Not yet visible!--My beloved is not well. What expectations had she from
my ardent admiration of her!--More rudeness than revenge apprehended.
Yet, how my soul thirsts for revenge upon both these ladies? I must have
recourse to my master-strokes. This cursed project of Miss Howe and her
Mrs. Townsend (if I cannot contrive to render it abortive) will be always
a sword hanging over my head. Upon every little disobligations my
beloved will be for taking wing; and the pains I have taken to deprive
her of every other refuge or protection, in order to make her absolutely
dependent upon me, will be all thrown away. But perhaps I shall find out
a smuggler to counterplot Miss Howe.
Thou remembrest the contention between the Sun and the North-wind, in the
fable; which should first make an honest traveller throw off his cloak.
Boreas began first. He puffed away most vehemently; and often made the
poor fellow curve and stagger; but with no other effect, than to cause
him to wrap his surtout the closer about him.
But when it came to Phoebus's turn, he so played upon the traveller with
his beams, that he made him first unbutton, and then throw it quite off:
--Nor left he, till he obliged him to take to the friendly shade of a
spreading beech; where, prostrating himself on the thrown-off cloak, he
took a comfortable nap.
The victor-god then laughed outright, both at Boreas and the traveller,
and pursued his radiant course, shining upon, and warming and cherishing
a thousand new objects, as he danced along: and at night, when he put up
his fiery coursers, he diverted his Thetis with the relation of his
pranks in the passed day.
I, in like manner, will discard all my boisterous inventions: and if I
can oblige my sweet traveller to throw aside, but for one moment, the
cloak of her rigid virtue, I shall have nothing to do, but, like the sun,
to bless new objects with my rays. But my chosen hours of conversation
and repose, after all my peregrinations, will be devoted to my goddess.
***
And now, Belford, according to my new system, I think this house of Mrs.
Fretchville an embarrass upon me. I will get rid of it; for some time at
least. Mennell, when I am out, shall come to her, inquiring for me.
What for? thou'lt ask. What for--hast thou not heard what has befallen
poor Mrs. Fretchville?--Then I'll tell thee.
One of her maids, about a week ago, was taken with the small-pox. The
rest kept their mistress ignorant of it till Friday; and then she came to
know of it by accident. The greater half of the plagues poor mortals of
condition are tormented with, proceed from the servants they take, partly
for show, partly for use, and with a view to lessen their cares.
This has so terrified the widow, that she is taken with all the symptoms
that threaten an attack from that dreadful enemy of fair faces.--So must
not think of removing: yet cannot expect, that we should be further
delayed on her account.
She now wishes, with all her heart, that she had known her own mind, and
gone into the country at first when I treated about the house. This evil
then had not happened! a cursed cross accident for us, too!--Heigh-ho!
nothing else, I think, in this mortal life! people need not study to
bring crosses upon themselves by their petulancies.
So this affair of the house will be over; at least for one while. But
then I can fall upon an expedient which will make amends for this
disappointment. I must move slow, in order to be sure. I have a
charming contrivance or two in my head, even supposing my beloved should
get away, to bring her back again.
But what is become of Lord M. I trow, that he writes not to me, in
answer to my invitation? If he would send me such a letter as I could
show, it might go a great way towards a perfect reconciliation. I have
written to Charlotte about it. He shall soon hear from me, and that in a
way he won't like, if he writes not quickly. He has sometimes threatened
to disinherit me. But if I should renounce him, it would be but justice,
and would vex him ten times more than any thing he can do will vex me.
Then, the settlements unavoidably delayed, by his neglect!--How shall I
bear such a life of procrastination!--I, who, as to my will, and
impatience, and so forth, am of the true lady-make, and can as little
bear controul and disappointment as the best of them!
***
Another letter from Miss Howe. I suppose it is that which she promises
in her last to send her relating to the courtship between old Tony the
uncle, and Annabella the mother. I should be extremely rejoiced to see
it. No more of the smuggler-plot in it, surely! This letter, it seems,
she has put in her pocket. But I hope I shall soon find it deposited
with the rest.