A most curious mode of picking up a cicerone!

After this, still pursuing his favourite topic, he began to inquire into the particulars of Mr. Crutchley’s late illness — but that gentleman, who is as much in the opposite extreme, of disdaining even any decent care of himself, as Mr. Seward is in the other, of devoting almost all his thoughts to his health cut the matter very short, and would not talk upon it at all.

“But, if I had known sooner,” said Mr. Seward, “that you were ill, I should have come to see you.”

“Should you?” cried Mr. Crutchley, with a loud laugh; “very kind, indeed!—­it would have been charming to see you when I am ill, when I am afraid of undertaking you even when well!”

Some time after Sophy Streatfield was talked of,-Oh, with how much impertinence as if she was at the service of any man who would make proposals to her!  Yet Mr. Seward spoke of her with praise and tenderness all the time, as if, though firmly of this opinion, he was warmly her admirer.  From such admirers and such admiration heaven guard me!  Mr. Crutchley said but little; but that little was bitter enough.

“However,” said Mr. Seward, “after all that can be said, there is nobody whose manners are more engaging, nobody more amiable than the little Sophy; and she is certainly very pretty; I must own I have always been afraid to trust myself with her.”

Here Mr. Crutchley looked very sneeringly.

“Nay, squire,” cried Mr. Seward, “she is very dangerous, I can tell you; and if she had you at a fair trial, she would make an impression that would soften even your hard heart.”

“No need of any further trial,” answered he, laughing, “for she has done that already; and so soft was the impression that it is absolutely all dissolved!—­melted quite away, and not a trace of it left!”

Mr. Seward then proposed that she should marry Sir John 221

Miller,(144) who has just lost his wife and very gravely said, he had a great mind to set out for Tunbridge, and carry her with him to Bath, and so make the match without delay!

“But surely,” said Mrs. Thrale, “if you fail, you will think yourself bound in honour to marry her yourself?”

“Why, that’s the thing,” said he; “no, I can’t take the little Sophy myself; I should have too many rivals; no, that won’t do.”

How abominably conceited and sure these pretty gentlemen are!  However, Mr. Crutchley here made a speech that half won my heart.

“I wish,” said he, “Miss Streatfield was here at this moment to cuff you, Seward!”

“Cuff me!” cried he.  “What, the little Sophy!—­and why?”

“For disposing of her so freely.  I think a man deserves to be cuffed for saying any lady will marry him.”

I seconded this speech with much approbation.

GarrulousMr. Musgrave.