Didactic fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction
“‘As the commissions are not signed,’ said the doctor, ‘I think you may
be said to remain in your former regiment; and therefore I think you
ought to go on this expedition; your duty to your king and country,
whose bread you have eaten, requires it; and this is a duty of too
high a nature to admit the least deficiency. Regard to your character,
likewise, requires you to go; for the world, which might justly blame
your staying at home if the case was even fairly stated, will not deal
so honestly by you: you must expect to have every circumstance against
you heightened, and most of what makes for your defence omitted; and
thus you will be stigmatized as a coward without any palliation. As
the malicious disposition of mankind is too well known, and the cruel
pleasure which they take in destroying the reputations of others, the
use we are to make of this knowledge is to afford no handle to reproach;
for, bad as the world is, it seldom falls on any man who hath not given
some slight cause for censure, though this, perhaps, is often aggravated
ten thousand-fold; and, when we blame the malice of the aggravation we
ought not to forget our own imprudence in giving the occasion. Remember,
my boy, your honour is at stake; and you know how nice the honour of
a soldier is in these cases. This is a treasure which he must be your
enemy, indeed, who would attempt to rob you of. Therefore, you ought to
consider every one as your enemy who, by desiring you to stay, would rob
you of your honour.’
“‘Do you hear that, sister?’ cries Miss Betty.--‘Yes, I do hear it’
answered Amelia, with more spirit than I ever saw her exert before, and
would preserve his honour at the expense of my life. ‘I will preserve it
if it should be at that expense; and since it is Dr Harrison’s opinion
that he ought to go, I give my consent. Go, my dear husband,’ cried she,
falling upon her knees: ‘may every angel of heaven guard and preserve
you!’--I cannot repeat her words without being affected,” said he,
wiping his eyes, “the excellence of that woman no words can paint: Miss
Matthews, she hath every perfection in human nature.
“I will not tire you with the repetition of any more that past on that
occasion, nor with the quarrel that ensued between Mrs. Harris and the
doctor; for the old lady could not submit to my leaving her daughter in
her present condition. She fell severely on the army, and cursed the day
in which her daughter was married to a soldier, not sparing the doctor
for having had some share in the match. I will omit, likewise, the
tender scene which past between Amelia and myself previous to my
departure.” “Indeed, I beg you would not,” cries Miss Matthews; “nothing
delights me more than scenes of tenderness. I should be glad to know, if
possible, every syllable which was uttered on both sides.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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