ber. After he had opened and read
it, he made no manner of answer. I then asked him what answer I should
write. To which he replied, "He must come, I suppose." On this I wrote
to him, giving him to understand, that I should be glad to see him.
This produced an answer from him, wherein he told me, he would be with
me on the Monday following; but he came on Sunday, whilst we were at
dinner. My father received him with great tenderness seemingly, and
said, "He was sorry he had not seen him half an hour sooner, for he
was afraid the dinner was quite cold." My father after dinner went to
church, and left Mr. Cranstoun and me together: after church was over,
my father returned, drank tea with us, and seemed to be in perfect
good humour; and so he remained for several weeks; but afterwards
changed so much in his temper, that I seldom arose from table without
tears. This gave Mr. Cranstoun great pain; so that he one time said to
me, "Why will you not permit me to give your father some of the
powders which I formerly mentioned? If I was to give him them,"
continued he, "they are quite innocent, and will do him no harm, if
they did not produce the desired effect." He had no sooner spoke those
words than my father came in; upon which a profound silence ensued.
Next morning I went into my father's study, and found him very much
out of humour: he had spent the evening at the coffee-house, as he
frequently did, and generally came home in a bad humour from thence. I
went from him into the parlour where I found Mr. Cranstoun: he
insisted upon knowing what was the matter, I appearing to him to have
been lately in tears: I told him the whole affair. He replied, "I hate
he should go to that house, he always comes home from thence in a very
ill humour." I had made the tea, and got up to fetch some sugar, which
was in a glass scrutore at the farther end of the room; and when I
rose up, Mr. Cranstoun said to me, "I will now put in some of the
powder--upon my soul it will not hurt him." My father was in his study
at the time these words were spoken. I made answer, "Don't do it,
Cranstoun; it will make me uneasy, and can do you no good." To this he
replied, "It can do no hurt, and therefore I will mix it." After I had
got the sugar, I returned to the tea-table, and was going to throw
away the tea, in which Mr. Cranstoun had put some of the powder; but
my father came in that moment, and prevented me from executing my
design. My father seemed ver