Читать книгу Cherry & Violet: A Tale of the Great Plague онлайн

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I remember my Father, for as small a Man as he was, collaring Mark when he came back, and dealing him one or two Blows, which made me begin to cry, and run in between them. And Mark, though a great, tall Lad of his Years, began to whimper too, which reminds me again of the Trojan Horse, and the Valour that may dwell in a little Body, and the Pusillanimity that may be in a large one. And, “sure, Uncle,” says Mark, “the Earl deserves to die, for his” ... Mal-conversation, or Malministration, I forget which. And my Father replied, “Never trouble your Head with that. Leave the Powers that be to settle their own Affairs. Fine Times, indeed, when Barbers’ ’Prentices must be meddling in State-politics! To his own Master, the Earl standeth or falleth.”

Had all Men been of my Father’s equable and temperate Mind, we should not have fallen into the Disorders we presently did; wherein, no Doubt, there was much Wrong on both Sides. One Night we were roused from Sleep by Cries in the Street that “the King and his Papists were coming to fire the City and cut our Throats in our Beds;” but my Father, after putting his Head forth to learn the Nature of the Tumult, drew it in again and closed the Window, allaying our somewhat ungoverned Fears with that Composure which it behoves every Master of a Family to assume when he can, in Seasons of Danger or the Apprehension of it.