A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while 'tis so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.
SHAKESPEARE.
A man may purchase an estate, a tenement, or a horse because they have
pleased his fancy, and eventually find out that he has not exactly
suited himself; and it sometimes will occur that a man is placed in a
similar situation relative to his choice of a wife: a more serious evil;
as, although the prime cost may be nothing, there is no chance of
getting rid of this latter speculation by re-vending, as you may the
former. Now it happened that Nicholas Forster, of whom we have already
made slight mention, although he considered at the time of his marriage
that the person he had selected would _exactly suit his focus_, did
eventually discover that he was more short-sighted in his choice than an
optician ought to have been.
Whatever may have been the personal charms of Mrs Nicholas Forster at
the time of their union, she had, at the period of our narrative, but
few to boast of, being a thin, sharp-nosed, ferret-eyed, little woman,
teeming with suspicion, jealousy, and bad humours of every description:
her whole employment (we may say, her whole delight) was in finding
fault: her shrill voice was to be heard from the other side of the
street from morning until night. The one servant which their finances
enabled them with difficulty to retain, and whom they engaged as the
maid of all work (and certainly she was not permitted by Mrs Forster to
be idle in her multifarious duty), seldom remained above her _month_;
and nothing but the prospect of immediate starvation could induce any
one to offer herself in that capacity.
Mr Nicholas Forster, fortunately for his own happiness, was of that
peculiar temperament, that nothing could completely rouse his anger; he
was _absent_ to an excess; and if any language or behaviour on the part
of his wife induced his choler to rise, other ideas would efface the
cause from his memory; and this hydra of the human bosom, missing the
object of its intended attack, again laid down to rest.
The violence and vituperation of his spouse were, therefore, lost upon
Nicholas Forster; and the impossibility of disturbing the equanimity of
his temper increased the irritability of her own. Still Mr Nicholas
Forster, when he did reflect upon the subject, which was but during
momentary fits of recollection, could not help acknowledging that he
should be much more quiet and happy when it pleased Heaven to summon
Mrs Forster to a better world: and this idea ultimately took possession
of his imagination. Her constant turbulence interfered so much with the
prosecution of his plans, that, finding it impossible to carry them into
execution, every thing that he considered of moment was mentally put off
until _Mrs Forster was dead_!
"Well, Mr Forster, how long is the dinner to wait before you think
proper to come? Every thing will be cold as usual."--(n.b., the dinner
consisted of the remains of a cold shoulder of mutton.)--"Or do you mean
to have any dinner at all? Betty, clear away the table; I have my work
to do, and won't wait any longer."
"I'm coming, my dear, I'm coming; only this balance spring is a job that
I cannot well leave," replied Nicholas, continuing his vocation in the
shop, with a magnifying glass attached to his eye.
"Coming! yes, and Christmas is coming Mr Forster.--Well, the dinner's
going, I can tell you."
Nicholas, who did not want appetite, and who was conscious that if the
mutton returned to the cupboard there would be some difficulty made in
reproducing it, laid down the watch and came into the back parlour.
"Well, my dear, here I am; sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but
business must be attended to.--Dear me, why the mutton is really quite
cold," continued Nicholas, thrusting a large piece into his mouth, quite
forgetting that he had already dined twice off the identical joint.
"That's a fine watch of Mr Tobin's; but I think that my improvement
upon the duplex when I have finished it--"
"When you have finished it, indeed!" retorted the lady; "why, when did
you ever finish any thing, Mr Forster! Finish indeed!"
"Well, my dear," replied the husband, with an absent air--"I do mean to
finish it, when--_you are dead_!"
"When I am dead!" screamed the lady, in a rage--"when I am dead!"
continued she, placing her arms akimbo, as she started from the
chair:--"I can tell you, Mr Forster, that I'll live long enough to
plague you, it's not the first time that you've said so; but depend upon
it, I'll dance upon your grave yet, Mr Forster."
"I did not exactly mean to say that; not exactly that, my dear," replied
Nicholas, confused. "The fact is that I was not exactly aware of what I
was saying--I had not precisely the--"
"Precisely the fiddle-stick, Mr Forster! you did mean it, and you do
mean it, and this is all the return that I am to expect for my kindness
and anxiety for your welfare--slaving and toiling all day as I do; but
you're incorrigible, Mr Forster: look at you, helping, yourself out of
your snuff-box instead of the salt-cellar. What man in his senses would
eat a cold shoulder of mutton with tobacco?"
"Dear me, so I have," replied Forster, removing the snuff taken from the
box, which, as usual, lay open before him, not into the box again, but
into the salt-cellar.
"And who's to eat that salt now, you nasty beast?"
"I am not a beast, Mrs Forster," replied the husband, whose choler was
roused; "I made a mistake; I do perceive--now I recollect it, did you
send Betty with the `day and night glass' to Captain Simkins?"
"Yes, I did, Mr Forster: if I did not look after your business, I
should like to know what would become of us; and I can tell, you Mr
Forster, that if you do not contrive to get more business, there will
soon be nothing to eat; seventeen and sixpence is all that I have
received this last week; and how rent and fire, meat and drink, are to
be paid for with that, you must explain, for I can't."
"How can I help it, my dear? I never refuse a job."
"Never refuse a job? no; but you must contrive to make more business."
"I can mend a watch, and make a telescope, but I can't make business, my
dear," replied Nicholas.
"Yes, you can, and you must, Mr Forster," continued the lady, sweeping
off the remains of the mutton, just as her husband had fixed his eye
upon the next cut, and locking it up in the cupboard--"if you do not,
you will have nothing to eat, Mr Forster."
"So it appears, my dear," replied the meek Nicholas, taking a pinch of
snuff; "but I really don't--"
"Why, Mr Forster, if you were not one of the greatest--"
"No, no, my dear," interrupted Nicholas, from extreme modesty, "I am not
one of the greatest opticians of the present day; although when I've
made my improve--"
"Greatest opticians!" interrupted the lady. "One of the greatest
_fools_, I meant!"
"That's quite another thing, my dear; but--"
"No _buts_, Mr Forster; please to listen, and not interrupt me in that
bearish manner. Why do you repair in the way you do? Who ever brings
you a watch or a glass that you have handled a second time?"
"But why should they, my dear, when I have put them in good order?"
"Put them in order! but why do you put them in order?"
"Why do I put them in order, my dear?" replied Forster, with
astonishment.
"Yes; why don't you leave a screw loose, somewhere? then they must come
again. That's the proper way to do business."
"The proper way to do my business, my dear, is to see that all the
screws are tight."
"And starve!" continued the lady.
"If it please God," replied the honest Nicholas.
But this matrimonial duet was interrupted by the appearance of their
son, whom we must introduce to the reader, as he will play a conspicuous
part in our narrative.
Newton Forster, for thus had he been christened by his father, out of
respect _for the great Sir Isaac_, who was now about seventeen years'
old--athletic and well proportioned in person, handsome in features, and
equally gifted in mind. There was a frankness and sincerity in his open
brow, an honesty in his smile, which immediately won upon the beholder;
and his countenance was but an index to his mind. His father had
bestowed all his own leisure, and some expense, which he could ill
afford, upon his education, trusting one day that he would rival the
genius after whom he had been christened; but Newton was not of a
disposition to _sit_ down either at a desk or a work-bench. Whenever he
could escape from home or from school, he was to be found either on the
beach or at the pier, under the shelter of which the coasting vessels
discharged or received their cargoes; and he had for some years declared
his intention to follow the profession of a sailor. To this his father
had reluctantly consented, with the proviso that he would first finish
his education; and the mutual compact had been strictly adhered to by
each party.
At the age of fifteen Newton had acquired all that could be imparted to
him by the pedagogue of the vicinity, and had then, until something
better should turn up, shipped himself on board of a coasting vessel, in
which, during the last two years he had made several trips, being
usually absent about six weeks, and remaining in port about the same
time, until another cargo could be procured.
Young as he was, the superiority of his education had obtained him the
situation of mate of the vessel; and his pay enabled him to assist his
father, whose business, as Mrs Forster declared, was not sufficient to
"make both ends meet." Upon his return, his love of knowledge and
active habits induced him to glean as much as he could of his father's
profession, and he could repair most articles that were sent in.
Although Newton amused himself with the peculiarities and eccentricity
of his father, he still had high respect for him, as he knew him to be a
worthy, honest man. For his mother he certainly had none: he was
indignant at her treatment of his father, and could find no redeeming
quality to make amends for her catalogue of imperfections. Still he had
a peculiar tact, by which he avoided any serious altercation. Never
losing his own temper, yet quietly and firmly resisting all control, he
assumed a dominion over her, from which her feelings towards him,
whatever they may have been in his early years, were now changed into
those of positive hatred. His absence this morning had been occasioned
by his assistance being required in the fitting of a new main-stay for
the sloop to which he belonged. "Please God, what, father?" said
Newton, as he came in, catching his father's last words.
"Why, your mother says that we must starve, or be dishonest."
"Then we'll starve, father, with a clear conscience; but I hope things
are not so had yet, for I am devilish hungry," continued Newton, looking
at the dinner-table, which offered to his view nothing but a
table-cloth, with the salt-cellar and the snuff-box. "Why, mother, is
it dead low water, or have you stowed all away in the locker?"--and
Newton repaired to the cupboard, which was locked.
Now Mrs Forster was violent with others, but with Newton she was always
sulky.
"There's nothing in the cupboard," growled the lady.
"Then why lock up nothing?" rejoined Newton, who was aware that veracity
was not among Mrs Forster's catalogue of virtues. "Come, mother, hand
me the key, and I'll ferret out something, I'll answer for it." Mrs
Forster replied, that the cupboard was her own, and she was mistress of
the house.
"Just as you please, mother. But, before I take the trouble, tell me,
father, is there any thing in the cupboard?"
"Why, yes, Newton, there's some mutton. At least, if I recollect right,
I did not eat it all--did I, my dear?"
Mrs Forster did not condescend an answer. Newton went into the shop,
and returned with a chisel and hammer. Taking a chair to stand upon, he
very coolly began to force the lock.
"I am very sorry, mother, but I must have something to eat; and since
you won't give me the key, why--" observed Newton, giving the handle of
the chisel a smart blow with the hammer--
"Here's the key, sir," cried Mrs Forster with indignation, throwing it
on the table, and bouncing out of the room.
A smile was exchanged between the father and son, as she went backwards,
screaming, "Betty--I say, Betty, you idle slut, where are you?" as if
determined to vent her spleen upon somebody.
"Have you dined, father?" inquired Newton, who had now placed the
contents of the cupboard upon the table.
"Why, I really don't quite recollect; but I feel very hungry," replied
the optician, putting in his plate to receive two large slices; and
father and son sat down to a hearty meal, proving the truth of the wise
man's observation, that, "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is,
than the stalled ox and hatred therewith."