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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