I
received a most tender and ill-spelled letter from my mistress, who had
been sent to a relation in Coventry. She protested her innocence of my
misfortunes, and vowed to be true to me "till death." I took no notice
of the letter, for I was cured, for the present, both of love and
poetry. Women, however, are more constant in their attachments than
men, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary. I am assured that
she actually remained faithful to her vow for several months; but she
had to deal with a cruel father whose heart was as hard as the knob of
his cane. He was not to be touched by tears or poetry; but absolutely
compelled her to marry a reputable young tradesman; who made her a
happy woman in spite of herself, and of all the rules of romance; and
what is more, the mother of several children. They are at this very day
a thriving couple and keep a snug corner shop, just opposite the figure
of Peeping Tom at Coventry.
I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies at Oxford,
though they were not always as severe as these; nor did I always pay as
dear for my lessons. People may say what they please, a studious life
has its charms, and there are many places more gloomy than the
cloisters of a university.
To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous manner,
gradually getting a knowledge of good and evil, until I had attained my
twenty-first year. I had scarcely come of age when I heard of the
sudden death of my father.
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