Sketches of Young Couples................................................................................................................................1

There is to be a wedding this morning at the corner house in the terrace. The pastrycook's people have been

there halfadozen times already; all day yesterday there was a great stir and bustle, and they were up this

morning as soon as it was light. Miss Emma Fielding is going to be married to young Mr. Harvey.

Heaven alone can tell in what bright colours this marriage is painted upon the mind of the little housemaid at

number six, who has hardly slept a wink all night with thinking of it, and now stands on the unswept

doorsteps leaning upon her broom, and looking wistfully towards the enchanted house. Nothing short of

omniscience can divine what visions of the baker, or the green grocer, or the smart and most insinuating

butterman, are flitting across her mind what thoughts of how she would dress on such an occasion, if she

were a lady of how she would dress, if she were only a bride of how cook would dress, being bridesmaid,

conjointly with her sister 'in place' at Fulham, and how the clergyman, deeming them so many ladies, would

be quite humbled and respectful. What daydreams of hope and happiness of life being one perpetual

holiday, with no master and no mistress to grant or withhold it of every Sunday being a Sunday out of

pure freedom as to curls and ringlets, and no obligation to hide fine heads of hair in caps what pictures of

happiness, vast and immense to her, but utterly ridiculous to us, bewilder the brain of the little housemaid at

We smile at such things, and so we should, though perhaps for a better reason than commonly presents itself.

It should be pleasant to us to know that there are notions of happiness so moderate and limited, since upon

those who entertain them, happiness and lightness of heart are very easily bestowed.

But the little housemaid is awakened from her reverie, for forth from the door of the magical corner house

there runs towards her, all fluttering in smart new dress and streaming ribands, her friend Jane Adams, who

comes all out of breath to redeem a solemn promise of taking her in, under cover of the confusion, to see the

breakfast table spread forth in state, and sight of sights! her young mistress ready dressed for church.

And there, in good truth, when they have stolen upstairs on tip toe and edged themselves in at the

chamberdoor there is Miss Emma 'looking like the sweetest picter,' in a white chip bonnet and orange

flowers, and all other elegancies becoming a bride, (with the make, shape, and quality of every article of

which the girl is perfectly familiar in one moment, and never forgets to her dying day) and there is Miss

Emma's mamma in tears, and Miss Emma's papa comforting her, and saying how that of course she has been

long looking forward to this, and how happy she ought to be and there too is Miss Emma's sister with her

arms round her neck, and the other bridesmaid all smiles and tears, quieting the children, who would cry

more but that they are so finely dressed, and yet sob for fear sister Emma should be taken away and it is all

so affecting, that the two servantgirls cry more than anybody; and Jane Adams, sitting down upon the stairs,

when they have crept away, declares that her legs tremble so that she don't know what to do, and that she will

say for Miss Emma, that she never had a hasty word from her, and that she does hope and pray she may be

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 longnecked bottles, in the most sumptuous

and dazzling manner. In the centre, too, is the mighty charm, the cake, glistening with frosted sugar, and

garnished beautifully. They agree that there ought to be a little Cupid under one of the barleysugar temples,

or at least two hearts and an arrow; but, with this exception, there is nothing to wish for, and a table could not

be handsomer. As they arrive at this conclusion, who should come in but Mr. John! to whom Jane says that

its only Anne from number six; and John says HE knows, for he's often winked his eye down the area, which

causes Anne to blush and look confused. She is going away, indeed; when Mr. John will have it that she must

drink a glass of wine, and he says never mind it's being early in the morning, it won't hurt her: so they shut

the door and pour out the wine; and Anne drinking lane's health, and adding, 'and here's wishing you yours,

Mr. John,' drinks it in a great many sips, Mr. John all the time making jokes appropriate to the occasion. At

last Mr. John, who has waxed bolder by degrees, pleads the usage at weddings, and claims the privilege of a

kiss, which he obtains after a great scuffle; and footsteps being now heard on the stairs, they disperse

By this time a carriage has driven up to convey the bride to church, and Anne of number six prolonging the

process of 'cleaning her door,' has the satisfaction of beholding the bride and bridesmaids, and the papa and

mamma, hurry into the same and drive rapidly off. Nor is this all, for soon other carriages begin to arrive with

a posse of company all beautifully dressed, at whom she could stand and gaze for ever; but having something

And now the company have gone down to breakfast, and tears have given place to smiles, for all the corks are

out of the longnecked bottles, and their contents are disappearing rapidly. Miss Emma's papa is at the top of

the table; Miss Emma's mamma at the bottom; and beside the latter are Miss Emma herself and her husband,

admitted on all hands to be the handsomest and most interesting young couple ever known. All down both

sides of the table, too, are various young ladies, beautiful to see, and various young gentlemen who seem to

think so; and there, in a post of honour, is an unmarried aunt of Miss Emma's, reported to possess unheardof

riches, and to have expressed vast testamentary intentions respecting her favourite niece and new nephew.

This lady has been very liberal and generous already, as the jewels worn by the bride abundantly testify, but

that is nothing to what she means to do, or even to what she has done, for she put herself in close

communication with the dressmaker three months ago, and prepared a wardrobe (with some articles worked

by her own hands) fit for a Princess. People may call her an old maid, and so she may be, but she is neither

cross nor ugly for all that; on the contrary, she is very cheerful and pleasantlooking, and very kind and

tender hearted: which is no matter of surprise except to those who yield to popular prejudices without

Of all the company though, none are more pleasant to behold or better pleased with themselves than two

young children, who, in honour of the day, have seats among the guests. Of these, one is a little fellow of six

or eight years old, brother to the bride, and the other a girl of the same age, or something younger, whom he

calls 'his wife.' The real bride and bridegroom are not more devoted than they: he all love and attention, and

she all blushes and fondness, toying with a little bouquet which he gave her this morning, and placing the

scattered roseleaves in her bosom with nature's own coquettishness. They have dreamt of each other in their

quiet dreams, these children, and their little hearts have been nearly broken when the absent one has been

dispraised in jest. When will there come in afterlife a passion so earnest, generous, and true as theirs; what,

even in its gentlest realities, can have the grace and charm that hover round such fairy lovers!

By this time the merriment and happiness of the feast have gained their height; certain ominous looks begin

to be exchanged between the bridesmaids, and somehow it gets whispered about that the carriage which is to

take the young couple into the country has arrived. Such members of the party as are most disposed to

prolong its enjoyments, affect to consider this a false alarm, but it turns out too true, being speedily

confirmed, first by the retirement of the bride and a select file of intimates who are to prepare her for the

journey, and secondly by the withdrawal of the ladies generally. To this there ensues a particularly awkward

pause, in which everybody essays to be facetious, and nobody succeeds; at length the bridegroom makes a

mysterious disappearance in obedience to some equally mysterious signal; and the table is deserted.

Now, for at least six weeks last past it has been solemnly devised and settled that the young couple should go

away in secret; but they no sooner appear without the door than the drawingroom windows are blocked up

with ladies waving their handkerchiefs and kissing their hands, and the diningroom panes with gentlemen's

faces beaming farewell in every queer variety of its expression. The hall and steps are crowded with servants

in white favours, mixed up with particular friends and relations who have darted out to say goodbye; and

foremost in the group are the tiny lovers arm in arm, thinking, with fluttering hearts, what happiness it would

The bride has barely time for one hurried glance at her old home, when the steps rattle, the door slams, the

A knot of women servants still remain clustered in the hall, whispering among themselves, and there of

course is Anne from number six, who has made another escape on some plea or other, and been an admiring

witness of the departure. There are two points on which Anne expatiates over and over again, without the

smallest appearance of fatigue or intending to leave off; one is, that she 'never see in all her life such a oh

such a angel of a gentleman as Mr. Harvey' and the other, that she 'can't tell how it is, but it don't seem a bit

The formal couple are the most prim, cold, immovable, and unsatisfactory people on the face of the earth.

Their faces, voices, dress, house, furniture, walk, and manner, are all the essence of formality, unrelieved by

Everything with the formal couple resolves itself into a matter of form. They don't call upon you on your

account, but their own; not to see how you are, but to show how they are: it is not a ceremony to do honour to

you, but to themselves, not due to your position, but to theirs. If one of a friend's children die, the formal

couple are as sure and punctual in sending to the house as the undertaker; if a friend's family be increased, the

monthly nurse is not more attentive than they. The formal couple, in fact, joyfully seize all occasions of

testifying their goodbreeding 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

Having an extensive connexion among that kind of people who make acquaintances and eschew friends, the

formal gentleman attends from time to time a great many funerals, to which he is formally invited, and to

which he formally goes, as returning a call for the last time. Here his deportment is of the most faultless

description; he knows the exact pitch of voice it is proper to assume, the sombre look he ought to wear, the

melancholy tread which should be his gait for the day. He is perfectly acquainted with all the dreary

courtesies to be observed in a mourningcoach; 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

'What kind of funeral was it?' says the formal lady, when he returns home. 'Oh!' replies the formal gentleman,

'there never was such a gross and disgusting impropriety; there were no feathers.' 'No feathers!' cries the lady,

as if on wings of black feathers dead people fly to Heaven, and, lacking them, they must of necessity go

elsewhere. Her husband shakes his head; and further adds, that they had seedcake instead of plumcake, and

that it was all white wine. 'All white wine!' exclaims his wife. 'Nothing but sherry and madeira,' says the

husband. 'What! no port?' 'Not a drop.' No port, no plums, and no feathers! 'You will recollect, my dear,' says

the formal lady, in a voice of stately reproof, 'that when we first met this poor man who is now dead and

gone, and he took that very strange course of addressing me at dinner without being previously introduced, I

ventured to express my opinion that the family were quite ignorant of etiquette, and very imperfectly

acquainted with the decencies of life. You have now had a good opportunity of judging for yourself, and all I

have to say is, that I trust you will never go to a funeral THERE again.' 'My dear,' replies the formal

gentleman, 'I never will.' So the informal deceased is cut in his grave; and the formal couple, when they tell

the story of the funeral, shake their heads, and wonder what some people's feelings ARE made of, and what

If the formal couple have a family (which they sometimes have), they are not children, but little, pale, sour,

sharpnosed men and women; and so exquisitely brought up, that they might be very old dwarfs for anything

that appeareth to the contrary. Indeed, they are so acquainted with forms and conventionalities, and conduct

themselves with such strict decorum, that to see the little girl break a lookingglass in some wild outbreak, or

the little boy kick his parents, would be to any visitor an unspeakable relief and consolation.

The formal couple are always sticklers for what is rigidly proper, and have a great readiness in detecting

hidden impropriety of speech or thought, which by less scrupulous people would be wholly unsuspected.

Thus, if they pay a visit to the theatre, they sit all night in a perfect agony lest anything improper or immoral

should proceed from the stage; and if anything should happen to be said which admits of a double

construction, they never fail to take it up directly, and to express by their looks the great outrage which their

feelings have sustained. Perhaps this is their chief reason for absenting themselves almost entirely from

places of public amusement. They go sometimes to the Exhibition of the Royal Academy; but that is often

more shocking than the stage itself, and the formal lady thinks that it really is high time Mr. Etty was

We made one at a christening party not long since, where there were amongst the guests a formal couple, who

suffered the acutest torture from certain jokes, incidental to such an occasion, cut and very likely dried also

by one of the godfathers; a redfaced elderly gentleman, who, being highly popular with the rest of the

company, had it all his own way, and was in great spirits. It was at suppertime that this gentleman came out

in full force. We being of a grave and quiet demeanour had been chosen to escort the formal lady

downstairs, and, sitting beside her, had a favourable opportunity of observing her emotions.

We have a shrewd suspicion that, in the very beginning, and in the first blush literally the first blush of

the matter, the formal lady had not felt quite certain whether the being present at such a ceremony, and

encouraging, as it were, the public exhibition of a baby, was not an act involving some degree of indelicacy

and impropriety; but certain we are that when that baby's health was drunk, and allusions were made, by a

greyheaded gentleman proposing it, to the time when he had dandled in his arms the young Christian's

mother, certain we are that then the formal lady took the alarm, and recoiled from the old gentleman as

from a hoary profligate. Still she bore it; she fanned herself with an indignant air, but still she bore it. A

comic song was sung, involving a confession from some imaginary gentleman that he had kissed a female,

and yet the formal lady bore it. But when at last, the health of the godfather beforementioned 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

There cannot be a better practical illustration of the wise saw and ancient instance, that there may be too

much of a good thing, than is presented by a loving couple. Undoubtedly it is meet and proper that two

persons joined together in holy matrimony should be loving, and unquestionably it is pleasant to know and

see that they are so; but there is a time for all things, and the couple who happen to be always in a loving state

And in taking up this position we would have it distinctly understood that we do not seek alone the sympathy

of bachelors, in whose objection to loving couples we recognise interested motives and personal

considerations. We grant that to that unfortunate class of society there may be something very irritating,

tantalising, and provoking, in being compelled to witness those gentle endearments and chaste interchanges

which to loving couples are quite the ordinary business of life. But while we recognise the natural character

of the prejudice to which these unhappy men are subject, we can neither receive their biassed evidence, nor

address ourself to their inflamed and angered minds. Dispassionate experience is our only guide; and in these

moral essays we seek no less to reform hymeneal offenders than to hold out a timely warning to all rising

couples, and even to those who have not yet set forth upon their pilgrimage towards the matrimonial market.

Let all couples, present or to come, therefore profit by the example of Mr. and Mrs. Leaver, themselves a

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 sametime for by her own count she has never since grown five years

older to be a perfect model of wedded felicity. 'You would suppose,' says the romantic lady, 'that they were

lovers only just now engaged. Never was such happiness! They are so tender, so affectionate, so attached to

'Augusta, my soul,' says Mr. Leaver. 'Augustus, my life,' replies Mrs. Leaver. 'Sing some little ballad,

darling,' quoth Mr. Leaver. 'I couldn't, indeed, dearest,' returns Mrs. Leaver. 'Do, my dove,' says Mr. Leaver.

'I couldn't possibly, my love,' replies Mrs. Leaver; 'and it's very naughty of you to ask me.' 'Naughty, darling!'

cries Mr. Leaver. 'Yes, very naughty, and very cruel,' returns Mrs. Leaver, 'for you know I have a sore throat,

and that to sing would give me great pain. You're a monster, and I hate you. Go away!' Mrs. Leaver has said

'go away,' because Mr. Leaver has tapped her under the chin: Mr. Leaver not doing as he is bid, but on the

contrary, sitting down beside her, Mrs. Leaver slaps Mr. Leaver; and Mr. Leaver in return slaps Mrs. Leaver,

and it being now time for all persons present to look the other way, they look the other way, and hear a still

small sound as of kissing, at which Mrs. Starling is thoroughly enraptured, and whispers her neighbour that if

The loving couple are at home when this occurs, and maybe only three or four friends are present, but,

unaccustomed to reserve upon this interesting point, they are pretty much the same abroad. Indeed upon some

occasions, such as a picnic or a waterparty, their lovingness is even more developed, as we had an

There was a great waterparty made up to go to Twickenham and dine, and afterwards dance in an empty

villa by the riverside, hired expressly for the purpose. Mr. and Mrs. Leaver were of the company; and it was

our fortune to have a seat in the same boat, which was an eightoared galley, manned by amateurs, with a

blue striped awning of the same pattern as their Guernsey shirts, and a dingy red flag of the same shade as the

whiskers of the stroke oar. A coxswain being appointed, and all other matters adjusted, the eight gentlemen

threw themselves into strong paroxysms, and pulled up with the tide, stimulated by the compassionate

remarks of the ladies, who one and all exclaimed, that it seemed an immense exertion as indeed it did. At

first we raced the other boat, which came alongside in gallant style; but this being found an unpleasant

amusement, as giving rise to a great quantity of splashing, and rendering the cold pies and other viands very

moist, it was unanimously voted down, and we were suffered to shoot a head, while the second boat

It was at this time that we first recognised Mr. Leaver. There were two firemenwatermen in the boat, lying

by until somebody was exhausted; and one of them, who had taken upon himself the direction of affairs, was

heard to cry in a gruff voice, 'Pull away, number two give it her, number two take a longer reach, number

two now, number two, sir, think you're winning a boat.' The greater part of the company had no doubt

begun to wonder which of the striped Guernseys it might be that stood in need of such encouragement, when

a stifled shriek from Mrs. Leaver confirmed the doubtful and informed the ignorant; and Mr. Leaver, still

further disguised in a straw hat and no neckcloth, was observed to be in a fearful perspiration, and failing

visibly. Nor was the general consternation diminished at this instant by the same gentleman (in the

performance of an accidental aquatic feat, termed 'catching a crab') plunging suddenly backward, and

displaying nothing of himself to the company, but two violently struggling legs. Mrs. Leaver shrieked again

Now, a moment's reflection might have convinced the loving wife, that unless her husband were endowed

with some most surprising powers of muscular action, he never could be dead while he kicked so hard; but

still Mrs. Leaver cried, 'Is he dead? is he dead?' and still everybody else cried 'No, no, no,' until such time

as Mr. Leaver was replaced in a sitting posture, and his oar (which had been going through all kinds of

wrongheaded performances on its own account) was once more put in his hand, by the exertions of the two

firemenwatermen. Mr. Leaver then exclaimed, 'Augustus, my child, come to me;' and Mr. Leaver said,

'Augusta, my love, compose yourself, I am not injured.' But Mrs. Leaver cried again more piteously than

before, 'Augustus, my child, come to me;' and now the company generally, who seemed to be apprehensive

that if Mr. Leaver remained where he was, he might contribute more than his proper share towards the

drowning of the party, disinterestedly took part with Mrs. Leaver, and said he really ought to go, and that he

was not strong enough for such violent exercise, and ought never to have undertaken it. Reluctantly, Mr.

Leaver went, and laid himself down at Mrs. Leaver's feet, and Mrs. Leaver stooping over him, said, 'Oh

Augustus, how could you terrify me so?' and Mr. Leaver said, 'Augusta, my sweet, I never meant to terrify

you;' and Mrs. Leaver said, 'You are faint, my dear;' and Mr. Leaver said, 'I am rather so, my love;' and they

were very loving indeed under Mrs. Leaver's veil, until at length Mr. Leaver came forth again, and pleasantly

Mrs. Starling, who was one of the party, was perfectly delighted with this scene, and frequently murmured

halfaside, 'What a loving couple you are!' or 'How delightful it is to see man and wife so happy together!' To

us she was quite poetical, (for we are a kind of cousins,) observing that hearts beating in unison like that

made life a paradise of sweets; and that when kindred creatures were drawn together by sympathies so fine

and delicate, what more than mortal happiness did not our souls partake! To all this we answered 'Certainly,'

or 'Very true,' or merely sighed, as the case might be. At every new act of the loving couple, the widow's

admiration broke out afresh; and when Mrs. Leaver would not permit Mr. Leaver to keep his hat off, lest the

sun should strike to his head, and give him a brain fever, Mrs. Starling actually shed tears, and said it

The loving couple were thus loving all the way to Twickenham, but when we arrived there (by which time

the amateur crew looked very thirsty and vicious) they were more playful than ever, for Mrs. Leaver threw

stones at Mr. Leaver, and Mr. Leaver ran after Mrs. Leaver on the grass, in a most innocent and enchanting

manner. At dinner, too, Mr. Leaver WOULD steal Mrs. Leaver's tongue, and Mrs. Leaver WOULD retaliate

upon Mr. Leaver's fowl; and when Mrs. Leaver was going to take some lobster salad, Mr. Leaver wouldn't let

her have any, saying that it made her ill, and she was always sorry for it afterwards, which afforded Mrs.

Leaver an opportunity of pretending to be cross, and showing many other prettinesses. But this was merely

the smiling surface of their loves, not the mighty depths of the stream, down to which the company, to say the

truth, dived rather unexpectedly, from the following accident. It chanced that Mr. Leaver took upon himself

to propose the bachelors who had first originated the notion of that entertainment, in doing which, he affected

to regret that he was no longer of their body himself, and pretended grievously to lament his fallen state. This

Mrs. Leaver's feelings could not brook, even in jest, and consequently, exclaiming aloud, 'He loves me not,

he loves me not!' she fell in a very pitiable state into the arms of Mrs. Starling, and, directly becoming

insensible, was conveyed by that lady and her husband into another room. Presently Mr. Leaver came running

back to know if there was a medical gentleman in company, and as there was, (in what company is there

The medical gentleman was the first who returned, and among his intimate friends he was observed to laugh

and wink, and look as unmedical as might be; but when Mr. Leaver came back he was very solemn, and in

answer to all inquiries, shook his head, and remarked that Augusta was far too sensitive to be trifled with an

opinion which the widow subsequently confirmed. Finding that she was in no imminent peril, however, the

rest of the party betook themselves to dancing on the green, and very merry and happy they were, and a vast

quantity of flirtation there was; the last circumstance being no doubt attributable, partly to the fineness of the

weather, and partly to the locality, which is well known to be favourable to all harmless recreations.

In the bustle of the scene, Mr. and Mrs. Leaver stole down to the boat, and disposed themselves under the

awning, Mrs. Leaver reclining her head upon Mr. Leaver's shoulder, and Mr. Leaver grasping her hand with

great fervour, and looking in her face from time to time with a melancholy and sympathetic aspect. The

widow sat apart, feigning to be occupied with a book, but stealthily observing them from behind her fan; and

the two firemenwatermen, smoking their pipes on the bank hard by, nudged each other, and grinned in

enjoyment of the joke. Very few of the party missed the loving couple; and the few who did, heartily

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

The contradictory couple agree in nothing but contradiction. They return home from Mrs. Bluebottle's

dinnerparty, 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

'What a very extraordinary thing it is,' says he, 'that you WILL contradict, Charlotte!' 'I contradict!' cries the

lady, 'but that's just like you.' 'What's like me?' says the gentleman sharply. 'Saying that I contradict you,'

replies the lady. 'Do you mean to say that you do NOT contradict me?' retorts the gentleman; 'do you mean to

say that you have not been contradicting me the whole of this day?' 'Do you mean to tell me now, that you

have not? I mean to tell you nothing of the kind,' replies the lady quietly; 'when you are wrong, of course I

During this dialogue the gentleman has been taking his brandyand water on one side of the fire, and the

lady, with her dressingcase on the table, has been curling her hair on the other. She now lets down her back

hair, and proceeds to brush it; preserving at the same time an air of conscious rectitude and suffering virtue,

'I do believe,' he says, taking the spoon out of his glass, and tossing it on the table, 'that of all the obstinate,

positive, wrongheaded creatures that were ever born, you are the most so, Charlotte.' 'Certainly, certainly,

have it your own way, pray. You see how much I contradict you,' rejoins the lady. 'Of course, you didn't

contradict me at dinnertime oh no, not you!' says the gentleman. 'Yes, I did,' says the lady. 'Oh, you did,'

cries the gentleman 'you admit that?' 'If you call that contradiction, I do,' the lady answers; 'and I say again,

Edward, that when I know you are wrong, I will contradict you. I am not your slave.' 'Not my slave!' repeats

the gentleman bitterly; 'and you still mean to say that in the Blackburns' new house there are not more than

fourteen doors, including the door of the winecellar!' 'I mean to say,' retorts the lady, beating time with her

hairbrush on the palm of her hand, 'that in that house there are fourteen doors and no more.' 'Well then '

cries the gentleman, rising in despair, and pacing the room with rapid strides. 'By G, this is enough to

By and by the gentleman comesto a little, and passing his hand gloomily across his forehead, reseats himself

in his former chair. There is a long silence, and this time the lady begins. 'I appealed to Mr. Jenkins, who sat

next to me on the sofa in the drawingroom during tea ' 'Morgan, you mean,' interrupts the gentleman. 'I do

not mean anything of the kind,' answers the lady. 'Now, by all that is aggravating and impossible to bear,'

cries the gentleman, clenching his hands and looking upwards in agony, 'she is going to insist upon it that

Morgan is Jenkins!' 'Do you take me for a perfect fool?' exclaims the lady; 'do you suppose I don't know the

one from the other? Do you suppose I don't know that the man in the blue coat was Mr. Jenkins?' 'Jenkins in a

blue coat!' cries the gentleman with a groan; 'Jenkins in a blue coat! a man who would suffer death rather than

wear anything but brown!' 'Do you dare to charge me with telling an untruth?' demands the lady, bursting into

tears. 'I charge you, ma'am,' retorts the gentleman, starting up, 'with being a monster of contradiction, a

monster of aggravation, a a a Jenkins in a blue coat! what have I done that I should be doomed to

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 upstairs drowned in tears, murmuring lamentations

over her hard fate and indistinct intentions of consulting her brothers, he undergoes the secret torture of

hearing her exclaim between whiles, 'I know there are only fourteen doors in the house, I know it was Mr.

Jenkins, I know he had a blue coat on, and I would say it as positively as I do now, if they were the last words

If the contradictory couple are blessed with children, they are not the less contradictory on that account.

Master James and Miss Charlotte present themselves after dinner, and being in perfect good humour, and

finding their parents in the same amiable state, augur from these appearances half a glass of wine apiece and

other extraordinary indulgences. But unfortunately Master James, growing talkative upon such prospects,

asks his mamma how tall Mrs. Parsons is, and whether she is not six feet high; to which his mamma replies,

'Yes, she should think she was, for Mrs. Parsons is a very tall lady indeed; quite a giantess.' 'For Heaven's

sake, Charlotte,' cries her husband, 'do not tell the child such preposterous nonsense. Six feet high!' 'Well,'

replies the lady, 'surely I may be permitted to have an opinion; my opinion is, that she is six feet high at

least six feet.' 'Now you know, Charlotte,' retorts the gentleman sternly, 'that that is NOT your opinion that

you have no such idea and that you only say this for the sake of contradiction.' 'You are exceedingly polite,'

his wife replies; 'to be wrong about such a paltry question as anybody's height, would be no great crime; but I

say again, that I believe Mrs. Parsons to be six feet more than six feet; nay, I believe you know her to be

full six feet, and only say she is not, because I say she is.' This taunt disposes the gentleman to become

violent, but he cheeks himself, and is content to mutter, in a haughty tone, 'Six feet ha! ha! Mrs. Parsons six

feet!' and the lady answers, 'Yes, six feet. I am sure I am glad you are amused, and I'll say it again six feet.'

Thus the subject gradually drops off, and the contradiction begins to be forgotten, when Master James, with

some undefined notion of making himself agreeable, and putting things to rights again, unfortunately asks his

mamma what the moon's made of; which gives her occasion to say that he had better not ask her, for she is

always wrong and never can be right; that he only exposes her to contradiction by asking any question of her;

and that he had better ask his papa, who is infallible, and never can be wrong. Papa, smarting under this

attack, gives a terrible pull at the bell, and says, that if the conversation is to proceed in this way, the children

had better be removed. Removed they are, after a few tears and many struggles; and Pa having looked at Ma

sideways for a minute or two, with a baleful eye, draws his pockethandkerchief over his face, and composes

The friends of the contradictory couple often deplore their frequent disputes, though they rather make light of

them at the same time: observing, that there is no doubt they are very much attached to each other, and that

they never quarrel except about trifles. But neither the friends of the contradictory couple, nor the

contradictory couple themselves, reflect, that as the most stupendous objects in nature are but vast collections

of minute particles, so the slightest and least considered trifles make up the sum of human happiness or

The couple who dote upon their children have usually a great many of them: six or eight at least. The children

are either the healthiest in all the world, or the most unfortunate in existence. In either case, they are equally

the theme of their doting parents, and equally a source of mental anguish and irritation to their doting parents'

The couple who dote upon their children recognise no dates but those connected with their births, accidents,

illnesses, or remarkable deeds. They keep a mental almanack with a vast number of Innocents'days, all in

red letters. They recollect the last coronation, because on that day little Tom fell down the kitchen stairs; the

anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, because it was on the fifth of November that Ned asked whether wooden

legs were made in heaven and cocked hats grew in gardens. Mrs. Whiffler will never cease to recollect the

last day of the old year as long as she lives, for it was on that day that the baby had the four red spots on its

nose which they took for measles: nor Christmasday, for twentyone days after Christmasday the twins

were born; nor Good Friday, for it was on a Good Friday that she was frightened by the donkeycart when

she was in the family way with Georgiana. The movable feasts have no motion for Mr. and Mrs. Whiffler, but

remain pinned down tight and fast to the shoulders of some small child, from whom they can never be

separated any more. Time was made, according to their creed, not for slaves but for girls and boys; the

As we have already intimated, the children of this couple can know no medium. They are either prodigies of

good health or prodigies of bad health; whatever they are, they must be prodigies. Mr. Whiffler must have to

describe at his office such excruciating agonies constantly undergone by his eldest boy, as nobody else's

eldest boy ever underwent; or he must be able to declare that there never was a child endowed with such

amazing health, such an indomitable constitution, and such a castiron frame, as his child. His children must

be, in some respect or other, above and beyond the children of all other people. To such an extent is this

feeling pushed, that we were once slightly acquainted with a lady and gentleman who carried their heads so

high and became so proud after their youngest child fell out of a twopairofstairs window without hurting

himself much, that the greater part of their friends were obliged to forego their acquaintance. But perhaps this

may be an extreme case, and one not justly entitled to be considered as a precedent of general application.

If a friend happen to dine in a friendly way with one of these couples who dote upon their children, it is

nearly impossible for him to divert the conversation from their favourite topic. Everything reminds Mr.

Whiffler of Ned, or Mrs. Whiffler of Mary Anne, or of the time before Ned was born, or the time before

Mary Anne was thought of. The slightest remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering

recollections of the twins. It is impossible to steer clear of them. They will come uppermost, let the poor man

do what he may. Ned has been known to be lost sight of for half an hour, Dick has been forgotten, the name

of Mary Anne has not been mentioned, but the twins will out. Nothing can keep down the twins.

'It's a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,' says Mr. Whiffler to the visitor, 'but you have seen our little

babies, the the twins?' The friend's heart sinks within him as he answers, 'Oh, yes often.' 'Your talking

of the Pyramids,' says Mr. Whiffler, quite as a matter of course, 'reminds me of the twins. It's a very

extraordinary thing about those babies what colour should you say their eyes were?' 'Upon my word,' the

friend stammers, 'I hardly know how to answer' the fact being, that except as the friend does not remember

to have heard of any departure from the ordinary course of nature in the instance of these twins, they might

have no eyes at all for aught he has observed to the contrary. 'You wouldn't say they were red, I suppose?'

says Mr. Whiffler. The friend hesitates, and rather thinks they are; but inferring from the expression of Mr.

Whiffler's face that red is not the colour, smiles with some confidence, and says, 'No, no! very different from

that.' 'What should you say to blue?' says Mr. Whiffler. The friend glances at him, and observing a different

expression in his face, ventures to say, 'I should say they WERE blue a decided blue.' 'To be sure!' cries Mr.

Whiffler, triumphantly, 'I knew you would! But what should you say if I was to tell you that the boy's eyes

are blue and the girl's hazel, eh?' 'Impossible!' exclaims the friend, not at all knowing why it should be

impossible. 'A fact, notwithstanding,' cries Mr. Whiffler; 'and let me tell you, Saunders, THAT'S not a

In this dialogue Mrs. Whiffler, as being deeply responsible for the twins, their charms and singularities, has

taken no share; but she now relates, in broken English, a witticism of little Dick's bearing upon the subject

just discussed, which delights Mr. Whiffler beyond measure, and causes him to declare that he would have

sworn that was Dick's if he had heard it anywhere. Then he requests that Mrs. Whiffler will tell Saunders

what Tom said about mad bulls; and Mrs. Whiffler relating the anecdote, a discussion ensues upon the

different character of Tom's wit and Dick's wit, from which it appears that Dick's humour is of a lively turn,

while Tom's style is the dry and caustic. This discussion being enlivened by various illustrations, lasts a long

time, and is only stopped by Mrs. Whiffler instructing the footman to ring the nursery bell, as the children

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 diningroom door,

and the tumultuous appearance of six small children, closely succeeded by a strong nurserymaid with a twin

in each arm. As the whole eight are screaming, shouting, or kicking some influenced by a ravenous

appetite, some by a horror of the stranger, and some by a conflict of the two feelings a pretty long space

elapses before all their heads can be ranged round the table and anything like order restored; in bringing

about which happy state of things both the nurse and footman are severely scratched. At length Mrs. Whiffler

is heard to say, 'Mr. Saunders, shall I give you some pudding?' A breathless silence ensues, and sixteen small

eyes are fixed upon the guest in expectation of his reply. A wild shout of joy proclaims that he has said 'No,

thank you.' Spoons are waved in the air, legs appear above the table cloth in uncontrollable ecstasy, and

While the pudding is being disposed of, Mr. and Mrs. Whiffler look on with beaming countenances, and Mr.

Whiffler nudging his friend Saunders, begs him to take notice of Tom's eyes, or Dick's chin, or Ned's nose, or

Mary Anne's hair, or Emily's figure, or little Bob's calves, or Fanny's mouth, or Carry's head, as the case may

be. Whatever the attention of Mr. Saunders is called to, Mr. Saunders admires of course; though he is rather

confused about the sex of the youngest branches and looks at the wrong children, turning to a girl when Mr.

Whiffler directs his attention to a boy, and falling into raptures with a boy when he ought to be enchanted

with a girl. Then the dessert comes, and there is a vast deal of scrambling after fruit, and sudden spirting forth

of juice out of tight oranges into infant eyes, and much screeching and wailing in consequence. At length it

becomes time for Mrs. Whiffler to retire, and all the children are by force of arms compelled to kiss and love

Mr. Saunders before going upstairs, except Tom, who, lying on his back in the hall, proclaims that Mr.

Saunders 'is a naughty beast;' and Dick, who having drunk his father's wine when he was looking another

Mr. Whiffler and his friend are left alone together, but Mr. Whiffler's thoughts are still with his family, if his

family are not with him. 'Saunders,' says he, after a short silence, 'if you please, we'll drink Mrs. Whiffler and

the children.' Mr. Saunders feels this to be a reproach against himself for not proposing the same sentiment,

and drinks it in some confusion. 'Ah!' Mr. Whiffler sighs, 'these children, Saunders, make one quite an old

man.' Mr. Saunders thinks that if they were his, they would make him a very old man; but he says nothing.

'And yet,' pursues Mr. Whiffler, 'what can equal domestic happiness? what can equal the engaging ways of

children! Saunders, why don't you get married?' Now, this is an embarrassing question, because Mr. Saunders

has been thinking that if he had at any time entertained matrimonial designs, the revelation of that day would

surely have routed them for ever. 'I am glad, however,' says Mr. Whiffler, 'that you ARE a bachelor, glad

on one account, Saunders; a selfish one, I admit. Will you do Mrs. Whiffler and myself a favour?' Mr.

Saunders is surprised evidently surprised; but he replies, 'with the greatest pleasure.' 'Then, will you,

Saunders,' says Mr. Whiffler, in an impressive manner, 'will you cement and consolidate our friendship by

coming into the family (so to speak) as a godfather?' 'I shall be proud and delighted,' replies Mr. Saunders:

'which of the children is it? really, I thought they were all christened; or ' 'Saunders,' Mr. Whiffler

interposes, 'they ARE all christened; you are right. The fact is, that Mrs. Whiffler is in short, we expect

another.' 'Not a ninth!' cries the friend, all aghast at the idea. 'Yes, Saunders,' rejoins Mr. Whiffler, solemnly,

'a ninth. Did we drink Mrs. Whiffler's health? Let us drink it again, Saunders, and wish her well over it!'

Doctor Johnson used to tell a story of a man who had but one idea, which was a wrong one. The couple who

dote upon their children are in the same predicament: at home or abroad, at all times, and in all places, their

thoughts are bound up in this one subject, and have no sphere beyond. They relate the clever things their

offspring say or do, and weary every company with their prolixity and absurdity. Mr. Whiffler takes a friend

by the button at a street corner on a windy day to tell him a BON MOT of his youngest boy's; and Mrs.

Whiffler, calling to see a sick acquaintance, entertains her with a cheerful account of all her own past

sufferings and present expectations. In such cases the sins of the fathers indeed descend upon the children; for

people soon come to regard them as predestined little bores. The couple who dote upon their children cannot

be said to be actuated by a general love for these engaging little people (which would be a great excuse); for

they are apt to underrate and entertain a jealousy of any children but their own. If they examined their own

hearts, they would, perhaps, find at the bottom of all this, more selflove and egotism than they think of.

Selflove and egotism are bad qualities, of which the unrestrained exhibition, though it may be sometimes

amusing, never fails to be wearisome and unpleasant. Couples who dote upon their children, therefore, are

There is an oldfashioned weatherglass representing a house with two doorways, in one of which is the

figure of a gentleman, in the other the figure of a lady. When the weather is to be fine the lady comes out and

the gentleman goes in; when wet, the gentleman comes out and the lady goes in. They never seek each other's

society, are never elevated and depressed by the same cause, and have nothing in common. They are the

model of a cool couple, except that there is something of politeness and consideration about the behaviour of

the gentleman in the weatherglass, in which, neither of the cool couple can be said to participate.

The cool couple are seldom alone together, and when they are, nothing can exceed their apathy and dulness:

the gentleman being for the most part drowsy, and the lady silent. If they enter into conversation, it is usually

of an ironical or recriminatory nature. Thus, when the gentleman has indulged in a very long yawn and settled

himself more snugly in his easychair, the lady will perhaps remark, 'Well, I am sure, Charles! I hope you're

comfortable.' To which the gentleman replies, 'Oh yes, he's quite comfortable quite.' 'There are not many

married men, I hope,' returns the lady, 'who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications as you do.' 'Nor many

wives who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications as YOU do, I hope,' retorts the gentleman. 'Whose fault

is that?' demands the lady. The gentleman becoming more sleepy, returns no answer. 'Whose fault is that?' the

lady repeats. The gentleman still returning no answer, she goes on to say that she believes there never was in

all this world anybody so attached to her home, so thoroughly domestic, so unwilling to seek a moment's

gratification or pleasure beyond her own fireside as she. God knows that before she was married she never

thought or dreamt of such a thing; and she remembers that her poor papa used to say again and again, almost

every day of his life, 'Oh, my dear Louisa, if you only marry a man who understands you, and takes the

trouble to consider your happiness and accommodate himself a very little to your disposition, what a treasure

he will find in you!' She supposes her papa knew what her disposition was he had known her long enough

he ought to have been acquainted with it, but what can she do? If her home is always dull and lonely, and her

husband is always absent and finds no pleasure in her society, she is naturally sometimes driven (seldom

enough, she is sure) to seek a little recreation elsewhere; she is not expected to pine and mope to death, she

hopes. 'Then come, Louisa,' says the gentleman, waking up as suddenly as he fell asleep, 'stop at home this

evening, and so will I.' 'I should be sorry to suppose, Charles, that you took a pleasure in aggravating me,'

replies the lady; 'but you know as well as I do that I am particularly engaged to Mrs. Mortimer, and that it

would be an act of the grossest rudeness and illbreeding, after accepting a seat in her box and preventing her

from inviting anybody else, not to go.' 'Ah! there it is!' says the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders, 'I knew

that perfectly well. I knew you couldn't devote an evening to your own home. Now all I have to say, Louisa,

is this recollect that I was quite willing to stay at home, and that it's no fault of MINE we are not oftener

With that the gentleman goes away to keep an old appointment at his club, and the lady hurries off to dress

for Mrs. Mortimer's; and neither thinks of the other until by some odd chance they find themselves alone

But it must not be supposed that the cool couple are habitually a quarrelsome one. Quite the contrary. These

differences are only occasions for a little selfexcuse, nothing more. In general they are as easy and

careless, and dispute as seldom, as any common acquaintances may; for it is neither worth their while to put

When they meet in society, the cool couple are the bestbred people in existence. The lady is seated in a

corner among a little knot of lady friends, one of whom exclaims, 'Why, I vow and declare there is your

husband, my dear!' 'Whose? mine?' she says, carelessly. 'Ay, yours, and coming this way too.' 'How very

odd!' says the lady, in a languid tone, 'I thought he had been at Dover.' The gentleman coming up, and

speaking to all the other ladies and nodding slightly to his wife, it turns out that he has been at Dover, and has

just now returned. 'What a strange creature you are!' cries his wife; 'and what on earth brought you here, I

wonder?' 'I came to look after you, OF COURSE,' rejoins her husband. This is so pleasant a jest that the lady

is mightily amused, as are all the other ladies similarly situated who are within hearing; and while they are

enjoying it to the full, the gentleman nods again, turns upon his heel, and saunters away.

There are times, however, when his company is not so agreeable, though equally unexpected; such as when

the lady has invited one or two particular friends to tea and scandal, and he happens to come home in the very

midst of their diversion. It is a hundred chances to one that he remains in the house half an hour, but the lady

is rather disturbed by the intrusion, notwithstanding, and reasons within herself, 'I am sure I never interfere

with him, and why should he interfere with me? It can scarcely be accidental; it never happens that I have a

particular reason for not wishing him to come home, but he always comes. It's very provoking and tiresome;

and I am sure when he leaves me so much alone for his own pleasure, the least he could do would be to do as

much for mine.' Observing what passes in her mind, the gentleman, who has come home for his own

accommodation, makes a merit of it with himself; arrives at the conclusion that it is the very last place in

which he can hope to be comfortable; and determines, as he takes up his hat and cane, never to be so virtuous

Thus a great many cool couples go on until they are cold couples, and the grave has closed over their folly

and indifference. Loss of name, station, character, life itself, has ensued from causes as slight as these, before

now; and when gossips tell such tales, and aggravate their deformities, they elevate their hands and eyebrows,

and call each other to witness what a cool couple Mr. and Mrs. So andso always were, even in the best of

The plausible couple have many titles. They are 'a delightful couple,' an 'affectionate couple,' 'a most

agreeable couple, 'a goodhearted couple,' and 'the bestnatured couple in existence.' The truth is, that the

plausible couple are people of the world; and either the way of pleasing the world has grown much easier

than it was in the days of the old man and his ass, or the old man was but a bad hand at it, and knew very

'But is it really possible to please the world!' says some doubting reader. It is indeed. Nay, it is not only very

possible, but very easy. The ways are crooked, and sometimes foul and low. What then? A man need but

crawl upon his hands and knees, know when to close his eyes and when his ears, when to stoop and when to

stand upright; and if by the world is meant that atom of it in which he moves himself, he shall please it, never

Now, it will be readily seen, that if a plausible man or woman have an easy means of pleasing the world by

an adaptation of self to all its twistings and twinings, a plausible man AND woman, or, in other words, a

plausible couple, playing into each other's hands, and acting in concert, have a manifest advantage. Hence it

is that plausible couples scarcely ever fail of success on a pretty large scale; and hence it is that if the reader,

laying down this unwieldy volume at the next full stop, will have the goodness to review his or her circle of

acquaintance, and to search particularly for some man and wife with a large connexion and a good name, not

easily referable to their abilities or their wealth, he or she (that is, the male or female reader) will certainly

find that gentleman or lady, on a very short reflection, to be a plausible couple.

The plausible couple are the most ecstatic people living: the most sensitive people to merit on the face of

the earth. Nothing clever or virtuous escapes them. They have microscopic eyes for such endowments, and

can find them anywhere. The plausible couple never fawn oh no! They don't even scruple to tell their

friends of their faults. One is too generous, another too candid; a third has a tendency to think all people like

himself, and to regard mankind as a company of angels; a fourth is kindhearted to a fault. 'We never flatter,

my dear Mrs. Jackson,' say the plausible couple; 'we speak our minds. Neither you nor Mr. Jackson have

faults enough. It may sound strangely, but it is true. You have not faults enough. You know our way, we

must speak out, and always do. Quarrel with us for saying so, if you will; but we repeat it, you have not

The plausible couple are no less plausible to each other than to third parties. They are always loving and

harmonious. The plausible gentleman calls his wife 'darling,' and the plausible lady addresses him as 'dearest.'

If it be Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail Widger, Mrs. Widger is 'Lavinia, darling,' and Mr. Widger is 'Bobtail, dearest.'

Speaking of each other, they observe the same tender form. Mrs. Widger relates what 'Bobtail' said, and Mr.

If you sit next to the plausible lady at a dinnertable, she takes the earliest opportunity of expressing her

belief that you are acquainted with the Clickits; she is sure she has heard the Clickits speak of you she must

not tell you in what terms, or you will take her for a flatterer. You admit a knowledge of the Clickits; the

plausible lady immediately launches out in their praise. She quite loves the Clickits. Were there ever such

true hearted, hospitable, excellent people such a gentle, interesting little woman as Mrs. Clickit, or such a

frank, unaffected creature as Mr. Clickit? were there ever two people, in short, so little spoiled by the world

as they are? 'As who, darling?' cries Mr. Widger, from the opposite side of the table. 'The Clickits, dearest,'

replies Mrs. Widger. 'Indeed you are right, darling,' Mr. Widger rejoins; 'the Clickits are a very highminded,

worthy, estimable couple.' Mrs. Widger remarking that Bobtail always grows quite eloquent upon this

subject, Mr. Widger admits that he feels very strongly whenever such people as the Clickits and some other

friends of his (here he glances at the host and hostess) are mentioned; for they are an honour to human nature,

and do one good to think of. 'YOU know the Clickits, Mrs. Jackson?' he says, addressing the lady of the

house. 'No, indeed; we have not that pleasure,' she replies. 'You astonish me!' exclaims Mr. Widger: 'not

know the Clickits! why, you are the very people of all others who ought to be their bosom friends. You are

kindred beings; you are one and the same thing: not know the Clickits! Now WILL you know the Clickits?

Will you make a point of knowing them? Will you meet them in a friendly way at our house one evening, and

be acquainted with them?' Mrs. Jackson will be quite delighted; nothing would give her more pleasure. 'Then,

Lavinia, my darling,' says Mr. Widger, 'mind you don't lose sight of that; now, pray take care that Mr. and

Mrs. Jackson know the Clickits without loss of time. Such people ought not to be strangers to each other.'

Mrs. Widger books both families as the centre of attraction for her next party; and Mr. Widger, going on to

expatiate upon the virtues of the Clickits, adds to their other moral qualities, that they keep one of the neatest

As the plausible couple never laud the merits of any absent person, without dexterously contriving that their

praises shall reflect upon somebody who is present, so they never depreciate anything or anybody, without

turning their depreciation to the same account. Their friend, Mr. Slummery, say they, is unquestionably a

clever painter, and would no doubt be very popular, and sell his pictures at a very high price, if that cruel Mr.

Fithers had not forestalled him in his department of art, and made it thoroughly and completely his own;

Fithers, it is to be observed, being present and within hearing, and Slummery elsewhere. Is Mrs. Tabblewick

really as beautiful as people say? Why, there indeed you ask them a very puzzling question, because there is

no doubt that she is a very charming woman, and they have long known her intimately. She is no doubt

beautiful, very beautiful; they once thought her the most beautiful woman ever seen; still if you press them

for an honest answer, they are bound to say that this was before they had ever seen our lovely friend on the

sofa, (the sofa is hard by, and our lovely friend can't help hearing the whispers in which this is said;) since

that time, perhaps, they have been hardly fair judges; Mrs. Tabblewick is no doubt extremely handsome,

very like our friend, in fact, in the form of the features, but in point of expression, and soul, and figure, and

But while the plausible couple depreciate, they are still careful to preserve their character for amiability and

kind feeling; indeed the depreciation itself is often made to grow out of their excessive sympathy and good

will. The plausible lady calls on a lady who dotes upon her children, and is sitting with a little girl upon her

knee, enraptured by her artless replies, and protesting that there is nothing she delights in so much as

conversing with these fairies; when the other lady inquires if she has seen young Mrs. Finching lately, and

whether the baby has turned out a finer one than it promised to be. 'Oh dear!' cries the plausible lady, 'you

cannot think how often Bobtail and I have talked about poor Mrs. Finching she is such a dear soul, and was

so anxious that the baby should be a fine child and very naturally, because she was very much here at one

time, and there is, you know, a natural emulation among mothers that it is impossible to tell you how much

we have felt for her.' 'Is it weak or plain, or what?' inquires the other. 'Weak or plain, my love,' returns the

plausible lady, 'it's a fright a perfect little fright; you never saw such a miserable creature in all your days.

Positively you must not let her see one of these beautiful dears again, or you'll break her heart, you will

indeed. Heaven bless this child, see how she is looking in my face! can you conceive anything prettier than

that? If poor Mrs. Finching could only hope but that's impossible and the gifts of Providence, you know

What prompts the mother, who dotes upon her children, to comment to her lord that evening on the plausible

lady's engaging qualities and feeling heart, and what is it that procures Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail Widger an

A custom once prevailed in oldfashioned circles, that when a lady or gentleman was unable to sing a song,

he or she should enliven the company with a story. As we find ourself in the predicament of not being able to

describe (to our own satisfaction) nice little couples in the abstract, we purpose telling in this place a little

Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup are the nice little couple in question. Mr. Chirrup has the smartness, and something of

the brisk, quick manner of a small bird. Mrs. Chirrup is the prettiest of all little women, and has the prettiest

little figure conceivable. She has the neatest little foot, and the softest little voice, and the pleasantest little

smile, and the tidiest little curls, and the brightest little eyes, and the quietest little manner, and is, in short,

altogether one of the most engaging of all little women, dead or alive. She is a condensation of all the

domestic virtues, a pocket edition of the young man's best companion, a little woman at a very high

pressure, with an amazing quantity of goodness and usefulness in an exceedingly small space. Little as she is,

Mrs. Chirrup might furnish forth matter for the moral equipment of a score of housewives, six feet high in

their stockings if, in the presence of ladies, we may be allowed the expression and of corresponding

Nobody knows all this better than Mr. Chirrup, though he rather takes on that he don't. Accordingly he is very

proud of his betterhalf, and evidently considers himself, as all other people consider him, rather fortunate in

having her to wife. We say evidently, because Mr. Chirrup is a warmhearted 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 halfexpressed 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 speakingtrumpet. Moreover,

Mr. Chirrup has a particularly mild and birdlike manner of calling Mrs. Chirrup 'my dear;' and for he is of

a jocose turn of cutting little witticisms upon her, and making her the subject of various harmless

pleasantries, which nobody enjoys more thoroughly than Mrs. Chirrup herself. Mr. Chirrup, too, now and

then affects to deplore his bachelordays, and to bemoan (with a marvellously contented and smirking face)

the loss of his freedom, and the sorrow of his heart at having been taken captive by Mrs. Chirrup all of

which circumstances combine to show the secret triumph and satisfaction of Mr. Chirrup's soul.

We have already had occasion to observe that Mrs. Chirrup is an incomparable housewife. In all the arts of

domestic arrangement and management, in all the mysteries of confectionerymaking, pickling, and

preserving, never was such a thorough adept as that nice little body. She is, besides, a cunning worker in

muslin and fine linen, and a special hand at marketing to the very best advantage. But if there be one branch

of housekeeping in which she excels to an utterly unparalleled and unprecedented extent, it is in the important

one of carving. A roast goose is universally allowed to be the great stumblingblock in the way of young

aspirants to perfection in this department of science; many promising carvers, beginning with legs of mutton,

and preserving a good reputation through fillets of veal, sirloins of beef, quarters of lamb, fowls, and even

ducks, have sunk before a roast goose, and lost caste and character for ever. To Mrs. Chirrup the resolving a

goose into its smallest component parts is a pleasant pastime a practical joke a thing to be done in a

minute or so, without the smallest interruption to the conversation of the time. No handing the dish over to an

unfortunate man upon her right or left, no wild sharpening of the knife, no hacking and sawing at an unruly

joint, no noise, no splash, no heat, no leaving off in despair; all is confidence and cheerfulness. The dish is set

upon the table, the cover is removed; for an instant, and only an instant, you observe that Mrs. Chirrup's

attention is distracted; she smiles, but heareth not. You proceed with your story; meanwhile the glittering

knife is slowly upraised, both Mrs. Chirrup's wrists are slightly but not ungracefully agitated, she compresses

her lips for an instant, then breaks into a smile, and all is over. The legs of the bird slide gently down into a

pool of gravy, the wings seem to melt from the body, the breast separates into a row of juicy slices, the

smaller and more complicated parts of his anatomy are perfectly developed, a cavern of stuffing is revealed,

To dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup is one of the pleasantest things in the world. Mr. Chirrup has a bachelor

friend, who lived with him in his own days of single blessedness, and to whom he is mightily attached.

Contrary to the usual custom, this bachelor friend is no less a friend of Mrs. Chirrup's, and, consequently,

whenever you dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup, you meet the bachelor friend. It would put any

reasonablyconditioned mortal into good humour to observe the entire unanimity which subsists between

these three; but there is a quiet welcome dimpling in Mrs. Chirrup's face, a bustling hospitality oozing as it

were out of the waistcoatpockets of Mr. Chirrup, and a patronising enjoyment of their cordiality and

satisfaction on the part of the bachelor friend, which is quite delightful. On these occasions Mr. Chirrup

usually takes an opportunity of rallying the friend on being single, and the friend retorts on Mr. Chirrup for

being married, at which moments some single young ladies present are like to die of laughter; and we have

more than once observed them bestow looks upon the friend, which convinces us that his position is by no

means a safe one, as, indeed, we hold no bachelor's to be who visits married friends and cracks jokes on

wedlock, for certain it is that such men walk among traps and nets and pitfalls innumerable, and often find

themselves down upon their knees at the altar rails, taking M. or N. for their wedded wives, before they know

However, this is no business of Mr. Chirrup's, who talks, and laughs, and drinks his wine, and laughs again,

and talks more, until it is time to repair to the drawingroom, where, coffee served and over, Mrs. Chirrup

prepares for a round game, by sorting the nicest possible little fish into the nicest possible little pools, and

calling Mr. Chirrup to assist her, which Mr. Chirrup does. As they stand side by side, you find that Mr.

Chirrup is the least possible shadow of a shade taller than Mrs. Chirrup, and that they are the neatest and

bestmatched 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 armin arm, or meet them some rainy day trotting

along under a very small umbrella. The round game (at which Mr. Chirrup is the merriest of the party) being

done and over, in course of time a nice little tray appears, on which is a nice little supper; and when that is

finished likewise, and you have said 'Good night,' you find yourself repeating a dozen times, as you ride

Whether it is that pleasant qualities, being packed more closely in small bodies than in large, come more

readily to hand than when they are diffused over a wider space, and have to be gathered together for use, we

don't know, but as a general rule, strengthened like all other rules by its exceptions, we hold that little

people are sprightly and goodnatured. The more sprightly and goodnatured people we have, the better;

therefore, let us wish well to all nice little couples, and hope that they may increase and multiply.

Egotism in couples is of two kinds. It is our purpose to show this by two examples.

The egotistical couple may be young, old, middleaged, well to do, or ill to do; they may have a small

family, a large family, or no family at all. There is no outward sign by which an egotistical couple may be

known and avoided. They come upon you unawares; there is no guarding against them. No man can of

The egotistical couple have undergone every calamity, and experienced every pleasurable and painful

sensation of which our nature is susceptible. You cannot by possibility tell the egotistical couple anything

they don't know, or describe to them anything they have not felt. They have been everything but dead.

Sometimes we are tempted to wish they had been even that, but only in our uncharitable moments, which are

We happened the other day, in the course of a morning call, to encounter an egotistical couple, nor were we

suffered to remain long in ignorance of the fact, for our very first inquiry of the lady of the house brought

them into active and vigorous operation. The inquiry was of course touching the lady's health, and the answer

happened to be, that she had not been very well. 'Oh, my dear!' said the egotistical lady, 'don't talk of not

being well. We have been in SUCH a state since we saw you last!' The lady of the house happening to

remark that her lord had not been well either, the egotistical gentleman struck in: 'Never let Briggs complain

of not being well never let Briggs complain, my dear Mrs. Briggs, after what I have undergone within these

six weeks. He doesn't know what it is to be ill, he hasn't the least idea of it; not the faintest conception.' 'My

dear,' interposed his wife smiling, 'you talk as if it were almost a crime in Mr. Briggs not to have been as ill as

we have been, instead of feeling thankful to Providence that both he and our dear Mrs. Briggs are in such

blissful ignorance of real suffering.' 'My love,' returned the egotistical gentleman, in a low and pious voice,

'you mistake me; I feel grateful very grateful. I trust our friends may never purchase their experience as

Having put down Mrs. Briggs upon this theme, and settled the question thus, the egotistical gentleman turned

to us, and, after a few preliminary remarks, all tending towards and leading up to the point he had in his mind,

inquired if we happened to be acquainted with the Dowager Lady Snorflerer. On our replying in the negative,

he presumed we had often met Lord Slang, or beyond all doubt, that we were on intimate terms with Sir

Chipkins Glogwog. Finding that we were equally unable to lay claim to either of these distinctions, he

expressed great astonishment, and turning to his wife with a retrospective smile, inquired who it was that had

told that capital story about the mashed potatoes. 'Who, my dear?' returned the egotistical lady, 'why Sir

Chipkins, of course; how can you ask! Don't you remember his applying it to our cook, and saying that you

and I were so like the Prince and Princess, that he could almost have sworn we were they?' 'To be sure, I

remember that,' said the egotistical gentleman, 'but are you quite certain that didn't apply to the other

anecdote about the Emperor of Austria and the pump?' 'Upon my word then, I think it did,' replied his wife.

'To be sure it did,' said the egotistical gentleman, 'it was Slang's story, I remember now, perfectly.' However,

it turned out, a few seconds afterwards, that the egotistical gentleman's memory was rather treacherous, as he

began to have a misgiving that the story had been told by the Dowager Lady Snorflerer the very last time they

dined there; but there appearing, on further consideration, strong circumstantial evidence tending to show that

this couldn't be, inasmuch as the Dowager Lady Snorflerer had been, on the occasion in question, wholly

engrossed by the egotistical lady, the egotistical gentleman recanted this opinion; and after laying the story at

the doors of a great many great people, happily left it at last with the Duke of Scuttlewig: observing that it

was not extraordinary he had forgotten his Grace hitherto, as it often happened that the names of those with

whom we were upon the most familiar footing were the very last to present themselves to our thoughts.

It not only appeared that the egotistical couple knew everybody, but that scarcely any event of importance or

notoriety had occurred for many years with which they had not been in some way or other connected. Thus

we learned that when the wellknown attempt upon the life of George the Third was made by Hatfield in

Drury Lane theatre, the egotistical gentleman's grandfather sat upon his right hand and was the first man who

collared him; and that the egotistical lady's aunt, sitting within a few boxes of the royal party, was the only

person in the audience who heard his Majesty exclaim, 'Charlotte, Charlotte, don't be frightened, don't be

frightened; they're letting off squibs, they're letting off squibs.' When the fire broke out, which ended in the

destruction of the two Houses of Parliament, the egotistical couple, being at the time at a drawingroom

window on Blackheath, then and there simultaneously exclaimed, to the astonishment of a whole party 'It's

the House of Lords!' Nor was this a solitary instance of their peculiar discernment, for chancing to be (as by a

comparison of dates and circumstances they afterwards found) in the same omnibus with Mr. Greenacre,

when he carried his victim's head about town in a blue bag, they both remarked a singular twitching in the

muscles of his countenance; and walking down Fish Street Hill, a few weeks since, the egotistical gentleman

said to his lady slightly casting up his eyes to the top of the Monument 'There's a boy up there, my dear,

reading a Bible. It's very strange. I don't like it. In five seconds afterwards, Sir,' says the egotistical

gentleman, bringing his hands together with one violent clap 'the lad was over!'

Diversifying these topics by the introduction of many others of the same kind, and entertaining us between

whiles with a minute account of what weather and diet agreed with them, and what weather and diet

disagreed with them, and at what time they usually got up, and at what time went to bed, with many other

particulars of their domestic economy too numerous to mention; the egotistical couple at length took their

Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone are an egotistical couple of another class, for all the lady's egotism is about her

husband, and all the gentleman's about his wife. For example: Mr. Sliverstone is a clerical gentleman, and

occasionally writes sermons, as clerical gentlemen do. If you happen to obtain admission at the streetdoor

while he is so engaged, Mrs. Sliverstone appears on tiptoe, and speaking in a solemn whisper, as if there

were at least three or four particular friends upstairs, all upon the point of death, implores you to be very

silent, for Mr. Sliverstone is composing, and she need not say how very important it is that he should not be

disturbed. Unwilling to interrupt anything so serious, you hasten to withdraw, with many apologies; but this

Mrs. Sliverstone will by no means allow, observing, that she knows you would like to see him, as it is very

natural you should, and that she is determined to make a trial for you, as you are a great favourite. So you are

led upstairs still on tiptoe to the door of a little back room, in which, as the lady informs you in a

whisper, Mr. Sliverstone always writes. No answer being returned to a couple of soft taps, the lady opens the

door, and there, sure enough, is Mr. Sliverstone, with dishevelled hair, powdering away with pen, ink, and

paper, at a rate which, if he has any power of sustaining it, would settle the longest sermon in no time. At first

he is too much absorbed to be roused by this intrusion; but presently looking up, says faintly, 'Ah!' and

pointing to his desk with a weary and languid smile, extends his hand, and hopes you'll forgive him. Then

Mrs. Sliverstone sits down beside him, and taking his hand in hers, tells you how that Mr. Sliverstone has

been shut up there ever since nine o'clock in the morning, (it is by this time twelve at noon,) and how she

knows it cannot be good for his health, and is very uneasy about it. Unto this Mr. Sliverstone replies firmly,

that 'It must be done;' which agonizes Mrs. Sliverstone still more, and she goes on to tell you that such were

Mr. Sliverstone's labours last week what with the buryings, marryings, churchings, christenings, and all

together, that when he was going up the pulpit stairs on Sunday evening, he was obliged to hold on by the

rails, or he would certainly have fallen over into his own pew. Mr. Sliverstone, who has been listening and

smiling meekly, says, 'Not quite so bad as that, not quite so bad!' he admits though, on crossexamination,

that he WAS very near falling upon the verger who was following him up to bolt the door; but adds, that it

was his duty as a Christian to fall upon him, if need were, and that he, Mr. Sliverstone, and (possibly the

This sentiment communicates new impulse to Mrs. Sliverstone, who launches into new praises of Mr.

Sliverstone's worth and excellence, to which he listens in the same meek silence, save when he puts in a word

of selfdenial relative to some question of fact, as 'Not seventytwo christenings that week, my dear. Only

seventyone, only seventyone.' At length his lady has quite concluded, and then he says, Why should he

repine, why should he give way, why should he suffer his heart to sink within him? Is it he alone who toils

and suffers? What has she gone through, he should like to know? What does she go through every day for

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

This would be well enough if Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone kept it to themselves, or even to themselves and a

friend or two; but they do not. The more hearers they have, the more egotistical the couple become, and the

more anxious they are to make believers in their merits. Perhaps this is the worst kind of egotism. It has not

even the poor excuse of being spontaneous, but is the result of a deliberate system and malice aforethought.

Mere emptyheaded conceit excites our pity, but ostentatious hypocrisy awakens our disgust.

Mrs. Merrywinkle's maiden name was Chopper. She was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Chopper. Her father

died when she was, as the playbooks express it, 'yet an infant;' and so old Mrs. Chopper, when her daughter

married, made the house of her soninlaw her home from that time henceforth, and set up her staff of rest

Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and the venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider

Mr. Merrywinkle is a rather lean and longnecked gentleman, middle aged and middlesized, and usually

troubled with a cold in the head. Mrs. Merrywinkle is a delicatelooking lady, with very light hair, and is

exceedingly subject to the same unpleasant disorder. The venerable Mrs. Chopper who is strictly entitled to

the appellation, her daughter not being very young, otherwise than by courtesy, at the time of her marriage,

which was some years ago is a mysterious old lady who lurks behind a pair of spectacles, and is afflicted

with a chronic disease, respecting which she has taken a vast deal of medical advice, and referred to a vast

number of medical books, without meeting any definition of symptoms that at all suits her, or enables her to

say, 'That's my complaint.' Indeed, the absence of authentic information upon the subject of this complaint

would seem to be Mrs. Chopper's greatest ill, as in all other respects she is an uncommonly hale and hearty

Both Mr. and Mrs. Chopper wear an extraordinary quantity of flannel, and have a habit of putting their feet in

hot water to an unnatural extent. They likewise indulge in chamomile tea and such like compounds, and rub

themselves on the slightest provocation with camphorated spirits and other lotions applicable to mumps,

Mr. Merrywinkle's leaving home to go to business on a damp or wet morning is a very elaborate affair. He

puts on washleather socks over his stockings, and Indiarubber shoes above his boots, and wears under his

waistcoat a cuirass of hareskin. Besides these precautions, he winds a thick shawl round his throat, and

blocks up his mouth with a large silk handkerchief. Thus accoutred, and furnished besides with a greatcoat

and umbrella, he braves the dangers of the streets; travelling in severe weather at a gentle trot, the better to

preserve the circulation, and bringing his mouth to the surface to take breath, but very seldom, and with the

utmost caution. His officedoor opened, he shoots past his clerk at the same pace, and diving into his own

private room, closes the door, examines the windowfastenings, and gradually unrobes himself: hanging his

pockethandkerchief on the fender to air, and determining to write to the newspapers about the fog, which, he

In this last opinion Mrs. Merrywinkle and her respected mother fully concur; for though not present, their

thoughts and tongues are occupied with the same subject, which is their constant theme all day. If anybody

happens to call, Mrs. Merrywinkle opines that they must assuredly be mad, and her first salutation is, 'Why,

what in the name of goodness can bring you out in such weather? You know you MUST catch your death.'

This assurance is corroborated by Mrs. Chopper, who adds, in further confirmation, a dismal legend

concerning an individual of her acquaintance who, making a call under precisely parallel circumstances, and

being then in the best health and spirits, expired in fortyeight hours afterwards, of a complication of

inflammatory disorders. The visitor, rendered not altogether comfortable perhaps by this and other

precedents, inquires very affectionately after Mr. Merrywinkle, but by so doing brings about no change of the

subject; for Mr. Merrywinkle's name is inseparably connected with his complaints, and his complaints are

inseparably connected with Mrs. Merrywinkle's; and when these are done with, Mrs. Chopper, who has been

biding her time, cuts in with the chronic disorder a subject upon which the amiable old lady never leaves

But Mr. Merrywinkle comes home to dinner. He is received by Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper, who, on

his remarking that he thinks his feet are damp, turn pale as ashes and drag him upstairs, imploring him to

have them rubbed directly with a dry coarse towel. Rubbed they are, one by Mrs. Merrywinkle and one by

Mrs. Chopper, until the friction causes Mr. Merrywinkle to make horrible faces, and look as if he had been

smelling very powerful onions; when they desist, and the patient, provided for his better security with thick

worsted stockings and list slippers, is borne downstairs to dinner. Now, the dinner is always a good one, the

appetites of the diners being delicate, and requiring a little of what Mrs. Merrywinkle calls 'tittivation;' the

secret of which is understood to lie in good cookery and tasteful spices, and which process is so successfully

performed in the present instance, that both Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle eat a remarkably good dinner, and

even the afflicted Mrs. Chopper wields her knife and fork with much of the spirit and elasticity of youth. But

Mr. Merrywinkle, in his desire to gratify his appetite, is not unmindful of his health, for he has a bottle of

carbonate of soda with which to qualify his porter, and a little pair of scales in which to weigh it out. Neither

in his anxiety to take care of his body is he unmindful of the welfare of his immortal part, as he always prays

that for what he is going to receive he may be made truly thankful; and in order that he may be as thankful as

Either from eating and drinking so much, or from being the victim of this constitutional infirmity, among

others, Mr. Merrywinkle, after two or three glasses of wine, falls fast asleep; and he has scarcely closed his

eyes, when Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper fall asleep likewise. It is on awakening at teatime that their

most alarming symptoms prevail; for then Mr. Merrywinkle feels as if his temples were tightly bound round

with the chain of the streetdoor, and Mrs. Merrywinkle as if she had made a hearty dinner of

halfhundredweights, and Mrs. Chopper as if cold water were running down her back, and oysterknives

with sharp points were plunging of their own accord into her ribs. Symptoms like these are enough to make

people peevish, and no wonder that they remain so until suppertime, doing little more than doze and

complain, unless Mr. Merrywinkle calls out very loudly to a servant 'to keep that draught out,' or rushes into

the passage to flourish his fist in the countenance of the twopennypostman, for daring to give such a knock

Supper, coming after dinner, should consist of some gentle provocative; and therefore the tittivating art is

again in requisition, and again done honour to by Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, still comforted and abetted by

Mrs. Chopper. After supper, it is ten to one but the lastnamed old lady becomes worse, and is led off to bed

with the chronic complaint in full vigour. Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, having administered to her a warm

cordial, which is something of the strongest, then repair to their own room, where Mr. Merrywinkle, with his

legs and feet in hot water, superintends the mulling of some wine which he is to drink at the very moment he

plunges into bed, while Mrs. Merrywinkle, in garments whose nature is unknown to and unimagined by all

but married men, takes four small pills with a spasmodic look between each, and finally comes to something

hot and fragrant out of another little saucepan, which serves as her composingdraught for the night.

There is another kind of couple who coddle themselves, and who do so at a cheaper rate and on more spare

diet, because they are niggardly and parsimonious; for which reason they are kind enough to coddle their

visitors too. It is unnecessary to describe them, for our readers may rest assured of the accuracy of these

general principles: that all couples who coddle themselves are selfish and slothful, that they charge upon

every wind that blows, every rain that falls, and every vapour that hangs in the air, the evils which arise from

their own imprudence or the gloom which is engendered in their own tempers, and that all men and women,

in couples or otherwise, who fall into exclusive habits of selfindulgence, 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.

They are grandfather and grandmother to a dozen grown people and have greatgrandchildren besides; their

bodies are bent, their hair is grey, their step tottering and infirm. Is this the lightsome pair whose wedding

It seems but yesterday and yet what a host of cares and griefs are crowded into the intervening time which,

reckoned by them, lengthens out into a century! How many new associations have wreathed themselves about

their hearts since then! The old time is gone, and a new time has come for others not for them. They are but

the rusting link that feebly joins the two, and is silently loosening its hold and dropping asunder.

It seems but yesterday and yet three of their children have sunk into the grave, and the tree that shades it

has grown quite old. One was an infant they wept for him; the next a girl, a slight young thing too delicate

for earth her loss was hard indeed to bear. The third, a man. That was the worst of all, but even that grief is

It seems but yesterday and yet how the gay and laughing faces of that bright morning have changed and

vanished from above ground! Faint likenesses of some remain about them yet, but they are very faint and

scarcely to be traced. The rest are only seen in dreams, and even they are unlike what they were, in eyes so

One or two dresses from the bridal wardrobe are yet preserved. They are of a quaint and antique fashion, and

seldom seen except in pictures. White has turned yellow, and brighter hues have faded. Do you wonder,

child? The wrinkled face was once as smooth as yours, the eyes as bright, the shrivelled skin as fair and

Where are the fairy lovers of that happy day whose annual return comes upon the old man and his wife, like

the echo of some village bell which has long been silent? Let yonder peevish bachelor, racked by rheumatic

pains, and quarrelling with the world, let him answer to the question. He recollects something of a favourite

playmate; her name was Lucy so they tell him. He is not sure whether she was married, or went abroad, or

Is nothing as it used to be; does no one feel, or think, or act, as in days of yore? Yes. There is an aged woman

who once lived servant with the old lady's father, and is sheltered in an alms house not far off. She is still

attached to the family, and loves them all; she nursed the children in her lap, and tended in their sickness

those who are no more. Her old mistress has still something of youth in her eyes; the young ladies are like

what she was but not quite so handsome, nor are the gentlemen as stately as Mr. Harvey used to be. She has

seen a great deal of trouble; her husband and her son died long ago; but she has got over that, and is happy

If ever her attachment to her old protectors were disturbed by fresher cares and hopes, it has long since

resumed its former current. It has filled the void in the poor creature's heart, and replaced the love of kindred.

Death has not left her alone, and this, with a roof above her head, and a warm hearth to sit by, makes her

cheerful and contented. Does she remember the marriage of greatgrandmamma? Ay, that she does, as well

as if it was only yesterday. You wouldn't think it to look at her now, and perhaps she ought not to say so of

herself, but she was as smart a young girl then as you'd wish to see. She recollects she took a friend of hers

upstairs to see Miss Emma dressed for church; her name was ah! she forgets the name, but she remembers

that she was a very pretty girl, and that she married not long afterwards, and lived it has quite passed out of

her mind where she lived, but she knows she had a bad husband who used her ill, and that she died in

And the old couple have they no comfort or enjoyment of existence? See them among their grandchildren

and great grandchildren; how garrulous they are, how they compare one with another, and insist on

likenesses which no one else can see; how gently the old lady lectures the girls on points of breeding and

decorum, and points the moral by anecdotes of herself in her young days how the old gentleman chuckles

over boyish feats and roguish tricks, and tells long stories of a 'barringout' achieved at the school he went to:

which was very wrong, he tells the boys, and never to be imitated of course, but which he cannot help letting

them know was very pleasant too especially when he kissed the master's niece. This last, however, is a

point on which the old lady is very tender, for she considers it a shocking and indelicate thing to talk about,

and always says so whenever it is mentioned, never failing to observe that he ought to be very penitent for

having been so sinful. So the old gentleman gets no further, and what the schoolmaster's niece said afterwards

The old gentleman is eighty years old, today 'Eighty years old, Crofts, and never had a headache,' he tells

the barber who shaves him (the barber being a young fellow, and very subject to that complaint). 'That's a

great age, Crofts,' says the old gentleman. 'I don't think it's sich a wery great age, Sir,' replied the barber.

'Crofts,' rejoins the old gentleman, 'you're talking nonsense to me. Eighty not a great age?' 'It's a wery great

age, Sir, for a gentleman to be as healthy and active as you are,' returns the barber; 'but my grandfather, Sir,

he was ninetyfour.' 'You don't mean that, Crofts?' says the old gentleman. 'I do indeed, Sir,' retorts the

barber, 'and as wiggerous as Julius Caesar, my grandfather was.' The old gentleman muses a little time, and

then says, 'What did he die of, Crofts?' 'He died accidentally, Sir,' returns the barber; 'he didn't mean to do it.

He always would go a running about the streets walking never satisfied HIS spirit and he run against a

post and died of a hurt in his chest.' The old gentleman says no more until the shaving is concluded, and then

he gives Crofts halfacrown to drink his health. He is a little doubtful of the barber's veracity afterwards,

and telling the anecdote to the old lady, affects to make very light of it though to be sure (he adds) there

was old Parr, and in some parts of England, ninetyfive or so is a common age, quite a common age.

This morning the old couple are cheerful but serious, recalling old times as well as they can remember them,

and dwelling upon many passages in their past lives which the day brings to mind. The old lady reads aloud,

in a tremulous voice, out of a great Bible, and the old gentleman with his hand to his ear, listens with

profound respect. When the book is closed, they sit silent for a short space, and afterwards resume their

conversation, with a reference perhaps to their dead children, as a subject not unsuited to that they have just

left. By degrees they are led to consider which of those who survive are the most like those

dearlyremembered objects, and so they fall into a less solemn strain, and become cheerful again.

How many people in all, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren, and one or two intimate friends of the family,

dine together today at the eldest son's to congratulate the old couple, and wish them many happy returns, is

a calculation beyond our powers; but this we know, that the old couple no sooner present themselves, very

sprucely and carefully attired, than there is a violent shouting and rushing forward of the younger branches

with all manner of presents, such as pocketbooks, pencilcases, penwipers, watch papers, pincushions,

sleevebuckles, workedslippers, watch guards, and even a nutmeggrater: the latter article being presented

by a very chubby and very little boy, who exhibits it in great triumph as an extraordinary variety. The old

couple's emotion at these tokens of remembrance occasions quite a pathetic scene, of which the chief

ingredients are a vast quantity of kissing and hugging, and repeated wipings of small eyes and noses with

small square pockethandkerchiefs, which don't come at all easily out of small pockets. Even the peevish

bachelor is moved, and he says, as he presents the old gentleman with a queer sort of antique ring from his

own finger, that he'll be de'ed if he doesn't think he looks younger than he did ten years ago.

But the great time is after dinner, when the dessert and wine are on the table, which is pushed back to make

plenty of room, and they are all gathered in a large circle round the fire, for it is then the glasses being

filled, and everybody ready to drink the toast that two greatgrandchildren rush out at a given signal, and

presently return, dragging in old Jane Adams leaning upon her crutched stick, and trembling with age and

pleasure. Who so popular as poor old Jane, nurse and storyteller 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

The old couple sit side by side, and the old time seems like yesterday indeed. Looking back upon the path

they have travelled, its dust and ashes disappear; the flowers that withered long ago, show brightly again

upon its borders, and they grow young once more in the youth of those about them.

We have taken for the subjects of the foregoing moral essays, twelve samples of married couples, carefully

selected from a large stock on hand, open to the inspection of all comers. These samples are intended for the

benefit of the rising generation of both sexes, and, for their more easy and pleasant information, have been

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,

And here our selfimposed task would have ended, but that to those young ladies and gentlemen who are yet

revolving singly round the church, awaiting the advent of that time when the mysterious laws of attraction

shall draw them towards it in couples, we are desirous of addressing a few last words.

Before marriage and afterwards, let them learn to centre all their hopes of real and lasting happiness in their

own fireside; let them cherish the faith that in home, and all the English virtues which the love of home

engenders, lies the only true source of domestic felicity; let them believe that round the household gods,

contentment and tranquillity cluster in their gentlest and most graceful forms; and that many weary hunters of

happiness through the noisy world, have learnt this truth too late, and found a cheerful spirit and a quiet mind

How much may depend on the education of daughters and the conduct of mothers; how much of the brightest

part of our old national character may be perpetuated by their wisdom or frittered away by their folly how

much of it may have been lost already, and how much more in danger of vanishing every day are questions

too weighty for discussion here, but well deserving a little serious consideration from all young couples

To that one young couple on whose bright destiny the thoughts of nations are fixed, may the youth of

England look, and not in vain, for an example. From that one young couple, blessed and favoured as they are,

may they learn that even the glare and glitter of a court, the splendour of a palace, and the pomp and glory of

a throne, yield in their power of conferring happiness, to domestic worth and virtue. From that one young

couple may they learn that the crown of a great empire, costly and jewelled though it be, gives place in the

estimation of a Queen to the plain gold ring that links her woman's nature to that of tens of thousands of her

humble subjects, and guards in her woman's heart one secret store of tenderness, whose proudest boast shall

be that it knows no Royalty save Nature's own, and no pride of birth but being the child of heaven!

So shall the highest young couple in the land for once hear the truth, when men throw up their caps, and cry