a little
more serious: and then he told me his designs, and gave me a plan of his
intended tour; wishing heartily that I could have accompanied him.

We parted about four; he not a little dissatisfied with me; for we had
some talk about subjects, which, he said, he loved not to think of; to
whit, Miss Harlowe's will; my executorship; papers I had in confidence
communicated to that admirable lady (with no unfriendly design, I assure
your Lordship;) and he insisting upon, and I refusing, the return of the
letters he had written to me, from the time that he had made his first
addresses to her.

He would see me once again, he said; and it would be upon very ill terms
if I complied not with his request. Which I bid him not expect. But,
that I might not deny him every thing, I told him, that I would give him
a copy of the will; though I was sure, I said, when he read it, he would
wish he had never seen it.

I had a message from him about eleven this morning, desiring me to name
a place at which to dine with him, and Mowbray, and Tourville, for the
last time: and soon after another from Colonel Morden, inviting me to
pass the evening with him at the Bedford-head in Covent-Garden. And,
that I might keep them at distance from one another, I appointed Mr.
Lovelace at the Eagle in Suffolk-street.

There I met him, and the two others. We began where we left off at our
last parting; and were very high with each other. But, at last, all was
made up, and he offered to forget and forgive every thing, on condition
that I would correspond with him while abroad, and continue the series
which had been broken through by his illness; and particularly give him,
as I had offered, a copy of the lady's last will.

I promised him: and he then fell to rallying me on my gravity, and on my
reformation-schemes, as he called them. As we walked about the room,
expecting dinner to be brought in, he laid his hand upon my shoulder;
then pushed me from him with a curse; walking round me, and surveying me
from head to foot; then calling for the observations of the others, he
turned round upon his heel, and with one of his peculiar wild airs, 'Ha,
ha, ha, ha,' burst he out, 'that these sour-faced proselytes should take
it into their heads that they cannot be pious, without forfeiting both
their good-nature and good-manners!--Why, Jack,' turning me about,
'pr'ythee look up, man!--Dost thou not know, that religion, if it has
taken proper hold of th