LETTER II
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.COCOA-TREE, SATURDAY, MAY 27.
This ipecacuanha is a most disagreeable medicine. That these cursedphysical folks can find out nothing to do us good, but what would poisonthe devil! In the other world, were they only to take physic, it wouldbe punishable enough of itself for a mis-spent life. A doctor at oneelbow, and an apothecary at the other, and the poor soul labouring undertheir prescribed operations, he need no worse tormentors.
But now this was to take down my countenance. It has done it: for, withviolent reachings, having taken enough to make me sick, and not enoughwater to carry it off, I presently looked as if I had kept my bed afortnight. Ill jesting, as I thought in the midst of the exercise, withedge tools, and worse with physical ones.
Two hours it held me. I had forbid Dorcas to let her lady know any thingof the matter; out of tenderness to her; being willing, when she knew myprohibition, to let her see that I expected her to be concerned for me.--
Well, but Dorcas was nevertheless a woman, and she can whisper to herlady the secret she is enjoined to keep!
Come hither, toad, [sick as the devil at the instant]; let me see what amixture of grief and surprize may be beat up together in thy puden-face.
That won't do. That dropt jaw, and mouth distended into the long oval,is more upon the horrible than the grievous.
Nor that pinking and winking with thy odious eyes, as my charmer oncecalled them.
A little better that; yet not quite right: but keep your mouth closer.You have a muscle or two which you have no command of, between yourcheek-bone and your lips, that should carry one corner of your mouthup towards your crow's-foot, and that down to meet it.
There! Begone! Be in a plaguy hurry running up stair and down, to fetchfrom the dining-room what you carry up on purpose to fetch, till motionextraordinary put you out of breath, and give you the sigh natural.
What's the matter, Dorcas?
Nothing, Madam.
My beloved wonders she has not seen me this morning, no doubt; but is tooshy to say she wonders. Repeated What's the matter, however, as Dorcasruns up and down stairs by her door, bring on, O Madam! my master! mypoor master!
What! How! When!--and all the monosyllables of surprize.
[Within parentheses let me tell thee, that I have often thought, that thelittle words in the republic of letters, like the little folks in a nation,are the most significant. The trisyllables, and the rumblers of syllablesmore than three, are but the good-for-little magnates.]
I must not tell you, Madam--My master ordered me not to tell you--but heis in a worse way than he thinks for!--But he would not have youfrighted.
High concern took possession of every sweet feature. She pitied me!--bymy soul, she pitied me!
Where is he?
Too much in a hurry for good manners, [another parenthesis, Jack! Goodmanners are so little natural, that we ought to be composed to observethem: politeness will not live in a storm]. I cannot stay to answerquestions, cries the wench--though desirous to answer [a thirdparenthesis--Like the people crying proclamations, running away from thecustomers they want to sell to]. This hurry puts the lady in a hurry toask, [a fourth, by way of establishing the third!] as the other does thepeople in a hurry to buy. And I have in my eye now a whole streetraised, and running after a proclamation or express-crier, as if thefirst was a thief, the other his pursuers.
At last, O Lord! let Mrs. Lovelace know!--There is danger, to be sure!whispered from one nymph to another; but at the door, and so loud, thatmy listening fair-one might hear.
Out she darts--As how! as how, Dorcas!
O Madam--A vomiting of blood! A vessel broke, to be sure!
Down she hastens; finds every one as busy over my blood in the entry,as if it were that of the Neapolitan saint.
In steps my charmer, with a face of sweet concern.
How do you, Mr. Lovelace?
O my best love!--Very well!--Very well!--Nothing at all! nothing ofconsequence!--I shall be well in an instant!--Straining again! for I wasindeed plaguy sick, though no more blood came.
In short, Belford, I have gained my end. I see the dear soul loves me.I see she forgives me all that's past. I see I have credit for a newscore.
Miss Howe, I defy thee, my dear--Mrs. Townsend!--Who the devil are you?--Troop away with your contrabands. No smuggling! nor smuggler, butmyself! Nor will the choicest of my fair-one's favours be longprohibited goods to me!
***
Every one is now sure that she loves me. Tears were in her eyes morethan once for me. She suffered me to take her hand, and kiss it as oftenas I pleased. On Mrs. Sinclair's mentioning, that I too much confinedmyself, she pressed me to take an airing; but obligingly desired me to becareful of myself. Wished I would advise with a physician. God madephysicians, she said.
I did not think that, Jack. God indeed made us all. But I fancy shemeant physic instead of physicians; and then the phrase might mean whatthe vulgar phrase means;--God sends meat, the Devil cooks.
I was well already, on taking the styptic from her dear hands.
On her requiring me to take the air, I asked, If I might have the honourof her company in a coach; and this, that I might observe if she had anintention of going out in my absence.
If she thought a chair were not a more proper vehicle for my case, shewould with all her heart!
There's a precious!
I kissed her hand again! She was all goodness!--Would to Heaven I betterdeserved it, I said!--But all were golden days before us!--Her presenceand generous concern had done every thing. I was well! Nothing ailedme. But since my beloved will have it so, I'll take a little airing!--Let a chair be called!--O my charmer! were I to have owned thisindisposition to my late harasses, and to the uneasiness I have had fordisobliging you; all is infinitely compensated by your goodness.--All theart of healing is in your smiles!--Your late displeasure was the onlymalady!
While Mrs. Sinclair, and Dorcas, and Polly, and even poor silly Mabell[for Sally went out, as my angel came in] with uplifted hands and eyes,stood thanking Heaven that I was better, in audible whispers: See thepower of love, cried one!--What a charming husband, another!--Happycouple, all!
O how the dear creature's cheek mantled!--How her eyes sparkled!--Howsweetly acceptable is praise to conscious merit, while it but reproacheswhen applied to the undeserving!--What a new, what a gay creation itmakes all at once in a diffident or dispirited heart!
And now, Belford, was it not worth while to be sick? And yet I must tellthee, that too many pleasanter expedients offer themselves, to make trialany more of this confounded ipecacuanha.