You are a very good gentleman, then, Sir.

Ay, Madam, we cannot live always here; and we ought to do what good we can—­but I hate to appear officious.  If the lady stay any time, and think fit, upon better acquaintance, to let me into her case, it may be a happy day for her, if I find it a just one; for, you must know, that when I was at the bar, I never was such a sad fellow as to undertake, for the sake of a paltry fee, to make white black, and black white:  For what would that have been, but to endeavour to establish iniquity by quirks, while I robbed the innocent?

You are an excellent gentleman, Sir:  I wish [and then she sighed] I had had the happiness to know there was such a lawyer in the world; and to have been acquainted with him.

Come, come, Mrs. Moore, I think your name is, it may not be too late—­ when you and I are better acquainted, I may help you perhaps.—­But mention nothing of this to the lady:  for, as I said, I hate to appear officious.

This prohibition, I knew, if goody Moore answered the specimen she had given of her womanhood, would make her take the first opportunity to tell, were it to be necessary to my purpose that she should.

I appeared, upon the whole, so indifferent about seeing the room, or the lady, that the good woman was the more eager I should see both.  And the rather, as I, to stimulate her, declared, that there was more required in my eye to merit the character of a handsome woman, than most people thought necessary; and that I had never seen six truly lovely women in my life.

To be brief, she went in; and after a little while came out again.  The lady, Sir, is retired to her closet.  So you may go in and look at the room.

Then how my heart began again to play its pug’s tricks!

I hobbled in, and stumped about, and liked it very much; and was sure my wife would.  I begged excuse for sitting down, and asked, who was the minister of the place?  If he were a good preacher?  Who preached at the Chapel?  And if he were a good preacher, and a good liver too, Madam—­I must inquire after that:  for I love, but I must needs say, that the clergy should practise what they preach.

Very right, Sir; but that is not so often the case as were to be wished.

More’s the pity, Madam.  But I have a great veneration for the clergy in general.  It is more a satire upon human nature than upon the cloth, if we suppose those who have the best opportunities to do good, less perfect than other people.  For my part, I don’t love professional any more than national reflections.—­But I keep the lady in her closet.  My gout makes me rude.

Then up from my seat stumped I—­what do you call these window-curtains, Madam?

Stuff-damask, Sir.

It looks mighty well, truly.  I like it better than silk.  It is warmer to be sure, and much fitter for lodgings in the country; especially for people in years.  The bed is in a pretty state.