Well, her nest is scarcely cold, when in comes me Mistress Adversity, a wee outspoken sour crabbit gizzened anatomy of an old woman--“You ne’erdoweel, Tam,” quoth she, “is it no enough that you consort with that scarlet limmer, who has just yescaped thorough the winday, but ye maun smoors my firstborn, puir Conscience, atween ye? Whare hae ye stowed him, mantell me that?” And the ancient damosel gives me a shrewd clip on the skull with the poker. “That’s right, mother,” quoth Conscience, from beneath the straw mattrass--“Give it to him--he’ll no hear me another devel, mother.” And I found that my own weight, deserted as I was by that--ahem--Prosperity, was no longer sufficient to keep him down. So up he rose, with a loud pech; and while the old woman keelhauled me with a poker on one side, he yerked at me on the other, until at length he gave me a regular cross buttock, and then between them they diddled me outright. When I was fairly floored, “Now, my man,” said Adversity, “I bear no spite; if you will but listen to my boy there, we shall be good friends still. He is never unreasonable. He has no objections to your consorting even with Madame Prosperity, in a decent way; but he will not consent to your letting her get the better of you, nor to your doting on her, even to the giving her a share of your bed, when she should never be allowed to get farther than the servants hall, for she should be kept in subjection, or she’ll ruin you for ever, Thomas.--Conscience is a rough lad, I grant you, and I am keen and snell also; but never mind, take his advice, and you’ll be some credit to your freens yet, ye scoonrel.” I did so, and the old lady’s visits became shorter and shorter, and more and more distant, until at length they ceased altogether; and once more Prosperity, like a dove with its heaven-borrowed hues all glowing in the morning sun, pitched one morning on my windowsill. It was in June. “Tom, I am come back again.” I glowered at her with all my bir. She made a step or two towards me, and the lesson of Adversity was fast evaporating into thin air, when, lo! the sleeping lion himself awoke. “Thomas,” said Conscience, in a voice that made my flesh creep, “not into your bed, neither into your bosom, Thomas. Be civil to the young woman, but remember what your best friend Adversity told you, and never let her be more than your handmaiden again; free to come, free to go, but never more to be your mistress.” I screw myself about, and twist, and turn in great perplexity--Hard enough all this, and I am half inclined to try to throttle Conscience outright. But to make a long story short--I was resolute--“Step into the parlour, my dearest I hope we shall never part any more; but you must not get the upper hand, you know. So step into the other room, and whenever I get my inexpressibles on, I will come to you there.”