If you determine not to do as I wish, come down to us, and we must make the best of a bad business. Out of my poor resources I will do what I can for you, but I shall not live for ever, Henry; and while I do live, my means of serving those I love are miserably circumscribed. In the event of a change of ministry, indeed I might do something for my children, but the Tories seem to be set in for ever, and a long rainy day we Whigs must look for. Adieu, my dear boy, be either here or with Mr. W—— without delay.— Yours, &c. J.
The letter from my brother, the ensign, was as follows:—
“My dear Henry—We know what my father has written to you, and hope you will be an attorney, and grow devilish rich, and keep a famous house in town, where one can come and see you once in away. I assure you that a house in town is no such bad thing.
Poor old Ponto’s dead and gone at last. We buried him with the honours of war under the chesnut-tree at the old gate. By the bye, your old flirt, Louisa Daventry, was married last Monday to Colonel Drystick, the yellow nabob, that you and she used to laugh at so unmercifully for insisting on putting the whist-table candles on stilts, and sitting in one particular chair or no where at all. Do you recollect the rage he used to get into with me when I made a row at backgammon. Well, he’s married to Louisa Daventry, the little mischief; and you can’t imagine what fun it was to see him while the business was doing in church; he was afraid of the cold and damp you know, and looked so bilious and so miserable with his coat buttoned up to his chin, I’m sure he would have put Louisa’s shawl on if she had offered it to him. The match was made, they say, in ten days from first to last. Double quick time, a’n’t it? But I must stop, for Thomas is going off to the post this instant, and I have given you-a famous long letter. I did not think it was in me. Be an attorney, my boy. Yours, affectionately, "C. S."
So then, thought I, for this little jilt and her nonsensical prejudice against black gaiters, I have quarrelled with my kind father, resisted a scheme which undoubtedly has its advantages, and finally attempted my life. A pretty farce it would have been if I had drowned or poisoned myself out of deference to the taste of Mrs. Drystick—Mrs. Devilstick!—but she’ll be miserable with that parched piece of anatomy, and I don’t pity her. But never again will I believe that there’s faith in woman. Here followed the usual train of thought which every man perfectly understands, and the whole was wound up by a resolution to forswear love, to comply with my father’s wishes, and put myself in regular training at Mr. W.’s. How I prevailed upon myself to face the people of my lodging-house, who had witnessed the last night’s mock-heroic farce, I can scarcely even now comprehend. I rung the bell, ordered the bill in a peremptory tone, change for a twenty pound note, and breakfast. The change for the note changed the notes of the whole family; they were in a moment all obsequiousness, and no allusion was made to the last night’s tragedy; but I fancied, nevertheless, that I saw a suppressed titter on every face. My resolution to attend regularly at Mr. W.’s was more exactly adhered to than fhy resolution to commit suicide. I was received with every mark of kindness, soon got accustomed to harness, and promised to become a very pains-taking practitioner. I changed my lodging as soon as possible, as they reminded me too strongly of the follies of my days of romance, and I soon became, in every sense of the word, another man. I am now in Mr. W.’s firm, and married to a very amiable woman, who has not, I firmly believe, any ideas of any sort or description on the subject of short black gaiters. This spring Louisa Drystick was in town; we visited her, and found her apparently a very happy wife, and well satisfied with her bargain. I pointed to my boots, and desired her to observe, that short black gaiters were not essential-to the person of an attorney. She laughed, and said we were great fools in those days, and I believe she was right.
SCIPIO'S SHIELD.
In 1656, a fisherman on the banks of the Rhone,
in the neighbourhood of Avignon, was considerably obstructed in his work by some heavy body
which he feared would injure the net; but by
proceeding slowly and cautiously, he drew it
ashore untorn, and found that it contained a
round substance, in the shape of a large plate or
dish, thickly encrusted with a coat of hardened
mud; the dark colour of the metal beneath induced him to consider itas iron. A silversmith,
accidentally present, encouraged the mistake,
and after a few affected difficulties and demurs,
bought it for a trifling sum; he at once carried
it home, and after carefully cleaning and polishing his purchase, it proved to be of pure silver,
perfectly round, more than two feet in diameter,
and weighing upwards of twenty pounds. He
immediately without waiting to examine its
beauties, divided it into four equal parts, each
of which he disposed of, at different and distant
places.
One of the pieces had been sold at Lyons, to Mr. Mey, who directly saw its value, and after great pains and expense, procured the other three fragments, and had them nicely rejoined, and the treasure was finally placed in the cabinet of the king of France.
This relic of antiquity, no less remarkable for the beauty of its workmanship, than for having been buried at the bottom of the Rhone more than two thousand years, was a votive shield presented to Scipio as a monument of gratitude and affection, by the inhabitants of Carthage Nova, now the city of Carthagena, for his generosity and self-denial, in delivering one of his captives, a beautiful virgin to her original lover. This act is represented on the shield.
