At tea Miss Planta again joined us, and instantly behind him went the book. He was very right; for nobody would have thought it more odd—or more blue.
During this repast they returned home, but all went straight upstairs, the duke wholly occupying the king—and Mr. Bunbury went to the play. When Miss Planta, therefore, took her evening stroll, “Akenside” again came forth, and with more security.
“There is one ode here,” he cried, “that I wish to read to you, and now I think I can.”
I told him I did not in general like Akenside’s odes, at least what I had chanced to read, for I thought they were too inflated, and filled with “liberty cant.”
“But this, however,” cried he, “I must read to you, it is so pretty, though it is upon love!”
‘Tis addressed to Olympia: I dare say my dearest Fredy recollects it.[289] It is, indeed, most feelingly written; but we had only got through the first stanza when the door Suddenly opened, and enter Mr. Bunbury.
After all the precautions taken, to have him thus appear at the very worst moment! Vexed as I was, I could really have laughed; but Mr. Fairly was ill disposed to take it so merrily. He started, threw the book forcibly behind him, and instantly took up his hat, as if decamping. I really believe he was afraid Mr. Bunbury would caricature us “The sentimental readers!” or what would he have called us? Luckily this confusion passed unnoticed. Mr. Bunbury had run away from the play to see after the horses, etc., for his duke, and was fearful of coming too late.
Plays and players now took up all the discourse, with Miss W———, till the duke was ready to go. They then left me together, Mr. Fairly smiling drolly enough in departing, and looking at “Akenside” with a very arch shrug, as who should say “What a scrape you had nearly drawn me into, Mr. Akenside!”