You've discovered after twenty years' wedlock that your husband's--a
man! and you're vexed: would you have him anything else?'
'You're all in a story,' she blubbered maniacally; 'there's no justice,
nor feeling, nor succour for a poor abused woman; but I'll do it--I
will. I'll go to his reverence--don't try to persuade me--the Rev. Hugh
Walsingham, Doctor of Divinity, and Rector of Chapelizod (she used to
give him at full length whenever she threatened Zekiel with a visitation
from that quarter, by way of adding ponderosity to the menace)--I'll go
to him straight--don't think to stop me--and we'll see what he'll say;'
and so she addressed herself to go.
'And when you see him, Madam, ask the learned doctor--don't ask
me--believe the rector of the parish--he'll tell you, that it hath
prevailed from the period at which Madam Sarah quarrelled with saucy
Miss Hagar; that it hath prevailed among all the principal nations of
antiquity, according to Pliny, Strabo, and the chief writers of
antiquity; that Juno, Dido, Eleanor Queen of England, and Mrs.
Partridge, whom I read of here (and he pointed to the open volume of Tom
Jones), each made, or thought she made, a like discovery.
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