The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

THE EXPEDITION OF HUMPHRY CLINKER 211
the morning, before day, while poor Teague lay snoring a-bed, his
indefatigable rival ordered a post-chaise, and set out with the lady
for Coldstream, a few miles up the Tweed, where there was a
parson who dealt in this branch of commerce, and there they were
noosed, before the Irishman ever dreamt of the matter. But when
he got up at six o’clock, and found the bird was flown, he made
such a noise as alarmed the whole house. One of the first persons
he encountered, was the postilion returned from Coldstream, where
he had been witness to the marriage, and over and above an hand-
some gratuity, had received a bride’s favour, which he now wore in
his cap—When the forsaken lover understood they were actually
married, and set out for London; and that Dutton had discovered
to the lady, that he (the Hibernian) was a taylor, he had like to have
run distracted. He tore the ribbon from the fellow’s cap, and beat
it about his ears. He swore he would pursue him to the gates of hell,
and ordered a post-chaise and four to be got ready as soon as pos-
sible; but, recollecting that his finances would not admit of this
way of travelling, he was obliged to countermand this order.
For my part, I knew nothing at all of what had happened, till the
postilion brought me the keys of my trunk and portmanteau, which
he had received from Dutton, who sent me his respects, hoping I
would excuse him for his abrupt departure, as it was a step upon
which his fortune depended—Before I had time to make my uncle
acquainted with this event, the Irishman burst into my chamber,
without any introduction, exclaiming,—‘By my soul, your sarvant
has robbed me of five thousand pounds, and I’ll have satisfaction,
if I should be hanged to-morrow.—’ When I asked him who he
was, ‘My name (said he) is Master Macloughlin—but it should be
Leighlin Oneale, for I am come from Ter-Owen the Great; and
so I am as good a gentleman as any in Ireland; and that rogue, your
sarvant, said I was a taylor, which was as big a lie as if he had called
me the pope—I’m a man of fortune, and have spent all I had; and
so being in distress, Mr. Coshgrave, the fashioner in Shuffolk-
street, tuck me out, and made me his own private shecretary: by
the same token, I was the last he bailed; for his friends obliged him
to tie himself up, that he would bail no more above ten pounds;
for why, becaase as how, he could not refuse any body that asked,
and therefore in time would have robbed himself of his whole
fortune, and, if he had lived long at that rate, must have died bank-
rupt very soon—and so I made my addresses to Miss Skinner, a