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diff --git a/916-0.txt b/916-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..935f53e --- /dev/null +++ b/916-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2232 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Sketches of Young Couples, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Sketches of Young Couples + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: April 11, 2015 [eBook #916] +[This file was first posted on May 22, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES*** + + +Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall _Sketches by Boz_ edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +An Urgent Remonstrance, &c. 447 +The Young Couple 451 +The Formal Couple 455 +The Loving Couple 458 +The Contradictory Couple 463 +The Couple Who Dote Upon Their Children 466 +The Cool Couple 471 +The Plausible Couple 474 +The Nice Little Couple 478 +The Egotistical Couple 481 +The Couple Who Coddle Themselves 485 +The Old Couple 489 +Conclusion 493 + + + + +An Urgent Remonstrance, &c. + + + TO THE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND, + (BEING BACHELORS OR WIDOWERS,) + + THE REMONSTRANCE OF THEIR FAITHFUL FELLOW-SUBJECT, + +SHEWETH,— + +THAT Her Most Gracious Majesty, Victoria, by the Grace of God of the +United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the Faith, +did, on the 23rd day of November last past, declare and pronounce to Her +Most Honourable Privy Council, Her Majesty’s Most Gracious intention of +entering into the bonds of wedlock. + +THAT Her Most Gracious Majesty, in so making known Her Most Gracious +intention to Her Most Honourable Privy Council as aforesaid, did use and +employ the words—‘It is my intention to ally myself in marriage with +Prince Albert of Saxe Coburg and Gotha.’ + +THAT the present is Bissextile, or Leap Year, in which it is held and +considered lawful for any lady to offer and submit proposals of marriage +to any gentleman, and to enforce and insist upon acceptance of the same, +under pain of a certain fine or penalty; to wit, one silk or satin dress +of the first quality, to be chosen by the lady and paid (or owed) for, by +the gentleman. + +THAT these and other the horrors and dangers with which the said +Bissextile, or Leap Year, threatens the gentlemen of England on every +occasion of its periodical return, have been greatly aggravated and +augmented by the terms of Her Majesty’s said Most Gracious communication, +which have filled the heads of divers young ladies in this Realm with +certain new ideas destructive to the peace of mankind, that never entered +their imagination before. + +THAT a case has occurred in Camberwell, in which a young lady informed +her Papa that ‘she intended to ally herself in marriage’ with Mr. Smith +of Stepney; and that another, and a very distressing case, has occurred +at Tottenham, in which a young lady not only stated her intention of +allying herself in marriage with her cousin John, but, taking violent +possession of her said cousin, actually married him. + +THAT similar outrages are of constant occurrence, not only in the capital +and its neighbourhood, but throughout the kingdom, and that unless the +excited female populace be speedily checked and restrained in their +lawless proceedings, most deplorable results must ensue therefrom; among +which may be anticipated a most alarming increase in the population of +the country, with which no efforts of the agricultural or manufacturing +interest can possibly keep pace. + +THAT there is strong reason to suspect the existence of a most extensive +plot, conspiracy, or design, secretly contrived by vast numbers of single +ladies in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and now +extending its ramifications in every quarter of the land; the object and +intent of which plainly appears to be the holding and solemnising of an +enormous and unprecedented number of marriages, on the day on which the +nuptials of Her said Most Gracious Majesty are performed. + +THAT such plot, conspiracy, or design, strongly savours of Popery, as +tending to the discomfiture of the Clergy of the Established Church, by +entailing upon them great mental and physical exhaustion; and that such +Popish plots are fomented and encouraged by Her Majesty’s Ministers, +which clearly appears—not only from Her Majesty’s principal Secretary of +State for Foreign Affairs traitorously getting married while holding +office under the Crown; but from Mr. O’Connell having been heard to +declare and avow that, if he had a daughter to marry, she should be +married on the same day as Her said Most Gracious Majesty. + +THAT such arch plots, conspiracies, and designs, besides being fraught +with danger to the Established Church, and (consequently) to the State, +cannot fail to bring ruin and bankruptcy upon a large class of Her +Majesty’s subjects; as a great and sudden increase in the number of +married men occasioning the comparative desertion (for a time) of +Taverns, Hotels, Billiard-rooms, and Gaming-Houses, will deprive the +Proprietors of their accustomed profits and returns. And in further +proof of the depth and baseness of such designs, it may be here observed, +that all proprietors of Taverns, Hotels, Billiard-rooms, and +Gaming-Houses, are (especially the last) solemnly devoted to the +Protestant religion. + +FOR all these reasons, and many others of no less gravity and import, an +urgent appeal is made to the gentlemen of England (being bachelors or +widowers) to take immediate steps for convening a Public meeting; To +consider of the best and surest means of averting the dangers with which +they are threatened by the recurrence of Bissextile, or Leap Year, and +the additional sensation created among single ladies by the terms of Her +Majesty’s Most Gracious Declaration; To take measures, without delay, for +resisting the said single Ladies, and counteracting their evil designs; +And to pray Her Majesty to dismiss her present Ministers, and to summon +to her Councils those distinguished Gentlemen in various Honourable +Professions who, by insulting on all occasions the only Lady in England +who can be insulted with safety, have given a sufficient guarantee to Her +Majesty’s Loving Subjects that they, at least, are qualified to make war +with women, and are already expert in the use of those weapons which are +common to the lowest and most abandoned of the sex. + + + + +THE YOUNG COUPLE + + +THERE is to be a wedding this morning at the corner house in the terrace. +The pastry-cook’s people have been there half-a-dozen times already; all +day yesterday there was a great stir and bustle, and they were up this +morning as soon as it was light. Miss Emma Fielding is going to be +married to young Mr. Harvey. + +Heaven alone can tell in what bright colours this marriage is painted +upon the mind of the little housemaid at number six, who has hardly slept +a wink all night with thinking of it, and now stands on the unswept +door-steps leaning upon her broom, and looking wistfully towards the +enchanted house. Nothing short of omniscience can divine what visions of +the baker, or the green-grocer, or the smart and most insinuating +butterman, are flitting across her mind—what thoughts of how she would +dress on such an occasion, if she were a lady—of how she would dress, if +she were only a bride—of how cook would dress, being bridesmaid, +conjointly with her sister ‘in place’ at Fulham, and how the clergyman, +deeming them so many ladies, would be quite humbled and respectful. What +day-dreams of hope and happiness—of life being one perpetual holiday, +with no master and no mistress to grant or withhold it—of every Sunday +being a Sunday out—of pure freedom as to curls and ringlets, and no +obligation to hide fine heads of hair in caps—what pictures of happiness, +vast and immense to her, but utterly ridiculous to us, bewilder the brain +of the little housemaid at number six, all called into existence by the +wedding at the corner! + +We smile at such things, and so we should, though perhaps for a better +reason than commonly presents itself. It should be pleasant to us to +know that there are notions of happiness so moderate and limited, since +upon those who entertain them, happiness and lightness of heart are very +easily bestowed. + +But the little housemaid is awakened from her reverie, for forth from the +door of the magical corner house there runs towards her, all fluttering +in smart new dress and streaming ribands, her friend Jane Adams, who +comes all out of breath to redeem a solemn promise of taking her in, +under cover of the confusion, to see the breakfast table spread forth in +state, and—sight of sights!—her young mistress ready dressed for church. + +And there, in good truth, when they have stolen up-stairs on tip-toe and +edged themselves in at the chamber-door—there is Miss Emma ‘looking like +the sweetest picter,’ in a white chip bonnet and orange flowers, and all +other elegancies becoming a bride, (with the make, shape, and quality of +every article of which the girl is perfectly familiar in one moment, and +never forgets to her dying day)—and there is Miss Emma’s mamma in tears, +and Miss Emma’s papa comforting her, and saying how that of course she +has been long looking forward to this, and how happy she ought to be—and +there too is Miss Emma’s sister with her arms round her neck, and the +other bridesmaid all smiles and tears, quieting the children, who would +cry more but that they are so finely dressed, and yet sob for fear sister +Emma should be taken away—and it is all so affecting, that the two +servant-girls cry more than anybody; and Jane Adams, sitting down upon +the stairs, when they have crept away, declares that her legs tremble so +that she don’t know what to do, and that she will say for Miss Emma, that +she never had a hasty word from her, and that she does hope and pray she +may be happy. + +But Jane soon comes round again, and then surely there never was anything +like the breakfast table, glittering with plate and china, and set out +with flowers and sweets, and long-necked bottles, in the most sumptuous +and dazzling manner. In the centre, too, is the mighty charm, the cake, +glistening with frosted sugar, and garnished beautifully. They agree +that there ought to be a little Cupid under one of the barley-sugar +temples, or at least two hearts and an arrow; but, with this exception, +there is nothing to wish for, and a table could not be handsomer. As +they arrive at this conclusion, who should come in but Mr. John! to whom +Jane says that its only Anne from number six; and John says _he_ knows, +for he’s often winked his eye down the area, which causes Anne to blush +and look confused. She is going away, indeed; when Mr. John will have it +that she must drink a glass of wine, and he says never mind it’s being +early in the morning, it won’t hurt her: so they shut the door and pour +out the wine; and Anne drinking lane’s health, and adding, ‘and here’s +wishing you yours, Mr. John,’ drinks it in a great many sips,—Mr. John +all the time making jokes appropriate to the occasion. At last Mr. John, +who has waxed bolder by degrees, pleads the usage at weddings, and claims +the privilege of a kiss, which he obtains after a great scuffle; and +footsteps being now heard on the stairs, they disperse suddenly. + +By this time a carriage has driven up to convey the bride to church, and +Anne of number six prolonging the process of ‘cleaning her door,’ has the +satisfaction of beholding the bride and bridesmaids, and the papa and +mamma, hurry into the same and drive rapidly off. Nor is this all, for +soon other carriages begin to arrive with a posse of company all +beautifully dressed, at whom she could stand and gaze for ever; but +having something else to do, is compelled to take one last long look and +shut the street-door. + +And now the company have gone down to breakfast, and tears have given +place to smiles, for all the corks are out of the long-necked bottles, +and their contents are disappearing rapidly. Miss Emma’s papa is at the +top of the table; Miss Emma’s mamma at the bottom; and beside the latter +are Miss Emma herself and her husband,—admitted on all hands to be the +handsomest and most interesting young couple ever known. All down both +sides of the table, too, are various young ladies, beautiful to see, and +various young gentlemen who seem to think so; and there, in a post of +honour, is an unmarried aunt of Miss Emma’s, reported to possess +unheard-of riches, and to have expressed vast testamentary intentions +respecting her favourite niece and new nephew. This lady has been very +liberal and generous already, as the jewels worn by the bride abundantly +testify, but that is nothing to what she means to do, or even to what she +has done, for she put herself in close communication with the dressmaker +three months ago, and prepared a wardrobe (with some articles worked by +her own hands) fit for a Princess. People may call her an old maid, and +so she may be, but she is neither cross nor ugly for all that; on the +contrary, she is very cheerful and pleasant-looking, and very kind and +tender-hearted: which is no matter of surprise except to those who yield +to popular prejudices without thinking why, and will never grow wiser and +never know better. + +Of all the company though, none are more pleasant to behold or better +pleased with themselves than two young children, who, in honour of the +day, have seats among the guests. Of these, one is a little fellow of +six or eight years old, brother to the bride,—and the other a girl of the +same age, or something younger, whom he calls ‘his wife.’ The real bride +and bridegroom are not more devoted than they: he all love and attention, +and she all blushes and fondness, toying with a little bouquet which he +gave her this morning, and placing the scattered rose-leaves in her bosom +with nature’s own coquettishness. They have dreamt of each other in +their quiet dreams, these children, and their little hearts have been +nearly broken when the absent one has been dispraised in jest. When will +there come in after-life a passion so earnest, generous, and true as +theirs; what, even in its gentlest realities, can have the grace and +charm that hover round such fairy lovers! + +By this time the merriment and happiness of the feast have gained their +height; certain ominous looks begin to be exchanged between the +bridesmaids, and somehow it gets whispered about that the carriage which +is to take the young couple into the country has arrived. Such members +of the party as are most disposed to prolong its enjoyments, affect to +consider this a false alarm, but it turns out too true, being speedily +confirmed, first by the retirement of the bride and a select file of +intimates who are to prepare her for the journey, and secondly by the +withdrawal of the ladies generally. To this there ensues a particularly +awkward pause, in which everybody essays to be facetious, and nobody +succeeds; at length the bridegroom makes a mysterious disappearance in +obedience to some equally mysterious signal; and the table is deserted. + +Now, for at least six weeks last past it has been solemnly devised and +settled that the young couple should go away in secret; but they no +sooner appear without the door than the drawing-room windows are blocked +up with ladies waving their handkerchiefs and kissing their hands, and +the dining-room panes with gentlemen’s faces beaming farewell in every +queer variety of its expression. The hall and steps are crowded with +servants in white favours, mixed up with particular friends and relations +who have darted out to say good-bye; and foremost in the group are the +tiny lovers arm in arm, thinking, with fluttering hearts, what happiness +it would be to dash away together in that gallant coach, and never part +again. + +The bride has barely time for one hurried glance at her old home, when +the steps rattle, the door slams, the horses clatter on the pavement, and +they have left it far away. + +A knot of women servants still remain clustered in the hall, whispering +among themselves, and there of course is Anne from number six, who has +made another escape on some plea or other, and been an admiring witness +of the departure. There are two points on which Anne expatiates over and +over again, without the smallest appearance of fatigue or intending to +leave off; one is, that she ‘never see in all her life such a—oh such a +angel of a gentleman as Mr. Harvey’—and the other, that she ‘can’t tell +how it is, but it don’t seem a bit like a work-a-day, or a Sunday +neither—it’s all so unsettled and unregular.’ + + [Picture: Departure of the Young Couple] + + + + +THE FORMAL COUPLE + + +THE formal couple are the most prim, cold, immovable, and unsatisfactory +people on the face of the earth. Their faces, voices, dress, house, +furniture, walk, and manner, are all the essence of formality, unrelieved +by one redeeming touch of frankness, heartiness, or nature. + +Everything with the formal couple resolves itself into a matter of form. +They don’t call upon you on your account, but their own; not to see how +you are, but to show how they are: it is not a ceremony to do honour to +you, but to themselves,—not due to your position, but to theirs. If one +of a friend’s children die, the formal couple are as sure and punctual in +sending to the house as the undertaker; if a friend’s family be +increased, the monthly nurse is not more attentive than they. The formal +couple, in fact, joyfully seize all occasions of testifying their +good-breeding and precise observance of the little usages of society; and +for you, who are the means to this end, they care as much as a man does +for the tailor who has enabled him to cut a figure, or a woman for the +milliner who has assisted her to a conquest. + +Having an extensive connexion among that kind of people who make +acquaintances and eschew friends, the formal gentleman attends from time +to time a great many funerals, to which he is formally invited, and to +which he formally goes, as returning a call for the last time. Here his +deportment is of the most faultless description; he knows the exact pitch +of voice it is proper to assume, the sombre look he ought to wear, the +melancholy tread which should be his gait for the day. He is perfectly +acquainted with all the dreary courtesies to be observed in a +mourning-coach; knows when to sigh, and when to hide his nose in the +white handkerchief; and looks into the grave and shakes his head when the +ceremony is concluded, with the sad formality of a mute. + +‘What kind of funeral was it?’ says the formal lady, when he returns +home. ‘Oh!’ replies the formal gentleman, ‘there never was such a gross +and disgusting impropriety; there were no feathers.’ ‘No feathers!’ +cries the lady, as if on wings of black feathers dead people fly to +Heaven, and, lacking them, they must of necessity go elsewhere. Her +husband shakes his head; and further adds, that they had seed-cake +instead of plum-cake, and that it was all white wine. ‘All white wine!’ +exclaims his wife. ‘Nothing but sherry and madeira,’ says the husband. +‘What! no port?’ ‘Not a drop.’ No port, no plums, and no feathers! +‘You will recollect, my dear,’ says the formal lady, in a voice of +stately reproof, ‘that when we first met this poor man who is now dead +and gone, and he took that very strange course of addressing me at dinner +without being previously introduced, I ventured to express my opinion +that the family were quite ignorant of etiquette, and very imperfectly +acquainted with the decencies of life. You have now had a good +opportunity of judging for yourself, and all I have to say is, that I +trust you will never go to a funeral _there_ again.’ ‘My dear,’ replies +the formal gentleman, ‘I never will.’ So the informal deceased is cut in +his grave; and the formal couple, when they tell the story of the +funeral, shake their heads, and wonder what some people’s feelings _are_ +made of, and what their notions of propriety _can_ be! + +If the formal couple have a family (which they sometimes have), they are +not children, but little, pale, sour, sharp-nosed men and women; and so +exquisitely brought up, that they might be very old dwarfs for anything +that appeareth to the contrary. Indeed, they are so acquainted with +forms and conventionalities, and conduct themselves with such strict +decorum, that to see the little girl break a looking-glass in some wild +outbreak, or the little boy kick his parents, would be to any visitor an +unspeakable relief and consolation. + +The formal couple are always sticklers for what is rigidly proper, and +have a great readiness in detecting hidden impropriety of speech or +thought, which by less scrupulous people would be wholly unsuspected. +Thus, if they pay a visit to the theatre, they sit all night in a perfect +agony lest anything improper or immoral should proceed from the stage; +and if anything should happen to be said which admits of a double +construction, they never fail to take it up directly, and to express by +their looks the great outrage which their feelings have sustained. +Perhaps this is their chief reason for absenting themselves almost +entirely from places of public amusement. They go sometimes to the +Exhibition of the Royal Academy;—but that is often more shocking than the +stage itself, and the formal lady thinks that it really is high time Mr. +Etty was prosecuted and made a public example of. + +We made one at a christening party not long since, where there were +amongst the guests a formal couple, who suffered the acutest torture from +certain jokes, incidental to such an occasion, cut—and very likely dried +also—by one of the godfathers; a red-faced elderly gentleman, who, being +highly popular with the rest of the company, had it all his own way, and +was in great spirits. It was at supper-time that this gentleman came out +in full force. We—being of a grave and quiet demeanour—had been chosen +to escort the formal lady down-stairs, and, sitting beside her, had a +favourable opportunity of observing her emotions. + +We have a shrewd suspicion that, in the very beginning, and in the first +blush—literally the first blush—of the matter, the formal lady had not +felt quite certain whether the being present at such a ceremony, and +encouraging, as it were, the public exhibition of a baby, was not an act +involving some degree of indelicacy and impropriety; but certain we are +that when that baby’s health was drunk, and allusions were made, by a +grey-headed gentleman proposing it, to the time when he had dandled in +his arms the young Christian’s mother,—certain we are that then the +formal lady took the alarm, and recoiled from the old gentleman as from a +hoary profligate. Still she bore it; she fanned herself with an +indignant air, but still she bore it. A comic song was sung, involving a +confession from some imaginary gentleman that he had kissed a female, and +yet the formal lady bore it. But when at last, the health of the +godfather before-mentioned being drunk, the godfather rose to return +thanks, and in the course of his observations darkly hinted at babies yet +unborn, and even contemplated the possibility of the subject of that +festival having brothers and sisters, the formal lady could endure no +more, but, bowing slightly round, and sweeping haughtily past the +offender, left the room in tears, under the protection of the formal +gentleman. + + + + +THE LOVING COUPLE + + +THERE cannot be a better practical illustration of the wise saw and +ancient instance, that there may be too much of a good thing, than is +presented by a loving couple. Undoubtedly it is meet and proper that two +persons joined together in holy matrimony should be loving, and +unquestionably it is pleasant to know and see that they are so; but there +is a time for all things, and the couple who happen to be always in a +loving state before company, are well-nigh intolerable. + +And in taking up this position we would have it distinctly understood +that we do not seek alone the sympathy of bachelors, in whose objection +to loving couples we recognise interested motives and personal +considerations. We grant that to that unfortunate class of society there +may be something very irritating, tantalising, and provoking, in being +compelled to witness those gentle endearments and chaste interchanges +which to loving couples are quite the ordinary business of life. But +while we recognise the natural character of the prejudice to which these +unhappy men are subject, we can neither receive their biassed evidence, +nor address ourself to their inflamed and angered minds. Dispassionate +experience is our only guide; and in these moral essays we seek no less +to reform hymeneal offenders than to hold out a timely warning to all +rising couples, and even to those who have not yet set forth upon their +pilgrimage towards the matrimonial market. + +Let all couples, present or to come, therefore profit by the example of +Mr. and Mrs. Leaver, themselves a loving couple in the first degree. + + [Picture: The Loving Couple] + +Mr. and Mrs. Leaver are pronounced by Mrs. Starling, a widow lady who +lost her husband when she was young, and lost herself about the +same-time—for by her own count she has never since grown five years +older—to be a perfect model of wedded felicity. ‘You would suppose,’ +says the romantic lady, ‘that they were lovers only just now engaged. +Never was such happiness! They are so tender, so affectionate, so +attached to each other, so enamoured, that positively nothing can be more +charming!’ + +‘Augusta, my soul,’ says Mr. Leaver. ‘Augustus, my life,’ replies Mrs. +Leaver. ‘Sing some little ballad, darling,’ quoth Mr. Leaver. ‘I +couldn’t, indeed, dearest,’ returns Mrs. Leaver. ‘Do, my dove,’ says Mr. +Leaver. ‘I couldn’t possibly, my love,’ replies Mrs. Leaver; ‘and it’s +very naughty of you to ask me.’ ‘Naughty, darling!’ cries Mr. Leaver. +‘Yes, very naughty, and very cruel,’ returns Mrs. Leaver, ‘for you know I +have a sore throat, and that to sing would give me great pain. You’re a +monster, and I hate you. Go away!’ Mrs. Leaver has said ‘go away,’ +because Mr. Leaver has tapped her under the chin: Mr. Leaver not doing as +he is bid, but on the contrary, sitting down beside her, Mrs. Leaver +slaps Mr. Leaver; and Mr. Leaver in return slaps Mrs. Leaver, and it +being now time for all persons present to look the other way, they look +the other way, and hear a still small sound as of kissing, at which Mrs. +Starling is thoroughly enraptured, and whispers her neighbour that if all +married couples were like that, what a heaven this earth would be! + +The loving couple are at home when this occurs, and maybe only three or +four friends are present, but, unaccustomed to reserve upon this +interesting point, they are pretty much the same abroad. Indeed upon +some occasions, such as a pic-nic or a water-party, their lovingness is +even more developed, as we had an opportunity last summer of observing in +person. + +There was a great water-party made up to go to Twickenham and dine, and +afterwards dance in an empty villa by the river-side, hired expressly for +the purpose. Mr. and Mrs. Leaver were of the company; and it was our +fortune to have a seat in the same boat, which was an eight-oared galley, +manned by amateurs, with a blue striped awning of the same pattern as +their Guernsey shirts, and a dingy red flag of the same shade as the +whiskers of the stroke oar. A coxswain being appointed, and all other +matters adjusted, the eight gentlemen threw themselves into strong +paroxysms, and pulled up with the tide, stimulated by the compassionate +remarks of the ladies, who one and all exclaimed, that it seemed an +immense exertion—as indeed it did. At first we raced the other boat, +which came alongside in gallant style; but this being found an unpleasant +amusement, as giving rise to a great quantity of splashing, and rendering +the cold pies and other viands very moist, it was unanimously voted down, +and we were suffered to shoot a-head, while the second boat followed +ingloriously in our wake. + +It was at this time that we first recognised Mr. Leaver. There were two +firemen-watermen in the boat, lying by until somebody was exhausted; and +one of them, who had taken upon himself the direction of affairs, was +heard to cry in a gruff voice, ‘Pull away, number two—give it her, number +two—take a longer reach, number two—now, number two, sir, think you’re +winning a boat.’ The greater part of the company had no doubt begun to +wonder which of the striped Guernseys it might be that stood in need of +such encouragement, when a stifled shriek from Mrs. Leaver confirmed the +doubtful and informed the ignorant; and Mr. Leaver, still further +disguised in a straw hat and no neckcloth, was observed to be in a +fearful perspiration, and failing visibly. Nor was the general +consternation diminished at this instant by the same gentleman (in the +performance of an accidental aquatic feat, termed ‘catching a crab’) +plunging suddenly backward, and displaying nothing of himself to the +company, but two violently struggling legs. Mrs. Leaver shrieked again +several times, and cried piteously—‘Is he dead? Tell me the worst. Is +he dead?’ + +Now, a moment’s reflection might have convinced the loving wife, that +unless her husband were endowed with some most surprising powers of +muscular action, he never could be dead while he kicked so hard; but +still Mrs. Leaver cried, ‘Is he dead? is he dead?’ and still everybody +else cried—‘No, no, no,’ until such time as Mr. Leaver was replaced in a +sitting posture, and his oar (which had been going through all kinds of +wrong-headed performances on its own account) was once more put in his +hand, by the exertions of the two firemen-watermen. Mr. Leaver then +exclaimed, ‘Augustus, my child, come to me;’ and Mr. Leaver said, +‘Augusta, my love, compose yourself, I am not injured.’ But Mrs. Leaver +cried again more piteously than before, ‘Augustus, my child, come to me;’ +and now the company generally, who seemed to be apprehensive that if Mr. +Leaver remained where he was, he might contribute more than his proper +share towards the drowning of the party, disinterestedly took part with +Mrs. Leaver, and said he really ought to go, and that he was not strong +enough for such violent exercise, and ought never to have undertaken it. +Reluctantly, Mr. Leaver went, and laid himself down at Mrs. Leaver’s +feet, and Mrs. Leaver stooping over him, said, ‘Oh Augustus, how could +you terrify me so?’ and Mr. Leaver said, ‘Augusta, my sweet, I never +meant to terrify you;’ and Mrs. Leaver said, ‘You are faint, my dear;’ +and Mr. Leaver said, ‘I am rather so, my love;’ and they were very loving +indeed under Mrs. Leaver’s veil, until at length Mr. Leaver came forth +again, and pleasantly asked if he had not heard something said about +bottled stout and sandwiches. + +Mrs. Starling, who was one of the party, was perfectly delighted with +this scene, and frequently murmured half-aside, ‘What a loving couple you +are!’ or ‘How delightful it is to see man and wife so happy together!’ +To us she was quite poetical, (for we are a kind of cousins,) observing +that hearts beating in unison like that made life a paradise of sweets; +and that when kindred creatures were drawn together by sympathies so fine +and delicate, what more than mortal happiness did not our souls partake! +To all this we answered ‘Certainly,’ or ‘Very true,’ or merely sighed, as +the case might be. At every new act of the loving couple, the widow’s +admiration broke out afresh; and when Mrs. Leaver would not permit Mr. +Leaver to keep his hat off, lest the sun should strike to his head, and +give him a brain fever, Mrs. Starling actually shed tears, and said it +reminded her of Adam and Eve. + +The loving couple were thus loving all the way to Twickenham, but when we +arrived there (by which time the amateur crew looked very thirsty and +vicious) they were more playful than ever, for Mrs. Leaver threw stones +at Mr. Leaver, and Mr. Leaver ran after Mrs. Leaver on the grass, in a +most innocent and enchanting manner. At dinner, too, Mr. Leaver _would_ +steal Mrs. Leaver’s tongue, and Mrs. Leaver _would_ retaliate upon Mr. +Leaver’s fowl; and when Mrs. Leaver was going to take some lobster salad, +Mr. Leaver wouldn’t let her have any, saying that it made her ill, and +she was always sorry for it afterwards, which afforded Mrs. Leaver an +opportunity of pretending to be cross, and showing many other +prettinesses. But this was merely the smiling surface of their loves, +not the mighty depths of the stream, down to which the company, to say +the truth, dived rather unexpectedly, from the following accident. It +chanced that Mr. Leaver took upon himself to propose the bachelors who +had first originated the notion of that entertainment, in doing which, he +affected to regret that he was no longer of their body himself, and +pretended grievously to lament his fallen state. This Mrs. Leaver’s +feelings could not brook, even in jest, and consequently, exclaiming +aloud, ‘He loves me not, he loves me not!’ she fell in a very pitiable +state into the arms of Mrs. Starling, and, directly becoming insensible, +was conveyed by that lady and her husband into another room. Presently +Mr. Leaver came running back to know if there was a medical gentleman in +company, and as there was, (in what company is there not?) both Mr. +Leaver and the medical gentleman hurried away together. + +The medical gentleman was the first who returned, and among his intimate +friends he was observed to laugh and wink, and look as unmedical as might +be; but when Mr. Leaver came back he was very solemn, and in answer to +all inquiries, shook his head, and remarked that Augusta was far too +sensitive to be trifled with—an opinion which the widow subsequently +confirmed. Finding that she was in no imminent peril, however, the rest +of the party betook themselves to dancing on the green, and very merry +and happy they were, and a vast quantity of flirtation there was; the +last circumstance being no doubt attributable, partly to the fineness of +the weather, and partly to the locality, which is well known to be +favourable to all harmless recreations. + +In the bustle of the scene, Mr. and Mrs. Leaver stole down to the boat, +and disposed themselves under the awning, Mrs. Leaver reclining her head +upon Mr. Leaver’s shoulder, and Mr. Leaver grasping her hand with great +fervour, and looking in her face from time to time with a melancholy and +sympathetic aspect. The widow sat apart, feigning to be occupied with a +book, but stealthily observing them from behind her fan; and the two +firemen-watermen, smoking their pipes on the bank hard by, nudged each +other, and grinned in enjoyment of the joke. Very few of the party +missed the loving couple; and the few who did, heartily congratulated +each other on their disappearance. + + + + +THE CONTRADICTORY COUPLE + + +ONE would suppose that two people who are to pass their whole lives +together, and must necessarily be very often alone with each other, could +find little pleasure in mutual contradiction; and yet what is more common +than a contradictory couple? + +The contradictory couple agree in nothing but contradiction. They return +home from Mrs. Bluebottle’s dinner-party, each in an opposite corner of +the coach, and do not exchange a syllable until they have been seated for +at least twenty minutes by the fireside at home, when the gentleman, +raising his eyes from the stove, all at once breaks silence: + +‘What a very extraordinary thing it is,’ says he, ‘that you _will_ +contradict, Charlotte!’ ‘_I_ contradict!’ cries the lady, ‘but that’s +just like you.’ ‘What’s like me?’ says the gentleman sharply. ‘Saying +that I contradict you,’ replies the lady. ‘Do you mean to say that you +do _not_ contradict me?’ retorts the gentleman; ‘do you mean to say that +you have not been contradicting me the whole of this day?’ ‘Do you mean +to tell me now, that you have not? I mean to tell you nothing of the +kind,’ replies the lady quietly; ‘when you are wrong, of course I shall +contradict you.’ + +During this dialogue the gentleman has been taking his brandy-and-water +on one side of the fire, and the lady, with her dressing-case on the +table, has been curling her hair on the other. She now lets down her +back hair, and proceeds to brush it; preserving at the same time an air +of conscious rectitude and suffering virtue, which is intended to +exasperate the gentleman—and does so. + +‘I do believe,’ he says, taking the spoon out of his glass, and tossing +it on the table, ‘that of all the obstinate, positive, wrong-headed +creatures that were ever born, you are the most so, Charlotte.’ +‘Certainly, certainly, have it your own way, pray. You see how much _I_ +contradict you,’ rejoins the lady. ‘Of course, you didn’t contradict me +at dinner-time—oh no, not you!’ says the gentleman. ‘Yes, I did,’ says +the lady. ‘Oh, you did,’ cries the gentleman ‘you admit that?’ ‘If you +call that contradiction, I do,’ the lady answers; ‘and I say again, +Edward, that when I know you are wrong, I will contradict you. I am not +your slave.’ ‘Not my slave!’ repeats the gentleman bitterly; ‘and you +still mean to say that in the Blackburns’ new house there are not more +than fourteen doors, including the door of the wine-cellar!’ ‘I mean to +say,’ retorts the lady, beating time with her hair-brush on the palm of +her hand, ‘that in that house there are fourteen doors and no more.’ +‘Well then—’ cries the gentleman, rising in despair, and pacing the room +with rapid strides. ‘By G-, this is enough to destroy a man’s intellect, +and drive him mad!’ + +By and by the gentleman comes-to a little, and passing his hand gloomily +across his forehead, reseats himself in his former chair. There is a +long silence, and this time the lady begins. ‘I appealed to Mr. Jenkins, +who sat next to me on the sofa in the drawing-room during tea—’ ‘Morgan, +you mean,’ interrupts the gentleman. ‘I do not mean anything of the +kind,’ answers the lady. ‘Now, by all that is aggravating and impossible +to bear,’ cries the gentleman, clenching his hands and looking upwards in +agony, ‘she is going to insist upon it that Morgan is Jenkins!’ ‘Do you +take me for a perfect fool?’ exclaims the lady; ‘do you suppose I don’t +know the one from the other? Do you suppose I don’t know that the man in +the blue coat was Mr. Jenkins?’ ‘Jenkins in a blue coat!’ cries the +gentleman with a groan; ‘Jenkins in a blue coat! a man who would suffer +death rather than wear anything but brown!’ ‘Do you dare to charge me +with telling an untruth?’ demands the lady, bursting into tears. ‘I +charge you, ma’am,’ retorts the gentleman, starting up, ‘with being a +monster of contradiction, a monster of aggravation, a—a—a—Jenkins in a +blue coat!—what have I done that I should be doomed to hear such +statements!’ + +Expressing himself with great scorn and anguish, the gentleman takes up +his candle and stalks off to bed, where feigning to be fast asleep when +the lady comes up-stairs drowned in tears, murmuring lamentations over +her hard fate and indistinct intentions of consulting her brothers, he +undergoes the secret torture of hearing her exclaim between whiles, ‘I +know there are only fourteen doors in the house, I know it was Mr. +Jenkins, I know he had a blue coat on, and I would say it as positively +as I do now, if they were the last words I had to speak!’ + +If the contradictory couple are blessed with children, they are not the +less contradictory on that account. Master James and Miss Charlotte +present themselves after dinner, and being in perfect good humour, and +finding their parents in the same amiable state, augur from these +appearances half a glass of wine a-piece and other extraordinary +indulgences. But unfortunately Master James, growing talkative upon such +prospects, asks his mamma how tall Mrs. Parsons is, and whether she is +not six feet high; to which his mamma replies, ‘Yes, she should think she +was, for Mrs. Parsons is a very tall lady indeed; quite a giantess.’ +‘For Heaven’s sake, Charlotte,’ cries her husband, ‘do not tell the child +such preposterous nonsense. Six feet high!’ ‘Well,’ replies the lady, +‘surely I may be permitted to have an opinion; my opinion is, that she is +six feet high—at least six feet.’ ‘Now you know, Charlotte,’ retorts the +gentleman sternly, ‘that that is _not_ your opinion—that you have no such +idea—and that you only say this for the sake of contradiction.’ ‘You are +exceedingly polite,’ his wife replies; ‘to be wrong about such a paltry +question as anybody’s height, would be no great crime; but I say again, +that I believe Mrs. Parsons to be six feet—more than six feet; nay, I +believe you know her to be full six feet, and only say she is not, +because I say she is.’ This taunt disposes the gentleman to become +violent, but he cheeks himself, and is content to mutter, in a haughty +tone, ‘Six feet—ha! ha! Mrs. Parsons six feet!’ and the lady answers, +‘Yes, six feet. I am sure I am glad you are amused, and I’ll say it +again—six feet.’ Thus the subject gradually drops off, and the +contradiction begins to be forgotten, when Master James, with some +undefined notion of making himself agreeable, and putting things to +rights again, unfortunately asks his mamma what the moon’s made of; which +gives her occasion to say that he had better not ask her, for she is +always wrong and never can be right; that he only exposes her to +contradiction by asking any question of her; and that he had better ask +his papa, who is infallible, and never can be wrong. Papa, smarting +under this attack, gives a terrible pull at the bell, and says, that if +the conversation is to proceed in this way, the children had better be +removed. Removed they are, after a few tears and many struggles; and Pa +having looked at Ma sideways for a minute or two, with a baleful eye, +draws his pocket-handkerchief over his face, and composes himself for his +after-dinner nap. + +The friends of the contradictory couple often deplore their frequent +disputes, though they rather make light of them at the same time: +observing, that there is no doubt they are very much attached to each +other, and that they never quarrel except about trifles. But neither the +friends of the contradictory couple, nor the contradictory couple +themselves, reflect, that as the most stupendous objects in nature are +but vast collections of minute particles, so the slightest and least +considered trifles make up the sum of human happiness or misery. + + + + +THE COUPLE WHO DOTE UPON THEIR CHILDREN + + +THE couple who dote upon their children have usually a great many of +them: six or eight at least. The children are either the healthiest in +all the world, or the most unfortunate in existence. In either case, +they are equally the theme of their doting parents, and equally a source +of mental anguish and irritation to their doting parents’ friends. + +The couple who dote upon their children recognise no dates but those +connected with their births, accidents, illnesses, or remarkable deeds. +They keep a mental almanack with a vast number of Innocents’-days, all in +red letters. They recollect the last coronation, because on that day +little Tom fell down the kitchen stairs; the anniversary of the Gunpowder +Plot, because it was on the fifth of November that Ned asked whether +wooden legs were made in heaven and cocked hats grew in gardens. Mrs. +Whiffler will never cease to recollect the last day of the old year as +long as she lives, for it was on that day that the baby had the four red +spots on its nose which they took for measles: nor Christmas-day, for +twenty-one days after Christmas-day the twins were born; nor Good Friday, +for it was on a Good Friday that she was frightened by the donkey-cart +when she was in the family way with Georgiana. The movable feasts have +no motion for Mr. and Mrs. Whiffler, but remain pinned down tight and +fast to the shoulders of some small child, from whom they can never be +separated any more. Time was made, according to their creed, not for +slaves but for girls and boys; the restless sands in his glass are but +little children at play. + + [Picture: The Couple who Dote upon their Children] + +As we have already intimated, the children of this couple can know no +medium. They are either prodigies of good health or prodigies of bad +health; whatever they are, they must be prodigies. Mr. Whiffler must +have to describe at his office such excruciating agonies constantly +undergone by his eldest boy, as nobody else’s eldest boy ever underwent; +or he must be able to declare that there never was a child endowed with +such amazing health, such an indomitable constitution, and such a +cast-iron frame, as his child. His children must be, in some respect or +other, above and beyond the children of all other people. To such an +extent is this feeling pushed, that we were once slightly acquainted with +a lady and gentleman who carried their heads so high and became so proud +after their youngest child fell out of a two-pair-of-stairs window +without hurting himself much, that the greater part of their friends were +obliged to forego their acquaintance. But perhaps this may be an extreme +case, and one not justly entitled to be considered as a precedent of +general application. + +If a friend happen to dine in a friendly way with one of these couples +who dote upon their children, it is nearly impossible for him to divert +the conversation from their favourite topic. Everything reminds Mr. +Whiffler of Ned, or Mrs. Whiffler of Mary Anne, or of the time before Ned +was born, or the time before Mary Anne was thought of. The slightest +remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering recollections +of the twins. It is impossible to steer clear of them. They will come +uppermost, let the poor man do what he may. Ned has been known to be +lost sight of for half an hour, Dick has been forgotten, the name of Mary +Anne has not been mentioned, but the twins will out. Nothing can keep +down the twins. + +‘It’s a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,’ says Mr. Whiffler to the +visitor, ‘but—you have seen our little babies, the—the—twins?’ The +friend’s heart sinks within him as he answers, ‘Oh, yes—often.’ ‘Your +talking of the Pyramids,’ says Mr. Whiffler, quite as a matter of course, +‘reminds me of the twins. It’s a very extraordinary thing about those +babies—what colour should you say their eyes were?’ ‘Upon my word,’ the +friend stammers, ‘I hardly know how to answer’—the fact being, that +except as the friend does not remember to have heard of any departure +from the ordinary course of nature in the instance of these twins, they +might have no eyes at all for aught he has observed to the contrary. +‘You wouldn’t say they were red, I suppose?’ says Mr. Whiffler. The +friend hesitates, and rather thinks they are; but inferring from the +expression of Mr. Whiffler’s face that red is not the colour, smiles with +some confidence, and says, ‘No, no! very different from that.’ ‘What +should you say to blue?’ says Mr. Whiffler. The friend glances at him, +and observing a different expression in his face, ventures to say, ‘I +should say they _were_ blue—a decided blue.’ ‘To be sure!’ cries Mr. +Whiffler, triumphantly, ‘I knew you would! But what should you say if I +was to tell you that the boy’s eyes are blue and the girl’s hazel, eh?’ +‘Impossible!’ exclaims the friend, not at all knowing why it should be +impossible. ‘A fact, notwithstanding,’ cries Mr. Whiffler; ‘and let me +tell you, Saunders, _that’s_ not a common thing in twins, or a +circumstance that’ll happen every day.’ + +In this dialogue Mrs. Whiffler, as being deeply responsible for the +twins, their charms and singularities, has taken no share; but she now +relates, in broken English, a witticism of little Dick’s bearing upon the +subject just discussed, which delights Mr. Whiffler beyond measure, and +causes him to declare that he would have sworn that was Dick’s if he had +heard it anywhere. Then he requests that Mrs. Whiffler will tell +Saunders what Tom said about mad bulls; and Mrs. Whiffler relating the +anecdote, a discussion ensues upon the different character of Tom’s wit +and Dick’s wit, from which it appears that Dick’s humour is of a lively +turn, while Tom’s style is the dry and caustic. This discussion being +enlivened by various illustrations, lasts a long time, and is only +stopped by Mrs. Whiffler instructing the footman to ring the nursery +bell, as the children were promised that they should come down and taste +the pudding. + +The friend turns pale when this order is given, and paler still when it +is followed up by a great pattering on the staircase, (not unlike the +sound of rain upon a skylight,) a violent bursting open of the +dining-room door, and the tumultuous appearance of six small children, +closely succeeded by a strong nursery-maid with a twin in each arm. As +the whole eight are screaming, shouting, or kicking—some influenced by a +ravenous appetite, some by a horror of the stranger, and some by a +conflict of the two feelings—a pretty long space elapses before all their +heads can be ranged round the table and anything like order restored; in +bringing about which happy state of things both the nurse and footman are +severely scratched. At length Mrs. Whiffler is heard to say, ‘Mr. +Saunders, shall I give you some pudding?’ A breathless silence ensues, +and sixteen small eyes are fixed upon the guest in expectation of his +reply. A wild shout of joy proclaims that he has said ‘No, thank you.’ +Spoons are waved in the air, legs appear above the table-cloth in +uncontrollable ecstasy, and eighty short fingers dabble in damson syrup. + +While the pudding is being disposed of, Mr. and Mrs. Whiffler look on +with beaming countenances, and Mr. Whiffler nudging his friend Saunders, +begs him to take notice of Tom’s eyes, or Dick’s chin, or Ned’s nose, or +Mary Anne’s hair, or Emily’s figure, or little Bob’s calves, or Fanny’s +mouth, or Carry’s head, as the case may be. Whatever the attention of +Mr. Saunders is called to, Mr. Saunders admires of course; though he is +rather confused about the sex of the youngest branches and looks at the +wrong children, turning to a girl when Mr. Whiffler directs his attention +to a boy, and falling into raptures with a boy when he ought to be +enchanted with a girl. Then the dessert comes, and there is a vast deal +of scrambling after fruit, and sudden spirting forth of juice out of +tight oranges into infant eyes, and much screeching and wailing in +consequence. At length it becomes time for Mrs. Whiffler to retire, and +all the children are by force of arms compelled to kiss and love Mr. +Saunders before going up-stairs, except Tom, who, lying on his back in +the hall, proclaims that Mr. Saunders ‘is a naughty beast;’ and Dick, who +having drunk his father’s wine when he was looking another way, is found +to be intoxicated and is carried out, very limp and helpless. + +Mr. Whiffler and his friend are left alone together, but Mr. Whiffler’s +thoughts are still with his family, if his family are not with him. +‘Saunders,’ says he, after a short silence, ‘if you please, we’ll drink +Mrs. Whiffler and the children.’ Mr. Saunders feels this to be a +reproach against himself for not proposing the same sentiment, and drinks +it in some confusion. ‘Ah!’ Mr. Whiffler sighs, ‘these children, +Saunders, make one quite an old man.’ Mr. Saunders thinks that if they +were his, they would make him a very old man; but he says nothing. ‘And +yet,’ pursues Mr. Whiffler, ‘what can equal domestic happiness? what can +equal the engaging ways of children! Saunders, why don’t you get +married?’ Now, this is an embarrassing question, because Mr. Saunders +has been thinking that if he had at any time entertained matrimonial +designs, the revelation of that day would surely have routed them for +ever. ‘I am glad, however,’ says Mr. Whiffler, ‘that you _are_ a +bachelor,—glad on one account, Saunders; a selfish one, I admit. Will +you do Mrs. Whiffler and myself a favour?’ Mr. Saunders is +surprised—evidently surprised; but he replies, ‘with the greatest +pleasure.’ ‘Then, will you, Saunders,’ says Mr. Whiffler, in an +impressive manner, ‘will you cement and consolidate our friendship by +coming into the family (so to speak) as a godfather?’ ‘I shall be proud +and delighted,’ replies Mr. Saunders: ‘which of the children is it? +really, I thought they were all christened; or—’ ‘Saunders,’ Mr. +Whiffler interposes, ‘they _are_ all christened; you are right. The fact +is, that Mrs. Whiffler is—in short, we expect another.’ ‘Not a ninth!’ +cries the friend, all aghast at the idea. ‘Yes, Saunders,’ rejoins Mr. +Whiffler, solemnly, ‘a ninth. Did we drink Mrs. Whiffler’s health? Let +us drink it again, Saunders, and wish her well over it!’ + +Doctor Johnson used to tell a story of a man who had but one idea, which +was a wrong one. The couple who dote upon their children are in the same +predicament: at home or abroad, at all times, and in all places, their +thoughts are bound up in this one subject, and have no sphere beyond. +They relate the clever things their offspring say or do, and weary every +company with their prolixity and absurdity. Mr. Whiffler takes a friend +by the button at a street corner on a windy day to tell him a _bon mot_ +of his youngest boy’s; and Mrs. Whiffler, calling to see a sick +acquaintance, entertains her with a cheerful account of all her own past +sufferings and present expectations. In such cases the sins of the +fathers indeed descend upon the children; for people soon come to regard +them as predestined little bores. The couple who dote upon their +children cannot be said to be actuated by a general love for these +engaging little people (which would be a great excuse); for they are apt +to underrate and entertain a jealousy of any children but their own. If +they examined their own hearts, they would, perhaps, find at the bottom +of all this, more self-love and egotism than they think of. Self-love +and egotism are bad qualities, of which the unrestrained exhibition, +though it may be sometimes amusing, never fails to be wearisome and +unpleasant. Couples who dote upon their children, therefore, are best +avoided. + + + + +THE COOL COUPLE + + +THERE is an old-fashioned weather-glass representing a house with two +doorways, in one of which is the figure of a gentleman, in the other the +figure of a lady. When the weather is to be fine the lady comes out and +the gentleman goes in; when wet, the gentleman comes out and the lady +goes in. They never seek each other’s society, are never elevated and +depressed by the same cause, and have nothing in common. They are the +model of a cool couple, except that there is something of politeness and +consideration about the behaviour of the gentleman in the weather-glass, +in which, neither of the cool couple can be said to participate. + +The cool couple are seldom alone together, and when they are, nothing can +exceed their apathy and dulness: the gentleman being for the most part +drowsy, and the lady silent. If they enter into conversation, it is +usually of an ironical or recriminatory nature. Thus, when the gentleman +has indulged in a very long yawn and settled himself more snugly in his +easy-chair, the lady will perhaps remark, ‘Well, I am sure, Charles! I +hope you’re comfortable.’ To which the gentleman replies, ‘Oh yes, he’s +quite comfortable quite.’ ‘There are not many married men, I hope,’ +returns the lady, ‘who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications as you +do.’ ‘Nor many wives who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications as +_you_ do, I hope,’ retorts the gentleman. ‘Whose fault is that?’ demands +the lady. The gentleman becoming more sleepy, returns no answer. ‘Whose +fault is that?’ the lady repeats. The gentleman still returning no +answer, she goes on to say that she believes there never was in all this +world anybody so attached to her home, so thoroughly domestic, so +unwilling to seek a moment’s gratification or pleasure beyond her own +fireside as she. God knows that before she was married she never thought +or dreamt of such a thing; and she remembers that her poor papa used to +say again and again, almost every day of his life, ‘Oh, my dear Louisa, +if you only marry a man who understands you, and takes the trouble to +consider your happiness and accommodate himself a very little to your +disposition, what a treasure he will find in you!’ She supposes her papa +knew what her disposition was—he had known her long enough—he ought to +have been acquainted with it, but what can she do? If her home is always +dull and lonely, and her husband is always absent and finds no pleasure +in her society, she is naturally sometimes driven (seldom enough, she is +sure) to seek a little recreation elsewhere; she is not expected to pine +and mope to death, she hopes. ‘Then come, Louisa,’ says the gentleman, +waking up as suddenly as he fell asleep, ‘stop at home this evening, and +so will I.’ ‘I should be sorry to suppose, Charles, that you took a +pleasure in aggravating me,’ replies the lady; ‘but you know as well as I +do that I am particularly engaged to Mrs. Mortimer, and that it would be +an act of the grossest rudeness and ill-breeding, after accepting a seat +in her box and preventing her from inviting anybody else, not to go.’ +‘Ah! there it is!’ says the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders, ‘I knew +that perfectly well. I knew you couldn’t devote an evening to your own +home. Now all I have to say, Louisa, is this—recollect that _I_ was +quite willing to stay at home, and that it’s no fault of _mine_ we are +not oftener together.’ + +With that the gentleman goes away to keep an old appointment at his club, +and the lady hurries off to dress for Mrs. Mortimer’s; and neither thinks +of the other until by some odd chance they find themselves alone again. + +But it must not be supposed that the cool couple are habitually a +quarrelsome one. Quite the contrary. These differences are only +occasions for a little self-excuse,—nothing more. In general they are as +easy and careless, and dispute as seldom, as any common acquaintances +may; for it is neither worth their while to put each other out of the +way, nor to ruffle themselves. + +When they meet in society, the cool couple are the best-bred people in +existence. The lady is seated in a corner among a little knot of lady +friends, one of whom exclaims, ‘Why, I vow and declare there is your +husband, my dear!’ ‘Whose?—mine?’ she says, carelessly. ‘Ay, yours, and +coming this way too.’ ‘How very odd!’ says the lady, in a languid tone, +‘I thought he had been at Dover.’ The gentleman coming up, and speaking +to all the other ladies and nodding slightly to his wife, it turns out +that he has been at Dover, and has just now returned. ‘What a strange +creature you are!’ cries his wife; ‘and what on earth brought you here, I +wonder?’ ‘I came to look after you, _of course_,’ rejoins her husband. +This is so pleasant a jest that the lady is mightily amused, as are all +the other ladies similarly situated who are within hearing; and while +they are enjoying it to the full, the gentleman nods again, turns upon +his heel, and saunters away. + +There are times, however, when his company is not so agreeable, though +equally unexpected; such as when the lady has invited one or two +particular friends to tea and scandal, and he happens to come home in the +very midst of their diversion. It is a hundred chances to one that he +remains in the house half an hour, but the lady is rather disturbed by +the intrusion, notwithstanding, and reasons within herself,—‘I am sure I +never interfere with him, and why should he interfere with me? It can +scarcely be accidental; it never happens that I have a particular reason +for not wishing him to come home, but he always comes. It’s very +provoking and tiresome; and I am sure when he leaves me so much alone for +his own pleasure, the least he could do would be to do as much for mine.’ +Observing what passes in her mind, the gentleman, who has come home for +his own accommodation, makes a merit of it with himself; arrives at the +conclusion that it is the very last place in which he can hope to be +comfortable; and determines, as he takes up his hat and cane, never to be +so virtuous again. + +Thus a great many cool couples go on until they are cold couples, and the +grave has closed over their folly and indifference. Loss of name, +station, character, life itself, has ensued from causes as slight as +these, before now; and when gossips tell such tales, and aggravate their +deformities, they elevate their hands and eyebrows, and call each other +to witness what a cool couple Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so always were, even in +the best of times. + + + + +THE PLAUSIBLE COUPLE + + +THE plausible couple have many titles. They are ‘a delightful couple,’ +an ‘affectionate couple,’ ‘a most agreeable couple, ‘a good-hearted +couple,’ and ‘the best-natured couple in existence.’ The truth is, that +the plausible couple are people of the world; and either the way of +pleasing the world has grown much easier than it was in the days of the +old man and his ass, or the old man was but a bad hand at it, and knew +very little of the trade. + +‘But is it really possible to please the world!’ says some doubting +reader. It is indeed. Nay, it is not only very possible, but very easy. +The ways are crooked, and sometimes foul and low. What then? A man need +but crawl upon his hands and knees, know when to close his eyes and when +his ears, when to stoop and when to stand upright; and if by the world is +meant that atom of it in which he moves himself, he shall please it, +never fear. + +Now, it will be readily seen, that if a plausible man or woman have an +easy means of pleasing the world by an adaptation of self to all its +twistings and twinings, a plausible man _and_ woman, or, in other words, +a plausible couple, playing into each other’s hands, and acting in +concert, have a manifest advantage. Hence it is that plausible couples +scarcely ever fail of success on a pretty large scale; and hence it is +that if the reader, laying down this unwieldy volume at the next full +stop, will have the goodness to review his or her circle of acquaintance, +and to search particularly for some man and wife with a large connexion +and a good name, not easily referable to their abilities or their wealth, +he or she (that is, the male or female reader) will certainly find that +gentleman or lady, on a very short reflection, to be a plausible couple. + +The plausible couple are the most ecstatic people living: the most +sensitive people—to merit—on the face of the earth. Nothing clever or +virtuous escapes them. They have microscopic eyes for such endowments, +and can find them anywhere. The plausible couple never fawn—oh no! They +don’t even scruple to tell their friends of their faults. One is too +generous, another too candid; a third has a tendency to think all people +like himself, and to regard mankind as a company of angels; a fourth is +kind-hearted to a fault. ‘We never flatter, my dear Mrs. Jackson,’ say +the plausible couple; ‘we speak our minds. Neither you nor Mr. Jackson +have faults enough. It may sound strangely, but it is true. You have +not faults enough. You know our way,—we must speak out, and always do. +Quarrel with us for saying so, if you will; but we repeat it,—you have +not faults enough!’ + +The plausible couple are no less plausible to each other than to third +parties. They are always loving and harmonious. The plausible gentleman +calls his wife ‘darling,’ and the plausible lady addresses him as +‘dearest.’ If it be Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail Widger, Mrs. Widger is +‘Lavinia, darling,’ and Mr. Widger is ‘Bobtail, dearest.’ Speaking of +each other, they observe the same tender form. Mrs. Widger relates what +‘Bobtail’ said, and Mr. Widger recounts what ‘darling’ thought and did. + +If you sit next to the plausible lady at a dinner-table, she takes the +earliest opportunity of expressing her belief that you are acquainted +with the Clickits; she is sure she has heard the Clickits speak of +you—she must not tell you in what terms, or you will take her for a +flatterer. You admit a knowledge of the Clickits; the plausible lady +immediately launches out in their praise. She quite loves the Clickits. +Were there ever such true-hearted, hospitable, excellent people—such a +gentle, interesting little woman as Mrs. Clickit, or such a frank, +unaffected creature as Mr. Clickit? were there ever two people, in short, +so little spoiled by the world as they are? ‘As who, darling?’ cries Mr. +Widger, from the opposite side of the table. ‘The Clickits, dearest,’ +replies Mrs. Widger. ‘Indeed you are right, darling,’ Mr. Widger +rejoins; ‘the Clickits are a very high-minded, worthy, estimable couple.’ +Mrs. Widger remarking that Bobtail always grows quite eloquent upon this +subject, Mr. Widger admits that he feels very strongly whenever such +people as the Clickits and some other friends of his (here he glances at +the host and hostess) are mentioned; for they are an honour to human +nature, and do one good to think of. ‘_You_ know the Clickits, Mrs. +Jackson?’ he says, addressing the lady of the house. ‘No, indeed; we +have not that pleasure,’ she replies. ‘You astonish me!’ exclaims Mr. +Widger: ‘not know the Clickits! why, you are the very people of all +others who ought to be their bosom friends. You are kindred beings; you +are one and the same thing:—not know the Clickits! Now _will_ you know +the Clickits? Will you make a point of knowing them? Will you meet them +in a friendly way at our house one evening, and be acquainted with them?’ +Mrs. Jackson will be quite delighted; nothing would give her more +pleasure. ‘Then, Lavinia, my darling,’ says Mr. Widger, ‘mind you don’t +lose sight of that; now, pray take care that Mr. and Mrs. Jackson know +the Clickits without loss of time. Such people ought not to be strangers +to each other.’ Mrs. Widger books both families as the centre of +attraction for her next party; and Mr. Widger, going on to expatiate upon +the virtues of the Clickits, adds to their other moral qualities, that +they keep one of the neatest phaetons in town, and have two thousand a +year. + +As the plausible couple never laud the merits of any absent person, +without dexterously contriving that their praises shall reflect upon +somebody who is present, so they never depreciate anything or anybody, +without turning their depreciation to the same account. Their friend, +Mr. Slummery, say they, is unquestionably a clever painter, and would no +doubt be very popular, and sell his pictures at a very high price, if +that cruel Mr. Fithers had not forestalled him in his department of art, +and made it thoroughly and completely his own;—Fithers, it is to be +observed, being present and within hearing, and Slummery elsewhere. Is +Mrs. Tabblewick really as beautiful as people say? Why, there indeed you +ask them a very puzzling question, because there is no doubt that she is +a very charming woman, and they have long known her intimately. She is +no doubt beautiful, very beautiful; they once thought her the most +beautiful woman ever seen; still if you press them for an honest answer, +they are bound to say that this was before they had ever seen our lovely +friend on the sofa, (the sofa is hard by, and our lovely friend can’t +help hearing the whispers in which this is said;) since that time, +perhaps, they have been hardly fair judges; Mrs. Tabblewick is no doubt +extremely handsome,—very like our friend, in fact, in the form of the +features,—but in point of expression, and soul, and figure, and air +altogether—oh dear! + +But while the plausible couple depreciate, they are still careful to +preserve their character for amiability and kind feeling; indeed the +depreciation itself is often made to grow out of their excessive sympathy +and good will. The plausible lady calls on a lady who dotes upon her +children, and is sitting with a little girl upon her knee, enraptured by +her artless replies, and protesting that there is nothing she delights in +so much as conversing with these fairies; when the other lady inquires if +she has seen young Mrs. Finching lately, and whether the baby has turned +out a finer one than it promised to be. ‘Oh dear!’ cries the plausible +lady, ‘you cannot think how often Bobtail and I have talked about poor +Mrs. Finching—she is such a dear soul, and was so anxious that the baby +should be a fine child—and very naturally, because she was very much here +at one time, and there is, you know, a natural emulation among +mothers—that it is impossible to tell you how much we have felt for her.’ +‘Is it weak or plain, or what?’ inquires the other. ‘Weak or plain, my +love,’ returns the plausible lady, ‘it’s a fright—a perfect little +fright; you never saw such a miserable creature in all your days. +Positively you must not let her see one of these beautiful dears again, +or you’ll break her heart, you will indeed.—Heaven bless this child, see +how she is looking in my face! can you conceive anything prettier than +that? If poor Mrs. Finching could only hope—but that’s impossible—and +the gifts of Providence, you know—What _did_ I do with my +pocket-handkerchief!’ + +What prompts the mother, who dotes upon her children, to comment to her +lord that evening on the plausible lady’s engaging qualities and feeling +heart, and what is it that procures Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail Widger an +immediate invitation to dinner? + + + + +THE NICE LITTLE COUPLE + + +A CUSTOM once prevailed in old-fashioned circles, that when a lady or +gentleman was unable to sing a song, he or she should enliven the company +with a story. As we find ourself in the predicament of not being able to +describe (to our own satisfaction) nice little couples in the abstract, +we purpose telling in this place a little story about a nice little +couple of our acquaintance. + +Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup are the nice little couple in question. Mr. Chirrup +has the smartness, and something of the brisk, quick manner of a small +bird. Mrs. Chirrup is the prettiest of all little women, and has the +prettiest little figure conceivable. She has the neatest little foot, +and the softest little voice, and the pleasantest little smile, and the +tidiest little curls, and the brightest little eyes, and the quietest +little manner, and is, in short, altogether one of the most engaging of +all little women, dead or alive. She is a condensation of all the +domestic virtues,—a pocket edition of the young man’s best companion,—a +little woman at a very high pressure, with an amazing quantity of +goodness and usefulness in an exceedingly small space. Little as she is, +Mrs. Chirrup might furnish forth matter for the moral equipment of a +score of housewives, six feet high in their stockings—if, in the presence +of ladies, we may be allowed the expression—and of corresponding +robustness. + + [Picture: The Nice Little Couple] + +Nobody knows all this better than Mr. Chirrup, though he rather takes on +that he don’t. Accordingly he is very proud of his better-half, and +evidently considers himself, as all other people consider him, rather +fortunate in having her to wife. We say evidently, because Mr. Chirrup +is a warm-hearted little fellow; and if you catch his eye when he has +been slyly glancing at Mrs. Chirrup in company, there is a certain +complacent twinkle in it, accompanied, perhaps, by a half-expressed toss +of the head, which as clearly indicates what has been passing in his mind +as if he had put it into words, and shouted it out through a +speaking-trumpet. Moreover, Mr. Chirrup has a particularly mild and +bird-like manner of calling Mrs. Chirrup ‘my dear;’ and—for he is of a +jocose turn—of cutting little witticisms upon her, and making her the +subject of various harmless pleasantries, which nobody enjoys more +thoroughly than Mrs. Chirrup herself. Mr. Chirrup, too, now and then +affects to deplore his bachelor-days, and to bemoan (with a marvellously +contented and smirking face) the loss of his freedom, and the sorrow of +his heart at having been taken captive by Mrs. Chirrup—all of which +circumstances combine to show the secret triumph and satisfaction of Mr. +Chirrup’s soul. + +We have already had occasion to observe that Mrs. Chirrup is an +incomparable housewife. In all the arts of domestic arrangement and +management, in all the mysteries of confectionery-making, pickling, and +preserving, never was such a thorough adept as that nice little body. +She is, besides, a cunning worker in muslin and fine linen, and a special +hand at marketing to the very best advantage. But if there be one branch +of housekeeping in which she excels to an utterly unparalleled and +unprecedented extent, it is in the important one of carving. A roast +goose is universally allowed to be the great stumbling-block in the way +of young aspirants to perfection in this department of science; many +promising carvers, beginning with legs of mutton, and preserving a good +reputation through fillets of veal, sirloins of beef, quarters of lamb, +fowls, and even ducks, have sunk before a roast goose, and lost caste and +character for ever. To Mrs. Chirrup the resolving a goose into its +smallest component parts is a pleasant pastime—a practical joke—a thing +to be done in a minute or so, without the smallest interruption to the +conversation of the time. No handing the dish over to an unfortunate man +upon her right or left, no wild sharpening of the knife, no hacking and +sawing at an unruly joint, no noise, no splash, no heat, no leaving off +in despair; all is confidence and cheerfulness. The dish is set upon the +table, the cover is removed; for an instant, and only an instant, you +observe that Mrs. Chirrup’s attention is distracted; she smiles, but +heareth not. You proceed with your story; meanwhile the glittering knife +is slowly upraised, both Mrs. Chirrup’s wrists are slightly but not +ungracefully agitated, she compresses her lips for an instant, then +breaks into a smile, and all is over. The legs of the bird slide gently +down into a pool of gravy, the wings seem to melt from the body, the +breast separates into a row of juicy slices, the smaller and more +complicated parts of his anatomy are perfectly developed, a cavern of +stuffing is revealed, and the goose is gone! + +To dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup is one of the pleasantest things in the +world. Mr. Chirrup has a bachelor friend, who lived with him in his own +days of single blessedness, and to whom he is mightily attached. +Contrary to the usual custom, this bachelor friend is no less a friend of +Mrs. Chirrup’s, and, consequently, whenever you dine with Mr. and Mrs. +Chirrup, you meet the bachelor friend. It would put any +reasonably-conditioned mortal into good-humour to observe the entire +unanimity which subsists between these three; but there is a quiet +welcome dimpling in Mrs. Chirrup’s face, a bustling hospitality oozing as +it were out of the waistcoat-pockets of Mr. Chirrup, and a patronising +enjoyment of their cordiality and satisfaction on the part of the +bachelor friend, which is quite delightful. On these occasions Mr. +Chirrup usually takes an opportunity of rallying the friend on being +single, and the friend retorts on Mr. Chirrup for being married, at which +moments some single young ladies present are like to die of laughter; and +we have more than once observed them bestow looks upon the friend, which +convinces us that his position is by no means a safe one, as, indeed, we +hold no bachelor’s to be who visits married friends and cracks jokes on +wedlock, for certain it is that such men walk among traps and nets and +pitfalls innumerable, and often find themselves down upon their knees at +the altar rails, taking M. or N. for their wedded wives, before they know +anything about the matter. + +However, this is no business of Mr. Chirrup’s, who talks, and laughs, and +drinks his wine, and laughs again, and talks more, until it is time to +repair to the drawing-room, where, coffee served and over, Mrs. Chirrup +prepares for a round game, by sorting the nicest possible little fish +into the nicest possible little pools, and calling Mr. Chirrup to assist +her, which Mr. Chirrup does. As they stand side by side, you find that +Mr. Chirrup is the least possible shadow of a shade taller than Mrs. +Chirrup, and that they are the neatest and best-matched little couple +that can be, which the chances are ten to one against your observing with +such effect at any other time, unless you see them in the street +arm-in-arm, or meet them some rainy day trotting along under a very small +umbrella. The round game (at which Mr. Chirrup is the merriest of the +party) being done and over, in course of time a nice little tray appears, +on which is a nice little supper; and when that is finished likewise, and +you have said ‘Good night,’ you find yourself repeating a dozen times, as +you ride home, that there never was such a nice little couple as Mr. and +Mrs. Chirrup. + +Whether it is that pleasant qualities, being packed more closely in small +bodies than in large, come more readily to hand than when they are +diffused over a wider space, and have to be gathered together for use, we +don’t know, but as a general rule,—strengthened like all other rules by +its exceptions,—we hold that little people are sprightly and +good-natured. The more sprightly and good-natured people we have, the +better; therefore, let us wish well to all nice little couples, and hope +that they may increase and multiply. + + + + +THE EGOTISTICAL COUPLE + + +EGOTISM in couples is of two kinds.—It is our purpose to show this by two +examples. + +The egotistical couple may be young, old, middle-aged, well to do, or ill +to do; they may have a small family, a large family, or no family at all. +There is no outward sign by which an egotistical couple may be known and +avoided. They come upon you unawares; there is no guarding against them. +No man can of himself be forewarned or forearmed against an egotistical +couple. + +The egotistical couple have undergone every calamity, and experienced +every pleasurable and painful sensation of which our nature is +susceptible. You cannot by possibility tell the egotistical couple +anything they don’t know, or describe to them anything they have not +felt. They have been everything but dead. Sometimes we are tempted to +wish they had been even that, but only in our uncharitable moments, which +are few and far between. + +We happened the other day, in the course of a morning call, to encounter +an egotistical couple, nor were we suffered to remain long in ignorance +of the fact, for our very first inquiry of the lady of the house brought +them into active and vigorous operation. The inquiry was of course +touching the lady’s health, and the answer happened to be, that she had +not been very well. ‘Oh, my dear!’ said the egotistical lady, ‘don’t +talk of not being well. We have been in _such_ a state since we saw you +last!’—The lady of the house happening to remark that her lord had not +been well either, the egotistical gentleman struck in: ‘Never let Briggs +complain of not being well—never let Briggs complain, my dear Mrs. +Briggs, after what I have undergone within these six weeks. He doesn’t +know what it is to be ill, he hasn’t the least idea of it; not the +faintest conception.’—‘My dear,’ interposed his wife smiling, ‘you talk +as if it were almost a crime in Mr. Briggs not to have been as ill as we +have been, instead of feeling thankful to Providence that both he and our +dear Mrs. Briggs are in such blissful ignorance of real suffering.’—‘My +love,’ returned the egotistical gentleman, in a low and pious voice, ‘you +mistake me;—I feel grateful—very grateful. I trust our friends may never +purchase their experience as dearly as we have bought ours; I hope they +never may!’ + +Having put down Mrs. Briggs upon this theme, and settled the question +thus, the egotistical gentleman turned to us, and, after a few +preliminary remarks, all tending towards and leading up to the point he +had in his mind, inquired if we happened to be acquainted with the +Dowager Lady Snorflerer. On our replying in the negative, he presumed we +had often met Lord Slang, or beyond all doubt, that we were on intimate +terms with Sir Chipkins Glogwog. Finding that we were equally unable to +lay claim to either of these distinctions, he expressed great +astonishment, and turning to his wife with a retrospective smile, +inquired who it was that had told that capital story about the mashed +potatoes. ‘Who, my dear?’ returned the egotistical lady, ‘why Sir +Chipkins, of course; how can you ask! Don’t you remember his applying it +to our cook, and saying that you and I were so like the Prince and +Princess, that he could almost have sworn we were they?’ ‘To be sure, I +remember that,’ said the egotistical gentleman, ‘but are you quite +certain that didn’t apply to the other anecdote about the Emperor of +Austria and the pump?’ ‘Upon my word then, I think it did,’ replied his +wife. ‘To be sure it did,’ said the egotistical gentleman, ‘it was +Slang’s story, I remember now, perfectly.’ However, it turned out, a few +seconds afterwards, that the egotistical gentleman’s memory was rather +treacherous, as he began to have a misgiving that the story had been told +by the Dowager Lady Snorflerer the very last time they dined there; but +there appearing, on further consideration, strong circumstantial evidence +tending to show that this couldn’t be, inasmuch as the Dowager Lady +Snorflerer had been, on the occasion in question, wholly engrossed by the +egotistical lady, the egotistical gentleman recanted this opinion; and +after laying the story at the doors of a great many great people, happily +left it at last with the Duke of Scuttlewig:—observing that it was not +extraordinary he had forgotten his Grace hitherto, as it often happened +that the names of those with whom we were upon the most familiar footing +were the very last to present themselves to our thoughts. + +It not only appeared that the egotistical couple knew everybody, but that +scarcely any event of importance or notoriety had occurred for many years +with which they had not been in some way or other connected. Thus we +learned that when the well-known attempt upon the life of George the +Third was made by Hatfield in Drury Lane theatre, the egotistical +gentleman’s grandfather sat upon his right hand and was the first man who +collared him; and that the egotistical lady’s aunt, sitting within a few +boxes of the royal party, was the only person in the audience who heard +his Majesty exclaim, ‘Charlotte, Charlotte, don’t be frightened, don’t be +frightened; they’re letting off squibs, they’re letting off squibs.’ +When the fire broke out, which ended in the destruction of the two Houses +of Parliament, the egotistical couple, being at the time at a +drawing-room window on Blackheath, then and there simultaneously +exclaimed, to the astonishment of a whole party—‘It’s the House of +Lords!’ Nor was this a solitary instance of their peculiar discernment, +for chancing to be (as by a comparison of dates and circumstances they +afterwards found) in the same omnibus with Mr. Greenacre, when he carried +his victim’s head about town in a blue bag, they both remarked a singular +twitching in the muscles of his countenance; and walking down Fish Street +Hill, a few weeks since, the egotistical gentleman said to his +lady—slightly casting up his eyes to the top of the Monument—‘There’s a +boy up there, my dear, reading a Bible. It’s very strange. I don’t like +it.—In five seconds afterwards, Sir,’ says the egotistical gentleman, +bringing his hands together with one violent clap—‘the lad was over!’ + +Diversifying these topics by the introduction of many others of the same +kind, and entertaining us between whiles with a minute account of what +weather and diet agreed with them, and what weather and diet disagreed +with them, and at what time they usually got up, and at what time went to +bed, with many other particulars of their domestic economy too numerous +to mention; the egotistical couple at length took their leave, and +afforded us an opportunity of doing the same. + +Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone are an egotistical couple of another class, for +all the lady’s egotism is about her husband, and all the gentleman’s +about his wife. For example:—Mr. Sliverstone is a clerical gentleman, +and occasionally writes sermons, as clerical gentlemen do. If you happen +to obtain admission at the street-door while he is so engaged, Mrs. +Sliverstone appears on tip-toe, and speaking in a solemn whisper, as if +there were at least three or four particular friends up-stairs, all upon +the point of death, implores you to be very silent, for Mr. Sliverstone +is composing, and she need not say how very important it is that he +should not be disturbed. Unwilling to interrupt anything so serious, you +hasten to withdraw, with many apologies; but this Mrs. Sliverstone will +by no means allow, observing, that she knows you would like to see him, +as it is very natural you should, and that she is determined to make a +trial for you, as you are a great favourite. So you are led +up-stairs—still on tip-toe—to the door of a little back room, in which, +as the lady informs you in a whisper, Mr. Sliverstone always writes. No +answer being returned to a couple of soft taps, the lady opens the door, +and there, sure enough, is Mr. Sliverstone, with dishevelled hair, +powdering away with pen, ink, and paper, at a rate which, if he has any +power of sustaining it, would settle the longest sermon in no time. At +first he is too much absorbed to be roused by this intrusion; but +presently looking up, says faintly, ‘Ah!’ and pointing to his desk with a +weary and languid smile, extends his hand, and hopes you’ll forgive him. +Then Mrs. Sliverstone sits down beside him, and taking his hand in hers, +tells you how that Mr. Sliverstone has been shut up there ever since nine +o’clock in the morning, (it is by this time twelve at noon,) and how she +knows it cannot be good for his health, and is very uneasy about it. +Unto this Mr. Sliverstone replies firmly, that ‘It must be done;’ which +agonizes Mrs. Sliverstone still more, and she goes on to tell you that +such were Mr. Sliverstone’s labours last week—what with the buryings, +marryings, churchings, christenings, and all together,—that when he was +going up the pulpit stairs on Sunday evening, he was obliged to hold on +by the rails, or he would certainly have fallen over into his own pew. +Mr. Sliverstone, who has been listening and smiling meekly, says, ‘Not +quite so bad as that, not quite so bad!’ he admits though, on +cross-examination, that he _was_ very near falling upon the verger who +was following him up to bolt the door; but adds, that it was his duty as +a Christian to fall upon him, if need were, and that he, Mr. Sliverstone, +and (possibly the verger too) ought to glory in it. + +This sentiment communicates new impulse to Mrs. Sliverstone, who launches +into new praises of Mr. Sliverstone’s worth and excellence, to which he +listens in the same meek silence, save when he puts in a word of +self-denial relative to some question of fact, as—‘Not seventy-two +christenings that week, my dear. Only seventy-one, only seventy-one.’ +At length his lady has quite concluded, and then he says, Why should he +repine, why should he give way, why should he suffer his heart to sink +within him? Is it he alone who toils and suffers? What has she gone +through, he should like to know? What does she go through every day for +him and for society? + +With such an exordium Mr. Sliverstone launches out into glowing praises +of the conduct of Mrs. Sliverstone in the production of eight young +children, and the subsequent rearing and fostering of the same; and thus +the husband magnifies the wife, and the wife the husband. + +This would be well enough if Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone kept it to +themselves, or even to themselves and a friend or two; but they do not. +The more hearers they have, the more egotistical the couple become, and +the more anxious they are to make believers in their merits. Perhaps +this is the worst kind of egotism. It has not even the poor excuse of +being spontaneous, but is the result of a deliberate system and malice +aforethought. Mere empty-headed conceit excites our pity, but +ostentatious hypocrisy awakens our disgust. + + + + +THE COUPLE WHO CODDLE THEMSELVES + + +MRS. MERRYWINKLE’S maiden name was Chopper. She was the only child of +Mr. and Mrs. Chopper. Her father died when she was, as the play-books +express it, ‘yet an infant;’ and so old Mrs. Chopper, when her daughter +married, made the house of her son-in-law her home from that time +henceforth, and set up her staff of rest with Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle. + +Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and the +venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider and abettor in the same. + +Mr. Merrywinkle is a rather lean and long-necked gentleman, middle-aged +and middle-sized, and usually troubled with a cold in the head. Mrs. +Merrywinkle is a delicate-looking lady, with very light hair, and is +exceedingly subject to the same unpleasant disorder. The venerable Mrs. +Chopper—who is strictly entitled to the appellation, her daughter not +being very young, otherwise than by courtesy, at the time of her +marriage, which was some years ago—is a mysterious old lady who lurks +behind a pair of spectacles, and is afflicted with a chronic disease, +respecting which she has taken a vast deal of medical advice, and +referred to a vast number of medical books, without meeting any +definition of symptoms that at all suits her, or enables her to say, +‘That’s my complaint.’ Indeed, the absence of authentic information upon +the subject of this complaint would seem to be Mrs. Chopper’s greatest +ill, as in all other respects she is an uncommonly hale and hearty +gentlewoman. + +Both Mr. and Mrs. Chopper wear an extraordinary quantity of flannel, and +have a habit of putting their feet in hot water to an unnatural extent. +They likewise indulge in chamomile tea and such-like compounds, and rub +themselves on the slightest provocation with camphorated spirits and +other lotions applicable to mumps, sore-throat, rheumatism, or lumbago. + +Mr. Merrywinkle’s leaving home to go to business on a damp or wet morning +is a very elaborate affair. He puts on wash-leather socks over his +stockings, and India-rubber shoes above his boots, and wears under his +waistcoat a cuirass of hare-skin. Besides these precautions, he winds a +thick shawl round his throat, and blocks up his mouth with a large silk +handkerchief. Thus accoutred, and furnished besides with a great-coat +and umbrella, he braves the dangers of the streets; travelling in severe +weather at a gentle trot, the better to preserve the circulation, and +bringing his mouth to the surface to take breath, but very seldom, and +with the utmost caution. His office-door opened, he shoots past his +clerk at the same pace, and diving into his own private room, closes the +door, examines the window-fastenings, and gradually unrobes himself: +hanging his pocket-handkerchief on the fender to air, and determining to +write to the newspapers about the fog, which, he says, ‘has really got to +that pitch that it is quite unbearable.’ + +In this last opinion Mrs. Merrywinkle and her respected mother fully +concur; for though not present, their thoughts and tongues are occupied +with the same subject, which is their constant theme all day. If anybody +happens to call, Mrs. Merrywinkle opines that they must assuredly be mad, +and her first salutation is, ‘Why, what in the name of goodness can bring +you out in such weather? You know you _must_ catch your death.’ This +assurance is corroborated by Mrs. Chopper, who adds, in further +confirmation, a dismal legend concerning an individual of her +acquaintance who, making a call under precisely parallel circumstances, +and being then in the best health and spirits, expired in forty-eight +hours afterwards, of a complication of inflammatory disorders. The +visitor, rendered not altogether comfortable perhaps by this and other +precedents, inquires very affectionately after Mr. Merrywinkle, but by so +doing brings about no change of the subject; for Mr. Merrywinkle’s name +is inseparably connected with his complaints, and his complaints are +inseparably connected with Mrs. Merrywinkle’s; and when these are done +with, Mrs. Chopper, who has been biding her time, cuts in with the +chronic disorder—a subject upon which the amiable old lady never leaves +off speaking until she is left alone, and very often not then. + + [Picture: The Couple who Coddle Themselves] + +But Mr. Merrywinkle comes home to dinner. He is received by Mrs. +Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper, who, on his remarking that he thinks his +feet are damp, turn pale as ashes and drag him up-stairs, imploring him +to have them rubbed directly with a dry coarse towel. Rubbed they are, +one by Mrs. Merrywinkle and one by Mrs. Chopper, until the friction +causes Mr. Merrywinkle to make horrible faces, and look as if he had been +smelling very powerful onions; when they desist, and the patient, +provided for his better security with thick worsted stockings and list +slippers, is borne down-stairs to dinner. Now, the dinner is always a +good one, the appetites of the diners being delicate, and requiring a +little of what Mrs. Merrywinkle calls ‘tittivation;’ the secret of which +is understood to lie in good cookery and tasteful spices, and which +process is so successfully performed in the present instance, that both +Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle eat a remarkably good dinner, and even the +afflicted Mrs. Chopper wields her knife and fork with much of the spirit +and elasticity of youth. But Mr. Merrywinkle, in his desire to gratify +his appetite, is not unmindful of his health, for he has a bottle of +carbonate of soda with which to qualify his porter, and a little pair of +scales in which to weigh it out. Neither in his anxiety to take care of +his body is he unmindful of the welfare of his immortal part, as he +always prays that for what he is going to receive he may be made truly +thankful; and in order that he may be as thankful as possible, eats and +drinks to the utmost. + +Either from eating and drinking so much, or from being the victim of this +constitutional infirmity, among others, Mr. Merrywinkle, after two or +three glasses of wine, falls fast asleep; and he has scarcely closed his +eyes, when Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper fall asleep likewise. It is +on awakening at tea-time that their most alarming symptoms prevail; for +then Mr. Merrywinkle feels as if his temples were tightly bound round +with the chain of the street-door, and Mrs. Merrywinkle as if she had +made a hearty dinner of half-hundredweights, and Mrs. Chopper as if cold +water were running down her back, and oyster-knives with sharp points +were plunging of their own accord into her ribs. Symptoms like these are +enough to make people peevish, and no wonder that they remain so until +supper-time, doing little more than doze and complain, unless Mr. +Merrywinkle calls out very loudly to a servant ‘to keep that draught +out,’ or rushes into the passage to flourish his fist in the countenance +of the twopenny-postman, for daring to give such a knock as he had just +performed at the door of a private gentleman with nerves. + +Supper, coming after dinner, should consist of some gentle provocative; +and therefore the tittivating art is again in requisition, and again—done +honour to by Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, still comforted and abetted by +Mrs. Chopper. After supper, it is ten to one but the last-named old lady +becomes worse, and is led off to bed with the chronic complaint in full +vigour. Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, having administered to her a warm +cordial, which is something of the strongest, then repair to their own +room, where Mr. Merrywinkle, with his legs and feet in hot water, +superintends the mulling of some wine which he is to drink at the very +moment he plunges into bed, while Mrs. Merrywinkle, in garments whose +nature is unknown to and unimagined by all but married men, takes four +small pills with a spasmodic look between each, and finally comes to +something hot and fragrant out of another little saucepan, which serves +as her composing-draught for the night. + +There is another kind of couple who coddle themselves, and who do so at a +cheaper rate and on more spare diet, because they are niggardly and +parsimonious; for which reason they are kind enough to coddle their +visitors too. It is unnecessary to describe them, for our readers may +rest assured of the accuracy of these general principles:—that all +couples who coddle themselves are selfish and slothful,—that they charge +upon every wind that blows, every rain that falls, and every vapour that +hangs in the air, the evils which arise from their own imprudence or the +gloom which is engendered in their own tempers,—and that all men and +women, in couples or otherwise, who fall into exclusive habits of +self-indulgence, and forget their natural sympathy and close connexion +with everybody and everything in the world around them, not only neglect +the first duty of life, but, by a happy retributive justice, deprive +themselves of its truest and best enjoyment. + + + + +THE OLD COUPLE + + +THEY are grandfather and grandmother to a dozen grown people and have +great-grandchildren besides; their bodies are bent, their hair is grey, +their step tottering and infirm. Is this the lightsome pair whose +wedding was so merry, and have the young couple indeed grown old so soon! + +It seems but yesterday—and yet what a host of cares and griefs are +crowded into the intervening time which, reckoned by them, lengthens out +into a century! How many new associations have wreathed themselves about +their hearts since then! The old time is gone, and a new time has come +for others—not for them. They are but the rusting link that feebly joins +the two, and is silently loosening its hold and dropping asunder. + +It seems but yesterday—and yet three of their children have sunk into the +grave, and the tree that shades it has grown quite old. One was an +infant—they wept for him; the next a girl, a slight young thing too +delicate for earth—her loss was hard indeed to bear. The third, a man. +That was the worst of all, but even that grief is softened now. + +It seems but yesterday—and yet how the gay and laughing faces of that +bright morning have changed and vanished from above ground! Faint +likenesses of some remain about them yet, but they are very faint and +scarcely to be traced. The rest are only seen in dreams, and even they +are unlike what they were, in eyes so old and dim. + +One or two dresses from the bridal wardrobe are yet preserved. They are +of a quaint and antique fashion, and seldom seen except in pictures. +White has turned yellow, and brighter hues have faded. Do you wonder, +child? The wrinkled face was once as smooth as yours, the eyes as +bright, the shrivelled skin as fair and delicate. It is the work of +hands that have been dust these many years. + +Where are the fairy lovers of that happy day whose annual return comes +upon the old man and his wife, like the echo of some village bell which +has long been silent? Let yonder peevish bachelor, racked by rheumatic +pains, and quarrelling with the world, let him answer to the question. +He recollects something of a favourite playmate; her name was Lucy—so +they tell him. He is not sure whether she was married, or went abroad, +or died. It is a long while ago, and he don’t remember. + +Is nothing as it used to be; does no one feel, or think, or act, as in +days of yore? Yes. There is an aged woman who once lived servant with +the old lady’s father, and is sheltered in an alms-house not far off. +She is still attached to the family, and loves them all; she nursed the +children in her lap, and tended in their sickness those who are no more. +Her old mistress has still something of youth in her eyes; the young +ladies are like what she was but not quite so handsome, nor are the +gentlemen as stately as Mr. Harvey used to be. She has seen a great deal +of trouble; her husband and her son died long ago; but she has got over +that, and is happy now—quite happy. + +If ever her attachment to her old protectors were disturbed by fresher +cares and hopes, it has long since resumed its former current. It has +filled the void in the poor creature’s heart, and replaced the love of +kindred. Death has not left her alone, and this, with a roof above her +head, and a warm hearth to sit by, makes her cheerful and contented. +Does she remember the marriage of great-grandmamma? Ay, that she does, +as well—as if it was only yesterday. You wouldn’t think it to look at +her now, and perhaps she ought not to say so of herself, but she was as +smart a young girl then as you’d wish to see. She recollects she took a +friend of hers up-stairs to see Miss Emma dressed for church; her name +was—ah! she forgets the name, but she remembers that she was a very +pretty girl, and that she married not long afterwards, and lived—it has +quite passed out of her mind where she lived, but she knows she had a bad +husband who used her ill, and that she died in Lambeth work-house. Dear, +dear, in Lambeth workhouse! + + [Picture: The Old Couple] + +And the old couple—have they no comfort or enjoyment of existence? See +them among their grandchildren and great-grandchildren; how garrulous +they are, how they compare one with another, and insist on likenesses +which no one else can see; how gently the old lady lectures the girls on +points of breeding and decorum, and points the moral by anecdotes of +herself in her young days—how the old gentleman chuckles over boyish +feats and roguish tricks, and tells long stories of a ‘barring-out’ +achieved at the school he went to: which was very wrong, he tells the +boys, and never to be imitated of course, but which he cannot help +letting them know was very pleasant too—especially when he kissed the +master’s niece. This last, however, is a point on which the old lady is +very tender, for she considers it a shocking and indelicate thing to talk +about, and always says so whenever it is mentioned, never failing to +observe that he ought to be very penitent for having been so sinful. So +the old gentleman gets no further, and what the schoolmaster’s niece said +afterwards (which he is always going to tell) is lost to posterity. + +The old gentleman is eighty years old, to-day—‘Eighty years old, Crofts, +and never had a headache,’ he tells the barber who shaves him (the barber +being a young fellow, and very subject to that complaint). ‘That’s a +great age, Crofts,’ says the old gentleman. ‘I don’t think it’s sich a +wery great age, Sir,’ replied the barber. ‘Crofts,’ rejoins the old +gentleman, ‘you’re talking nonsense to me. Eighty not a great age?’ +‘It’s a wery great age, Sir, for a gentleman to be as healthy and active +as you are,’ returns the barber; ‘but my grandfather, Sir, he was +ninety-four.’ ‘You don’t mean that, Crofts?’ says the old gentleman. ‘I +do indeed, Sir,’ retorts the barber, ‘and as wiggerous as Julius Cæsar, +my grandfather was.’ The old gentleman muses a little time, and then +says, ‘What did he die of, Crofts?’ ‘He died accidentally, Sir,’ returns +the barber; ‘he didn’t mean to do it. He always would go a running about +the streets—walking never satisfied _his_ spirit—and he run against a +post and died of a hurt in his chest.’ The old gentleman says no more +until the shaving is concluded, and then he gives Crofts half-a-crown to +drink his health. He is a little doubtful of the barber’s veracity +afterwards, and telling the anecdote to the old lady, affects to make +very light of it—though to be sure (he adds) there was old Parr, and in +some parts of England, ninety-five or so is a common age, quite a common +age. + +This morning the old couple are cheerful but serious, recalling old times +as well as they can remember them, and dwelling upon many passages in +their past lives which the day brings to mind. The old lady reads aloud, +in a tremulous voice, out of a great Bible, and the old gentleman with +his hand to his ear, listens with profound respect. When the book is +closed, they sit silent for a short space, and afterwards resume their +conversation, with a reference perhaps to their dead children, as a +subject not unsuited to that they have just left. By degrees they are +led to consider which of those who survive are the most like those +dearly-remembered objects, and so they fall into a less solemn strain, +and become cheerful again. + +How many people in all, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and one or +two intimate friends of the family, dine together to-day at the eldest +son’s to congratulate the old couple, and wish them many happy returns, +is a calculation beyond our powers; but this we know, that the old couple +no sooner present themselves, very sprucely and carefully attired, than +there is a violent shouting and rushing forward of the younger branches +with all manner of presents, such as pocket-books, pencil-cases, +pen-wipers, watch-papers, pin-cushions, sleeve-buckles, worked-slippers, +watch-guards, and even a nutmeg-grater: the latter article being +presented by a very chubby and very little boy, who exhibits it in great +triumph as an extraordinary variety. The old couple’s emotion at these +tokens of remembrance occasions quite a pathetic scene, of which the +chief ingredients are a vast quantity of kissing and hugging, and +repeated wipings of small eyes and noses with small square +pocket-handkerchiefs, which don’t come at all easily out of small +pockets. Even the peevish bachelor is moved, and he says, as he presents +the old gentleman with a queer sort of antique ring from his own finger, +that he’ll be de’ed if he doesn’t think he looks younger than he did ten +years ago. + +But the great time is after dinner, when the dessert and wine are on the +table, which is pushed back to make plenty of room, and they are all +gathered in a large circle round the fire, for it is then—the glasses +being filled, and everybody ready to drink the toast—that two +great-grandchildren rush out at a given signal, and presently return, +dragging in old Jane Adams leaning upon her crutched stick, and trembling +with age and pleasure. Who so popular as poor old Jane, nurse and +story-teller in ordinary to two generations; and who so happy as she, +striving to bend her stiff limbs into a curtsey, while tears of pleasure +steal down her withered cheeks! + +The old couple sit side by side, and the old time seems like yesterday +indeed. Looking back upon the path they have travelled, its dust and +ashes disappear; the flowers that withered long ago, show brightly again +upon its borders, and they grow young once more in the youth of those +about them. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +WE have taken for the subjects of the foregoing moral essays, twelve +samples of married couples, carefully selected from a large stock on +hand, open to the inspection of all comers. These samples are intended +for the benefit of the rising generation of both sexes, and, for their +more easy and pleasant information, have been separately ticketed and +labelled in the manner they have seen. + +We have purposely excluded from consideration the couple in which the +lady reigns paramount and supreme, holding such cases to be of a very +unnatural kind, and like hideous births and other monstrous deformities, +only to be discreetly and sparingly exhibited. + +And here our self-imposed task would have ended, but that to those young +ladies and gentlemen who are yet revolving singly round the church, +awaiting the advent of that time when the mysterious laws of attraction +shall draw them towards it in couples, we are desirous of addressing a +few last words. + +Before marriage and afterwards, let them learn to centre all their hopes +of real and lasting happiness in their own fireside; let them cherish the +faith that in home, and all the English virtues which the love of home +engenders, lies the only true source of domestic felicity; let them +believe that round the household gods, contentment and tranquillity +cluster in their gentlest and most graceful forms; and that many weary +hunters of happiness through the noisy world, have learnt this truth too +late, and found a cheerful spirit and a quiet mind only at home at last. + +How much may depend on the education of daughters and the conduct of +mothers; how much of the brightest part of our old national character may +be perpetuated by their wisdom or frittered away by their folly—how much +of it may have been lost already, and how much more in danger of +vanishing every day—are questions too weighty for discussion here, but +well deserving a little serious consideration from all young couples +nevertheless. + +To that one young couple on whose bright destiny the thoughts of nations +are fixed, may the youth of England look, and not in vain, for an +example. From that one young couple, blessed and favoured as they are, +may they learn that even the glare and glitter of a court, the splendour +of a palace, and the pomp and glory of a throne, yield in their power of +conferring happiness, to domestic worth and virtue. From that one young +couple may they learn that the crown of a great empire, costly and +jewelled though it be, gives place in the estimation of a Queen to the +plain gold ring that links her woman’s nature to that of tens of +thousands of her humble subjects, and guards in her woman’s heart one +secret store of tenderness, whose proudest boast shall be that it knows +no Royalty save Nature’s own, and no pride of birth but being the child +of heaven! + +So shall the highest young couple in the land for once hear the truth, +when men throw up their caps, and cry with loving shouts— + + GOD BLESS THEM. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES*** + + +******* This file should be named 916-0.txt or 916-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/1/916 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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