Port is not always sanitive

Sure I feel somewhat languid and qualmish this morn after my jaunt to the Derby: perchance beyond a certain point, port is no longer sanitive? But indeed that was a very agreeable evening with 'tother Lady B-.

Comes Hector to say Mr MacD- is at the door, am I at home? (I think the household continues in a little resentment for his neglect of me.)

O, says I, show him in.

Enters Sandy and I tell Hector that he may desire Euphemia to bring coffee.

You are still quite the stranger, I remark.

Sandy responds that because of his foolish running after classickal discourse he had got very behindhand upon his legitimate duties and has been oblig’d to spend much time getting abreast of affairs again.

I say that where Lady J- is concern’d, one does not run after, one is carry’d up like the prophet Elijah in the whirlwind.

Sandy gives me a severe look and says Lady J- is quite the most excellent of women, is entirely remarkable in her learning, and yet will, it seems, concede to the arguments of a certain silly creature, which is estimable in her. Writ him a most civil letter that puts them on easy terms once more.

I am pleas’d to hear it, says I. Indeed she is an excellent woman and her intentions are always of the best.

Comes in Euphemia with coffee, the third-best coffee service, and what I apprehend to be the shortbreads she bak’d yesterday rather than ones that come fresh from the oven. I hope that the coffee is at least hot and strong.

I pour coffee and sit back in my chair.

Sandy looks across at me and says he is somewhat worry’d that I do not commence to teaze him.

I find myself not in the teazing humour today, says I.

You are not angry with me, dearest C-, are you?

Indeed not, I reply, has nothing to do with you but an over-indulgence yestre’en.

I should be quite distraught did I think you were vext with me.

There is a pause.

Sure I confide that you are.

Perchance, says I, this present state of mine renders me somewhat out of charity with the entire world.

'Tis most unlike you.

'Tis unlike me not to conceal the matter am I out of humour, I say. For indeed that is a hard habit to get out of, when for so long 'twas my living to smile and make pleasant whether I felt so or no.

Oh, says he. Are you oft out of humour?

Sure, says I, did I wish to teaze, I could quite plague you with a notion that I have been concealing vexation many and many a time, but 'twould not be true, so do not go bothering yourself over it.

It has occurr’d to me, he says, that so many come to you to tell their troubles, but you do not tell yours.

O, indeed I do! I exclaim. You have been of quite infinite assistance over many matters that have troubl’d me –

But if you have troubles of the heart, you do not reveal them.

Any troubles of the heart that I may have, will most usual also contain other people’s secrets that are not mine to disclose. Anyway, my dear, sure I think you would be like to be greatly embarrasst did I go about disclosing such troubles to you.

You are so unlike yourself today that I wonder does some trouble gnaw at you –

The only trouble that gnaws at me is the apprehension that I should have been more mindfull of how much I was drinking yestre’en: truly. For I am sick and sullen for that reason. 'Twill pass.

Truly?

Did I feel more myself, I should offer to throw the coffee-pot at you for fussing at me.

He smiles and says that he is much reliev’d that he does not find some simulacrum of myself in my usual place.

I know not, say I, why you do not go about to write a Gothick novel yourself.

After he goes, I gradually find myself feeling better – sure I do not know why men should indulge so heavy in port is this the outcome: one glass is pleasing and sanitive and lightening to the spirits, but it is sure easy to over-do.

In the afternoon, Hector comes to say Her Grace of M- is at the door, am I at home?

I concede that I am, and in comes Viola. She tells me that they very shortly intend to go down to Q-, with a view to laying the groundwork for the election at T-: it seems a little heartless, perhaps, for the present member for the Borough still lingers tho’ is said most extreme ill.

I daresay, says I, that that is the way these things are done.

It does so seem, she says. But there will be a deal of dinners and going about to assemblies &C, and I shall be expect’d to make pleasant to the wives and indeed I find myself sadly unapt to the purpose. 'Tis not like the good general conversation I am accustom’d to, they desire to know of London fashions, and Town gossip and scandal.

Have you not consider’d, dear Viola, that you have to hand a most excellent guide to what is in fashion? For I confide did you consult Phillips, she would be able to tell you most exact what is all the crack.

O, she says, indeed that is true and I should have thought of that. I fear she finds me sadly uninterest’d in these matters.

But as for gossip and scandal, says I, I should need to consider somewhat.

Oh, she says, can I chatter of fashion I daresay they will be content’d: and I had another matter I wisht to open to you as to what I should do.

Say on, say I, pouring us both more tea.

Last time we were at Q-, I discover’d in a desk drawer the notes that the late Duchess made towards amending the catalogue of the paintings in the collection there, and the additions since the old catalogue was compil’d. Would it seem forward in me to fair-copy them so that a new catalogue might be printed? There is a deal of work in the notes, with corrections of attribution &C; sure she was most knowledgeable concerning art and artists.

Indeed I think it would demonstrate very fine feeling to complete the work she had in hand.

I wish I had known her, says Viola. Of course B… His Grace does not talk of her to me, but Lady W- was a very great friend of hers and has told me about her. I do not endeavour to take her place…

Viola, my dear: I am quite entirely sure that the late Duchess would prefer that His Grace was happy rather than continuing to mourn. You may ask Lady W- if it is not so, for the late Duchess writ letters before her confinement in case of any misadventure.

I do try to make him happy, she says. I grow ever more attacht to him as I come to know him better.

You make him exceeding happy, says I. One can see that.

Oh, dear Lady… I mean, C-. There are tears in her eyes.

At this moment comes in Hector with a card on a silver tray.

Oh, says I, 'tis Mrs N-, that must have return’d from her wedding journey. Indeed I am at home to her.

Enters my old friend, dresst very respectable and in good style, and looking exceeding well. I make introductions.

How was Worthing? I ask.

O, extreme genteel, fine airs, excellent sea-bathing: did Mr N- a power of good, he returns to the Home Office a giant refresht.

I do not ask about whether she has seen Mr J- lately, but remark that altho’ she is one that ever keeps abreast of the on-dits of the moment, I daresay she is not yet quite up to date with the talk of the Town.

Oh, she says, I have manag’d to glean a certain amount of intelligence – and off she goes laying out her wares of gossip, as Viola’s eyes get wider and wider. But, she says, I daresay there is indeed more to know.