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Updated: May 18, 2025
I'm a poor woman, Betty Tibbs, but I'm decent, and I'm none set up wi' Miss' fair words not I, indeed!" said another; and though people may not actually hear the syllables which mouth such sentiments, it seems really as if a bird of the air, or something still more subtle, did carry the matter, for the slandered person instinctively knows the slanderer.
Tibbs to the servant, who, by way of making her presence known to her mistress, had been giving sundry hems and sniffs outside the door during the preceding five minutes. ‘Please, ma’am, master wants his clean things,’ replied the servant, taken off her guard.
Tibbs, who, being prevailed upon to sing, not only distracted the nerves of her listeners, but prolonged her melody to such an extent that the widow was robbed of a sight of the water-works. No account of Vauxhall however brief should overlook the attractions the place had to the sentimental young lady of the late eighteenth century.
As for Mary, her employment was the same as that of Beau Tibbs' wife, "just washing her father's two shirts," in the pantry back-kitchen; for she was anxious about his appearance in London. "So, John, yo're bound for London, are yo?" said one. "Ay, I suppose I mun go," answered John, yielding to necessity as it were. "Well, there's many a thing I'd like yo to speak on to the Parliament people.
For Miss Tibbs was merely the daughter of the hotel-keeper; and although Tibbs was a Southerner, and had owned "his own niggers" in the States, she was of inferior position and a protegee of Cissy's. "Thank goodness you've come," exclaimed Miss Tibbs, "for I've bin sittin' here till I nigh took root. What kep' ye?" "How does it look?" responded Cissy, as a relevant reply.
He's prob'ly got her to listen to him on the decorations of Nineveh it's my belief he was there when it was destroyed. Well, if I can't cut him out we'll get our respected young friend of the 'Herald' to do it." "Sh!" returned Miss Tibbs. "Here he is."
Tibbs, as Tibbs swallowed the fourth mouthful—and away went the plates like lightning. ‘I’ll take a bit of bread, James,’ said the poor ‘master of the house,’ more hungry than ever. ‘Never mind your master now, James,’ said Mrs.
Tibbs, in her most amiable tone; for satisfactory references had ‘been given and required,’ and it was quite certain that the new-comer had plenty of money. ‘It’s rather singular,’ continued Mrs. Tibbs, with what was meant for a most bewitching smile, ‘that we have a gentleman now with us, who is in a very delicate state of health—a Mr. Gobler.—His apartment is the back drawing-room.’
These letters or essays, like so much of the work of Addison and Steele, appeared first in a periodical; but they were afterwards collected under the title, Citizen of the World . The interesting creation of these essays is Beau Tibbs, a poverty-stricken man, who derives pleasure from boasting of his frequent association with the nobility.
The boarders were seated, a lady and gentleman alternately, like the layers of bread and meat in a plate of sandwiches; and then Mrs. Tibbs directed James to take off the covers. Salmon, lobster-sauce, giblet-soup, and the usual accompaniments were discovered: potatoes like petrifactions, and bits of toasted bread, the shape and size of blank dice. ‘Soup for Mrs.
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