I have mentioned several times the pertness of Mrs. Betty to me;
and now, having a little time upon my hands, I will give you a short
dialogue that passed just now between us. It may, perhaps, be a little
relief to you from the dull subjects with which I am perpetually teasing
you.
As she attended me at dinner, she took notice, That Nature is satisfied
with a very little nourishment: and thus she complimentally proved
it--For, Miss, said she, you eat nothing; yet never looked more
charmingly in your life.
As to the former part of your speech, Betty, said I, you observe well;
and I have often thought, when I have seen how healthy the children of
the labouring poor look, and are, with empty stomachs, and hardly a good
meal in a week, that God Almighty is very kind to his creatures, in this
respect, as well as in all others in making much not necessary to the
support of life; when three parts in four of His creatures, if it were,
would not know how to obtain it. It puts me in mind of two proverbial
sentences which are full of admirable meaning.
What, pray, Miss, are they? I love to hear you talk, when you are so
sedate as you seem now to be.
The one is to the purpose we are speaking of: Poverty is the mother of
health. And let me tell you, Betty, if I had a better appetite, and
were to encourage it, with so little rest, and so much distress and
persecution, I don't think I should be able to preserve my reason.
There's no inconvenience but has its convenience, said Betty, giving me
proverb for proverb. But what is the other, Madam?
That the pleasures of the mighty are not obtained by the tears of the
poor. It is but reasonable, therefore, methinks, that the plenty of
the one should be followed by distempers; and that the indigence of the
other should be attended with that health, which makes all its other
discomforts light on the comparison. And hence a third proverb, Betty,
since you are an admirer of proverbs: Better a hare-foot than none at
all; that is to say, than not to be able to walk.
She was mightily taken with what I said: See, returned she, what a fine
thing scholarship is!--I, said she, had always, from a girl, a taste for
reading, though it were but in Mother Goose, and concerning the fairies
[and then she took genteelly a pinch of snuff]: could but my parents
have let go as fast as I pulled, I should have been a very happy
creature.
Very likely, you would have made great improvements, Betty: but as it
is, I cannot say, but since I had the favour of your attendance in this
intimate manner, I have heard smarter things from you, than I have heard
at table from some of my brother's fellow-collegians.
Your servant, dear Miss; dropping me one of her best courtesies: so
fine a judge as you are!--It is enough to make one very proud. Then with
another pinch--I cannot indeed but say, bridling upon it, that I have
heard famous scholars often and often say very silly things: things
I should be ashamed myself to say; but I thought they did it out of
humility, and in condescension to those who had not their learning.
That she might not be too proud, I told her, I would observe, that the
liveliness or quickness she so happily discovered in herself, was not
so much an honour to her, as what she owed to her sex; which, as I had
observed in many instances, had great advantages over the other, in all
the powers that related to imagination. And hence, Mrs. Betty, you'll
take notice, as I have of late had opportunity to do, that your own
talent at repartee and smartness, when it has something to work upon,
displays itself to more advantage, than could well be expected from one
whose friends, to speak in your own phrase, could not let go so fast as
you pulled.
The wench gave me a proof of the truth of my observation, in a manner
still more alert than I had expected: If, said she, our sex had so much
advantage in smartness, it is the less to be wondered at, that you,
Miss, who have had such an education, should outdo all the men and women
too, that come near you.
Bless me, Betty, said I, what a proof do you give me of your wit and
your courage at the same time! This is outdoing yourself. It would make
young ladies less proud, and more apprehensive, were they generally
attended by such smart servants, and their mouths permitted to be
unlocked upon them as yours has been lately upon me.--But, take away,
Mrs. Betty.
Why, Miss, you have eat nothing at all--I hope you are not displeased
with your dinner for any thing I have said.
No, Mrs. Betty, I am pretty well used to your freedoms now, you know.--I
am not displeased in the main, to observe, that, were the succession of
modern fine ladies to be extinct, it might be supplied from those whom
they place in the next rank to themselves, their chamber-maids and
confidants. Your young mistress has contributed a great deal to this
quickness of yours. She always preferred your company to mine. As
you pulled, she let go; and so, Mrs. Betty, you have gained by her
conversation what I have lost.
Why, Miss, if you come to that, nobody says better things than Miss
Harlowe. I could tell you one, if I pleased, upon my observing to her,
that you lived of late upon the air, and had no stomach to any thing;
yet looked as charmingly as ever.
I dare say, it was a very good-natured one, Mrs. Betty! Do you then
please that I shall hear it?
Only this, Miss, That your stomachfulness had swallowed up your stomach;
and, That obstinacy was meat, drink, and clothes to you.
Ay, Mrs. Betty; and did she say this?--I hope she laughed when she said
it, as she does at all her good things, as she calls them. It was very
smart, and very witty. I wish my mind were so much at ease, as to aim at
being witty too. But if you admire such sententious sayings, I'll help
you to another; and that is, Encouragement and approbation make people
show talents they were never suspected to have; and this will do both
for mistress and maid. And another I'll furnish you with, the
contrary of the former, that will do only for me: That persecution and
discouragement depress ingenuous minds, and blunt the edge of lively
imaginations. And hence may my sister's brilliancy and my stupidity be
both accounted for. Ingenuous, you must know, Mrs. Betty, and ingenious,
are two things; and I would not arrogate the latter to myself.
Lord, Miss, said the foolish girl, you know a great deal for your
years.--You are a very learned young lady!--What pity--
None of your pitties, Mrs. Betty, I know what you'd say. But tell me, if
you can, Is it resolved that I shall be carried to my uncle Antony's on
Thursday?
I was willing to reward myself for the patience she had made me
exercise, by getting at what intelligence I could from her.
Why, Miss, seating herself at a little distance (excuse my sitting down)
with the snuff-box tapped very smartly, the lid opened, and a
pinch taken with a dainty finger and thumb, the other three fingers
distendedly bent, and with a fine flourish--I cannot but say, that it is
my opinion, you will certainly go on Thursday; and this noless foless,
as I have heard my young lady say in FRENCH.
Whether I am willing or not willing, you mean, I suppose, Mrs. Betty?
You have it, Miss.
Well but, Betty, I have no mind to be turned out of doors so suddenly.
Do you think I could not be permitted to tarry one week longer?
How can I tell, Miss?
O Mrs. Betty, you can tell a great deal, if you please. But here I am
forbid writing to any one of my family; none of it now will come near
me; nor will any of it permit me to see them: How shall I do to make
known my request, to stay here a week or fortnight longer?
Why, Miss, I fancy, if you were to shew a compliable temper, your
friends would shew a compliable one too. But would you expect favours,
and grant none?
Smartly put, Betty! But who knows what may be the result of my being
carried to my uncle Antony's?
Who knows, Miss!--Why any body will guess what may be the result.
As how, Betty?
As how! repeated the pert wench, Why, Miss, you will stand in your own
light, as you have hitherto done: and your parents, as such good parents
ought, will be obeyed.
If, Mrs. Betty, I had not been used to your oughts, and to have my duty
laid down to me by your oraculous wisdom I should be apt to stare at the
liberty of you speech.
You seem angry, Miss. I hope I take no unbecoming liberty.
If thou really thinkest thou dost not, thy ignorance is more to be
pitied, than thy pertness resented. I wish thou wouldst leave me to
myself.
When young ladies fall out with their own duty, it is not much to be
wondered at, that they are angry at any body who do theirs.
That's a very pretty saying, Mrs. Betty!--I see plainly what thy duty is
in thy notion, and am obliged to those who taught it thee.
Every body takes notice, Miss, that you can say very cutting words in a
cool manner, and yet not call names, as I have known some gentlefolks
as well as others do when in a passion. But I wish you had permitted
'Squire Solmes to see you: he would have told you such stories of
'Squire Lovelace, as you would have turned your heart against him for
ever.
And know you any of the particulars of those sad stories?
Indeed I don't; but you'll hear all at your uncle Antony's, I suppose;
and a great deal more perhaps than you will like to hear.
Let me hear what I will, I am determined against Mr. Solmes, were it to
cost me my life.
If you are, Miss, the Lord have mercy on you! For what with this letter
of yours to 'Squire Solmes, whom they so much value, and what with
their antipathy to 'Squire Lovelace, whom they hate, they will have no
patience with you.
What will they do, Betty? They won't kill me? What will they do?
Kill you! No!--But you will not be suffered to stir from thence, till
you have complied with your duty. And no pen and ink will be allowed you
as here; where they are of opinion you make no good use of it: nor would
it be allowed here, only as they intend so soon to send you away to your
uncle's. No-body will be permitted to see you, or to correspond with
you. What farther will be done, I can't say; and, if I could, it may not
be proper. But you may prevent all, by one word: and I wish you would,
Miss. All then would be easy and happy. And, if I may speak my mind, I
see not why one man is not as good as another: why, especially, a sober
man is not as good as a rake.
Well, Betty, said I, sighing, all thy impertinence goes for nothing. But
I see I am destined to be a very unhappy creature. Yet I will venture
upon one request more to them.
And so, quite sick of the pert creature and of myself, I retired to my
closet, and wrote a few lines to my uncle Harlowe, notwithstanding his
prohibition; in order to get a reprieve from being carried away so soon
as Thursday next, if I must go. And this, that I might, if complied
with, suspend the appointment I have made with Mr. Lovelace; for my
heart misgives me as to meeting him; and that more and more; I know not
why. Under the superscription of the letter, I wrote these words: 'Pray,
dear Sir, be pleased to give this a reading.'
This is a copy of what I wrote: