_Gent._ I wish, my dear, you would not keep the carriage an hour always
at the door, when we go to a party.
_Lady._ Surely, my dear, it could not have waited half so long; and that
was owing to the unusual length of our rubber.
_Gent._ I feel exceedingly unwell this evening, my head aches
confoundedly, and my stomach is very uneasy.
_Lady._ You know, my dear, Mr. Abernethy told you, that after such a
severe fit you ought to be very careful and moderate in your living.
_Gent._ Mr. Abernethy is a fool. Can any body be more moderate than I
am? you would have me live upon water-gruel, I suppose. The rich
pudding, indeed, that Mrs. Belcour made me eat, might possibly not have
sat quite easy on the soup, and the salmon, and the chicken and ham, and
the harrico, and the turkey and sausages; or, it is possible, the
patties I eat before dinner might not perfectly agree with me, for I had
by no means a good appetite when I sat down to dinner.
_Lady._ And then, you know, you eat so many cakes, and such a quantity
of almonds and raisins, and oranges after dinner.
_Gent._ How could I have got down Belcour’s insufferable wine, that
tasted of the cork, like the fag bottle at a tavern dinner, without
eating something?
_Lady._ And I am sure you drank a glass of Madeira with every mouthful
almost at dinner; for I observed you.
_Gent._ Why how could one swallow such ill-dressed things, half cold
too, without drinking? I can’t conceive what makes me feel so unwell
this evening; these flatulencies will certainly kill me. It must be the
easterly wind we have had for these three days that affects me: indeed,
most of my acquaintance are complaining, and the doctors say, disorders
are very prevalent now.----What can I _have_? John, make me a tumbler of
brandy and water--make it strong, and put ginger enough in it. I have
not the least appetite--what _can_ I have?
_Lady._ There is ham, and, I believe, some chicken--
_Gent._ Why, do you think I have the stomach of a ploughman, that I can
eat such insipid things! Is there nothing else?
_Lady._ There is a loin of pork--perhaps you could relish a chop, nicely
done?
_Gent._ _Why_, if it _was_ nicely done, _very_ nicely, perhaps I
_could_; I’ll _try_--but remember it must be done _to a moment_, or I
shan’t be able to touch it--and made _hot_--and some nice gravy.
Confound these parties!--could any thing be more stupid. While Martin
was sleeping on one side of me, there was Bernard on the other did
nothing but bore me about his horses, and his wines, and his pictures,
till I wished them all at old Harry--I think I shall have done with
parties.
_Lady._ I am sure, my dear, they are no pleasure to me; and, if they
were, I pay dear enough for it: for you generally come home in an ill
humour--and your health and your pocket too suffer for it. Your _last_
bill came to more than ninety pounds, besides your expenses at
Cheltenham--and the _next_ thing, I suppose, will be a voyage to
Madeira, or Lisbon--and then what will _become_ of us?
_Gent._ What, do you grudge me the necessaries of life? It is I that am
the sufferer--
_Lady._ Not entirely so: I am sure I feel the effects of it, and so do
the servants. Your temper is so entirely changed, that the poor children
are afraid to go near you--you make every body about you miserable, and
you know Smith lost his cause from your not being able to attend at the
last assizes, which will be nearly the ruin of him and his family. Two
days before you were tolerably well, but after you had dined at ----’s,
you were laid up.
_Gent._ Nay, I was as much concerned at it as any body could be; and I
think I had reason to be so, for I lost three hundred pounds myself--but
who can help illness? Is it not a visitation of Providence? I am sure
nobody can live more temperately than I do--do you ever see me drunk?
A’n’t I as regular as clockwork? Indeed, my dear, if you cannot talk
more rationally, you had better go to bed. John! why don’t you bring the
brandy and water! and see if the chop is ready; if I am not better in
the morning, I am sure I shall not be able to attend my appointment in
the city----
* * * * *
There will always be a few ready to receive the hints of experience, and
to them only can this scene be useful.
* * * * *