Hunt, Henry, 1773-1835; Social reformers -- Great Britain -- Biography
This again was more than I expected, as the only time I had ever permitted
him to speak about money, the old gentlemen hinted at no more than five
hundred pounds; but I believe my father had said something which made him
double the sum. I thanked him most heartily; not forgetting to add, that
his daughter was the prize at which I had aimed, and not the money. He
replied, that he should give his other daughter the same, without
trenching upon what he meant to give his sons. In fact, he had at this
time provided for them. However, before we parted, one of his sons,
William, who was then the manager of the Bear, called me on one side, and
said, that as his brother James was just going into business, if I had no
particular use for the money, he should be obliged if I would lend him
500_l_. of it, upon their joint notes. I instantly complied, told out half
my wife's portion, and lent it to her brother, upon his word to give me a
note for it, which he did the first time that I saw him afterwards. I
believe, if they had asked me for the whole thousand, I should cheerfully
have parted with it to them. The five hundred pounds remained in their
hands for nearly ten years, and was not withdrawn by me till several years
after my separation from my wife. I mention this circumstance merely to
shew how these gentlemen felt as to my separation from their sister. In
fact they as well as myself considered it to be a misfortune which ought
to be lamented on all sides, rather than as a reason for entertaining any
vindictive feeling towards me.
We now set off in a coach towards our future residence, Widdington Farm, a
distance of ten miles. The company consisted of myself, the bride, her
sister and mine, who were the two bride maids, and the clergyman. I had,
by this time, completely recovered from the effect of my cold; but, what
was rather remarkable, before we had accomplished half our journey, we
discovered that the bride had suddenly lost her voice, without feeling any
pain or illness. So completely had she lost it, that she could not
articulate a single syllable, otherwise than in a whisper. I was very much
alarmed at first, but as she assured us it was only a cold, and that she
felt not the least pain or uneasiness whatever; and as, with perfect good
humour, she congratulated me on being about to take to my home "a quiet
wife," the alarm gradually passed off.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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