Well-it was, I think, Saturday, Aug. 25, that Mrs Thrale brought me
back.[143] We then took up Mr. Crutchley, who had come to his town-house
upon business, and who accompanied us thither for a visit of three days.
In the evening Mr. Seward also came. He has been making the western
tour, and gave us, with a seriousness that kept me continually grinning,
some account of a doctor, apothecary, or 'chemist' belonging to every
town at which he had stopped.
And when we all laughed at his thus following up the faculty, he
undauntedly said,--
“I think it the best way to get information; I know no better method
to learn what is going forward anywhere than to send for the chief
physician of the place, so I commonly consult him the first day I stop
at a place, and when I have fee'd him, and made acquaintance, he puts me
in a way to find out what is worth looking at.”
A most curious mode of picking up a cicerone!
After this, still pursuing his favourite topic, he began to inquire into
the particulars of Mr. Crutchley's late illness--but that gentleman, who
is as much in the opposite extreme, of disdaining even any decent care
of himself, as Mr. Seward is in the other, of devoting almost all his
thoughts to his health cut the matter very short, and would not talk
upon it at all.
“But, if I had known sooner,” said Mr. Seward, “that you were ill, I
should have come to see you.”
“Should you?” cried Mr. Crutchley, with a loud laugh; “very kind,
indeed!--it would have been charming to see you when I am ill, when I am
afraid of undertaking you even when well!”
Some time after Sophy Streatfield was talked of,--Oh, with how much
impertinence as if she was at the service of any man who would make
proposals to her! Yet Mr. Seward spoke of her with praise and tenderness
all the time, as if, though firmly of this opinion, he was warmly her
admirer. From such admirers and such admiration heaven guard me! Mr.
Crutchley said but little; but that little was bitter enough.
“However,” said Mr. Seward, “after all that can be said, there is nobody
whose manners are more engaging, nobody more amiable than the little
Sophy; and she is certainly very pretty; I must own I have always been
afraid to trust myself with her.”
Here Mr. Crutchley looked very sneeringly.
“Nay, squire,” cried Mr. Seward, “she is very dangerous, I can tell you;
and if she had you at a fair trial, she would make an impression that
would soften even your hard heart.”
“No need of any further trial,” answered he, laughing, “for she has done
that already; and so soft was the impression that it is absolutely all
dissolved!--melted quite away, and not a trace of it left!”
Mr. Seward then proposed that she should marry Sir John Miller,[144] who
has just lost his wife and very gravely said, he had a great mind to set
out for Tunbridge, and carry her with him to Bath, and so make the match
without delay!
“But surely,” said Mrs. Thrale, “if you fail, you will think yourself
bound in honour to marry her yourself?”
“Why, that's the thing,” said he; “no, I can't take the little Sophy
myself; I should have too many rivals; no, that won't do.”
How abominably conceited and sure these pretty gentlemen are! However,
Mr. Crutchley here made a speech that half won my heart.
“I wish,” said he, “Miss Streatfield was here at this moment to cuff
you, Seward!”
“Cuff me!” cried he. “What, the little Sophy!--and why?”
“For disposing of her so freely. I think a man deserves to be cuffed for
saying any lady will marry him.”