As the month of May is considered, by poets and other philosophers, to
be devoted by Nature to the great purpose of love-making, I may as well
take advantage of that season and acquaint you with the result of _my_
amours.
Young, gay, fascinating, and an ensign, I had completely won the heart
of my Magdalen; and as for Miss Waters and her nasty uncle the Doctor,
there was a complete split between us, as you may fancy; Miss,
pretending, forsooth, that she was glad I had broken off the match,
though she would have given her eyes, the little minx, to have had it on
again. But this was out of the question. My father, who had all sorts of
queer notions, said I had acted like a rascal in the business; my mother
took my part, in course, and declared I acted rightly, as I always did:
and I got leave of absence from the regiment in order to press my
beloved Magdalen to marry me out of hand—knowing, from reading and
experience, the extraordinary mutability of human affairs.
Besides, as the dear girl was seventeen years older than myself, and as
bad in health as she was in temper, how was I to know that the grim king
of terrors might not carry her off before she became mine? With the
tenderest warmth, then, and most delicate ardour, I continued to press
my suit. The happy day was fixed—the ever-memorable 10th of May, 1792;
the wedding clothes were ordered; and, to make things secure, I penned a
little paragraph for the county paper to this effect:—"Marriage in High
Life. We understand that Ensign Stubbs, of the North Bungay Fencibles,
and son of Thomas Stubbs, of Sloffemsquiggle, Esquire, is about to lead
to the hymeneal altar the lovely and accomplished daughter of Solomon
Crutty, Esquire, of the same place. A fortune of twenty thousand pounds
is, we hear, the lady's portion. 'None but the brave deserve the
fair....'"
"Have you informed your relatives, my beloved," said I to Magdalen one
day after sending the above notice; "will any of them attend at your
marriage?"
"Uncle Sam will, I daresay," said Miss Crutty, "dear mamma's brother."
"And who _was_ your dear mamma?" said I, for Miss Crutty's respected
parent had been long since dead, and I never heard her name mentioned in
the family.
Magdalen blushed, and cast down her eyes to the ground. "Mamma was a
foreigner," at last she said.
"And of what country?"
"A German; papa married her when she was very young:—she was not of a
very good family," said Miss Crutty, hesitating.
"And what care I for family, my love," said I, tenderly kissing the
knuckles of the hand which I held; "she must have been an angel who gave
birth to you."
"She was a shoemaker's daughter."
_A German shoemaker!_ hang 'em, thought I, I have had enough of them,
and so I broke up this conversation, which did not somehow please me....
Well, the day was drawing near: the clothes were ordered; the banns were
read. My dear mamma had built a cake about the size of a washing-tub:
and I was only waiting for a week to pass to put me in possession of
twelve thousand pounds in the _five_ per cents., as they were in those
days, Heaven bless em! Little did I know the storm that was brewing, and
the disappointment which was to fall upon a young man who really did his
best to get a fortune.
"O Robert!" said my Magdalen to me, two days before the match was to
come off, "I have _such_ a kind letter from uncle Sam, in London. I
wrote to him as you wished. He says that he is coming down to-morrow;
that he has heard of you often, and knows your character very well, and
that he has got a _very handsome present_ for us! What can it be, I
wonder?"
"Is he rich, my soul's adored?" says I.
"He is a bachelor with a fine trade, and nobody to leave his money to."
"His present can't be less than a thousand pounds," says I.
"Or, perhaps, a silver tea-set, and some corner dishes," says she.
But we could not agree to this: it was too little—too mean for a man of
her uncle's wealth; and we both determined it must be the thousand
pounds.
"Dear, good uncle! he's to be here by the coach," says Magdalen. "Let us
ask a little party to meet him." And so we did, and so they came. My
father and mother, old Crutty in his best wig, and the parson who was to
marry us next day. The coach was to come in at six. And there was the
tea-table, and there was the punch-bowl, and everybody ready and smiling
to receive our dear uncle from London.
Six o'clock came, and the coach, and the man from the Green Dragon with
a portmanteau, and a fat old gentleman walking behind, of whom I just
caught a glimpse—a venerable old gentleman—I thought I'd seen him
before....
Then there was a ring at the bell; then a scuffling and bumping at the
passage: then old Crutty rushed out, and a great laughing and talking,
and "_How are you?_" and so on, was heard at the door; and then the
parlour-door was flung open, and Crutty cried out with a loud voice—
"Good people all! my brother-in-law, Mr. STIFFELKIND!"
_Mr. Stiffelkind!_—I trembled as I heard the name!
Miss Crutty kissed him; mamma made him a curtsey, and papa made him a
bow; and Dr. Snorter, the parson, seized his hand and shook it most
warmly—then came my turn!
"Vat," says he, "it is my dear goot yong friend from Doctor
Schvis'hentail's! is dis the yong gentleman's honourable moder" (mamma
smiled and made a curtsey), "and dis his fader! Sare and madam, you
should be broud of soch a sonn. And you, my niece, if you have him for a
husband you vil be locky, dat is all. Vat dink you, broder Crotty, and
Madame Stobbs, I ave made your sonn's boots, ha! ha!"
My mamma laughed, and said, "I did not know it, but I am sure, sir, he
has as pretty a leg for a boot as any in the whole county."
Old Stiffelkind roared louder. "A very nice leg, ma'am, and a very
_sheap boot too_! Vat, you did not know I make his boots! Perhaps you
did not know someting else too—p'rhaps you did not know" (and here the
monster clapped his hand on the table, and made the punch-ladle tremble
in the bowl), "p'rhaps you did not know as dat yong man, dat Stobbs, dat
sneaking, baltry, squinting fellow, is as vicked as he is ogly. He bot a
pair of boots from me and never paid for dem. Dat is noting, nobody
never pays; but he bought a pair of boots, and called himself Lord
Cornvallis. And I was fool enough to believe him vonce. But look you,
niece Magdalen, I ave got five tousand pounds, if you marry him I vil
not give you a benny; but look you, what I will gif you, I bromised you
a bresent, and I vil give you DESE!"
And the old monster produced THOSE VERY BOOTS which Swishtail had made
him take back....
I _didn't_ marry Miss Crutty: I am not sorry for it though. She was a
nasty, ugly, ill-tempered wretch, and I've always said so ever since.
And all this arose from those infernal boots, and that unlucky paragraph
in the county paper—I'll tell you how.
In the first place, it was taken up as a quiz by one of the wicked,
profligate, unprincipled organs of the London press, who chose to be
very facetious about the "Marriage in High Life," and made all sorts of
jokes about me and my dear Miss Crutty.
Secondly, it was read in this London paper by my mortal enemy, Bunting,
who had been introduced to old Stiffelkind's acquaintance by my
adventure with him, and had his shoes made regularly by that foreign
upstart.
Thirdly, he happened to want a pair of shoes mended at this particular
period, and as he was measured by the disgusting old High-Dutch Cobbler,
he told him his old friend Stubbs was going to be married.
"And to whom?" said old Stiffelkind, "to a voman wit gelt, I vil take my
oath."
"Yes," says Bunting, "a country girl—a Miss Magdalen Carotty or Crotty,
a place called Sloffemsquiggle."
"_Schloffemschwiegel!_" bursts out the dreadful bootmaker, "Mein Gott,
mein Gott! das geht nicht—I tell you, sare, it is no go. Miss Crotty is
my niece. I vill go down myself. I vill never let her marry dat
goot-for-noting schwindler and teif." _Such_ was the language that the
scoundrel ventured to use regarding me!
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