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Two Taylors


TOM HINT’s virulence against the people of New York, has been in some sort accounted for by himself, in one of his former letters. It seems, tho’ he lived several years in that country, they never extended to him any of that civility they generally shew to strangers. He now tells us, in your paper of Saturday, by way of fresh abuse on that whole people, that “he admires their wonderful sagacity in distinguishing the gentleman from the scoundrel; for in serious truth, it would be a difficult matter for an old-country man to make that distinction among them, after living with them for many years.” This will excuse my remarking, that it appears this old-country man has little of that sagacity himself, and, from the difficulty he supposed in making such distinction, might naturally conceive an opinion when he arrived there, that he should be able easily to pass upon those ignorant new-country men, as a gentleman. The event, it seems, did not answer his expectations; and hence he had reason to admire their sagacity, but still continues to be angry at its consequences. — It puts me in mind of a short story, which, in return for his scraps of plays, I will take the liberty of telling him. Two journeymen Snips, during the season of little business, agreed to make a trip to Paris, with each a fine lac’d waistcoat, in which they promised themselves the great pleasure of being received and treated as gentlemen. On the road from Calais, at every inn, when they called for any thing hastily, they were answered, Tout a l’heure, Tout a l’heure; which not a little surprized them. At length, D — these French scoundrels, says one, how shrewd they are! I find it won’t do; — e’en let us go back again to London. — Aye, says ‘tother, they must certainly deal with the devil, or, dress’d as we are dress’d, they could not possibly all at first sight have known us to be two taylors. F. B.

The Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser, January 14, 1766