Barford Abbey, a Novel: In a Series of Letters — John Shaqi
Barford Abbey, a Novel: In a Series of LettersGunning, Mrs. (Susannah)
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Barford Abbey, a Novel: In a Series of Letters
Gunning, Mrs. (Susannah)
Epistolary fiction, English -- 18th century; Gothic fiction
_Alterations_, Madam! I reply'd;--upon my honour, they are _so_ visible,
no person can avoid being struck with them.--How could your father and
mother, Sir Harry, bear to live in such an wood? looking and speaking
disdainfully.--He smiled obsequious--hemm'd--trembled, and was
silent.--I hope, continued she, not to see a tree remaining near this
house before the next summer.--We want much, Mr. Molesworth, turning to
me with quite a different look and voice, to have the pleasure-ground
laid out:--but really her Ladyship has had so much to set in order
_within doors_, that it has taken off her attention a good deal from
what is necessary to be done _without_.--However, Sir, you shall see our
design; so, my dear, speaking to her daughter, let Sir Harry fetch the
plan.
It is in my closet, returned her Ladyship, and I don't chuse to send
_him_ there;--but I'll ring for Sally.
I had like that moment to have vow'd a life of celibacy--I saw him
redden;--how could he avoid it, if one spark of manhood remain'd?
The indignation I felt threw such a mist before my eyes, that when the
plan was laid on the table, I could scarce distinguish temples from
clumps of shrubs, or Chinese seats from green slopes.--Yet this
_reptile_ of a husband could look over my shoulder, hear the opinion of
every one present, without _daring_ to give his own.
I was more out of patience at dinner.--Bless me, says her Ladyship, how
_aukward_ you are when I _bid_ you cut up any thing!--the mother and
daughter echoing, _Never_ was there _such_ a carver as _Sir
Harry!_--Well, I vow, cry'd the latter, it is a strange thing you will
not remember, so often as I have _told you_, to lay the meat handsome in
the dish.
Good God! thought I, can this man live out half his days?--And, faith,
if I had not drank five bumpers of Madeira, I could not have stood the
sight of his fearful countenance.
He perceived I was distress'd, and whisper'd me as I mounted my
horse,--You see how it is, Molesworth; breeding women _must_ not be
contradicted.--
_I do, I do_ see how it is, return'd I; and could not for my soul
forbear saying, I shall rejoice to hear of a _delivery_.
This is the day when the important affairs of the m----y are to be
settled; the papers will inform you; but can a man in love have any
relish for politics?--Pray, divest yourself of that plague, when you
attend the house.--I should drop to hear you say you espouse _this_ or
_that_ cause, for the love of _Miss Warley_, instead of your _country_.
_Next Friday!_--Well, I long to see you after a dreadful, dreadful
absence of _eight days_.--There is something confounded ridiculous in
all this stuff; nor can I scarce credit that man should pine, fret, and
make himself unhappy, because he is loosed from the apron-strings of his
Phillida for a few days.--I see you shrug;--but my fate is not dependent
on your prognostications.--Was it so, I know where I should be,--down
amongst the _dead_ men;--down amongst the _dead_ men.--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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