Where the good-natured reader will see something
which will give him no great pleasure.
The pedlar had been very inquisitive from the time
he had first heard that the great house in this parish
belonged to the Lady Booby, and had learnt that she
was the widow of Sir Thomas, and that Sir Thomas had
bought Fanny, at about the age of three or four years,
of a travelling woman; and, now their homely but hearty
meal was ended, he told Fanny he believed he could
acquaint her with her parents. The whole company,
especially she herself, started at this offer of the
pedlar’s. He then proceeded thus, while
they all lent their strictest attention:—“Though
I am now contented with this humble way of getting
my livelihood, I was formerly a gentleman; for so
all those of my profession are called. In a word,
I was a drummer in an Irish regiment of foot.
Whilst I was in this honourable station I attended
an officer of our regiment into England a-recruiting.
In our march from Bristol to Froome (for since the
decay of the woollen trade the clothing towns have
furnished the army with a great number of recruits)
we overtook on the road a woman, who seemed to be
about thirty years old or thereabouts, not very handsome,
but well enough for a soldier. As we came up to
her, she mended her pace, and falling into discourse
with our ladies (for every man of the party, namely,
a serjeant, two private men, and a drum, were provided
with their woman except myself), she continued to travel
on with us. I, perceiving she must fall to my
lot, advanced presently to her, made love to her in
our military way, and quickly succeeded to my wishes.
We struck a bargain within a mile, and lived together
as man and wife to her dying day.” “I
suppose,” says Adams, interrupting him, “you
were married with a licence; for I don’t see
how you could contrive to have the banns published
while you were marching from place to place.”
“No, sir,” said the pedlar, “we took
a licence to go to bed together without any banns.”
“Ay! ay!” said the parson; “ex
necessitate, a licence may be allowable enough;
but surely, surely, the other is the more regular
and eligible way.” The pedlar proceeded
thus: “She returned with me to our regiment,
and removed with us from quarters to quarters, till
at last, whilst we lay at Galloway, she fell ill of
a fever and died. When she was on her death-bed
she called me to her, and, crying bitterly, declared
she could not depart this world without discovering
a secret to me, which, she said, was the only sin
which sat heavy on her heart. She said she had
formerly travelled in a company of gypsies, who had
made a practice of stealing away children; that for
her own part, she had been only once guilty of the
crime; which, she said, she lamented more than all
the rest of her sins, since probably it might have
occasioned the death of the parents; for, added she,
it is almost impossible to describe the beauty of the
