I was forced to take the mother down; for she began with her Hoh, Sir!
with me; and to catechize and upbraid me, with as much insolence as if
I owed her money.
I made her fly the pit at last. Strange wishes wished we against each
other at her quitting it——What were they?—I’ll tell thee——She wished me
married, and to be jealous of my wife; and my heir-apparent the child
of another man. I was even with her with a vengeance. And yet thou wilt
think that could not well be.—As how?—As how, Jack!—Why, I wished for
her conscience come to life! And I know, by the gripes mine gives me
every half-hour, that she would then have a cursed time of it.
Sally and Polly gave themselves high airs too. Their first favours were
thrown at me, [women to boast of those favours which they were as
willing to impart, first forms all the difficulty with them! as I to
receive!] I was upbraided with ingratitude, dastardice and all my
difficulties with my angel charged upon myself, for want of following
my blows; and for leaving the proud lady mistress of her own will, and
nothing to reproach herself with. And all agreed, that the arts used
against her on a certain occasion, had too high an operation for them
or me to judge what her will would have been in the arduous trial. And
then they blamed one another; as I cursed them all.
They concluded, that I should certainly marry, and be a lost man. And
Sally, on this occasion, with an affected and malicious laugh, snapt
her fingers at me, and pointing two of each hand forkedly at me, bid me
remember the lines I once showed her of my favourite Jack Dryden, as
she always familiarly calls that celebrated poet:
We women to new joys unseen may move:
There are no prints left in the paths of love.
All goods besides by public marks are known:
But those men most desire to keep, have none.
This infernal implement had the confidence further to hint, that when a
wife, some other man would not find half the difficulty with my angel
that I had found. Confidence indeed! But yet, I must say, if a man
gives himself up to the company of these devils, they never let him
rest till he either suspects or hate his wife.
But a word or two of other matters, if possible.
Methinks I long to know how causes go at M. Hall. I have another
private intimation, that the old peer is in the greatest danger.
I must go down. Yet what to do with this lady the mean while! These
cursed women are full of cruelty and enterprise. She will never be easy
with them in my absence. They will have provocation and pretence
therefore. But woe be to them, if——
Yet what will vengeance do, after an insult committed? The two nymphs
will have jealous rage to goad them on. And what will withhold a
jealous and already-ruined woman?
To let her go elsewhere; that cannot be done. I am still too resolved
to be honest, if she’ll give me hope: if yet she’ll let me be honest.
But I’ll see how she’ll be after the contention she will certainly have
between her resentment and the terror she has reason for from our last
conversation. So let this subject rest till the morning. And to the old
peer once more.
I shall have a good deal of trouble, I reckon, though no sordid man, to
be decent on the expected occasion. Then how to act (I who am no
hypocrite) in the days of condolement! What farces have I to go
through; and to be the principal actor in them! I’ll try to think of my
own latter end; a gray beard, and a graceless heir; in order to make me
serious.
Thou, Belford, knowest a good deal of this sort of grimace; and canst
help a gay heart to a little of the dismal. But then every feature of
thy face is cut out for it. My heart may be touched, perhaps, sooner
than thine; for, believe me or not, I have a very tender one. But then,
no man looking into my face, be the occasion for grief ever so great,
will believe that heart to be deeply distressed.
All is placid, easy, serene, in my countenance. Sorrow cannot sit half
an hour together upon it. Nay, I believe, that Lord M.’s recovery,
should it happen, would not affect me above a quarter of an hour. Only
the new scenery, (and the pleasure of aping an Heraclitus to the
family, while I am a Democritus among my private friends,) or I want
nothing that the old peer can leave me. Wherefore then should grief
sadden and distort such blythe, such jocund, features as mine?
But as for thine, were there murder committed in the street, and thou
wert but passing by, the murderer even in sight, the pursuers would
quit him, and lay hold of thee: and thy very looks would hang, as well
as apprehend thee.
But one word to business, Jack. Whom dealest thou with for thy
blacks?—Wert thou well used?—I shall want a plaguy parcel of them. For
I intend to make every soul of the family mourn—outside, if not in.