mela (I am but too sensible I
shall lose a good deal of my own reputation) in the relation I am now
giving you.

"I dressed, grew more confident, and as insolent withal, as if, though
I had not Lady Davers's wit and virtue, I had all her spirit--(excuse
me, Lady Davers;) and having a pretty bold heart, which rather put me
upon courting than avoiding a danger or difficulty, I had but too much
my way with every body; and many a menaced complaint have I _looked
down_, with a haughty air, and a promptitude, like that of Colbrand's
to your footmen at the Hall, to clap my hand to my side; which was of
the greater service to my bold enterprise, as two or three gentlemen
had found I knew how to be in earnest."

"Ha!" said my lady, "thou wast ever an impudent fellow: and many a
vile roguery have I kept from my poor mother.--Yet, to my knowledge,
she thought you no saint."

"Ay, poor lady," continued he, "she used now-and-then to catechize me;
and was _sure_ I was not so good as I ought to be:--'For, son,' she
would cry, 'these late hours, these all night works, and to come home
so _sober_ cannot be right.-I'm not sure, if I were to know all, (and
yet I'm afraid of inquiring after your ways) whether I should not have
reason to wish you were brought home in wine, rather than to come in
so sober, and so late, as you do.'

"Once, I remember, in the summer-time, I came home about six in the
morning, and met the good lady unexpectedly by the garden back-door,
of which I had a key to let myself in at all hours. I started,
and would have avoided her: but she called me to her, and then I
approached her with an air, 'What brings you, Madam, into the garden
at so early an hour?' turning my face from her; for I had a few
scratches on my forehead--with a thorn, or so--which I feared she
would be more inquisitive about than I cared she should.

"'And what makes you,' said she, 'so early here, Billy?--What a
rakish figure dost thou make!--One time or other these courses will
yield you but little comfort, on reflection: would to God thou wast
but happily married!'

"'So, Madam, the old wish!--I'm not so bad as you think me:--I hope I
have not merited so great a punishment.'

"These hints I give, not as matter of glory, but shame: yet I ought to
tell you all the truth, or nothing. 'Meantime,' thought I, (for I used
to have some compunction for my vile practices, when cool reflection,
brought on by satiety, had taken hold of me) 'I wish