John de Lancaster: a novel; vol. III.Cumberland, Richard
General
John de Lancaster: a novel; vol. III.
Cumberland, Richard
Wales, North -- Fiction
“I thought she had not long to live. I was prepared for the event. It
was naturally to be expected, and Llewellyn himself seemed to cherish
very feeble hopes. Death is common; she is dead, and all the medicines
she has taken have been of no avail; even music could not save her.
Well! I have done my duty; witness the incredible pains and trouble I
have taken to seek out a suitable climate and commodious house for her
to winter in: one of these after infinite labour I had happily
discovered, and the other I was using unabating diligence to provide for
her. As things have turned out I might have spared myself this voyage;
but no matter--It is some consolation to reflect that I have done what
I could; and if my travels have not proved serviceable to her, for whose
sake I undertook them, they have not been totally unprofitable or
unpleasurable to me; for, with the exception only of the surfeit I got
of salt-fish, and the bruises I suffered by shipwreck, I passed my time
very comfortably at sea, and if I have not seen any thing worth my
notice on shore, I have been at least where it was to be seen, and that
is something for a man of curiosity like mine to reflect upon with
satisfaction. Now that I am a widower, and only in the noon of life,
people will be saying to me--Why don’t you marry again? This I am to
expect, but who can judge for me so well as I can for myself? Nobody
knows what matrimony is but those who have undergone the trial. A man
may risque it once in the way of an experiment, but to repeat it is a
sacrifice to posterity and a compliment to the sex, which I am not
disposed to make. No, no; I must not come on there any more. Let me do
Mrs. De Lancaster the justice to confess, that there was an
accommodating lassitude in her, a hypochondriac inertness, a congelation
of all the volatile humours, harmonizing so entirely with my feelings,
that I despair of finding any second wife so happily endowed; I dare not
trust myself with the widow Ap Owen: she has indeed many excellent
endowments; and in spite of all my family can say against her I will
maintain my opinion of her as a very elegant engaging woman, aye, and
one, that in many respects is entirely to my taste, but then (oh Heaven
and earth!) her eyes are so quick, her voice so shrill, her spirit so
high and her health alas! so alarmingly good, that I could never promise
myself a life of ease with her--No, no; she will not suit.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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