The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

THE EXPEDITION OF HUMPHRY CLINKER 197
and reproduce him at pleasure: they were, therefore, convicted
of blasphemy and sedition, and condemned to the stake, where they
died singing Salve regina, in a rapture of joy, for the crown of
martyrdom which they had thus obtained.
In the course of this conversation, lieutenant Lismahago dropt
some hints by which it appeared he himself was a free-thinker.
Our aunt seemed to be startled at certain sarcasms he threw out
against the creed of saint Athanasius.—He dwelt much upon the
words, reason, philosophy, and contradiction in terms—he bid
defiance to the eternity of hell-fire; and even threw such squibs at
the immortality of the soul, as singed a little the whiskers of Mrs.
Tabitha’s faith; for, by this time, she began to look upon Lisma-
hago as a prodigy of learning and sagacity.—In short, he could be
no longer insensible to the advances she made towards his affection;
and although there was something repulsive in his nature, he over-
came it so far as to make some return to her civilities.—Perhaps,
he thought it would be no bad scheme, in a superannuated lieu-
tenant on half-pay, to effect a conjunction with an old maid, who,
in all probability, had fortune enough to keep him easy and com-
fortable in the fag-end of his days.—An ogling correspondence
forthwith commenced between this amiable pair of originals.—
He began to sweeten the natural acidity of his discourse with the
treacle of compliment and commendation.—He from time to time
offered her snuff, of which he himself took great quantities, and
even made her a present of a purse of silk grass, woven by the hands
of the amiable Squinkinacoosta, who had used it as a shot-pouch in
her hunting expeditions.
From Doncaster northwards, all the windows of all the inns are
scrawled with doggrel rhimes, in abuse of the Scotch nation; and
what surprized me very much, I did not perceive one line written
in the way of recrimination—Curious to hear what Lismahago
would say on this subject, I pointed out to him a very scurrilous
epigram against his countrymen, which was engraved on one
of the windows of the parlour where we sat.—He read it with
the most starched composure; and when I asked his opinion of the
poetry, ‘It is vara terse and vara poignant; (said he) but with the
help of a wat dish-clout, it might be rendered more clear and
parspicous.—I marvel much that some modern wit has not pub-
lished a collection of these essays under the title of the Glazier’s
Triumph over Sawney the Scot—I’m persuaded it would be a vara