as if he was out of his senses; nay, he said he believed
he was beside himself when he had spoken the words.
Ay, sir, says I, I believe so too. Yes, says he,
Honour.—But I ask your ladyship’s
pardon; I could tear my tongue out for offending you.”
“Go on,” says Sophia; “you may mention
anything you have not told me before.”—“Yes,
Honour, says he (this was some time afterwards, when
he gave me the crown), I am neither such a coxcomb,
or such a villain, as to think of her in any other
delight but as my goddess; as such I will always worship
and adore her while I have breath.—This
was all, ma’am, I will be sworn, to the best
of my remembrance. I was in a passion with him
myself, till I found he meant no harm.”—“Indeed,
Honour,” says Sophia, “I believe you have
a real affection for me. I was provoked the other
day when I gave you warning; but if you have a desire
to stay with me, you shall.”—“To
be sure, ma’am,” answered Mrs Honour,
“I shall never desire to part with your ladyship.
To be sure, I almost cried my eyes out when you gave
me warning. It would be very ungrateful in me
to desire to leave your ladyship; because as why,
I should never get so good a place again. I am
sure I would live and die with your ladyship; for,
as poor Mr Jones said, happy is the man——”
Here the dinner bell interrupted a conversation which
had wrought such an effect on Sophia, that she was,
perhaps, more obliged to her bleeding in the morning,
than she, at the time, had apprehended she should
be. As to the present situation of her mind, I
shall adhere to a rule of Horace, by not attempting
to describe it, from despair of success. Most
of my readers will suggest it easily to themselves;
and the few who cannot, would not understand the picture,
or at least would deny it to be natural, if ever so
well drawn.
CONTAINING A PORTION OF TIME SOMEWHAT LONGER THAN
HALF A YEAR.
Of the SERIOUS in writing, and for what purpose it
is introduced.
Peradventure there may be no parts in this prodigious
work which will give the reader less pleasure in the
perusing, than those which have given the author the
greatest pains in composing. Among these probably
may be reckoned those initial essays which we have
prefixed to the historical matter contained in every
book; and which we have determined to be essentially
necessary to this kind of writing, of which we have
set ourselves at the head.
For this our determination we do not hold ourselves
strictly bound to assign any reason; it being abundantly
sufficient that we have laid it down as a rule necessary
to be observed in all prosai-comi-epic writing.
Who ever demanded the reasons of that nice unity of
time or place which is now established to be so essential
to dramatic poetry? What critic hath been ever
asked, why a play may not contain two days as well
