"I have bound up for myself a weight of cares;And how the burden will be borne, none knows."
"I have bound up for myself a weight of cares;And how the burden will be borne, none knows."
'I wonder,' continued she, 'what can make the generality of women so fond of marrying? It looks to me like an infatuation; just as if it were not a greater pleasure to be courted, complimented, admired, and addressed, by a number, than be confined to one, who, from aslave, becomes a master; and, perhaps, uses his authority in a manner disagreeable enough.
'And yet it is expected from us. One has no sooner left off one's bib and apron, than people cry—"Miss will soon be married!"—and this man, and that man, is presently picked out for a husband. Mighty ridiculous! they want to deprive us of all the pleasures of life, just when one begins to have a relish for them.'
In this humour she went to bed; nor did sleep present her with images more pleasing: sometimes she imagined herself standing on the brink of muddy, troubled waters; at others, that she was wandering through deserts, overgrown with thorns and briars, or seeking to find a passage through some ruined building, whose tottering roof seemed ready to fall upon her head, and crush her to pieces.
These gloomy representations, amidst her broken slumbers, when vanished, left behind them an uncommon heaviness upon her waking mind: she rose, but it was only to throw herself into a chair, where she sat for a considerable time, like one quite stupid and dead to all sensations of every kind.
At last, remembering that they were all to dine at her brother's that day by appointment, she rouzed herself as well as she was able, and started from the posture she had been in; 'I see I am at the end of all my happiness,' said she, 'and that my whole future life is condemned to be a scene of disquiet; but there is no resisting destiny—they will have it so; I have promised, and must submit.'
On opening a little cabinet, in which she always kept those things she most valued, in order to take out some ornaments to put on that day, the picture of Mr. Trueworth stared her in the face. 'Ah!' said she, taking it up, and looking attentively upon it, 'if my brother Frank and Lady Trusty had been in town when the original of this made his addresses to me, I should then, as now, have been compelled to have given my hand. It is likely, too, I should have yielded with the same reluctance. Blinded by my vanity—led by mistaken pride—I had not considered the value I ought to have set upon his love. He had not then done any thing for me more than any other man, who pretended courtship to me, would have done. I know not how it is, I did not then think him half so agreeable as I now find he is. What a sweetness is there in these eyes!' cried she, still looking on the picture. 'What an air of dignity in every feature!—wit—virtue—bravery—generosity—and every amiable quality that can adornmankind, methinks are here comprized.
'But to what purpose do I now see all these perfections in him?' went she on. 'He is the right of another; he has given himself to one, who knows better than my unhappy self to do justice to such exalted merit: he thinks no more of me; and I must henceforth think no more of him!'
She ended these words with a deep sigh, and some tears; then laid the picture up, and endeavoured to compose herself as well as she could.
She was but just dressed when Mr. Munden came to wait on her, and conduct her to her brother's, where they were to dine: he told her he had been with the elder Mr. Thoughtless at the lawyer's, about the writings; 'So that now, my angel!' said he, 'I flatter myself that my days of languishment are near a period.'
He took the freedom of accompanying these words with a pretty warm embrace.—'Forbear, Mr. Munden,' cried she, with the most forbidding coldness; 'you have yet no right to liberties of this nature.'
'Cruel and unkind Miss Betsy!' resumed he; 'must nothing, then, be allowed to love, and all be left to law?' He then went on with some discourses of the passion he had for her, and the joy he felt in the thoughts of his approaching happiness: to all which she made very short replies; till at last it came into her head to interrupt him in the midst of a very tender exclamation, by saying, 'Mr. Munden, I forgot to mention one thing to you; but it is not yet too late—I suppose you design to keep a coach?'
This a little startled him; and, looking upon her with a very grave air—'Madam,' said he, 'you are sensible my estate will not permit me to oblige you in this point.'—'And can you imagine I will ever marry to trudge on foot?' cried she.
'I should be both sorry and ashamed,' replied he, 'to see you do that; but there are other conveniences, which will, I hope, content you, till fortune puts it in my power to do otherwise.'
He then reminded her of the expectations she had frequently heard him make mention of, concerning his hopes of soon obtaining both an honourable and lucrative employment; and assured her, that as soon as he had procured a grant of it, he would set up an equipage accordingly.
But this did not at all satisfy her; she insisted on having a coach directly, and gave him some hints, as if she would not marry without one; which very much nettling him, he desired she would rememberher promise, which was absolutely given, without the least mention of a coach being made.
'I would not have you,' said she, 'insist too much on that promise, lest I should be provoked to give you the same answer Leonora, in the play, gives to her importunate lover—
"That boasted promise ties me not to time;And bonds without a date, they say, are void."
"That boasted promise ties me not to time;And bonds without a date, they say, are void."
Mr. Munden could not now contain his temper—he told her he could not have expected such treatment after his long services, and her favourable acceptance of them—that he thought he merited, at least, a shew of kindness from her; and, in fine, that she did not act towards him as became a woman of honour.
This was a reproach which the spirit of Miss Betsy was too high to bear; she, blushing with indignation, and casting the most disdainful look upon him, was about to make some answer, which, perhaps, in the humour he then was, would have occasioned him to retort in such a manner as might have broken off all the measures which had been so long concerting, if a sudden interruption had not prevented it.
Mr. Francis Thoughtless, not knowing anything of Mr. Munden's being there, and happening to pass that way, called on his sister, to know if she was ready to go to his brother's, it being near dinner-time; he immediately perceived, by both their countenances, that some brulée had happened between them; and, on his asking, in a gay manner, the cause of it, Mr. Munden made no scruple to relate the sum of what had passed. The brother of Miss Betsy, though in his heart very much vexed with her, affected to treat what Mr. Munden had said, as a bagatelle; and, calling to his sister's footman to get a hackney-coach to the door, made them both go with him to his brother's; saying, they would there adjust every thing.
Though Mr. Francis Thoughtless did not judge it convenient to reproach his sister in the presence of Mr. Munden, on the complaints of that gentleman, yet she had no sooner vented the little spleen she had been that instant possessed of, than she began to excuse herself of having been too poignant to a person whom she had promised to make her husband.
To atone, therefore, for the severity of her late behaviour—'This is a good, handsome, clean hack,' said she with a smile; 'one would think my fellow had pitched on such a one on purpose, to keep me from regretting my not having one of my own.'
'I only wish, Madam,' replied Mr. Munden, 'that you might be reconciled to such things as are in my power to accommodate you with, till I am so happy to present you with every thing you can desire.'—'Let us talk no more of that,' cried she; 'be assured that, whatever I may have said, I am far from thinking the happiness of life consists in grandeur.'
Mr. Munden, on these words, kissed her hand; and she permitted him to hold it between his till they came out of the coach.
This, indeed, had been the very last effort of all the maiden pride and vanity of Miss Betsy; and Mr. Munden henceforward had no reason to complain of her behaviour towards him.
Sir Ralph Trusty, in regard to his age and character, had the honour of nominating the day for the celebration of their nuptials; and Miss Betsy made no excuses, or order to protract the time, but agreed with as much readiness as her future bridegroom could havewished.
The good Lady Trusty, as well as the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, however, being not yet able to assure themselves that nothing was to be feared from the uncertainty of her temper, did every thing in their power to keep her in good-humour with her fate; and to their endeavours it may, perhaps, be ascribed, much more than to the force of her own resolution that she ceased to be guilty of any thing that might give the least cause of discontent to Mr. Munden, or betray that which, in spite of all she could do, preyed upon herself.
To these assiduities of her friends, another motive might also be added for the keeping up her spirits, which was, that of her mind being continually employed: Mr. Munden had taken a very handsome house—the upholsterer received all the orders for the furnishing it from her—there were, besides, many other things necessary for the rendering it compleat, that were not in his province to supply; the going, therefore, to shops and warehouses for that purpose, took a very great part of her time. What could be spared from these, and some other preparations for her wedding, either Lady Trusty, or her brothers, had the address to engage: one or other of them were always with her, till the night was far advanced, and sleep became more welcome than any meditations she could indulge.
The appointed day at length arrived—she was conducted to the altar by Sir Ralph Trusty; where, being met by Mr. Munden, the ceremony of marriage was performed, none being present at it but Lady Trusty and her two brothers; for as she could not have celebrated it with that pomp and eclat agreeable to a woman of her humour, she had earnestly desired it might be done with all the privacy imaginable.
The indissoluble knot now tied, they proceeded to Pontac's; where an elegant entertainment being prepared for them by Mr. Munden's orders, they dined; and afterwards went all together to a lodging Mr. Munden had hired, for a small time, in a little village five or six miles from London.
This he had done to oblige his bride, who had told him she desired to be lost to the world till the first discourse of their marriage should be over, to avoid the visits and congratulations of their friends on that occasion.
It would be needless to tell the reader that there was a general scene of joy amidst this little company: Mr. Munden expressed, andindeed, felt, an infinity of transport, on having triumphed over so many difficulties, which had for a long time continually risen to impede his wishes. The two Mr. Thoughtlesses were extremely overjoyed, on thinking a period was put to all their cares in relation to their sister: Lady Trusty also, and Sir Ralph, looking on this marriage, as things were circumstanced, highly convenient for Miss Betsy, were very much pleased; so that it must necessarily follow, that an event, which cost so much pains to bring about, must occasion a general content in the minds of all those who had so strenuously laboured for it.
Amidst this scene of joy, Miss Betsy herself was the only person whose countenance discovered the least pensiveness; nor was hers any more than what might be attributed to the modesty of a virgin bride.
Lady Trusty, however, who had observed her all day with an attentive eye, thought it proper to give her some admonitions concerning her future behaviour, before she took her leave.
To this end, she drew her into another room, apart from the company; and having told her she had something of moment to say to her, began to entertain her in the following manner.
'My dear child,' said she, 'you are now, I fear, more through your compliance with the desires of your friends than through your own inclination, entered into a state, the happiness of which greatly depends on the part you act in the first scenes of it: there are some women who think they can never testify too much fondness for their husbands, and that the name of wife is a sufficient sanction for giving a loose to the utmost excesses of an extravagant and romantick passion; but this is a weakness which I am pretty certain you will stand in no need of my advice to guard against. I am rather apprehensive of your running into a contrary extreme, equally dangerous to your future peace, as to that of your husband. A constant and unmoved insensibility will in time chill the most warm affection, and, perhaps, raise suspicions in him of the cause, which would be terrible indeed: beware, therefore, I conjure you, how you affect to despise, or treat with any marks of contempt, or even of too much coldness, a tenderness which he has a right to expect you should return in kind, as far, at least, as modesty and discretion will permit you to bestow.
'As to your conduct in family affairs,' continued this good lady, 'I would have you always confine yourself to such things as properlyappertain to your own province, never interfering with such as belong to your husband: be careful to give to him all the rights of his place, and, at the same time, maintain your own, though without seeming to be too tenacious of them. If any dispute happen to arise between you concerning superiority, though in matters of the slightest moment, rather recede a little from your due than contend too far; but let him see you yield more to oblige him than because you think yourself bound to do so.
'Mr. Munden, I flatter myself, has every qualification to make you happy, and to shew that your friends, in advising you to marry him, have not misled your choice: but as perfection is not to be found on this side the grave, and the very best of us are not exempt from the frailties of human nature, whatever errors he may happen to fall into, as it does not become you to reprimand him, I wish you would never take notice you have observed them. A man of the strictest honour and good sense may sometimes slip—be guilty of some slight forgetfulness—but then he will recover of himself, and be ashamed of his mistake; whereas reproaches only serve to harden the indignant mind, and make it rather chuse to persevere in the vices it detests, than to return to the virtues it admires, if warned by the remonstrances of another.
'But, above all things,' added she, 'I would wish you to consider that those too great gaieties of life you have hitherto indulged, which, however, innocent, could not escape censure while in a single state, will now have a much worse aspect in a married one.
'Mistake me not, my dear,' pursued she, after a pause, finding, by Miss Betsy's countenance, that what she had said on this score had stung her to the quick; 'I would not have you deprive yourself of those pleasures of life which are becoming your sex, your age, and character; there is no necessity that, because you are a wife, you should become a mope: I only recommend a proper medium in these things.'
Her ladyship was going on, when Miss Betsy's servants, whom she had ordered to bring such part of her baggage as she thought would be needful while she staid in that place, came with it into the chamber; on which this kind adviser told her fair friend that she would refer what she had farther to say on these subjects till another opportunity.
Miss Betsy replied, that she would treasure up in her heart all the admonitions she should at any time be pleased to give her; and thatshe hoped her future conduct would demonstrate that no part of what her ladyship had said was lost upon her.
With these words they returned into the dining-room; and the close of day soon after coming on, Sir Ralph and his lady, with the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, took leave of the bride and bridegroom, and came back to town.
The fair wife of Mr. Munden (Miss Betsy now no more) had promised nothing at the altar that she was not resolved religiously to perform: she began seriously to consider on the duties of her place; she was ignorant of no part of them; and soon became fully convinced that on a strict observation of them depended her honour—her reputation—her peace of mind—and, in fine, all that was dear to a woman of virtue and understanding.
To give the more weight to these reflections, she also called to her mind the long perseverance of Mr. Munden—his constant assiduities to please her—his patient submitting to all the little caprices of her humour; and establishing in herself an assured belief of the ardour and sincerity of his affection to her, her gratitude, her good-nature, and good-sense, much more than compensated for the want of inclination; and without any of those languishments, those violent emotions, which bear the name of love, rendered her capable of giving more real and more valuable proofs of that passion than are sometimes to be found among those who profess themselves, and are looked upon by the world, as the most fond wives.
In spite of her endeavours, the thoughts of Mr. Trueworth would, however, sometimes come into her mind; but she repelled them with all her might: and as the merits of that gentleman would, in reality, admit of no comparison with any thing that Mr. Munden had to boast of, she laboured to overbalance the perfections of the one, by that tender and passionate affection with which she flattered herself she now was, and always would be, regarded by the other.
Thus happily disposed to make the bonds she had entered into easy to herself, and perfectly agreeable to the person with whom she was engaged, he had, indeed, a treasure in her beyond what he could ever have imagined, or her friends, from her former behaviour, had any reason to have expected; and, had he been truly sensible of the value of the jewel he possessed, he would have certainly been compleatly blessed: but happiness is not in the power of every one to enjoy, though Heaven and fortune deny nothing to their wishes. But of this hereafter.
At present, all was joy and transport on the side of the bridegroom—all complaisance and sweetness on that of the bride. Their whole deportment to each other was such as gave the most promising expectations of a lasting harmony between them, and gladdened the hearts of as many as saw it, and interested themselves in the felicity of either of them.
They continued but a few days in the retirement which had been made choice of for the consummation of their nuptials, Mr. Munden was naturally gay, loved company, and all the modish diversions of the times; and his wife, who, as the whole course of this history has shewn, had been always fond of them to an excess, and whose humour, in this point, was very little altered by the change of her condition, readily embraced the first proposal he made of returning to town, believing she should now have courage enough to appear in publick, without testifying any of that shamefacedness on account of her marriage, which she knew would subject her to the ridicule of those of her acquaintance who had a greater share of assurance.
For a time, this new-married pair seemed to have no other thing in view than pleasure. Mr. Munden had a numerous acquaintance—his wife not a few. Giving and receiving entertainments, as yet, engrossed their whole attention—each smiling hour brought with it some fresh matter for satisfaction; and all was chearful, gay, and jocund.
But this was a golden dream, which could not be expected to be of any long continuance. The gaudy scene vanished at once, and soon a darkening gloom overspread the late enchanting prospects. Mr. Munden's fortune could not support these constant expences. He was obliged to retrench somewhere; and, not being of a humour to deny himself any of those amusements he was accustomed to abroad, he became excessively parsimonious at home, insomuch that the scanty allowance she received from him for housekeeping, wouldscarcely furnish out a table fit for a gentleman of an estate far inferior to that he was in possession of, to sit down to himself; much less to ask any friend who should casually come in to visit him, to partake of.
Nothing can be more galling to a woman of any spirit, than to see herself at the head of a family without sufficient means to support her character as such in a handsome manner. The fair subject of this history had too much generosity, and, indeed, too much pride, in her composition, to endure that there should be any want in so necessary an article of life; and, as often as she found occasion, would have recourse for a supply to her own little purse.
But this was a way of going on which could not last long. She complained of it to Mr. Munden; but, though the remonstrances she made him were couched in the most gentle terms that could be, he could not forbear testifying a good deal of displeasure on hearing them. He told her that he feared she was a bad œoconomist; and that, as she was a wife, she ought to understand that it was one of the main duties of her place to be frugal of her husband's money, and be content with such things as were suitable to his circumstances.
The surly look with which these words were accompanied, as well as the words themselves, made her easily perceive, that all the mighty passion he had pretended to have had for her, while in the days of courtship, was too weak to enable him to bear the least contradiction from her now he became a husband.
She restrained, however, that resentment which so unexpected a discovery of his temper had inspired her with, from breaking into any violent expressions; and only mildly answered, that she should always be far from desiring any which would be of real prejudice to his circumstances; but added, that she was too well acquainted with his fortune, not to be well assured it would admit of keeping a table much more agreeable to the rank he held in life, and the figure he made in other things.
'I am the best judge of that,' replied he, a little disdainfully; 'and also, that it is owing to your own want of management that my table is so ill supplied. I would wish you, therefore, to contrive better for the future; as you may depend upon it that, unless my affairs take a better turn, I shall not be persuaded to make any addition to my domestick expences.'
'I could wish then, Sir,' cried she, with a little more warmth, 'that henceforth you would be your own purveyor; for I confess myself utterly unable to maintain a family like ours on the niggard stipendyou have allotted for that purpose.'
'No, really, Madam,' answered he, very churlishly, 'I did not marry in order to make myself acquainted with how the markets go, and become learned in the prices of beef and mutton. I always looked on that as the province of a wife; it is enough for me to discharge all reasonable demands on that score: and, since you provoke me to it, I must tell you, Madam,' continued he, 'that what my table wants of being compleat, is robbed from it by the idle superfluities you women are so fond of, and with which, I think, I ought to have no manner of concern.'
As she was not able to comprehend the meaning of these words, she was extremely astonished at them; and, in a pretty hasty manner, demanded a detail of those superfluities he accused her of: on which, throwing himself back in his chair, and looking on her with the most careless and indifferent air he could assume, he replied in these terms.
'I know not,' said he, 'what fool it was that first introduced the article of pin-money into marriage-writings. Nothing, certainly, is more idle; since a woman ought to have nothing apart from her husband; but, as it is grown into a custom, and I have condescended to comply with it, you should, I think, of your own accord, and without giving me the trouble of reminding you of it, convert some part of it, at least, to such uses as might ease me of a burden I have, indeed, no kind of reason to be loaded with. As, for example,' continued he, 'coffee, tea, chocolate, with all the appendages belonging to them, have no business to be enrolled in the list of housekeeping expences, and consequently not to be taken out of what I allow you for that purpose.'
Here he gave over speaking; but the consternation his wife was in preventing her from making any immediate answer, he resumed his discourse. 'Since we are upon this topick, my dear,' said he, 'it will be the best to tell you at once what I expect from you—it is but one thing more—which is this. You have a man entirely to yourself; I am willing he should eat with the family; but as to his livery and wages, I think it highly reasonable you should be at the charge of.'
The innate rage which, during the whole time he had been talking, swelled her breast to almost bursting, would now no longer be confined. 'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'to what have I reduced myself!—Is this to be a wife!—Is this the state of wedlock!—Call it rather an Egyptian bondage!—The cruel task-masters of the Israelites couldexact no more. Ungrateful man! pursued she, bursting into tears, 'is this the love, the tenderness, you vowed?'
Overwhelmed with passion, she was capable of uttering no more; but continued walking about the room in a disordered motion, and all the tokens of the most outrageous grief and anger. He sat silent for some time; but, at last, looking somewhat more kindly on her than he had done—'Pr'ythee, my dear,' said he, 'don't let me see you give way to emotions so unbecoming of yourself, and so unjust to me. You shall have no occasion to complain of my want of love and tenderness—you know what my expectations are; and when once I have gained my point, you may be sure, for my own sake, I shall do every thing suitable to it. I would only have you behave with a little prudence for the present.'
In concluding these words, he rose and took hold of her hand; but approached her with an air so cold and indifferent, as was far from atoning, with a woman of her penetration, for the unkindness of his late proposal. 'No, Mr. Munden!' cried she, haughtily turning from him, 'do not imagine I am so weak as to expect, after what you have said, any thing but ill-usage.'
'I have said nothing that I have cause to repent of,' answered he; 'and hope that, when this heat is over, you will do me the justice to think so too. I leave you to consider it, and bring yourself into a better humour against my return.' He added no more; but took his hat and sword, and went out of the room.
She attempted not to call him back; but retired to her chamber, in order to give a loose to passions more turbulent than she had ever known before.
Whoever considers Miss Betsy Thoughtless in her maiden character, will not find it difficult to conceive what she now endured in that of Mrs. Munden. All that lightened her poor heart, all that made her patiently submit to the fate her brothers had, in a manner, forced upon her, was a belief of her being passionately loved by the man she made her husband: but thus cruelly undeceived by the treatment she had just met with from him, one may truly say, that if it did not make her utterly hate and despise him, it at least destroyed at once, in her, all the respect and good-will she had, from the first moment of her marriage, been endeavouring to feel for him.
It is hard to say whether her surprize at an eclaircissement she had so little expected, her indignation at Mr. Munden's mean attempt to encroach upon her right, or the shock of reflecting, that it was by death alone she could be relieved from the vexations with which she was threatened by a man of his humour, were most predominant in her soul; but certain it is, that all together racked her with most terrible convulsions.
She was in the midst of these agitations, when Lady Trusty came to visit her. In the distraction of these thoughts she had forgot to give orders to be denied to all company, which otherwise she would doubtless have done, even without excepting that dear and justly valued friend.
She endeavoured, as much as possible, to compose herself, and prevent all tokens of discontent from appearing in her countenance,but had not the power of doing it effectually enough to deceive the penetration of that lady; she immediately perceived that something extraordinary had happened to her; and, as soon as she was seated, began to enquire into the cause of the change she had observed in her.
Mrs. Munden, on considering what was most prudent in a wife, from the first moment of her becoming so, had absolutely resolved always to adhere, as strictly as possible, to this maxim of the poet—
'Secrets of marriage should be sacred held,Their sweets and bitters by the wife conceal'd.'
'Secrets of marriage should be sacred held,Their sweets and bitters by the wife conceal'd.'
But finding herself pretty strongly pressed by a lady to whom she had the greatest and most just reason to believe she ought to have nothing in reserve, she hesitated not long to relate to her the whole story of the brulée she had with her husband.
Lady Trusty was extremely alarmed at the account given her; and because she would be sure not to mistake any part of it, made Mrs. Munden repeat several times over every particular of this unhappy dispute; then, after a pause of some minutes, began to give her advice to her fair friend in the following terms.
'It grieves me to the soul,' said that excellent lady, 'to find there is already any matter of complaint between you—you have been but two months married; and it is, methinks, by much too early for him to throw off the lover, and exert the husband: but since it is so, I would not have you, for your own sake, too much exert the wife; I fear he is of a rugged nature—it behoves you, therefore, rather to endeavour to soften it, by all the means in your power, than to pretend to combat with unequal force; you know the engagements you are under, and how little relief all the resistance you can make will be able to afford you.'
'Bless me, Madam!' cried Mrs. Munden, spiritously, 'would your ladyship have me give up, to the expence of housekeeping, that slender pittance allowed for cloaths and pocket-money in my marriage articles?'
'No, my dear,' cried Lady Trusty; 'far be it from me to give you any such counsel: on the contrary, I am apprehensive that, if you should suffer yourself to be either menaced, or cajoled, out of even the smallest part of your rights, it is possible that a man of Mr. Munden's disposition might hereafter be tempted to encroach upon the whole, and leave you nothing you could call your own.
'It is very difficult, if not wholly impossible,' continued she, 'tojudge with any certainty, how to proceed with a person whose temper one does not know; I am altogether a stranger to that of Mr. Munden, nor can you as yet pretend to be perfectly acquainted with it: all I can say, therefore, is, that I would have you maintain your own privileges, without appearing to tenacious of them.'
'I have then no other part to take,' said Mrs. Munden, 'than just to lay out, in the best manner I can, what money he is pleased to allow, without making any addition, what accidents soever may happen to demand it.'
'I mean so,' replied Lady Trusty; 'and whenever there is any deficiency, as some there must necessarily be, in what might be expected from your way of living, I would not have you seem to take the least notice of it: behave, as if entirely unconcerned, contented, and easy; leave it to him to complain; and when he does so, you will have an opportunity, by shewing the bills of what you have laid out, of proving, that it is not owing to your want of good management, but to the scarcity of the means put into your hands, that his table is so ill supplied; but still let every thing you urge on this occasion be accompanied with all the softness it is in your power to assume.'
To this Mrs. Munden, with a deep sigh, made answer, that though she was an ill dissembler, and besides had little room, from her husband's late carriage towards her, to flatter herself with any good effect of her submission, yet she would endeavour to follow her ladyship's counsel, in making the experiment, however irksome it might be to her to do so.
They had a very long conversation together on this head; during the whole course of which Lady Trusty laboured all she could to persuade the other to look on her situation in a much less disagreeable light then, in reality, it deserved.
But how little is it in the power of argument, to reason away pain! one is much more deeply affected with what one feels than what one hears: the heart of Mrs. Munden was beset with thorns, which all the words in the world would have been ineffectual to remove; disappointed in every thing that could have rendered this marriage supportable to her—her good-nature abused—her spirit humbled and depressed—no considerations were of force to moderate her passions, but that melancholy one that, as her misfortunes were without a remedy, the best, and indeed the only relief that fate permitted, was in patiently submitting.
She acted, nevertheless, in every respect, for several days,conformable to the method Lady Trusty had prescribed, and restrained her temper so as neither by word or action to give Mr. Munden any just cause of offence: he also kept himself within bounds, though it was easy for her to perceive, by his sullen deportment, every time he was at table, how ill he was satisfied with the provisions set before him.
A cold civility on the one side, and an enforced complaisance on the other, hindered the mutual discontent that reigned in both their hearts from being perceptible to any who came to visit them, and also from breaking into any indecencies between themselves; till one day a gentleman of fine consideration in the world happening, unexpectedly, to come to dine with them, Mr. Munden was extremely shocked at being no better prepared for his entertainment.
'What! my dear,' said he to his wife, 'have you nothing else to give us?' To which she replied, with a great presence of mind, 'I am quite ashamed and sorry for the accident; but you know, my dear, we both intended to dine abroad to-day, so I gave a bill of fare accordingly; and this gentleman came too late to make any addition to what I had ordered.'
It may be easily supposed the guest assured them that there needed no apologies, that every thing was mighty well, and such like words of course: so no more was said upon this subject.
But the pride of Mr. Munden filled him with so much inward rage and spite, that he was scarce able to contain himself till his friend had taken leave; and he no sooner was at liberty to say what he thought proper, without incurring the censure of being unmannerly or unkind, than he began to reproach her in the most unjust and cruel terms, for having, as he said, exposed him to the contempt and ridicule of a person who had hitherto held him in the highest esteem.
She made no other reply than that she was no less confounded than himself at what had happened—that it was not in her power to prevent it—that she could wish to be always prepared for the reception of any friend—and that she was certain, when he reflected on the cause, he would be far from laying any blame on her.
In speaking these words, she ran to her cabinet; and, as Lady Trusty had directed, produced an account to what uses every single shilling she had received from him had been converted since the last dispute they had with each other on this score.
In presenting these papers to him, 'Read these bills,' said she, 'and be convinced how little I deserve such treatment from you: you willfind that there are no items inserted of coffee, tea, or chocolate; articles,' continued she, with an air a little disdainfully, 'which you seemed to grumble at, though yourself and friends had the same share in, as well as me and mine.'
'Rot your accounts!' cried he, tearing the papers she had given him into a thousand pieces; 'have you the folly to imagine I will be troubled with such stuff? It is sufficient I know upon the whole what ought to be done; and must plainly tell you, once for all, that you should rather think of retrenching your expences, than flatter yourself with expecting an increase of my allowance to you.'
'My expences! my expences,' reiterated she with vehemence, 'what does the man mean?'—'My meaning,' answered he, sullenly, 'would need no explanation, if you had either any love for me, or prudence enough to direct you to do what would entitle you to mine: but since you are so ignorant, I must tell you, that I think my family too much encumbered; you have two maids—I do not desire you to lessen the number, but they are certainly enough to wait upon you in the morning; I have a man, for whom I never have any employment after that time, and he may wait at table, and attend you the whole afternoon; I see therefore no occasion you have to keep a fellow merely to loiter about the house, eat, drink, and run before your chair when you make your visits. I insist, therefore, that you either discharge him, or consent to give him his livery and wages, and also to allow for his board out of your own annual revenue of pin-money.'
What usage was this for a young lady, scarce yet three months married; endued with every qualification to create love and esteem, accustomed to receive nothing but testimonies of admiration from as many as beheld her, and addressed with the extremest homage and tenderness by the very man who now seemed to take pride in the power he had obtained of thwarting her humour, and dejecting that spirit and vivacity he had so lately pretended to adore.
How utterly impossible was it for her now to observe the rules laid down to her by Lady Trusty! Could she, after this, submit to put in practice any softening arts she had been advised, to win her lordly tyrant into temper? Could she, I say, have done this, without being guilty of a meanness, which all wives must have condemned her for?
But though the answers she gave to the proposal made her by this ungenerous husband, were such as convinced him she would never be prevailed upon to recede from any part of what was her due by contract, and though she testified her resentment, on his attemptingsuch a thing, in terms haughty enough, yet did she confine herself within the limits of decency, not uttering a single word unbecoming of her character, either as the woman of good understanding, or the wife.
Mr. Munden's notions of marriage had always been extremely unfavourable to the ladies—he considered a wife no more than an upper-servant, bound to study and obey, in all things, the will of him to whom she had given her hand: and how obsequious and submissive soever he appeared when a lover, had fixed his resolution to render himself absolute master when he became a husband.
On finding himself thus disappointed in his aim, he was almost ready to burst with an inward malice; which not daring to wreak, as perhaps at that time he could have wished, he vented it in an action mean and spiteful indeed, but not to be wondered at in a man possessed of so small a share of affection, justice, or good-nature.
The reader may remember, that Mr. Trueworth, in the beginning of his courtship to Miss Betsy, had made her a present of a squirrel; she had still retained this first token of love, and always cherished it with an uncommon care: the little creature was sitting on the ridge of it's cell, cracking nuts, which his indulgent mistress had bestowed upon him: the fondness she had always shewn of him put a sudden thought into Mr. Munden's head; he started from his chair, saying to his wife, with a revengeful sneer, 'Here is one domestick, at least, that may be spared!' With these words he flew to the poor harmless animal, seized it by the neck, and throwing it with his whole force against the carved work of the marble chimney, it's tender frame was dashed to pieces.
All this was done in such an instant, that Mrs. Munden had not time to make any attempt for preventing it; but the sight of so disastrous a fate befalling her little favourite, and the brutality of him who inflicted it, raised emotions in her, which she neither endeavoured, nor, at that instant, could have the power to quell.
'Monster!' cried she, 'unworthy the name man; you needed not have been guilty of this low piece of cruelty, to make me see to what a wretch I am sacrificed.'—'Nor was there any occasion for exclamations such as these,' replied he, scornfully, 'to make me know that I am married to a termagant!'
Many altercations of the like nature passed between them; to which Mrs. Munden was the first that put a period: finding herself unable to restrain her tears, and unwilling he should be witness ofthat weakness in her, she flew out of the room, saying at the same time, that she would never eat, or sleep with him again.
If Mr. Munden had set his whole invention to work, in order to find the means of rendering himself hateful in the eyes of his wife, he could not have done it more effectually than by his savage treatment of her beloved squirrel: many circumstances, indeed, concurred to set this action of his in the most odious light that could possibly be given it.
In the first place, the massacre of so unhurtful a creature, who never did any thing to provoke it's fate, had something in it strangely splenetic and barbarous.
In the next, the bloody and inhuman deed being perpetrated by this injurious husband, merely in opposition to his wife, and because he knew it would give her some sort of affliction, was sufficient to convince her, that he took pleasure in giving pain to her, and also made her not doubt but he would stop at nothing for that purpose, provided it were safe, and came within the letter of the law.
It grieved her to be deprived of a little animal she so long had kept, with whose pretty tricks she had so often been diverted; and it must be confessed, that to be deprived of so innocent a satisfaction, by the very man she had looked upon as bound by all manner of ties to do every thing to please her, was enough to give the most galling reflections to a woman of her delicacy and spirit.
But there was still another, and, by many degrees, a more aggravating motive for her indignation: if she had purchased this squirrel with her own money, or if it had been presented to her byany other hands than those of Mr. Trueworth, not only the loss would have been less shocking to her, but also the person, by whom she sustained that loss, would, perhaps, have found less difficulty in obtaining her forgiveness.
She kept her promise, however, and ordered a bed to be made ready for her in another room. Mr. Munden came not home that night till very late; and being told what his wife had done, took not the least notice of it; but happening to meet her the next morning, as she was coming down stairs, 'So, Madam,' said he, 'I suppose you fancy this obstinate disobedience to your husband is mighty becoming in you!'
'When a husband,' answered she, 'is ignorant of the regard he ought to have for his wife, or forgets to put it in practice, he can expect neither affection nor obedience, unless the woman he has married happens to be an idiot.'
They passed each other with these words; and she went directly to Lady Trusty, being impatient to acquaint her with the behaviour of her husband towards her since she last had seen her.
This worthy lady was astonished beyond measure at the recital; it seemed so strange to her, that a gentleman of Mr. Munden's birth, fortune, and education, should ever entertain the sordid design of obliging his wife to convert to the family uses what had been settled on her for her own private expences, that she could not have given credit to it from any other mouth than that of the weeping sufferer: his killing of the squirrel also, though a trifle in itself, she could not help thinking denoted a most cruel, revengeful, and mean mind.
But how much soever she condemned him in her heart, she forebore expressing the whole of her sentiments on this occasion to his wife, being willing, as they were joined to each other by the most sacred and indissoluble bonds, rather to heal, if possible, the breach between them, than to add any thing which might serve to widen it.
She told her that, though she could not but confess that Mr. Munden had behaved towards her, through this whole affair, in a manner very different from what he ought to have done, or what might have been expected from him, yet she was sorry to find that she had carried things to that extremity; particularly she blamed her for having quitted his bed: 'Because,' said she, 'it may furnish him with some matter of complaint against you; and, likewise, make others suspect you have not that affection for him which is the duty ofa wife.'
Mrs. Munden making no answer to this, and looking a little perplexed—'I do not mean, by what I have said,' resumed Lady Trusty, 'to persuade you to take any steps towards a reconciliation; that is, I would not have you confess you have been in the wrong, or tell him you are sorry for what you have done: that would be taking a blame upon yourself you do not deserve; and he would imagine he had a right to expect the same on every trifling occasion. It may be, he might be imperious and ill-natured enough to create quarrels merely for the sake of humbling your spirit and resentment into submission.
'But as to live in the manner you are likely to do together,' continued she, 'cannot but be very displeasing in the eye of Heaven, and must also expose both of you to the censure and contempt of the world, when once it comes to be known and talked of, some means must be speedily found to bring about an accommodation between you.'
'O, Madam!' cried the other, hastily interrupting her, 'how impossible is it for me ever to look with any thing but disdain and resentment on a man who, after so many protestations of eternal love, eternal adoration, has dared to treat me in this manner! No!' added she, with greater vehemence than before, 'I despise the low, the grovelling mind; light and darkness are not more opposites than we are, and can as easily agree.'
'You must not think, nor talk in this fashion,' said the good lady; 'all you can accuse him of will not amount to a separation; besides, consider how odd a figure a woman makes who lives apart from her husband; there is an absolute necessity for a reconciliation; and, as it is probable that neither of you will pursue any measures for that purpose, it is highly proper your friends should take upon them to interpose in the affair.'
It was a considerable time before Mrs. Munden could be persuaded, by all the arguments Lady Trusty made use of, that either her duty, her interest, or her reputation, required she should forgive the insults she had received from this ungrateful and unworthy husband.
The good lady would not, however, give over till she had prevailed on her not only to listen to her reasons, but also to be at last perfectly convinced by them: this point being gained, the manner in which the matter should be conducted was the next thing that employed her thoughts.
It seemed best to her that the two Mr. Thoughtlesses should notbe made acquainted with any part of what had passed, if the business she so much wished to see accomplished could be effected without their knowledge: her reason for it was this; they were both men of pretty warm dispositions, especially the younger; and as they had been so assiduous in promoting this match, so early a breach, and the provocations given for it by Mr. Munden, might occasion them to shew their resentment for his behaviour in a fashion which would make what was already very bad, much worse.
'Sir Ralph is a man in years,' said she; 'has been your guardian; and I am apt to believe that, on both these accounts, his words will have some weight with Mr. Munden: the friendship which he knows is between us, will also give me the privilege of adding something in my turn; and, I hope, by our joint mediation, this quarrel may be made up, so far, at least, as that you may live civilly together.'
Mrs. Munden made no other reply to what her ladyship had said, than to thank her for the interest she took in her affairs, and the trouble she was about to give Sir Ralph on her account.
The truth is, this young lady would in her heart have been much better satisfied that there had been a possibility of being separated for ever from a person who, she was now convinced, had neither love nor esteem for her, rather than to have consented to cohabit with him as a wife, even though he should be prevailed upon to request it in the most seemingly submissive terms.
While they were in this conversation, a message came from Mr. Edward Goodman, containing an invitation to Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, to an entertainment that gentleman had ordered to be prepared the next day for several of his friends, on a particular occasion; which, because the reader as yet is wholly ignorant of, it is highly proper he should be made acquainted with.
The spirits of Lady Mellasin had for several months been kept up by the wicked agents she had employed in the management of the worst cause that ever was taken in hand: those subtle and most infamous wretches, in order to draw fresh supplies of money from that unhappy woman, had still found means to elude and baffle all the endeavours of Mr. Goodman's honest lawyer to bring the manner to a fair trial.
But, at last, all their diabolical inventions, their evasions, their subterfuges, failing, and the day appointed which they knew must infallibly bring the whole dark mystery of iniquity to light, when all their perjuries must be explored, and themselves exposed to the just punishment of such flagitious crimes, not one of them had courage to stand the dreadful test, nor face that awful tribunal they had so greatly abused.
Yet so cruel were they, even to the very woman, all the remains of whose shattered fortune they had shared among them, as not to give her the least warning of her fate; nor, till the morning which she was made to hope would decide every thing in her favour, did she know she was undone, deserted, and left alone to bear the brunt of all the offended laws inflict on forgery.
What words can represent the horror, the confusion, of her guilty mind, when neither the person who drew up the pretended will, nor neither of those two who had set their names as witnesses, appearing, she sent in search of them, and found they were all removed from their habitations, and fled no one could inform her where.
Scarce had she the time to make her escape out of the court, before word was given to an officer to take her into custody: not daring to go home, nor knowing to whom she could have recourse for shelter in this exigence, she ran, like one distracted, through the streets, till she came to one of the gates of St. James's Park; where, meeting with a porter, she sent him to her lodgings, to order her daughter Flora and Mrs. Prinks to come that instant to her.
Mrs. Prinks immediately obeyed the summons, but Miss Flora had the audacity to desire to be excused, being then dressing to go on a business which, indeed, she then imagined was of much more consequence to herself than any thing relating to her mother could possibly be.
After this dissolute and unfortunate creature was left by Mr. Trueworth, in the manner described in the third volume of this history, she gave a loose to agonies which only those who have felt the same can be capable of conceiving.
Her shrieks, and the request Mr. Trueworth had made on his going out, brought up the woman of the house herself, to administer what relief was in her power to a lady who seemed to stand in so much need of it.
Having prevailed on her to come down stairs, she seated her in a little room behind the bar; and as she saw the violence of her passions threw her into frequent faintings, neglected nothing which she thought might be of service to recover her spirits and compose her mind.
As she was thus charitably employed, a young gentleman who used the house, and was very free with all belonging to it, happened to come it. Miss Flora, besides being handsome, had something extremely agreeable and engaging in her air; and had her heart been possessed of half that innocence her countenance gave the promise of, her character would have been as amiable as it was now the contrary.
There are some eyes which shine through their tears, and are lovely in the midst of anguish; those of Miss Flora had this advantage, and she appeared, in spite of her disorder, so perfectly charming to the stranger, that he could not quit the place without joining his endeavours to those of the good-natured hostess, for her consolation, and had the satisfaction to find them much more effectual for that purpose.
The afflicted fair-one, finding herself somewhat better, thanked the good woman, in the politest terms, for the pains she had been at; but the gentleman would not be denied seeing her safe home in a coach; saying, the air, on a sudden, might have too violent an effect on her so lately recovered spirits; and that it was not fit she should be alone, in case of accidents.
Miss Flora was easily prevailed upon to accept his obliging offer; he attended her home—stayed about half an hour with her—and entreated she would give him permission to come the next day and enquire after her health.
She knew the world too well, and the disposition of mankind in general, not to see that there was something more than mere compassion in the civilities he had shewn to her: she examined his person—his behaviour—and found nothing in either that was not perfectly agreeable; and though she had really loved Mr. Trueworth to the greatest excess that woman could do, yet, as she knew he was irrecoverably lost, she looked upon a new attachment as the only sure means of putting the past out of her head.
A very few visits served to make an eclaircissement of the thoughts they had mutually entertained of each other; and as he had found by the woman of the tavern, that the distress of this young lady had been occasioned by a love-quarrel with a gentleman who had brought her into that house, he began with expressing the utmost abhorrence of that injustice and ingratitude which some were capable of: 'But,' said he, 'if some of us have neither love nor honour for those that love us, we all certainly love our own happiness; and he must be stupid and insensible, indeed,' added he, embracing her with the warmest transport, 'who could not find it eternally within these arms!'
'You all talk so,' answered she, with the most engaging smile she could put on: 'but as my youth—innocence—and, perhaps, a little mixture of female vanity—have once misled me, it behoves me to be extremely cautious how the tender impulse gets a second time possession of my heart.'
In short, she put him not to a too great expence of vows and protestations before she either was, or pretended to be, convinced of the sincerity of his passion, and also rewarded it in as ample a manner as his soul could wish.
It is certain, that for a time this new gallant behaved with the extremest fondness towards her—did every thing the most ardent lover could do to please her—he treated her—carried her to allpublick places of entertainment—and, what in her present circumstances was most necessary to her, was continually making her very rich and valuable presents.
But it could not be expected that an amour, entered into in this manner, and which had no solid esteem on either side for it's foundation, would be of any long continuance; the gentleman had a great deal of good-nature, but was gay and inconstant as the most variable of his sex—he found a new charm in every face that presented itself to him; and, as he wanted no requisites to please the fair, he too seldom failed in his attempts upon them.
Miss Flora was not ignorant that he had many amusements of this kind, even while he kept up the most tender correspondence with her; but perceiving that reproaches and complaints were equally in vain with a man of his humour, she had the cunning to forbear persecuting him with either; and by appearing always easy, degagée, and unconcerned, preserved her acquaintance with him, and received proofs of his liberality long after she had lost those of his inclination.
On being told that he was going on a party of pleasure into the south of France, she exercised all her wit and artifice to engage him to permit her to be one of the company; but he treated this request as a mere bagatelle—said the thing was utterly impracticable—that none of the gentlemen took any ladies with them—so he would not have her think of it.
It was in order to take her leave of him before his departure, that she was going to his lodgings when Lady Mellasin had sent for her into the Park.
The cool reception he had given her, sent her home in a very ill-humour, which was greatly heighted by a letter which she found Mrs. Prinks had left for her on the table.
That woman having joined her lady in the Park, and consulted together what was to be done, they took a hackney-coach, and drove to an obscure part of the town, where they hired lodgings in a feigned name; after which Mrs. Prinks hurried home, packed up what cloaths and other necessaries she thought would be immediately wanted; and, after having wrote a short account to Miss Flora of the misfortune that had happened, and given her directions where to come, returned, with all haste, to her disconsolate lady.
While this unhappy little family were in their concealment, each of them set their whole wits to work to find some means by which Lady Mellasin might be extricated from that terrible dilemma she had brought herself into.
But as this was a thing in it's very nature, as affairs had been managed, morally impossible to be accomplished, all their endeavours to that purpose only served to shew them the extreme vanity of the attempt, and consequently to render them more miserable.
Despair, at length, and the near prospect of approaching want, so humbled the once haughty spirit of Lady Mellasin, that she resolved on writing to Mr. Edward Goodman—to make use of all her rhetorick to soothe him into forgiveness for the troubles she had occasioned him—and, in fine, to petition relief from the very man whom she had made use of the most villainous arts to prejudice.
The contents of her letter to that much-injured gentleman were as follows.
'To Edward Goodman, Esq.Sir,Appearances are so much against me that I scarce dare say I am innocent, though I know myself so, as to any intention of doing you injustice: I cannot, however, forbear giving you a short sketch of the imposition which has been practiced upon me, and in my name attempted to be put on you.The will, which has occasioned this long contest between us, was brought me by a person who told me he had drawn it up exactly according to my late husband's instructions, the very evening before he died; the subscribing witnesses gave me the same assurance; and also added, that Mr. Goodman was so well convinced of my integrity, and the wrong he had done me by suspecting it, that had he lived only to the next morning, he had resolved to send for me home, and be reconciled to me in the face of the world: so that, if the thing was a piece of forgery, these men are only guilty—I am entirely free from any share in it.But as these proceedings, which I have unhappily been prevailed upon to countenance, have given you a great deal of trouble and expence, I sincerely ask your pardon for it: this is all the atonement I can make to Heaven for offences more immediately my own.I am very sensible, notwithstanding, that, by what I have done, I have not only forfeited my claim to such part of the effects of Mr. Goodman as appertain to the widow of an eminent and wealthy citizen, but, likewise, all my pretensions to the friendship and favour of the person he has made his heir: yet, Sir, however guilty I may seem to you, or how great my faults in reality may have been, I cannot help being of opinion that, when you remember I was once the wife of an uncle, whose memory you have so much cause to value, you will think the name and character I have borne, ought to defend me from publick infamy, parish-alms, and beggary.Reduced as I am, it would ill become me to make any stipulations, or lay a tax on the goodness I am necessitated to implore. No, Sir; as I can now demand nothing, so, also, I can hope for nothing but from your compassion and generosity; and to these two amiable qualities alone shall ascribe whatever provision you shall think fit to make for me out of that abundance I was once in full possession of.I shall add no more, than to intreat you will consider, with some portion of attention and good-nature, on what I have lately been, and what I at present am, the most unfortunate, and most forlorn of womankind,M. Mellasin Goodman.P.S. My daughter Flora, the innocent partner of my griefs and sufferings, will have the honour to deliver this to you, and, I hope, return with a favourable answer.'
'To Edward Goodman, Esq.
Sir,
Appearances are so much against me that I scarce dare say I am innocent, though I know myself so, as to any intention of doing you injustice: I cannot, however, forbear giving you a short sketch of the imposition which has been practiced upon me, and in my name attempted to be put on you.
The will, which has occasioned this long contest between us, was brought me by a person who told me he had drawn it up exactly according to my late husband's instructions, the very evening before he died; the subscribing witnesses gave me the same assurance; and also added, that Mr. Goodman was so well convinced of my integrity, and the wrong he had done me by suspecting it, that had he lived only to the next morning, he had resolved to send for me home, and be reconciled to me in the face of the world: so that, if the thing was a piece of forgery, these men are only guilty—I am entirely free from any share in it.
But as these proceedings, which I have unhappily been prevailed upon to countenance, have given you a great deal of trouble and expence, I sincerely ask your pardon for it: this is all the atonement I can make to Heaven for offences more immediately my own.
I am very sensible, notwithstanding, that, by what I have done, I have not only forfeited my claim to such part of the effects of Mr. Goodman as appertain to the widow of an eminent and wealthy citizen, but, likewise, all my pretensions to the friendship and favour of the person he has made his heir: yet, Sir, however guilty I may seem to you, or how great my faults in reality may have been, I cannot help being of opinion that, when you remember I was once the wife of an uncle, whose memory you have so much cause to value, you will think the name and character I have borne, ought to defend me from publick infamy, parish-alms, and beggary.
Reduced as I am, it would ill become me to make any stipulations, or lay a tax on the goodness I am necessitated to implore. No, Sir; as I can now demand nothing, so, also, I can hope for nothing but from your compassion and generosity; and to these two amiable qualities alone shall ascribe whatever provision you shall think fit to make for me out of that abundance I was once in full possession of.
I shall add no more, than to intreat you will consider, with some portion of attention and good-nature, on what I have lately been, and what I at present am, the most unfortunate, and most forlorn of womankind,
M. Mellasin Goodman.
P.S. My daughter Flora, the innocent partner of my griefs and sufferings, will have the honour to deliver this to you, and, I hope, return with a favourable answer.'
Lady Mellasin chose to send Miss Flora with this letter, asbelieving her agreeable person, and manner of behaviour, would have a greater effect on that youthful heart of the person it was addressed to, than could have been expected from the formal and affected gravity of Mrs. Prinks.
It is not unlikely, too, but that she might flatter herself with the hopes of greater advantages by her daughter's going in person to Mr. Goodman's, than those which her letter had petitioned for. She had often heard and read of men whose resentment had been softened and melted into tenderness on the appearance of a lovely object: as the poet somewhere or other expresses it—