses nor greatly returned her affection. At length the accomplished hilario taking out his watch and cursing time for intruding on his pleasures, signified he must be gone that moment. Ravishing therefore in hundred kisses from his mistress and taking up little Pompey in his arms, he went off humming an Italian tune, and with an air of affected concern threw himself carelessly into his chase. From whence, looking up with a melancholy shrugged to her window and showing the little favorite to his forsaken mistress, he was interrupted by the voice of the postillian, desiring to be informed of the route he was to take. Which little particular this well-bred gentleman had in his hurry forgot, as thinking it perhaps of no great consequence, but now cursing the fellow for not knowing his mind without putting him to the trouble of explaining it, damn you, cries he, drive to the devil, if you will, for I shall never be happy again as long as I breathe. Recollecting himself, however, upon second thoughts, and thinking it as well to defer that journey to some future opportunity, he gave his orders for playing, and then looking up again at the window and bowing, the post chase hurried away, while his charmer stood laughing and mimicking his gestures. As her affection for him was wholly built on interest, of course it ended the very moment she lost sight of his chase, and we may conclude his, for her, had not a much longer continuance. For notwithstanding the protestations he made of keeping her dog forever in remembrance of her, little Pompey had liked to have been left behind in the very first day's stage. Hilario, after dinner, had reposed himself to sleep on a couch in the inn, from whence being waked with information that his chase was ready and waited his pleasure at the door, he started up, discharged his bill, and was proceeding on his journey without once bestowing a thought on the neglected favorite. His servant, however, being more considerate, brought him and delivered him at the chase door to his master, who cried indolently, begad that's well thought on, called him a little devil for giving so much trouble, and then drove away with the most unconcernedness. This I mentioned to show how very short lived are the affections of protesting lovers. End of book one, chapter two. Book one, chapter three, of the history of Pompey the Little. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Starr. The history of Pompey the Little, or the Life in Adventures of a Lap Dog, by Francis Coventry, book one, chapter three. Our hero arrives in England, a conversation between two ladies concerning his master. But as it is not my design to follow this gentleman through his tour, we must be contented to pass over a great part of the puppyhood of Little Pompey, until the time of his arrival at London. Only it may be of importance to remember that in his passage from Calais to Dover he was extremely seasick, and twice given over by a physician on board. But some additional applications, together with the week's confinement in his chamber after he came to town, restored him to his perfect health. Hilario was no sooner landed than he dispatched his French valet to London with orders to provide him handsome lodgings in Paul Mall, or some other great street near the court, and himself set forwards the next day with his whole retinue. Let us therefore imagine him arrived and settled in his new apartments. Let us suppose the news writers to have performed their duty, and all the important world of dress, busy as usual, in reporting from one to another that Hilario was returned from his travels. As soon as his chests and baggage were arrived in town, his servants were all employed and setting forth to view in his antechamber the several valuable curiosities he had collected, that his visitors might be detained as they passed through it in making observations on the elegance of his taste. For the dress and gallantry were his principal ambition, he had condescended, in compliance with the humour of the times, to consult the Ciccerone at Rome and other places as to what was proper to be purchased in order to establish a reputation for Vertu, and they had furnished him accordingly at a proportional expense, with all the necessary ingredients of modern taste, that is to say, with fingers and toes of ancient statues, medals bearing the name of Roman emperors on their inscriptions, and copied original pictures of all the great masters and schools of Italy. They had likewise taught him a set of phrases and observations proper to be made whenever the conversation should turn upon such subjects, which, by the help of a good memory, he used with tolerable propriety. He could discount, in terms of art, on rusts and varnishes, and describe the air, the manner, the characteristic of different painters, in language almost as learned as the ingenious writer of a late essay. Here, he would observe, the drawing is incorrect, there the attitude ungraceful, the costume ill-preserved, the contours are harsh and the alternance irregular, the light too strong, the shade too deep, with many other affected remarks, which may be found in a very grave, sentitious book of morality. But dress, as we before observed, was his darling vanity, and, consequently, his rooms were more plentifully scattered with clothes than any other curiosity. There, all the pride of Paris was exhibited to view, suits of velvet and embroidery, sword-hills, red-heeled shoes and snuff-boxes lay about in negligent confusion, nor did he appear with less a claw with outdoors, for he had now shone his gilt chariot in bay horses in all the streets of gay resort, and was allowed to have the most splendid, brilliant equipage in London. The club at Wides soon voted him a member of their fraternity, and there began a kind of rivalry among the ladies of fashion, who should first engage him to their assemblies. At all toilets and parties in the morning, who but hilarious? At all drums and diversions in the evening, who but hilarious? Nobody came into the side-box at a play-house with so graceful and negligence, and it was on all hands confessed that he had the most accomplished way of talking nonsense of any man of quality in London. As the fashionable part of the world are glad of any fresh topic of conversation, that will not much fatigue their understandings, and the arrival of a new phop, the sight of a new chariot, or the appearance of a new fashion, are all articles of the highest importance to them, it could not be otherwise, but that the shoe and figure which hilarious made must supply all the polite circles with matter of accommodation or censure. As a little specimen of this kind of conversations may perhaps not be disagreeable, I will beg the reader's patience a moment to relate what passed on this subject between Cleonthe and Cleora, two ladies of eminence and distinction in the Commonwealth of Vanity. The former was a young lady of about fifty, who had outlived many generations of beauties yet still preserved the heirs and behaviour of fifteen. The latter, a celebrated toast now in the meridian of her charms and giddy with the admiration she excited. These two ladies had been for some time past engaged in a strict female friendship, and were now sitting down to supper at twelve o'clock at night to talk over the important follies of the day. They had played at carts that evening at four different assemblies, left their names each of them at nearly twenty doors, and taken half a turn round Rahnle, where the youngest had been engaged in a very smart exchange of bows, smiles, and compliments with hilarious. This had been observed by Cleonthe, who was at the same place, and envied her the many civilities she received from a gentleman so splendidly dressed, whose embroidery gave a peculiar poignancy to his wit. Wherefore, at supper, she began to vent her spite against him, telling Cleora she wondered how she could listen to the impertinence of such a coxcomb. Surely, said she, you cannot admire him. For my part, I am amazed at people for calling him handsome. Do you rally think him, my dear, so agreeable as the town generally makes him? Cleora, hesitating a moment, replied, she did not well know what beauty was in a man. To be sure, added she, if one examines his features one by one, one sees nothing very extraordinary in him. But all together he has an air, and a manner, and a notion of things, my dear. Be he is lively, and airy, and engaging, and all that. And then his dresses are quite charming. Yes, said Cleans, that may be a very good recommendation of his tailor. And if one decides to marry a suit of velvet, why nobody better than Hilario? How should you like him for a husband, Cleora?  But surely, my dear, there is such a thing as fancy and taste in dress. In my opinion, a man shoes his parts in nothing more than in the choice of his clothes and equipage. Why, to be sure, said Cleans, the man has something of a notion at dress, I confess it, yet me thinks I could make an alteration for the better in his liveries. Then began a very curious conversation on shoulder knots, and they ran over all the liveries in town, commending one and disliking another with great nicety of judgment. From shoulder knots they proceeded to the colour of co-chorses, and Cleant, resolving to dislike Hilario's equipage, asked her if she did not prefer greys to bays. Cleora answered in the negative, and the clock struck one before they had decided this momentous question, which was contested with so much earnestness that both of them were beginning to grow angry and to say ill-natured things, had not a new topic arisen to divert their discourse. His chariot came next under consideration, and then they returned to speculation on his dress, and when they had fully exhausted all the external accomplishments of a husband, they vouchsafed at last to come to the qualities of the mind. Cleora preferred a man who had travelled, because, said she, he has seen the world, and must be ten thousand times more agreeable and entertaining than a dull home-bread fellow who has never improved himself by seeing things. But Cleant was of a different opinion, alleging that this would only give him a greater conceit of himself, and make him less manageable by a wife. Then they fell to abusing matrimony, numbered over the many unhappy couples of their acquaintance, and both of them, for a moment, resolved to live single. But those resolutions were soon exploded. For though, said Cleant, I should prefer a friendship with an agreeable man far beyond marrying him, yet you know, my dear, we girls are under so many restraints that one must wish for a husband if it be only for the privilege of going into public places without the protection of a married woman along with one to give one countenance. Cleora rallied the expression of we girls, which again had liked to have bred a quarrel between them, and soon afterwards happening to say she should like to dance with Hilario at the next redotter, Cleant notwithstanding the indifference she had hitherto expressed towards him, could not help declaring that she should be pleased also to have him for a partner. This stirred up a warmer altercation than any that had yet arisen, and they contended with such vehemence for this distant imaginary happiness, which perhaps might happen to neither of them, that they grew quite unappeasable, and in the end departed to bed with as much malice and enmity as if the one had made an attempt on the other's life. The History of Pompey the Little or The Life and Adventures of a Lapdog by Francis Coventry, Book 1, Chapter 4. Another conversation between Hilario and two ladies of quality. Our hero was now perfectly recovered from the indisposition hinted at in the beginning of the preceding chapter, and pretty well reconciled to the air of England, but has yet had made few acquaintances, either with a gentleman of his own or of a different species, being seldom permitted to expatiate beyond Hilario's lodgings, where his chief amusement was to stand with his four paws up in the window and contemplate the coaches that passed through the street. But fortune, who had destined him to a great variety of adventures, no sooner observed that he was settled and began to grow established in his new apartments than she determined, according to her usual inconstancy, to beat up his quarters and provide him a new habitation. Hilario and his little dog were making a visit one morning to a lady of quality at her toilette, where they had not been long before another lady of the same rank entered the room and joined the conversation. It turned, as I have been told, on the Italian opera, which they all declared to be the most sublime entertainment in life, when on a sudden little Pompey leapt up into his master's lap. Lady Tempest, that was the name of the lady last arrived, no sooner saw him than addressing herself to his master with the ease and familiarity of modern breeding. Hilario, said she, where the devil did you get that pretty dog? This dog, madam, cries Hilario. Oh, Lamar, thereby hangs a tail. This dog, madam, once belonged to a woman of the first fashion in Italy, the finest creature, I think, that ever my eyes beheld such a shape and such an air. Then ran he into the most extravagant incommiums on her beauty, and after dropping many hints of an intrigue to awaken the lady's curiosity and make them inquire into the particulars of the story, concluded with desiring them to excuse him from proceeding any farther, for he thought it the highest injury to betray a lady's secrets. Nay, said Lady Tempest, it can do her reputation no hurt to tail tales of her in England, and besides Hilario, if you acquitted yourself with spirit and gallantry in the affair, who knows but we shall like you the better after we have heard your story. Well, said he, on that condition, my dear Countess, I will confess the truth. I had an affair with this lady, and I think none of my amours ever afforded me greater transport, but the eyes of her husband will officially be pried into things that do not concern them. Her jealous-pated booby surprised us one evening in a little familiar dailience, and Pox take him, sent me a challenge the next morning. Bless us, said Lady Tempest, and what became of it? Why, cries Hilario, I would really have washed my hand of the fellow if I could, for I thought it but a silly business to hazard one's life with so ridiculous an animal, but cursed the blockhead he could not understand ridicule. You must know, madam, I sent him for answer with the greatest ease imaginable, quite composed, as I am at this moment, that I had so prodigious a cold it would be imprudent to fight abroad in the open air, but if he would have a fire in his best apartment, and a bottle of burgundy ready for me on the table after I had gone through the fatigue of killing him, I was at his service as soon as he pleased, meaning, you see, to have turned the affair off with a joke, if the fellow had been capable of tasting ridicule. But that stretch him, replied Lady Tempest, I am afraid did not succeed. The man I doubt was too dull to apprehend your railery. Dull as a beetle, madam, said Hilario. The monster continued obstinate, and repeated his challenge. When therefore I found nothing else would do, I resolved to meet him, according to his appointment, and there, in short, I shall never forget how he looked. In short, not to trouble your ladyships with the long tedious description, I ran him through the body.  And after entertaining themselves with many pleasant remarks upon it, one of them said with a smile, But what is this to the dog, Hilario? The dog, madam, answered he. Oh, pardon me, I am coming to the dog immediately. Come here the Pompey, and listen to your own story. This dog, madam, this very little dog, had, at that time, the honor of waiting on the dear woman I have been describing. And, as the noise of my duel obliged me to quit Bologna, I sent her private notice of my intentions, and begged her, by any means, to favor me with an interview before my departure. The monster, her husband, who then lay on his deathbed, immured her so closely that you may imagine it was very difficult to gratify my desires. But love, immortal love, gave her courage. She sent me a private key to get admission into her garden, and appointed me an assignation in an orange grove at nine in the evening. I flew to the dear creature's arms, and spent an hour with her in the greatest rupture, till it grew dangerous and impossible to stay any longer. Oh, monkeur, then we knelt down, both of us on the cold ground, and saluted one another for the last time on our knees. Damned malicious fate tore me at length from her arms, and she gave me this dog, this individual little dog, to carry with me as a memorial of her love. The poor, dear tender woman died, I hear, within three weeks after my departure. But this dog, this divine little dog, will I keep everlasting for her sake. When the ladies had heard him to an end, well, said Lady Tempest, you have really told a very pretty story, Hilario, but as to your resolutions of keeping the dog, I swear you shall break them, for I had the misfortune to the day to lose my favorite black spaniel of the mange, and I intend you shall give me this little dog to supply his place. Not for the universe, madam, replied Hilario, I should expect to see his dear injured mistress's ghost haunting me in my sleep tonight, if I could be guilty of such an act of infidelity to her. Pew, said the lady, don't tell me of such ridiculous, superstitious trumpery. You no more came by the dog in this manner, Hilario, than you will fly to the moon tonight, but, lucky, make no preambles, for I positively must and will take him home with me. Madam, said Hilario, this little dog is sacred to love, he was born to be the herald of love, and there is but one consideration in nature that can possibly induce me to part with it. And what is that? said the lady. That, madam, cries Hilario, bowing, is the honor of visiting him at all hours in his new apartments, he must be the herald of love wherever he goes, and on these conditions, if you will now and then, admit me to your retirements, little Pompey, with your acceptance as soon as you please.  Raylery, Raylery! returned Hilario. But, as you say, my dear Countess, your monster is commodiously out of the way, and therefore we need be under no apprehensions from that quarter, for I hardly believe he will rise out of his grave to interrupt our Amor's. Amor's? cried the lady, lifting up her voice. Pray, what have I said that encourages you to talk of Amor's? From this time the conversation began to grow much too loose to be reported in this work. They congratulated each other on the felicity of living in an age that allows such indulgence to women, and gives them leave to break loose from their husbands whenever they grow morose and disagreeable, or attempt to interrupt their pleasures. From hints they relapsed again into a discourse on the Italian opera, and thence made a quick transition to ladies' painting. This was no sooner started than Hilario begged leave to present the lady of the house with a box of rouge, which he had brought with him from France, assuring her that the ladies were arrived at such excellency of using it at Paris as to confound all distinction of age and beauty. I protest your ladyship, continued he, it is impossible at any distance to distinguish a woman of sixty from a girl of sixteen, and I have seen an old dowager in the opposite box at the playhouse make as good a figure and look as blooming as the youngest beauty in the place. Nothing in nature is there required to make a woman handsome but eyes. If a woman has but eyes, she may be a beauty whenever she pleases at the expense of a couple of guineas. Teeth and hair and eyebrows and complexions are all as cheap as fans and gloves and ribbons. While this ingenious orator was pursuing his eloquent herring on beauty, Lady Tempest, looking at her watch, declared it was time to be going, for she had seven or eight visits more to make that morning, and it was then almost three in the afternoon. Little Pompey, who had absented himself during great part of the preceding conversation as thinking itch perhaps above the reach of his understanding, was now ordered to be produced, and the moment he made his appearance, Lady Tempest catching him up in her arms, was conducted by Hilario into her chair, which stood at the door waiting her commands. Thus our hero, with three footmen for running his equipage, set out in triumph for his new apartments. The History of Pompey the Little This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Starr The History of Pompey the Little, or The Life and Adventures of a Lap Dog, by Francis Coventry, Book One, Chapter Five The character of Lady Tempest, with some particulars of her servants and family. The sudden appearance of this lady, with whom our hero is now about to take up his residence, may perhaps excite the reader's curiosity to know who she is, and therefore, before we proceed any farther in our history, we shall spend a page or two in bringing him acquainted with her character. But let me admonish thee, my gentle friend, whosoever thou art, that shalt vouchsafe to peruse this little treatise, not to be too forward in making applications, or to construe satire into libel. For we declare here once and for all that no character drawn in this work is intended for any particular person, but meant to comprehend a great variety. And therefore, if thy sagacity discovers likenesses that were never meant, be so good as to impute it to thy own ill nature, and accuse not the humble author of these sheets. Taking this caution along with thee, candid reader, we may venture to trust thee with the character which, otherwise, we should be afraid to draw. Lady Tempest then was originally daughter to a private gentleman of moderate fortune, which she was to share in common with a brother and two other sisters. But her wit and beauty soon distinguished her among her acquaintance, and recompensed the deficiencies of fortune. She was a free-hearted, sprightly jovial girl, very cheerful in her conversation, and open in her behaviour, ready to promote any party of pleasure, and not displeased now and then to be assistant in a little mischief. This made her company courted by men of all sorts, among whom her affability and spirit, as well as her beauty, procured her many admirers. At length she was solicited in marriage by a young lord, famous for nothing but his great estate, and far her inferior in understanding. But the advantageousness of the match soon prevailed with her parents to give their consent, and the thoughts of a title so dazzled her own eyes that she had no leisure to ask herself whether she liked the man or know that wore it. His lordship married for the sake of begetting an heir to his estate, and married her in particular because he had heard her toasted as a beauty by most of his acquaintance. She, on the contrary, married because she wanted a husband, and married him because he could give her a title and a coach in six. But alas! there is this little misfortune attending matrimony that people cannot live together any time without discovering each other's tempers. Familiarity soon draws aside the mask, and all that artificial complacence and smiling good humour, which makes so agreeable a part of courtship, go off like April blossoms upon a longer acquaintance. The year was scarce ended before her young ladyship was surprised to find she had married a fool. Which little circumstance her vanity had concealed from her before marriage, and the hurry and transport she felt in a new equipage did not suffer her to attend to for the first half year afterwards. But now she began to doubt whether she had not made an unhappy bargain for life, and consulting with some of her female intimates about it, several of whom were married, she received such documents from them as, I am afraid, did not a little contribute to prepare her for the steps she afterwards took. Her husband, too, though not very quick of discernment, had by this time found out that his wife's spirit and romantic disposition were inconsistent with his own gloom, which gave new clouds to his temper, and he often cursed himself in secret for having married her. They soon grew to reveal these thoughts to one another, both in words and actions. They sat down to meals with indifference, and the one was always sure to dislike what the other at any time seemed to approve. Her ladyship had recourse to the common expedient in these cases. I mean the getting a female companion into the house with her as well to relieve her from the tediousness of sitting down to meals alone with her husband, as chiefly to hear her complaints, and spirit her up against her fool and tyrant, the names by which she usually spoke of her lord and master. We know such female companions, or more properly toad eaters, that happen to be present. She chose rather to divert herself with a little favorite dog than to murder any of her precious time in conversing with her husband. This, his lordship observed, and besides many severe reflections and cross-speeches, at length he'd wreaked his vengeance all the little favorite, and in a passion put him to death. This was an affair so heinous in the lady's own esteem, and pronounced to be so barbarous, so shocking, so inhuman by all her acquaintance, that she resolved no longer to keep any terms with him, and from this moment grew desperate in all her actions. First then she resolved to supply the place of one favorite with a great number, and immediately procured as many dogs into the family as it could well hold. His lordship, in return, would order his servant to hang two or three of them every week, and never failed kicking them downstairs by dozens whenever they came in his way. When this and many other stratagems had been tried, some with good and some with bad success, she came at last to play the great game of female resentment, and by many intimations gave him to mistrust that a stranger had invaded his bed. Whether this was real, or only an artifice of spite, his lordship could never discover, and therefore we shall not indulge the reader's curiosity by letting him into the secret, but the bare apprehension of it so inflamed his collar that her company now became intolerable to him, and indeed their meetings were dreadful to themselves, and terrible to all beholders. Their servants used to stand at the door to listen to their quarrels, and then charitably disbursed the subjects of them throughout the town, so that all companies now range of lord and lady tempest, but this could not continue long, for indiverance may sometimes be born in a married state, but indignation and hatred, I believe, never can, and is impossible to say what their quarrels might have produced had not his lordship very seasonably died, and left his disconciled widow to bear about the mocker of woe to all public places for a year. She now began the world anew on her own foundation, and set sail down the stream of pleasure without the fears of virginity to check her, or the influence of a husband to control her. Now she'd recovered that sprightliness of conversation and gaiety of behaviour which had been clouded during the latter part of her cohabitation with her husband, and was soon cried up for the greatest female wit in London. Men of gallantry, and all the world of pleasure had easy access to her, and malicious fame reports that she was not over hard-hearted to the solicitations of love, but far be it from us to report any such improbable scandal. What gives her a place in this history is her fondness for dogs, which from her childhood she loved exceedingly, and was seldom without a little favourite to carry about in her arms. But from the moment that her angry husband sacrificed one of them to his resentment, she grew more passionately fond of them than ever, and now constantly kept six or eight of various kinds in her house. About this time one of her great favourites had the misfortune to die of the mange, as was above commemorated, and when she saw little Pompey she resolved immediately to bestow the vacancy upon him, which that well-bred gentleman consented to, on certain conditions, as the reader has seen in the foregoing chapter. She returned home from her visit just at the clock with striking four, and, after surveying herself a moment in the glass, and a little adjusting her hair, went directly to introduce Master Pompey to his companions. These were an Italian greyhound, a Dutch pug, two black spaniels of King Charles's breed, a harlequin greyhound, a spotted dain, and a mouse-coloured English bulldog. They heard their mistresses wrap at the door and were assembled in the dining room ready to receive her, but on the appearance of Master Pompey they set up a general bark, perhaps out of envy, and some of them treated the little stranger with rather more rudeness than was consistent with dogs of their education. However, the lady soon interposed her authority and commanded silence among them by ringing a little bell which she kept by her for that purpose. They all obeyed the signal instantly and were still in a moment, upon which she carried little Pompey round and obliged them all to salute their new acquaintance, at the same time commanding some of them to ask pardon for their unpolite behaviour, which, whether they understood or not, must be left to the reader's determination. She then summoned a servant and ordered a chicken to be roasted for him, but hearing that dinner was just ready to be served up, she was pleased to say he must be contented with what was provided for herself that day, but gave orders to the cook to get ready chicken to his own share against night. Her ladyship now sat down to table, and Pompey was placed at her elbow where he received many dainty bits from her fair hands and was caressed by her all dinner time with more than usual fondness. The servants winked at one another while they were waiting and conveyed many sneers across the table with their looks, all which had the good luck to escape her ladyship's observation. But the moment they were retired from waiting, they gave vint to their thoughts with all the scurrilous wit and ill-mannered railery which distinguishes the conversation of those party-coloured gentlemen. And first the butler out of livery served up his remarks to the housekeeper's table which consisted of himself, an elderly fat woman, the housekeeper, and, my ladies made, a saucy forward affected girl of about twenty. Addressing himself to the second-hand jinter women, as soon as they were pleased to sit down to dinner, he informed them that their family was increased and that his lady had brought home a new companion. Their curiosity soon led them to desire an explanation, and in telling them that this new companion was a new dog, he related minutely and circumstantially all her ladyship's behaviour to him during the time of his attendance at the side-board, not forgetting to mention the orders of a roasted chicken for the gentleman's supper. The housekeeper launched out largely on the sin and wickedness of feeding such creatures with Christian victuals, declared it was flying in the face of heaven, and wondered how her lady could admit them into her apartment, for, as she said, they had already spoiled all the crimson dam-esque chairs in the dining-room. But my ladies made had a great deal more to say on this subject, and, as it was her particular office to wait on these four-footed worthies, she complained of the hardship done her with great volubility of tongue. Then, says she, that a new play come home, is there, as he got the mange, too, I suppose, and I shall have him to wash and comb tomorrow morning. I am sure I am all over fleas with tending such nasty poisonous vermin, and is ashamed to put a Christian to such offices. I was in hopes, when that mangy little devil died till the day, we should have had no more of them, but do fetch me, if I won't run the comb into the little devil's back, the first time he comes under my hands.   This was part of a speech made by this delicate mincing comb brush, and the rest, we shall omit, to wait upon the inferior servants, who were now assembled at dinner in their common hall of gluttony, and exercising their talents likewise on the same subject. John the Footman here reported what Mr. William the Butler had done before in his department, that their lady had brought home a new dog.  What signifies a new dog? Has she brought home ever a new man? Which was seconded with a loud laugh from all the company. Another swore he never knew a kindle of dogs kept in a bed-chamber before, which likewise was applauded with a loud and boisterous laugh. But, as such kind of wit is too low for the dignity of this history, though much affected by many of my contemporaries, I fancy I shall easily have the reader's excuse if I forbear to relate any more of it. To say the truth, the lower sort of min-servants are the most insolent, brutal, ungenerous rascals on the face of the earth. They are bred up in idleness, drunkenness and debauchery, and instead of concealing any faults they observe at home, find a pleasure in vilifying and mangling the reputations of their masters in all ale houses, nine pin alleys, gin shops, cellars, and every other place of dirty rendezvous. End of Book 1, Chapter 5 of the History of Pompey the Little. Book 1, Chapter 6 of the History of Pompey the Little This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. The History of Pompey the Little, or The Life and Adventures of a Lap Dog, by Francis Coventry. Book 1, Chapter 6.  Pompey was now grown up to maturity and dog's estate, when he came to live with Lady Tempest, who soon ushered him into all the joys and vanities of the town. As he attended his mistress to all routes, drums, hurricanes, hurly-burlies, and earthquakes, he soon established an acquaintance and friendship with the most noted dogs of quality, and of course affected a most hearty contempt for all of inferior station, whom he would never vouch safe to play with or pay them the least regard. He seemed to know at first sight whether a dog had received a good education, by his manner of coming into a room, and was extremely ambitious to show his collar at court, in which again he resembled certain other dogs, who are equally vain of their finery, and happy to be distinguished in their respective orders. If he could have spoken, I am persuaded, he would have used the phrases so much in fashion. Nobody one knows. Wretches dropped out of the moon. Creatures sprung from a dung hill, by which are signified all those who are not born to a title, or have not impudence and dishonesty enough to run in debt with their tailors for laced clothes. Again, had he been able to write a letter from Bath or Tunbridge, he would have told his correspondent, there was not a soul in the place, though at the same time he knew there were above two thousand, because perhaps none of the men wore stars and garters, and none of the women were bold enough to impoverish their families by playing at the noble and illustrious game of brag. As he was now become a dog of the town, and perfectly well bred, of course he gave himself up to intrigue, and had seldom less than two or three amours at a time with bitches of the highest fashion, in which circumstances he again lamented the want of speech, being by that means debarred from the pleasure of boasting of the favours he received, but his gallantries were soon divulged by the consequences of them, and as several very pretty puppies had been the offspring of his loves, it was usual for all the acquaintances of Lady Tempest to solicit and cultivate his breed. And here I shall beg leave to insert two little billets of a very extraordinary nature, as a specimen of what it is that engages the attention of ladies of quality in this refined and accomplished age. Lady Tempest was sitting at her toilet one morning, when her maid brought her the following little scroll from another lady, whose name will be seen at the bottom of her letter. Dear Tempest, my favourite little veni is at present troubled with certain amorous infirmities of nature, and would not be displeased with the addresses of a lover. Be so good, therefore, to send little Pompey by my servant who brings this note, for I fancy it will make a very pretty breed, and when the lovers have transacted their affairs, he shall be sent home incontinently. Believe me, dear Tempest, yours affectionately, racket. Lady Tempest, as soon as she had read this curious epistle, called for pen and ink, and immediately wrote the following answer, which likewise we beg leave to insert.  Consider, my dear, no modern love can, in the nature of things, last above three days, and therefore I hope to see my little friend again very soon. Your affectionate friend, Tempest. In consequence of these letters, our hero was conducted to Miss Rackett's house, where he was received with a civility due to his station in life, and treated on the footing of a gentleman who came according in the family. Mrs. Rackett had two daughters, who had greatly improved their natural relish for pleasure in the warm climate of a town education, and were extremely solicitous to inform themselves of all the mysteries of love. These young ladies no sooner heard of Pompey's arrival than they went downstairs into the parlor, and undertook themselves to introduce him to Miss Veni. For love so much engrossed their thoughts that they could not suffer a lapdog in the house, to have an amor without their privity. Here, while they were soullessing themselves with innocent speculation, a young gentleman, who visited on familiar footing in the family, was introduced somewhat abruptly to them. They no sooner found themselves surprised than they ran tittering to a corner of the parlor, and hid their faces behind their fans. While their visitor, not happening to observe the hymenial rites that were celebrating, begged to know the cause of their mirth.  In vain, he renewed his entreaties to be let into the secret of their laughter. The ladies had not the power of utterance, and he would still have continued ignorant, had he not accidentally cast his eye aside, and there beheld Master Pompey with the most prevailing solicitation, making love to his forefoot at Mistress. This at once satisfied his curiosity, and he was no longer at a loss to know the reason of that uncommon joy and rapture which the ladies had expressed. Thus our hero was permitted to riot in all the luxuries of life, and treated everywhere, both at home and abroad, with the greatest indulgence. He fed every day upon chicken, partridges, ragus, fricazies, and all the rarities in season, which so pampered him up with luxurious notions, as made some future scenes of life the more grievous to him, when fortune obliged him to undergo the hardships that will hereafter be recorded. THE HISTORY OF POMPEY THE LITTLE This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. THE HISTORY OF POMPEY THE LITTLE, or THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF A LAP DOG by Francis Coventry, Book 1, Chapter 7 RELATING A CURIOUS DISPUTE ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, IN WHICH THE NAME OF OUR HERO WILL BUT ONCE BE MENTIONED. Nothing is more common on the stage than to suspend the curiosity of the audience in the most interesting scenes of the play, and relieve them, as it is called, with the dance of ghosts or devils or furies or other outlandish beings. In imitation of this laudable custom, before the reader proceeds any farther in Pompey's history, he is desired to relieve himself with a curious dispute on the immortality of the soul, which passed one day in our hero's presence. Lady Tempest, about this time, being indisposed with some trifling disorder, kept her chamber, and was attended by two physicians. These gentlemen were now making their morning visit, and had just gone through the examination, which custom in memorial prescribes as, How did your lady ship sleep last night? Do you find any drowth, madam? Pray, let me look at your lady ship's tongue, and many other questions, which I have not leisure now to record, when, on a sudden, a violent ramp at the door. And shortly afterwards the appearance of a visitor interrupted their proceedings. The lady, who now arrived, came directly up to Lady Tempest, and made her compliments. Then, being desired to sit down, she fell into some common chit-chat on the news of the town, in the midst of which, without anything preparatory to such a subject, addressing herself on a sudden to one of the physicians, with a face of infinite significance and erudition, she asked him if he believed in the immortality of the soul. But before we answer this extraordinary question, or relate the conversation that ensued upon it, it will be for the reader's ease to receive a short sketch of her character. In many respects this lady was in similar circumstances with Lady Tempest, only with this difference, that the one had been separated from her husband by his death, the other divorced from hers by active parliament. The one was famous for wit, and the other affected the character of wisdom. Lady Sophister, for that was her name, as soon as she was released from the matrimonial fetters, set out to visit foreign parts, and had displayed her charms in most of the courts in Europe. There, in many parts of her tour, she had cultivated an acquaintance with the Litterati, and particularly in France, where the ladies effect a reputation of science, and are able to discourse on the profoundest questions of theology and philosophy. The labyrinths of a female brain are so varied and intricate, that it is difficult to say what first suggested the opinion to her, whether caprice or vanity of being singular, but all of a sudden her ladyship took a fancy into her head to disbelieve the immortality of the soul, and never came into the company of learned men without displaying her talents on this wonderful subject. This extraordinary principle, to show that she did not take up her notions lightly and wantonly, she was able to demonstrate, and could appeal to the greatest authorities in defense of it. She had read Hobbes, Malbranche, Locke, Shaftesbury, Wooliston, and many more, all of whom she obliged to give testimony to her paradox, and perverted passages out of their works, with a facility very easy to be imagined. But Mr. Locke had the misfortune to be her principal favorite, and consequently it rested chiefly upon him to furnish her with quotations whenever her ladyship pleased to engage in controversy. Such was the character of Lady Sophister, who now arrived, and asked the surprising question above mentioned concerning the immortality of the soul. Dr. Kildarby, to whom she addressed herself, astonished at the novelty of the question, sat staring with horror and amazement on his companion, which Lady Tempest observing, and guessing that her female friend was going to be very absurd, resolved to promote the conversation for her own amusement. Turning herself, therefore, to the doctor, she said, with a smile, Don't you understand the meaning of her ladyship's question, sir? She asks you if you believe in the immortality of the soul. Believe in the immortality of the soul, madam? said the doctor, staring. Bless me, your ladyship, astonish me beyond measure. Believe in the immortality of the soul? Yes, undoubtedly, and I hope all mankind does the same. Be not sure of that, sir, said Lady Sophister. Pray, have you ever read Mr. Locke's controversy with the bishop of Oschester? Mr. Locke's controversy, madam? replied the doctor. I protest. I am not sure. Mr. Locke's controversy with the bishop of Oschester. Let me see. I vow I can't recollect. My reading has been very multifarious and extensive. Yes, madam? I think I have read it, though I protest. I can't be sure whether I have read it or no. Have you ever read it, Dr. Reubarb? said she, addressing herself to the other physician. Oh, yes, madam, very often, replied he. Does that fine piece of his wear? Yes, yes, I have read it very often. I remember it perfectly well. But pray, madam, is there any passage? I beg your ladyship's pardon, if I am mistaken. But is there any passage, I say, in that piece, which tends to confirm your ladyship's notion concerning the immortality of the soul? Why, pray, sir, said the lady with a smile of triumph. What do you esteem the soul to be? Is it air, or fire, or ether, or some kind of quintessence, as Aristotle observed? And composition of all the element? Dr. Reubarb, quite dumbfounded with so much learning, desired first to hear her ladyship's opinion of the matter. My opinion, returned she, is exactly the same with Mr. Locke's. You know, Mr. Locke observes, there are various kinds of matter. Well, but first, we should define matter, which you know the logicians tell us, is an extended, solid substance. Well, out of this matter, some you know, is made into roses and peach trees. Then the next step which matter takes is animal life. From once you know, we have lions and elephants, and all the race of brutes. Then the last step, as Mr. Locke observes, is thought and reason and volition. From once are created men, and therefore you very plainly see, it is impossible for the soul to be immortal. Pardon me, madam, said Reubarb. Roses and peach trees, and elephants and lions. I protest, I remember nothing of this nature in Mr. Locke. May, sirs, that she, can you deny me this? If the soul is fire, it must be extinguished. If it is air, it must be dispersed. If it be only a modification of matter, why then, of course, it ceases. You know, when matter is no longer modified, if it be anything else, it is exactly the same thing. And therefore you must confess. Indeed, doctor, you must confess that it is impossible for the soul to be immortal. Dr. Kildarby, who had sat silent for some time to collect his thoughts, finding what a learned antagonist he had to cope with, began now to harangue in the following manner. Madam, said he, as to the nature of the soul. To be sure there have been such opinions, as your ladyship mentions about it, many various and unaccountable opinions. Some called it Divinium Choleste, others Quinta Essencia, as your ladyship observes, and others Inflammata Anemia, that is, madam, inflamed air. Aerostoxanus, an old musician as I remember, imagined the soul to be a musical tune. And a mathematician that I have heard of, supposed it to be like an equilateral triangle. Descartes, I think, makes its residence to be the pineal gland of the brain, where all the nerves terminate. And Borey, I remember, the Milanese physician, in a letter to Bartholene, Diorto Seribi, and Uso Medico, asserts that in the brain is found a certain very subtle fragrant juice, which I conceive may be the same as the nervous juice or animal spirits, and this he takes to be the residence or seat of the soul, the subtility or finesse of which he supposes to depend, madam, on the temperature of this liquor. But really, all these opinions may very probably be false. We do but grope in the dark, madam, we do but grope in the dark, and it would be better to let the subject entirely alone. The concurrent opinions of all mankind have ever agreed in believing the immortality of the soul, and this, I confess, is to me an unanswerable argument of its truth. You see, madam, I purposely waive the topic of revelation. Oh, sir, has to that matter, cries the lady, interrupting him, has to revelation, sir, and here she ran into much commonplace railery at the expense only of Christianity and the gospel, till Lady Tempest cut her short, and desired her to be silent on that head. For this good lady believed all the doctrines of religion, and was contented, like many others, with the trifling privilege only of disobeying all its precepts. Lady Sophister, however, resolved not to quit the field of battle, but rallied her forces, and once more fell on her adversaries with an air of triumph. You say, I think, sir, resume she, that a multitude of opinions will establish a truth. Now, you know, all the Indians believe that their dogs will go to heaven along with them, and if a great many opinions can prove anything to be true, what say you to that, sir? India, you know, doctor, is a prodigious, large, wide track of continent where the gymnastophists lived and all that. Pray, Lady Tempest, let us look at your globes. My globes, madam, said Lady Tempest, what globes of mine does your ladyship desire to see? What globes replied the disputant? Why your celestial and terrestrial globes, to be sure? I want to look out India in the map, and show the doctor what a prodigious, wide track of continent it is in comparison of our Europe. However, come, I believe we can do without them. As I was saying, therefore, sir, the Indians, you know, believe their dogs will bear them company to heaven, and if a great many opinions can establish the truth of an hypothesis, you understand me, I hope, because I would feign speak to be understood, I say, if a great many opinions can prove anything to be true, what say you to that, sir? For instance, now, there's Lady Tempest's little lap-dog.  Will you go to heaven along with me? I shall be vastly glad of your company, Pompey, if you will. From this hint, both their ladyships had many bright sallies. To Lady Sophister flushed, with the hopes of this argument, recalled her adversary to the question, and desired to hear his reply. Come, sir, said she. You have not yet responded to my argument. You have not answered my last syllogism. I think I have grappled you now. I think I have done for you. I think I have demolished you, doctor. Not at all, madam, said Kildarby. Really, as to that matter, that is neither here nor there. Opinions, madam, vague, irregular opinions, will spring up and float in people's brains. But we are talking of the dictates of sense and reason. Savages, madam, will be savage. But Indians have nothing to do with Europeans. The reply to what your ladyship has advanced would be easy and obvious. But really, I must beg to be excused. My profession does not oblige me to a knowledge of such subjects. I came here to prescribe as a physician, and not to discuss topics of theology. Come, brother, I believe we only interrupt their ladyships, and I am obliged to call upon my lord, and Sir William, and Lady Betty, and many other people of quality this morning. Dr. Rubarb declared that he likewise had as many visits to make that morning, were upon taking their leave and their fees. The two gentlemen retired with great precipitation, leaving her ladyship in possession of the field of battle, who immediately reported all over the town that she had outreasoned two physicians, and obliged them, by dint of argument, to confess that the soul is not immortal. And now, begging the reader's pardon for this digression, let us return to our hero, who, I am afraid, is going to suffer a great revolution in his life. Recording by Richard Kilmer, Rio Medina, Texas Book 1, Chapter 8 of the History of Pompey the Little This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer The History of Pompey the Little, or The Life and Adventures of a Laptog, by Francis Coventry Book 1, Chapter 8 Various and sundry matters Lady Tempest had been walking one morning in St. James' Park with her little favorite, as usual attending her, for she never went abroad without taking him in her arms. Here she sat him down on his legs to play with some other dogs of quality that were taking the air that morning in the mall, giving him strict orders, however, not to presume to stray out of her sight. Yet, in spite of this injunction, something or other tempted his curiosity beyond the limits of the mall, and there, while he was rolling and indulging himself on the green grass, a pleasure by novelty rendered more agreeable to him, it was his misfortune to spring a bird, which he pursued with such eagerness and alacrity that he was quite out of sight before he thought proper to give over to Chase. His mistress in the meanwhile was engaged in so warm an interesting dispute on the price of silk that she never missed her favorite. Nay, what is still more extraordinary, she got into her coach and drove home without once bestowing a thought upon him. But the moment she arrived in her dining-room, and cast her eyes on the rest of her four-footed friends, her guilt immediately flew in her face, and she cried out with a scream, as I am alive I have left little Pompey behind me. Then, summoning up two of her servants, she commanded them to go directly and search every corner of the park, with the greatest diligence, protesting she should never have any peace of mind till her favorite was restored to her arms. Many times she rang her bell, to know if her servants were returned, before it was possible for them to have got thither. But at length the fatal message arrived, that Pompey was nowhere to be found, and indeed it would have been next to a miracle if he had. For these faithful ambassadors had never once stirred from the kitchen fire, where, together with the rest of the servants, they had been laughing at the folly of their mistress. And the reason why they denied their return sooner was because they imagined a sufficient time had not then elapsed to give a probability to that lie which they were determined to tell. Yet this did not satisfy their lady. She sent them a second time to repeat their search, and a second time they returned with the same answer. At this again the reader is desired not to wonder, for though her ladyship saw them out of the house herself, and ordered them to bring back her favorite underpain of dismission. The farthest of their travels was only to an ale house at the corner of the street, where they had been entertaining a large circle of their party-colored brethren with much rivalry at the expense of their mistress. Tenderness to this lady's character makes me pass over much of the sorrow she vented on this occasion. But I cannot help relating that she immediately dispatched cards to all her acquaintance to put off a drum which was to have been held at her house that evening, giving as a reason that she had lost her darling lapdog and could not see company. She continued to advertise him in all the newspapers for a month together, with increase of the reward as the case grew more desperate. Yet nearly all the inquiries she made, nor all the rewards she offered, ever restored little Pompey to her arms. We must leave her, therefore, to receive the consolations of her friends on this afflicting loss and return to examine after our hero. He had been pursuing a bird, as was before described, and when his diversion was over, galloped back to the mall, not in the least doubting, to find his lady there at his return. But alas! how great was his disappointment! He ran up and down, smelling to every petticoat he met, and staring up in every female face.  Seven times he coursed from Buckingham House to the horse-guard, and back again. But all in vain.  In this evil plight, while he was ruminating on his fate, and, like many other people in the park, unable to divine where he should get a dinner, he was spied by a little girl about seven years old who was walking by her mother's side in the mall. She no sooner perceived him than she cried out, La mamma, there's a pretty dog, and then applied herself with much tenderness to solicit him to her. The wretched are always glad to find a friend, and, our little unfortunate, no sooner saw one courting him to her, then immediately breaking off his meditations, he ran hastily up, and, saluting her eagerly with his forepaws, gave so many dumb expressions of joy. Let's speech itself could hardly have been more eloquent. The young lady, on her side, charmed with his ready compliance, snatched him up in her arms and kissed him with great delight, then turning again to her mother and asking her if she did not thank him a lovely creature. I wonder, says she, whose dog it is, mamma. I have a good mind to take him home with me. Shall I, mamma? Shall I take him home with me, mamma? To this also her mother consented, and, when they had taken two or three more turns, they retired to their coach, and Pompey was conducted to his new lodgings. As soon as they alighted at home, little miss ran hastily upstairs to show her brother and sisters the prize she had found, and he was handed about from one to the other with great delight and admiration of his beauty. Then he was introduced to all their favorites, which were a doormouse, two kittens, a squirrel, a parrot, and a magpie. To these he was presented with many childish ceremonies, and a thousand little follies which make up the happiness of this happiest age. The parrot was to make a speech to him, the squirrel to treat him with some nuts, the kittens to dance for his diversion, the magpie to tell his fortune, and all were enjoined to contribute something to the entertainment of the little stranger in his new apartments, and to seem conceivable how busy they were in the execution of these trifles with all their spirits in a hurry and their whole souls laid out upon them. One would have imagined, after the extraordinary tenderness with which our hero had been treated by Lady Tempest, he must have felt great regret and concern at the loss of her. But I am sorry to say he had no sooner dined and felt himself snug in a new apartment that he entirely forgot his former mistress. Here I know not how to excuse his behavior. Had he been a man, one should not have wondered to find him guilty of ingratitude, a vice deeply rooted in the nature of that wicked animal. But that a dog, a creature famous for fidelity, should so soon forget his former friend and benefactress is, I confess, quite unaccountable, and I would willingly draw a veil over this part of his conduct if the veracity of a historian did not oblige me to relate it.