ach lies to
his neighbour. The husband (or it may be the wife) lies when the visitor
comes in, and wears a grin of reconciliation or politeness before him. The
wife lies (indeed, her business is to do that, and to smile, however much
she is beaten), swallows her tears, and lies to her lord and master; lies
in bidding little Jacky respect dear papa; lies in assuring grandpapa that
she is perfectly happy. The servants lie, wearing grave faces behind their
master's chair, and pretending to be unconscious of the fighting; and so,
from morning till bedtime, life is passed in falsehood. And wiseacres call
this a proper regard of morals, and point out Baucis and Philemon as
examples of a good life.

If my lady did not speak of her griefs to Harry Esmond, my lord was by no
means reserved when in his cups, and spoke his mind very freely, bidding
Harry in his coarse way, and with his blunt language, beware of all women
as cheats, jades, jilts, and using other unmistakable monosyllables in
speaking of them. Indeed, 'twas the fashion of the day as I must own; and
there's not a writer of my time of any note, with the exception of poor
Dick Steele, that does not speak of a woman as of a slave, and scorn and
use her as such. Mr. Pope, Mr. Congreve, Mr. Addison, Mr. Gay, every one
of 'em, sing in this key, each according to his nature and politeness; and
louder and fouler than all in abuse is Dr. Swift, who spoke of them as he
treated them, worst of all.

Much of the quarrels and hatred which arise between married people come in
my mind from the husband's rage and revolt at discovering that his slave
and bedfellow, who is to minister to all his wishes, and is church-sworn
to honour and obey him--is his superior; and that _he_, and not she, ought
to be the subordinate of the twain; and in these controversies, I think,
lay the cause of my lord's anger against his lady. When he left her, she
began to think for herself, and her thoughts were not in his favour. After
the illumination, when the love-lamp is put out that anon we spoke of, and
by the common daylight we look at the picture, what a daub it looks! what
a clumsy effigy! How many men and wives come to this knowledge, think you?
And if it be painful to a woman to find herself mated for life to a boor,
and ordered to love and honour a dullard; it is worse still for the man
himself perhaps, whenever in his dim comprehension the idea dawns that his
slave and drudge yonder is, in truth,