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<!DOCTYPE html
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<title>Sketches of Young Couples</title>
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<h2>
<a href="#startoftext">Sketches of Young Couples, by Charles Dickens</a>
</h2>
<pre>
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Title: Sketches of Young Couples

Author: Charles Dickens

Release Date: May, 1997  [EBook #916]
[This file was first posted on May 22, 1997]
[Most recently updated: May 8, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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</pre>
<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
<p>Transcribed from the 1903 edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h1>SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES</h1>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>AN URGENT REMONSTRANCE, &amp;c</p>
<p>TO THE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND,</p>
<p>(BEING BACHELORS OR WIDOWERS,)</p>
<p>THE REMONSTRANCE OF THEIR FAITHFUL FELLOW-SUBJECT,</p>
<p>SHEWETH,-</p>
<p>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&rsquo;s Most Gracious
intention of entering into the bonds of wedlock.</p>
<p>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&mdash;&lsquo;It is my intention to ally myself
in marriage with Prince Albert of Saxe Coburg and Gotha.&rsquo;</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>THAT a case has occurred in Camberwell, in which a young lady informed
her Papa that &lsquo;she intended to ally herself in marriage&rsquo;
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;s
Ministers, which clearly appears&mdash;not only from Her Majesty&rsquo;s
principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs traitorously getting
married while holding office under the Crown; but from Mr. O&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE YOUNG COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>There is to be a wedding this morning at the corner house in the
terrace.&nbsp; The pastry-cook&rsquo;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.&nbsp; Miss Emma
Fielding is going to be married to young Mr. Harvey.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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&mdash;what thoughts of how she
would dress on such an occasion, if she were a lady&mdash;of how she
would dress, if she were only a bride&mdash;of how cook would dress,
being bridesmaid, conjointly with her sister &lsquo;in place&rsquo;
at Fulham, and how the clergyman, deeming them so many ladies, would
be quite humbled and respectful.&nbsp; What day-dreams of hope and happiness&mdash;of
life being one perpetual holiday, with no master and no mistress to
grant or withhold it&mdash;of every Sunday being a Sunday out&mdash;of
pure freedom as to curls and ringlets, and no obligation to hide fine
heads of hair in caps&mdash;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!</p>
<p>We smile at such things, and so we should, though perhaps for a better
reason than commonly presents itself.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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&mdash;sight of sights!&mdash;her young mistress
ready dressed for church.</p>
<p>And there, in good truth, when they have stolen up-stairs on tip-toe
and edged themselves in at the chamber-door&mdash;there is Miss Emma
&lsquo;looking like the sweetest picter,&rsquo; 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)&mdash;and
there is Miss Emma&rsquo;s mamma in tears, and Miss Emma&rsquo;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&mdash;and there too is
Miss Emma&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; In the centre, too, is the
mighty charm, the cake, glistening with frosted sugar, and garnished
beautifully.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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 <i>he</i> knows, for he&rsquo;s often
winked his eye down the area, which causes Anne to blush and look confused.&nbsp;
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&rsquo;s being early
in the morning, it won&rsquo;t hurt her: so they shut the door and pour
out the wine; and Anne drinking lane&rsquo;s health, and adding, &lsquo;and
here&rsquo;s wishing you yours, Mr. John,&rsquo; drinks it in a great
many sips,&mdash;Mr. John all the time making jokes appropriate to the
occasion.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>By this time a carriage has driven up to convey the bride to church,
and Anne of number six prolonging the process of &lsquo;cleaning her
door,&rsquo; has the satisfaction of beholding the bride and bridesmaids,
and the papa and mamma, hurry into the same and drive rapidly off.&nbsp;
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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; Miss Emma&rsquo;s
papa is at the top of the table; Miss Emma&rsquo;s mamma at the bottom;
and beside the latter are Miss Emma herself and her husband,&mdash;admitted
on all hands to be the handsomest and most interesting young couple
ever known.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;s, reported to possess unheard-of riches, and to have
expressed vast testamentary intentions respecting her favourite niece
and new nephew.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; Of these, one is a little fellow
of six or eight years old, brother to the bride,&mdash;and the other
a girl of the same age, or something younger, whom he calls &lsquo;his
wife.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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&rsquo;s own coquettishness.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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!</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;s faces beaming
farewell in every queer variety of its expression.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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 &lsquo;never see in all her life such
a&mdash;oh such a angel of a gentleman as Mr. Harvey&rsquo;&mdash;and
the other, that she &lsquo;can&rsquo;t tell how it is, but it don&rsquo;t
seem a bit like a work-a-day, or a Sunday neither&mdash;it&rsquo;s all
so unsettled and unregular.&rsquo;</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE FORMAL COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The formal couple are the most prim, cold, immovable, and unsatisfactory
people on the face of the earth.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>Everything with the formal couple resolves itself into a matter of
form.&nbsp; They don&rsquo;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,&mdash;not due to your position,
but to theirs.&nbsp; If one of a friend&rsquo;s children die, the formal
couple are as sure and punctual in sending to the house as the undertaker;
if a friend&rsquo;s family be increased, the monthly nurse is not more
attentive than they.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp;
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.</p>
<p>&lsquo;What kind of funeral was it?&rsquo; says the formal lady,
when he returns home.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh!&rsquo; replies the formal gentleman,
&lsquo;there never was such a gross and disgusting impropriety; there
were no feathers.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;No feathers!&rsquo; cries the
lady, as if on wings of black feathers dead people fly to Heaven, and,
lacking them, they must of necessity go elsewhere.&nbsp; Her husband
shakes his head; and further adds, that they had seed-cake instead of
plum-cake, and that it was all white wine.&nbsp; &lsquo;All white wine!&rsquo;
exclaims his wife.&nbsp; &lsquo;Nothing but sherry and madeira,&rsquo;
says the husband.&nbsp; &lsquo;What! no port?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Not
a drop.&rsquo;&nbsp; No port, no plums, and no feathers!&nbsp; &lsquo;You
will recollect, my dear,&rsquo; says the formal lady, in a voice of
stately reproof, &lsquo;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.&nbsp; 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 <i>there</i> again.&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;My dear,&rsquo; replies the formal gentleman, &lsquo;I never
will.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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&rsquo;s feelings <i>are</i> made
of, and what their notions of propriety <i>can</i> be!</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; Perhaps
this is their chief reason for absenting themselves almost entirely
from places of public amusement.&nbsp; They go sometimes to the Exhibition
of the Royal Academy;&mdash;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.</p>
<p>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&mdash;and very
likely dried also&mdash;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.&nbsp; It was at supper-time
that this gentleman came out in full force.&nbsp; We&mdash;being of
a grave and quiet demeanour&mdash;had been chosen to escort the formal
lady down-stairs, and, sitting beside her, had a favourable opportunity
of observing her emotions.</p>
<p>We have a shrewd suspicion that, in the very beginning, and in the
first blush&mdash;literally the first blush&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s mother,&mdash;certain
we are that then the formal lady took the alarm, and recoiled from the
old gentleman as from a hoary profligate.&nbsp; Still she bore it; she
fanned herself with an indignant air, but still she bore it.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE LOVING COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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&mdash;for by her own count she has never since grown five
years older&mdash;to be a perfect model of wedded felicity.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
would suppose,&rsquo; says the romantic lady, &lsquo;that they were
lovers only just now engaged.&nbsp; Never was such happiness!&nbsp;
They are so tender, so affectionate, so attached to each other, so enamoured,
that positively nothing can be more charming!&rsquo;</p>
<p>&lsquo;Augusta, my soul,&rsquo; says Mr. Leaver.&nbsp; &lsquo;Augustus,
my life,&rsquo; replies Mrs. Leaver.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sing some little ballad,
darling,&rsquo; quoth Mr. Leaver.&nbsp; &lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t, indeed,
dearest,&rsquo; returns Mrs. Leaver.&nbsp; &lsquo;Do, my dove,&rsquo;
says Mr. Leaver.&nbsp; &lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t possibly, my love,&rsquo;
replies Mrs. Leaver; &lsquo;and it&rsquo;s very naughty of you to ask
me.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Naughty, darling!&rsquo; cries Mr. Leaver.&nbsp;
&lsquo;Yes, very naughty, and very cruel,&rsquo; returns Mrs. Leaver,
&lsquo;for you know I have a sore throat, and that to sing would give
me great pain.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re a monster, and I hate you.&nbsp; Go
away!&rsquo;&nbsp; Mrs. Leaver has said &lsquo;go away,&rsquo; 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!</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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&mdash;as indeed it did.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>It was at this time that we first recognised Mr. Leaver.&nbsp; 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, &lsquo;Pull away, number two&mdash;give
it her, number two&mdash;take a longer reach, number two&mdash;now,
number two, sir, think you&rsquo;re winning a boat.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Nor was the general consternation diminished
at this instant by the same gentleman (in the performance of an accidental
aquatic feat, termed &lsquo;catching a crab&rsquo;) plunging suddenly
backward, and displaying nothing of himself to the company, but two
violently struggling legs.&nbsp; Mrs. Leaver shrieked again several
times, and cried piteously&mdash;&lsquo;Is he dead?&nbsp; Tell me the
worst.&nbsp; Is he dead?&rsquo;</p>
<p>Now, a moment&rsquo;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, &lsquo;Is he dead? is he dead?&rsquo;
and still everybody else cried&mdash;&lsquo;No, no, no,&rsquo; 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.&nbsp; Mr. Leaver then exclaimed, &lsquo;Augustus,
my child, come to me;&rsquo; and Mr. Leaver said, &lsquo;Augusta, my
love, compose yourself, I am not injured.&rsquo;&nbsp; But Mrs. Leaver
cried again more piteously than before, &lsquo;Augustus, my child, come
to me;&rsquo; 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.&nbsp; Reluctantly, Mr. Leaver went, and laid
himself down at Mrs. Leaver&rsquo;s feet, and Mrs. Leaver stooping over
him, said, &lsquo;Oh Augustus, how could you terrify me so?&rsquo; and
Mr. Leaver said, &lsquo;Augusta, my sweet, I never meant to terrify
you;&rsquo; and Mrs. Leaver said, &lsquo;You are faint, my dear;&rsquo;
and Mr. Leaver said, &lsquo;I am rather so, my love;&rsquo; and they
were very loving indeed under Mrs. Leaver&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>Mrs. Starling, who was one of the party, was perfectly delighted
with this scene, and frequently murmured half-aside, &lsquo;What a loving
couple you are!&rsquo; or &lsquo;How delightful it is to see man and
wife so happy together!&rsquo;&nbsp; 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!&nbsp; To all this we answered
&lsquo;Certainly,&rsquo; or &lsquo;Very true,&rsquo; or merely sighed,
as the case might be.&nbsp; At every new act of the loving couple, the
widow&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; At dinner, too, Mr.
Leaver <i>would</i> steal Mrs. Leaver&rsquo;s tongue, and Mrs. Leaver
<i>would</i> retaliate upon Mr. Leaver&rsquo;s fowl; and when Mrs. Leaver
was going to take some lobster salad, Mr. Leaver wouldn&rsquo;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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; This Mrs. Leaver&rsquo;s feelings
could not brook, even in jest, and consequently, exclaiming aloud, &lsquo;He
loves me not, he loves me not!&rsquo; 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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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&mdash;an opinion which the widow subsequently
confirmed.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
Very few of the party missed the loving couple; and the few who did,
heartily congratulated each other on their disappearance.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE CONTRADICTORY COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>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?</p>
<p>The contradictory couple agree in nothing but contradiction.&nbsp;
They return home from Mrs. Bluebottle&rsquo;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:</p>
<p>&lsquo;What a very extraordinary thing it is,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;that
you <i>will</i> contradict, Charlotte!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;<i>I</i>
contradict!&rsquo; cries the lady, &lsquo;but that&rsquo;s just like
you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;What&rsquo;s like me?&rsquo; says the gentleman
sharply.&nbsp; &lsquo;Saying that I contradict you,&rsquo; replies the
lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;Do you mean to say that you do <i>not</i> contradict
me?&rsquo; retorts the gentleman; &lsquo;do you mean to say that you
have not been contradicting me the whole of this day?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Do
you mean to tell me now, that you have not?&nbsp; I mean to tell you
nothing of the kind,&rsquo; replies the lady quietly; &lsquo;when you
are wrong, of course I shall contradict you.&rsquo;</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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&mdash;and does so.</p>
<p>&lsquo;I do believe,&rsquo; he says, taking the spoon out of his
glass, and tossing it on the table, &lsquo;that of all the obstinate,
positive, wrong-headed creatures that were ever born, you are the most
so, Charlotte.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Certainly, certainly, have it your
own way, pray.&nbsp; You see how much <i>I</i> contradict you,&rsquo;
rejoins the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;Of course, you didn&rsquo;t contradict
me at dinner-time&mdash;oh no, not you!&rsquo; says the gentleman.&nbsp;
&lsquo;Yes, I did,&rsquo; says the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh, you did,&rsquo;
cries the gentleman &lsquo;you admit that?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;If you
call that contradiction, I do,&rsquo; the lady answers; &lsquo;and I
say again, Edward, that when I know you are wrong, I will contradict
you.&nbsp; I am not your slave.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Not my slave!&rsquo;
repeats the gentleman bitterly; &lsquo;and you still mean to say that
in the Blackburns&rsquo; new house there are not more than fourteen
doors, including the door of the wine-cellar!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I
mean to say,&rsquo; retorts the lady, beating time with her hair-brush
on the palm of her hand, &lsquo;that in that house there are fourteen
doors and no more.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well then&mdash;&rsquo; cries
the gentleman, rising in despair, and pacing the room with rapid strides.&nbsp;
&lsquo;By G-, this is enough to destroy a man&rsquo;s intellect, and
drive him mad!&rsquo;</p>
<p>By and by the gentleman comes-to a little, and passing his hand gloomily
across his forehead, reseats himself in his former chair.&nbsp; There
is a long silence, and this time the lady begins.&nbsp; &lsquo;I appealed
to Mr. Jenkins, who sat next to me on the sofa in the drawing-room during
tea&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Morgan, you mean,&rsquo; interrupts the
gentleman.&nbsp; &lsquo;I do not mean anything of the kind,&rsquo; answers
the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;Now, by all that is aggravating and impossible
to bear,&rsquo; cries the gentleman, clenching his hands and looking
upwards in agony, &lsquo;she is going to insist upon it that Morgan
is Jenkins!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Do you take me for a perfect fool?&rsquo;
exclaims the lady; &lsquo;do you suppose I don&rsquo;t know the one
from the other?&nbsp; Do you suppose I don&rsquo;t know that the man
in the blue coat was Mr. Jenkins?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Jenkins in a blue
coat!&rsquo; cries the gentleman with a groan; &lsquo;Jenkins in a blue
coat! a man who would suffer death rather than wear anything but brown!&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;Do you dare to charge me with telling an untruth?&rsquo; demands
the lady, bursting into tears.&nbsp; &lsquo;I charge you, ma&rsquo;am,&rsquo;
retorts the gentleman, starting up, &lsquo;with being a monster of contradiction,
a monster of aggravation, a&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;Jenkins in a blue
coat!&mdash;what have I done that I should be doomed to hear such statements!&rsquo;</p>
<p>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,
&lsquo;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!&rsquo;</p>
<p>If the contradictory couple are blessed with children, they are not
the less contradictory on that account.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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, &lsquo;Yes, she
should think she was, for Mrs. Parsons is a very tall lady indeed; quite
a giantess.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;For Heaven&rsquo;s sake, Charlotte,&rsquo;
cries her husband, &lsquo;do not tell the child such preposterous nonsense.&nbsp;
Six feet high!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; replies the lady, &lsquo;surely
I may be permitted to have an opinion; my opinion is, that she is six
feet high&mdash;at least six feet.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Now you know,
Charlotte,&rsquo; retorts the gentleman sternly, &lsquo;that that is
<i>not</i> your opinion&mdash;that you have no such idea&mdash;and that
you only say this for the sake of contradiction.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You
are exceedingly polite,&rsquo; his wife replies; &lsquo;to be wrong
about such a paltry question as anybody&rsquo;s height, would be no
great crime; but I say again, that I believe Mrs. Parsons to be six
feet&mdash;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.&rsquo;&nbsp;
This taunt disposes the gentleman to become violent, but he cheeks himself,
and is content to mutter, in a haughty tone, &lsquo;Six feet&mdash;ha!
ha!&nbsp; Mrs. Parsons six feet!&rsquo; and the lady answers, &lsquo;Yes,
six feet.&nbsp; I am sure I am glad you are amused, and I&rsquo;ll say
it again&mdash;six feet.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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&rsquo;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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE COUPLE WHO DOTE UPON THEIR CHILDREN</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The couple who dote upon their children have usually a great many
of them: six or eight at least.&nbsp; The children are either the healthiest
in all the world, or the most unfortunate in existence.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;
friends.</p>
<p>The couple who dote upon their children recognise no dates but those
connected with their births, accidents, illnesses, or remarkable deeds.&nbsp;
They keep a mental almanack with a vast number of Innocents&rsquo;-days,
all in red letters.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>As we have already intimated, the children of this couple can know
no medium.&nbsp; They are either prodigies of good health or prodigies
of bad health; whatever they are, they must be prodigies.&nbsp; Mr.
Whiffler must have to describe at his office such excruciating agonies
constantly undergone by his eldest boy, as nobody else&rsquo;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.&nbsp; His children must be,
in some respect or other, above and beyond the children of all other
people.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
But perhaps this may be an extreme case, and one not justly entitled
to be considered as a precedent of general application.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; The
slightest remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering
recollections of the twins.&nbsp; It is impossible to steer clear of
them.&nbsp; They will come uppermost, let the poor man do what he may.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; Nothing can keep down the twins.</p>
<p>&lsquo;It&rsquo;s a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,&rsquo; says
Mr. Whiffler to the visitor, &lsquo;but&mdash;you have seen our little
babies, the&mdash;the&mdash;twins?&rsquo;&nbsp; The friend&rsquo;s heart
sinks within him as he answers, &lsquo;Oh, yes&mdash;often.&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;Your talking of the Pyramids,&rsquo; says Mr. Whiffler, quite
as a matter of course, &lsquo;reminds me of the twins.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
a very extraordinary thing about those babies&mdash;what colour should
you say their eyes were?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Upon my word,&rsquo; the
friend stammers, &lsquo;I hardly know how to answer&rsquo;&mdash;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.&nbsp; &lsquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t say they were red,
I suppose?&rsquo; says Mr. Whiffler.&nbsp; The friend hesitates, and
rather thinks they are; but inferring from the expression of Mr. Whiffler&rsquo;s
face that red is not the colour, smiles with some confidence, and says,
&lsquo;No, no! very different from that.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;What should
you say to blue?&rsquo; says Mr. Whiffler.&nbsp; The friend glances
at him, and observing a different expression in his face, ventures to
say, &lsquo;I should say they <i>were</i> blue&mdash;a decided blue.&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;To be sure!&rsquo; cries Mr. Whiffler, triumphantly, &lsquo;I
knew you would!&nbsp; But what should you say if I was to tell you that
the boy&rsquo;s eyes are blue and the girl&rsquo;s hazel, eh?&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;Impossible!&rsquo; exclaims the friend, not at all knowing why
it should be impossible.&nbsp; &lsquo;A fact, notwithstanding,&rsquo;
cries Mr. Whiffler; &lsquo;and let me tell you, Saunders, <i>that&rsquo;s</i>
not a common thing in twins, or a circumstance that&rsquo;ll happen
every day.&rsquo;</p>
<p>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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s if he had heard it anywhere.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;s wit and Dick&rsquo;s wit, from which it appears
that Dick&rsquo;s humour is of a lively turn, while Tom&rsquo;s style
is the dry and caustic.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; As the whole
eight are screaming, shouting, or kicking&mdash;some influenced by a
ravenous appetite, some by a horror of the stranger, and some by a conflict
of the two feelings&mdash;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.&nbsp; At length Mrs. Whiffler is heard to say,
&lsquo;Mr. Saunders, shall I give you some pudding?&rsquo;&nbsp; A breathless
silence ensues, and sixteen small eyes are fixed upon the guest in expectation
of his reply.&nbsp; A wild shout of joy proclaims that he has said &lsquo;No,
thank you.&rsquo;&nbsp; Spoons are waved in the air, legs appear above
the table-cloth in uncontrollable ecstasy, and eighty short fingers
dabble in damson syrup.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;s eyes, or Dick&rsquo;s chin, or
Ned&rsquo;s nose, or Mary Anne&rsquo;s hair, or Emily&rsquo;s figure,
or little Bob&rsquo;s calves, or Fanny&rsquo;s mouth, or Carry&rsquo;s
head, as the case may be.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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 &lsquo;is a naughty beast;&rsquo; and Dick, who having
drunk his father&rsquo;s wine when he was looking another way, is found
to be intoxicated and is carried out, very limp and helpless.</p>
<p>Mr. Whiffler and his friend are left alone together, but Mr. Whiffler&rsquo;s
thoughts are still with his family, if his family are not with him.&nbsp;
&lsquo;Saunders,&rsquo; says he, after a short silence, &lsquo;if you
please, we&rsquo;ll drink Mrs. Whiffler and the children.&rsquo;&nbsp;
Mr. Saunders feels this to be a reproach against himself for not proposing
the same sentiment, and drinks it in some confusion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;
Mr. Whiffler sighs, &lsquo;these children, Saunders, make one quite
an old man.&rsquo;&nbsp; Mr. Saunders thinks that if they were his,
they would make him a very old man; but he says nothing.&nbsp; &lsquo;And
yet,&rsquo; pursues Mr. Whiffler, &lsquo;what can equal domestic happiness?
what can equal the engaging ways of children!&nbsp; Saunders, why don&rsquo;t
you get married?&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am glad, however,&rsquo; says Mr. Whiffler,
&lsquo;that you <i>are</i> a bachelor,&mdash;glad on one account, Saunders;
a selfish one, I admit.&nbsp; Will you do Mrs. Whiffler and myself a
favour?&rsquo;&nbsp; Mr. Saunders is surprised&mdash;evidently surprised;
but he replies, &lsquo;with the greatest pleasure.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Then,
will you, Saunders,&rsquo; says Mr. Whiffler, in an impressive manner,
&lsquo;will you cement and consolidate our friendship by coming into
the family (so to speak) as a godfather?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall
be proud and delighted,&rsquo; replies Mr. Saunders: &lsquo;which of
the children is it? really, I thought they were all christened; or&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;Saunders,&rsquo; Mr. Whiffler interposes, &lsquo;they <i>are</i>
all christened; you are right.&nbsp; The fact is, that Mrs. Whiffler
is&mdash;in short, we expect another.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Not a ninth!&rsquo;
cries the friend, all aghast at the idea.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, Saunders,&rsquo;
rejoins Mr. Whiffler, solemnly, &lsquo;a ninth.&nbsp; Did we drink Mrs.
Whiffler&rsquo;s health?&nbsp; Let us drink it again, Saunders, and
wish her well over it!&rsquo;</p>
<p>Doctor Johnson used to tell a story of a man who had but one idea,
which was a wrong one.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; They relate the clever things their offspring
say or do, and weary every company with their prolixity and absurdity.&nbsp;
Mr. Whiffler takes a friend by the button at a street corner on a windy
day to tell him a <i>bon mot</i> of his youngest boy&rsquo;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.&nbsp;
In such cases the sins of the fathers indeed descend upon the children;
for people soon come to regard them as predestined little bores.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Couples who
dote upon their children, therefore, are best avoided.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE COOL COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; They never seek each other&rsquo;s society,
are never elevated and depressed by the same cause, and have nothing
in common.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; If they enter into conversation,
it is usually of an ironical or recriminatory nature.&nbsp; 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, &lsquo;Well,
I am sure, Charles!&nbsp; I hope you&rsquo;re comfortable.&rsquo;&nbsp;
To which the gentleman replies, &lsquo;Oh yes, he&rsquo;s quite comfortable
quite.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;There are not many married men, I hope,&rsquo;
returns the lady, &lsquo;who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications
as you do.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Nor many wives who seek comfort in such
selfish gratifications as <i>you</i> do, I hope,&rsquo; retorts the
gentleman.&nbsp; &lsquo;Whose fault is that?&rsquo; demands the lady.&nbsp;
The gentleman becoming more sleepy, returns no answer.&nbsp; &lsquo;Whose
fault is that?&rsquo; the lady repeats.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;s gratification or pleasure beyond
her own fireside as she.&nbsp; 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,
&lsquo;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!&rsquo;&nbsp;
She supposes her papa knew what her disposition was&mdash;he had known
her long enough&mdash;he ought to have been acquainted with it, but
what can she do?&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then come, Louisa,&rsquo; says the gentleman,
waking up as suddenly as he fell asleep, &lsquo;stop at home this evening,
and so will I.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I should be sorry to suppose, Charles,
that you took a pleasure in aggravating me,&rsquo; replies the lady;
&lsquo;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.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah! there
it is!&rsquo; says the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders, &lsquo;I
knew that perfectly well.&nbsp; I knew you couldn&rsquo;t devote an
evening to your own home.&nbsp; Now all I have to say, Louisa, is this&mdash;recollect
that <i>I</i> was quite willing to stay at home, and that it&rsquo;s
no fault of <i>mine</i> we are not oftener together.&rsquo;</p>
<p>With that the gentleman goes away to keep an old appointment at his
club, and the lady hurries off to dress for Mrs. Mortimer&rsquo;s; and
neither thinks of the other until by some odd chance they find themselves
alone again.</p>
<p>But it must not be supposed that the cool couple are habitually a
quarrelsome one.&nbsp; Quite the contrary.&nbsp; These differences are
only occasions for a little self-excuse,&mdash;nothing more.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>When they meet in society, the cool couple are the best-bred people
in existence.&nbsp; The lady is seated in a corner among a little knot
of lady friends, one of whom exclaims, &lsquo;Why, I vow and declare
there is your husband, my dear!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Whose?&mdash;mine?&rsquo;
she says, carelessly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ay, yours, and coming this way too.&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;How very odd!&rsquo; says the lady, in a languid tone, &lsquo;I
thought he had been at Dover.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
&lsquo;What a strange creature you are!&rsquo; cries his wife; &lsquo;and
what on earth brought you here, I wonder?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I came
to look after you, <i>of course</i>,&rsquo; rejoins her husband.&nbsp;
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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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,&mdash;&lsquo;I
am sure I never interfere with him, and why should he interfere with
me?&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; It&rsquo;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.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>Thus a great many cool couples go on until they are cold couples,
and the grave has closed over their folly and indifference.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE PLAUSIBLE COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The plausible couple have many titles.&nbsp; They are &lsquo;a delightful
couple,&rsquo; an &lsquo;affectionate couple,&rsquo; &lsquo;a most agreeable
couple, &lsquo;a good-hearted couple,&rsquo; and &lsquo;the best-natured
couple in existence.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>&lsquo;But is it really possible to please the world!&rsquo; says
some doubting reader.&nbsp; It is indeed.&nbsp; Nay, it is not only
very possible, but very easy.&nbsp; The ways are crooked, and sometimes
foul and low.&nbsp; What then?&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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 <i>and</i> woman, or, in
other words, a plausible couple, playing into each other&rsquo;s hands,
and acting in concert, have a manifest advantage.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>The plausible couple are the most ecstatic people living: the most
sensitive people&mdash;to merit&mdash;on the face of the earth.&nbsp;
Nothing clever or virtuous escapes them.&nbsp; They have microscopic
eyes for such endowments, and can find them anywhere.&nbsp; The plausible
couple never fawn&mdash;oh no!&nbsp; They don&rsquo;t even scruple to
tell their friends of their faults.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; &lsquo;We never flatter, my dear Mrs. Jackson,&rsquo;
say the plausible couple; &lsquo;we speak our minds.&nbsp; Neither you
nor Mr. Jackson have faults enough.&nbsp; It may sound strangely, but
it is true.&nbsp; You have not faults enough.&nbsp; You know our way,&mdash;we
must speak out, and always do.&nbsp; Quarrel with us for saying so,
if you will; but we repeat it,&mdash;you have not faults enough!&rsquo;</p>
<p>The plausible couple are no less plausible to each other than to
third parties.&nbsp; They are always loving and harmonious.&nbsp; The
plausible gentleman calls his wife &lsquo;darling,&rsquo; and the plausible
lady addresses him as &lsquo;dearest.&rsquo;&nbsp; If it be Mr. and
Mrs. Bobtail Widger, Mrs. Widger is &lsquo;Lavinia, darling,&rsquo;
and Mr. Widger is &lsquo;Bobtail, dearest.&rsquo;&nbsp; Speaking of
each other, they observe the same tender form.&nbsp; Mrs. Widger relates
what &lsquo;Bobtail&rsquo; said, and Mr. Widger recounts what &lsquo;darling&rsquo;
thought and did.</p>
<p>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&mdash;she
must not tell you in what terms, or you will take her for a flatterer.&nbsp;
You admit a knowledge of the Clickits; the plausible lady immediately
launches out in their praise.&nbsp; She quite loves the Clickits.&nbsp;
Were there ever such true-hearted, hospitable, excellent people&mdash;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?&nbsp; &lsquo;As who, darling?&rsquo;
cries Mr. Widger, from the opposite side of the table.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
Clickits, dearest,&rsquo; replies Mrs. Widger.&nbsp; &lsquo;Indeed you
are right, darling,&rsquo; Mr. Widger rejoins; &lsquo;the Clickits are
a very high-minded, worthy, estimable couple.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; &lsquo;<i>You</i> know the Clickits,
Mrs. Jackson?&rsquo; he says, addressing the lady of the house.&nbsp;
&lsquo;No, indeed; we have not that pleasure,&rsquo; she replies.&nbsp;
&lsquo;You astonish me!&rsquo; exclaims Mr. Widger: &lsquo;not know
the Clickits! why, you are the very people of all others who ought to
be their bosom friends.&nbsp; You are kindred beings; you are one and
the same thing:- not know the Clickits!&nbsp; Now <i>will</i> you know
the Clickits?&nbsp; Will you make a point of knowing them?&nbsp; Will
you meet them in a friendly way at our house one evening, and be acquainted
with them?&rsquo;&nbsp; Mrs. Jackson will be quite delighted; nothing
would give her more pleasure.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then, Lavinia, my darling,&rsquo;
says Mr. Widger, &lsquo;mind you don&rsquo;t lose sight of that; now,
pray take care that Mr. and Mrs. Jackson know the Clickits without loss
of time.&nbsp; Such people ought not to be strangers to each other.&rsquo;&nbsp;
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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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;&mdash;Fithers,
it is to be observed, being present and within hearing, and Slummery
elsewhere.&nbsp; Is Mrs. Tabblewick really as beautiful as people say?&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;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,&mdash;very like
our friend, in fact, in the form of the features,&mdash;but in point
of expression, and soul, and figure, and air altogether&mdash;oh dear!</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh dear!&rsquo; cries the plausible lady, &lsquo;you
cannot think how often Bobtail and I have talked about poor Mrs. Finching&mdash;she
is such a dear soul, and was so anxious that the baby should be a fine
child&mdash;and very naturally, because she was very much here at one
time, and there is, you know, a natural emulation among mothers&mdash;that
it is impossible to tell you how much we have felt for her.&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;Is it weak or plain, or what?&rsquo; inquires the other.&nbsp;
&lsquo;Weak or plain, my love,&rsquo; returns the plausible lady, &lsquo;it&rsquo;s
a fright&mdash;a perfect little fright; you never saw such a miserable
creature in all your days.&nbsp; Positively you must not let her see
one of these beautiful dears again, or you&rsquo;ll break her heart,
you will indeed.&mdash;Heaven bless this child, see how she is looking
in my face! can you conceive anything prettier than that?&nbsp; If poor
Mrs. Finching could only hope&mdash;but that&rsquo;s impossible&mdash;and
the gifts of Providence, you know&mdash;What <i>did</i> I do with my
pocket-handkerchief!&rsquo;</p>
<p>What prompts the mother, who dotes upon her children, to comment
to her lord that evening on the plausible lady&rsquo;s engaging qualities
and feeling heart, and what is it that procures Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail
Widger an immediate invitation to dinner?</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE NICE LITTLE COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup are the nice little couple in question.&nbsp;
Mr. Chirrup has the smartness, and something of the brisk, quick manner
of a small bird.&nbsp; Mrs. Chirrup is the prettiest of all little women,
and has the prettiest little figure conceivable.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; She is a
condensation of all the domestic virtues,&mdash;a pocket edition of
the young man&rsquo;s best companion,&mdash;a little woman at a very
high pressure, with an amazing quantity of goodness and usefulness in
an exceedingly small space.&nbsp; 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&mdash;if, in the presence of ladies,
we may be allowed the expression&mdash;and of corresponding robustness.</p>
<p>Nobody knows all this better than Mr. Chirrup, though he rather takes
on that he don&rsquo;t.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Moreover, Mr. Chirrup has a particularly mild
and bird-like manner of calling Mrs. Chirrup &lsquo;my dear;&rsquo;
and&mdash;for he is of a jocose turn&mdash;of cutting little witticisms
upon her, and making her the subject of various harmless pleasantries,
which nobody enjoys more thoroughly than Mrs. Chirrup herself.&nbsp;
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&mdash;all of which circumstances combine to
show the secret triumph and satisfaction of Mr. Chirrup&rsquo;s soul.</p>
<p>We have already had occasion to observe that Mrs. Chirrup is an incomparable
housewife.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; She
is, besides, a cunning worker in muslin and fine linen, and a special
hand at marketing to the very best advantage.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; To Mrs. Chirrup the resolving
a goose into its smallest component parts is a pleasant pastime&mdash;a
practical joke&mdash;a thing to be done in a minute or so, without the
smallest interruption to the conversation of the time.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; The dish is set upon the table, the cover is
removed; for an instant, and only an instant, you observe that Mrs.
Chirrup&rsquo;s attention is distracted; she smiles, but heareth not.&nbsp;
You proceed with your story; meanwhile the glittering knife is slowly
upraised, both Mrs. Chirrup&rsquo;s wrists are slightly but not ungracefully
agitated, she compresses her lips for an instant, then breaks into a
smile, and all is over.&nbsp; 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!</p>
<p>To dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup is one of the pleasantest things
in the world.&nbsp; Mr. Chirrup has a bachelor friend, who lived with
him in his own days of single blessedness, and to whom he is mightily
attached.&nbsp; Contrary to the usual custom, this bachelor friend is
no less a friend of Mrs. Chirrup&rsquo;s, and, consequently, whenever
you dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup, you meet the bachelor friend.&nbsp;
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&rsquo;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.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>However, this is no business of Mr. Chirrup&rsquo;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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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 &lsquo;Good night,&rsquo; 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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;t know, but as a general rule,&mdash;strengthened
like all other rules by its exceptions,&mdash;we hold that little people
are sprightly and good-natured.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE EGOTISTICAL COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Egotism in couples is of two kinds.&mdash;It is our purpose to show
this by two examples.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; There is no outward sign by which an egotistical couple
may be known and avoided.&nbsp; They come upon you unawares; there is
no guarding against them.&nbsp; No man can of himself be forewarned
or forearmed against an egotistical couple.</p>
<p>The egotistical couple have undergone every calamity, and experienced
every pleasurable and painful sensation of which our nature is susceptible.&nbsp;
You cannot by possibility tell the egotistical couple anything they
don&rsquo;t know, or describe to them anything they have not felt.&nbsp;
They have been everything but dead.&nbsp; Sometimes we are tempted to
wish they had been even that, but only in our uncharitable moments,
which are few and far between.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; The inquiry was of course
touching the lady&rsquo;s health, and the answer happened to be, that
she had not been very well.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh, my dear!&rsquo; said the
egotistical lady, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t talk of not being well.&nbsp; We
have been in <i>such</i> a state since we saw you last!&rsquo;&mdash;The
lady of the house happening to remark that her lord had not been well
either, the egotistical gentleman struck in: &lsquo;Never let Briggs
complain of not being well&mdash;never let Briggs complain, my dear
Mrs. Briggs, after what I have undergone within these six weeks.&nbsp;
He doesn&rsquo;t know what it is to be ill, he hasn&rsquo;t the least
idea of it; not the faintest conception.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;My dear,&rsquo;
interposed his wife smiling, &lsquo;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.&rsquo;&mdash;&lsquo;My
love,&rsquo; returned the egotistical gentleman, in a low and pious
voice, &lsquo;you mistake me;&mdash;I feel grateful&mdash;very grateful.&nbsp;
I trust our friends may never purchase their experience as dearly as
we have bought ours; I hope they never may!&rsquo;</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
&lsquo;Who, my dear?&rsquo; returned the egotistical lady, &lsquo;why
Sir Chipkins, of course; how can you ask!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;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?&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;To be sure, I remember that,&rsquo; said the egotistical gentleman,
&lsquo;but are you quite certain that didn&rsquo;t apply to the other
anecdote about the Emperor of Austria and the pump?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Upon
my word then, I think it did,&rsquo; replied his wife.&nbsp; &lsquo;To
be sure it did,&rsquo; said the egotistical gentleman, &lsquo;it was
Slang&rsquo;s story, I remember now, perfectly.&rsquo;&nbsp; However,
it turned out, a few seconds afterwards, that the egotistical gentleman&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp;
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&rsquo;s grandfather sat upon his right hand and was the first
man who collared him; and that the egotistical lady&rsquo;s aunt, sitting
within a few boxes of the royal party, was the only person in the audience
who heard his Majesty exclaim, &lsquo;Charlotte, Charlotte, don&rsquo;t
be frightened, don&rsquo;t be frightened; they&rsquo;re letting off
squibs, they&rsquo;re letting off squibs.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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&mdash;&lsquo;It&rsquo;s the House of Lords!&rsquo;&nbsp;
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&rsquo;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&mdash;slightly
casting up his eyes to the top of the Monument&mdash;&lsquo;There&rsquo;s
a boy up there, my dear, reading a Bible.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s very strange.&nbsp;
I don&rsquo;t like it.&mdash;In five seconds afterwards, Sir,&rsquo;
says the egotistical gentleman, bringing his hands together with one
violent clap&mdash;&lsquo;the lad was over!&rsquo;</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone are an egotistical couple of another class,
for all the lady&rsquo;s egotism is about her husband, and all the gentleman&rsquo;s
about his wife.&nbsp; For example:- Mr. Sliverstone is a clerical gentleman,
and occasionally writes sermons, as clerical gentlemen do.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; So you
are led up-stairs&mdash;still on tip-toe&mdash;to the door of a little
back room, in which, as the lady informs you in a whisper, Mr. Sliverstone
always writes.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; At first he is too much absorbed to be roused
by this intrusion; but presently looking up, says faintly, &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;
and pointing to his desk with a weary and languid smile, extends his
hand, and hopes you&rsquo;ll forgive him.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;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.&nbsp;
Unto this Mr. Sliverstone replies firmly, that &lsquo;It must be done;&rsquo;
which agonizes Mrs. Sliverstone still more, and she goes on to tell
you that such were Mr. Sliverstone&rsquo;s labours last week&mdash;what
with the buryings, marryings, churchings, christenings, and all together,&mdash;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.&nbsp; Mr. Sliverstone, who has been listening and smiling
meekly, says, &lsquo;Not quite so bad as that, not quite so bad!&rsquo;
he admits though, on cross-examination, that he <i>was</i> 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.</p>
<p>This sentiment communicates new impulse to Mrs. Sliverstone, who
launches into new praises of Mr. Sliverstone&rsquo;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&mdash;&lsquo;Not
seventy-two christenings that week, my dear.&nbsp; Only seventy-one,
only seventy-one.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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?&nbsp; Is it he alone
who toils and suffers?&nbsp; What has she gone through, he should like
to know?&nbsp; What does she go through every day for him and for society?</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp;
The more hearers they have, the more egotistical the couple become,
and the more anxious they are to make believers in their merits.&nbsp;
Perhaps this is the worst kind of egotism.&nbsp; It has not even the
poor excuse of being spontaneous, but is the result of a deliberate
system and malice aforethought.&nbsp; Mere empty-headed conceit excites
our pity, but ostentatious hypocrisy awakens our disgust.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE COUPLE WHO CODDLE THEMSELVES</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Mrs. Merrywinkle&rsquo;s maiden name was Chopper.&nbsp; She was the
only child of Mr. and Mrs. Chopper.&nbsp; Her father died when she was,
as the play-books express it, &lsquo;yet an infant;&rsquo; 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.</p>
<p>Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and
the venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider and abettor in the same.</p>
<p>Mr. Merrywinkle is a rather lean and long-necked gentleman, middle-aged
and middle-sized, and usually troubled with a cold in the head.&nbsp;
Mrs. Merrywinkle is a delicate-looking lady, with very light hair, and
is exceedingly subject to the same unpleasant disorder.&nbsp; The venerable
Mrs. Chopper&mdash;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&mdash;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, &lsquo;That&rsquo;s my complaint.&rsquo;&nbsp; Indeed, the absence
of authentic information upon the subject of this complaint would seem
to be Mrs. Chopper&rsquo;s greatest ill, as in all other respects she
is an uncommonly hale and hearty gentlewoman.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>Mr. Merrywinkle&rsquo;s leaving home to go to business on a damp
or wet morning is a very elaborate affair.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Besides these
precautions, he winds a thick shawl round his throat, and blocks up
his mouth with a large silk handkerchief.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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, &lsquo;has really got to that pitch that it is
quite unbearable.&rsquo;</p>
<p>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.&nbsp;
If anybody happens to call, Mrs. Merrywinkle opines that they must assuredly
be mad, and her first salutation is, &lsquo;Why, what in the name of
goodness can bring you out in such weather?&nbsp; You know you <i>must</i>
catch your death.&rsquo;&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;s name is inseparably connected with his complaints,
and his complaints are inseparably connected with Mrs. Merrywinkle&rsquo;s;
and when these are done with, Mrs. Chopper, who has been biding her
time, cuts in with the chronic disorder&mdash;a subject upon which the
amiable old lady never leaves off speaking until she is left alone,
and very often not then.</p>
<p>But Mr. Merrywinkle comes home to dinner.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Now, the dinner
is always a good one, the appetites of the diners being delicate, and
requiring a little of what Mrs. Merrywinkle calls &lsquo;tittivation;&rsquo;
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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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
&lsquo;to keep that draught out,&rsquo; 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.</p>
<p>Supper, coming after dinner, should consist of some gentle provocative;
and therefore the tittivating art is again in requisition, and again&mdash;done
honour to by Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, still comforted and abetted by
Mrs. Chopper.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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,&mdash;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,&mdash;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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE OLD COUPLE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>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.&nbsp; Is this the lightsome
pair whose wedding was so merry, and have the young couple indeed grown
old so soon!</p>
<p>It seems but yesterday&mdash;and yet what a host of cares and griefs
are crowded into the intervening time which, reckoned by them, lengthens
out into a century!&nbsp; How many new associations have wreathed themselves
about their hearts since then!&nbsp; The old time is gone, and a new
time has come for others&mdash;not for them.&nbsp; They are but the
rusting link that feebly joins the two, and is silently loosening its
hold and dropping asunder.</p>
<p>It seems but yesterday&mdash;and yet three of their children have
sunk into the grave, and the tree that shades it has grown quite old.&nbsp;
One was an infant&mdash;they wept for him; the next a girl, a slight
young thing too delicate for earth&mdash;her loss was hard indeed to
bear.&nbsp; The third, a man.&nbsp; That was the worst of all, but even
that grief is softened now.</p>
<p>It seems but yesterday&mdash;and yet how the gay and laughing faces
of that bright morning have changed and vanished from above ground!&nbsp;
Faint likenesses of some remain about them yet, but they are very faint
and scarcely to be traced.&nbsp; The rest are only seen in dreams, and
even they are unlike what they were, in eyes so old and dim.</p>
<p>One or two dresses from the bridal wardrobe are yet preserved.&nbsp;
They are of a quaint and antique fashion, and seldom seen except in
pictures.&nbsp; White has turned yellow, and brighter hues have faded.&nbsp;
Do you wonder, child?&nbsp; The wrinkled face was once as smooth as
yours, the eyes as bright, the shrivelled skin as fair and delicate.&nbsp;
It is the work of hands that have been dust these many years.</p>
<p>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?&nbsp; Let yonder peevish bachelor, racked
by rheumatic pains, and quarrelling with the world, let him answer to
the question.&nbsp; He recollects something of a favourite playmate;
her name was Lucy&mdash;so they tell him.&nbsp; He is not sure whether
she was married, or went abroad, or died.&nbsp; It is a long while ago,
and he don&rsquo;t remember.</p>
<p>Is nothing as it used to be; does no one feel, or think, or act,
as in days of yore?&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; There is an aged woman who once
lived servant with the old lady&rsquo;s father, and is sheltered in
an alms-house not far off.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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&mdash;quite
happy.</p>
<p>If ever her attachment to her old protectors were disturbed by fresher
cares and hopes, it has long since resumed its former current.&nbsp;
It has filled the void in the poor creature&rsquo;s heart, and replaced
the love of kindred.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; Does she remember the marriage of great-grandmamma?&nbsp;
Ay, that she does, as well&mdash;as if it was only yesterday.&nbsp;
You wouldn&rsquo;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&rsquo;d wish to see.&nbsp; She recollects she took a friend of hers
up-stairs to see Miss Emma dressed for church; her name was&mdash;ah!
she forgets the name, but she remembers that she was a very pretty girl,
and that she married not long afterwards, and lived&mdash;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.&nbsp;
Dear, dear, in Lambeth workhouse!</p>
<p>And the old couple&mdash;have they no comfort or enjoyment of existence?&nbsp;
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&mdash;how the old gentleman chuckles over
boyish feats and roguish tricks, and tells long stories of a &lsquo;barring-out&rsquo;
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&mdash;especially when he kissed the
master&rsquo;s niece.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; So the old gentleman gets no further, and what the
schoolmaster&rsquo;s niece said afterwards (which he is always going
to tell) is lost to posterity.</p>
<p>The old gentleman is eighty years old, to-day&mdash;&lsquo;Eighty
years old, Crofts, and never had a headache,&rsquo; he tells the barber
who shaves him (the barber being a young fellow, and very subject to
that complaint).&nbsp; &lsquo;That&rsquo;s a great age, Crofts,&rsquo;
says the old gentleman.&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think it&rsquo;s
sich a wery great age, Sir,&rsquo; replied the barber.&nbsp; &lsquo;Crofts,&rsquo;
rejoins the old gentleman, &lsquo;you&rsquo;re talking nonsense to me.&nbsp;
Eighty not a great age?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a wery great
age, Sir, for a gentleman to be as healthy and active as you are,&rsquo;
returns the barber; &lsquo;but my grandfather, Sir, he was ninety-four.&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;You don&rsquo;t mean that, Crofts?&rsquo; says the old gentleman.&nbsp;
&lsquo;I do indeed, Sir,&rsquo; retorts the barber, &lsquo;and as wiggerous
as Julius Caesar, my grandfather was.&rsquo;&nbsp; The old gentleman
muses a little time, and then says, &lsquo;What did he die of, Crofts?&rsquo;&nbsp;
&lsquo;He died accidentally, Sir,&rsquo; returns the barber; &lsquo;he
didn&rsquo;t mean to do it.&nbsp; He always would go a running about
the streets&mdash;walking never satisfied <i>his</i> spirit&mdash;and
he run against a post and died of a hurt in his chest.&rsquo;&nbsp;
The old gentleman says no more until the shaving is concluded, and then
he gives Crofts half-a-crown to drink his health.&nbsp; He is a little
doubtful of the barber&rsquo;s veracity afterwards, and telling the
anecdote to the old lady, affects to make very light of it&mdash;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.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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&rsquo;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.&nbsp; The old couple&rsquo;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&rsquo;t come at all easily out of small pockets.&nbsp; 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&rsquo;ll
be de&rsquo;ed if he doesn&rsquo;t think he looks younger than he did
ten years ago.</p>
<p>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&mdash;the
glasses being filled, and everybody ready to drink the toast&mdash;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.&nbsp; 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!</p>
<p>The old couple sit side by side, and the old time seems like yesterday
indeed.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>CONCLUSION</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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&mdash;how
much of it may have been lost already, and how much more in danger of
vanishing every day&mdash;are questions too weighty for discussion here,
but well deserving a little serious consideration from all young couples
nevertheless.</p>
<p>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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp;
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&rsquo;s nature
to that of tens of thousands of her humble subjects, and guards in her
woman&rsquo;s heart one secret store of tenderness, whose proudest boast
shall be that it knows no Royalty save Nature&rsquo;s own, and no pride
of birth but being the child of heaven!</p>
<p>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 -</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>GOD BLESS THEM.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES ***</p>
<pre>

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