A CUSTOM once prevailed in old-fashioned circles, that when a lady or
gentleman was unable to sing a song, he or she should enliven the company
with a story. As we find ourself in the predicament of not being able to
describe (to our own satisfaction) nice little couples in the abstract,
we purpose telling in this place a little story about a nice little
couple of our acquaintance.
Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup are the nice little couple in question. Mr. Chirrup
has the smartness, and something of the brisk, quick manner of a small
bird. Mrs. Chirrup is the prettiest of all little women, and has the
prettiest little figure conceivable. She has the neatest little foot,
and the softest little voice, and the pleasantest little smile, and the
tidiest little curls, and the brightest little eyes, and the quietest
little manner, and is, in short, altogether one of the most engaging of
all little women, dead or alive. She is a condensation of all the
domestic virtues,—a pocket edition of the young man’s best companion,—a
little woman at a very high pressure, with an amazing quantity of
goodness and usefulness in an exceedingly small space. Little as she is,
Mrs. Chirrup might furnish forth matter for the moral equipment of a
score of housewives, six feet high in their stockings—if, in the presence
of ladies, we may be allowed the expression—and of corresponding
robustness.
[Picture: The Nice Little Couple]
Nobody knows all this better than Mr. Chirrup, though he rather takes on
that he don’t. Accordingly he is very proud of his better-half, and
evidently considers himself, as all other people consider him, rather
fortunate in having her to wife. We say evidently, because Mr. Chirrup
is a warm-hearted little fellow; and if you catch his eye when he has
been slyly glancing at Mrs. Chirrup in company, there is a certain
complacent twinkle in it, accompanied, perhaps, by a half-expressed toss
of the head, which as clearly indicates what has been passing in his mind
as if he had put it into words, and shouted it out through a
speaking-trumpet. Moreover, Mr. Chirrup has a particularly mild and
bird-like manner of calling Mrs. Chirrup ‘my dear;’ and—for he is of a
jocose turn—of cutting little witticisms upon her, and making her the
subject of various harmless pleasantries, which nobody enjoys more
thoroughly than Mrs. Chirrup herself. Mr. Chirrup, too, now and then
affects to deplore his bachelor-days, and to bemoan (with a marvellously
contented and smirking face) the loss of his freedom, and the sorrow of
his heart at having been taken captive by Mrs. Chirrup—all of which
circumstances combine to show the secret triumph and satisfaction of Mr.
Chirrup’s soul.
We have already had occasion to observe that Mrs. Chirrup is an
incomparable housewife. In all the arts of domestic arrangement and
management, in all the mysteries of confectionery-making, pickling, and
preserving, never was such a thorough adept as that nice little body.
She is, besides, a cunning worker in muslin and fine linen, and a special
hand at marketing to the very best advantage. But if there be one branch
of housekeeping in which she excels to an utterly unparalleled and
unprecedented extent, it is in the important one of carving. A roast
goose is universally allowed to be the great stumbling-block in the way
of young aspirants to perfection in this department of science; many
promising carvers, beginning with legs of mutton, and preserving a good
reputation through fillets of veal, sirloins of beef, quarters of lamb,
fowls, and even ducks, have sunk before a roast goose, and lost caste and
character for ever. To Mrs. Chirrup the resolving a goose into its
smallest component parts is a pleasant pastime—a practical joke—a thing
to be done in a minute or so, without the smallest interruption to the
conversation of the time. No handing the dish over to an unfortunate man
upon her right or left, no wild sharpening of the knife, no hacking and
sawing at an unruly joint, no noise, no splash, no heat, no leaving off
in despair; all is confidence and cheerfulness. The dish is set upon the
table, the cover is removed; for an instant, and only an instant, you
observe that Mrs. Chirrup’s attention is distracted; she smiles, but
heareth not. You proceed with your story; meanwhile the glittering knife
is slowly upraised, both Mrs. Chirrup’s wrists are slightly but not
ungracefully agitated, she compresses her lips for an instant, then
breaks into a smile, and all is over. The legs of the bird slide gently
down into a pool of gravy, the wings seem to melt from the body, the
breast separates into a row of juicy slices, the smaller and more
complicated parts of his anatomy are perfectly developed, a cavern of
stuffing is revealed, and the goose is gone!
To dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup is one of the pleasantest things in the
world. Mr. Chirrup has a bachelor friend, who lived with him in his own
days of single blessedness, and to whom he is mightily attached.
Contrary to the usual custom, this bachelor friend is no less a friend of
Mrs. Chirrup’s, and, consequently, whenever you dine with Mr. and Mrs.
Chirrup, you meet the bachelor friend. It would put any
reasonably-conditioned mortal into good-humour to observe the entire
unanimity which subsists between these three; but there is a quiet
welcome dimpling in Mrs. Chirrup’s face, a bustling hospitality oozing as
it were out of the waistcoat-pockets of Mr. Chirrup, and a patronising
enjoyment of their cordiality and satisfaction on the part of the
bachelor friend, which is quite delightful. On these occasions Mr.
Chirrup usually takes an opportunity of rallying the friend on being
single, and the friend retorts on Mr. Chirrup for being married, at which
moments some single young ladies present are like to die of laughter; and
we have more than once observed them bestow looks upon the friend, which
convinces us that his position is by no means a safe one, as, indeed, we
hold no bachelor’s to be who visits married friends and cracks jokes on
wedlock, for certain it is that such men walk among traps and nets and
pitfalls innumerable, and often find themselves down upon their knees at
the altar rails, taking M. or N. for their wedded wives, before they know
anything about the matter.
However, this is no business of Mr. Chirrup’s, who talks, and laughs, and
drinks his wine, and laughs again, and talks more, until it is time to
repair to the drawing-room, where, coffee served and over, Mrs. Chirrup
prepares for a round game, by sorting the nicest possible little fish
into the nicest possible little pools, and calling Mr. Chirrup to assist
her, which Mr. Chirrup does. As they stand side by side, you find that
Mr. Chirrup is the least possible shadow of a shade taller than Mrs.
Chirrup, and that they are the neatest and best-matched little couple
that can be, which the chances are ten to one against your observing with
such effect at any other time, unless you see them in the street
arm-in-arm, or meet them some rainy day trotting along under a very small
umbrella. The round game (at which Mr. Chirrup is the merriest of the
party) being done and over, in course of time a nice little tray appears,
on which is a nice little supper; and when that is finished likewise, and
you have said ‘Good night,’ you find yourself repeating a dozen times, as
you ride home, that there never was such a nice little couple as Mr. and
Mrs. Chirrup.
Whether it is that pleasant qualities, being packed more closely in small
bodies than in large, come more readily to hand than when they are
diffused over a wider space, and have to be gathered together for use, we
don’t know, but as a general rule,—strengthened like all other rules by
its exceptions,—we hold that little people are sprightly and
good-natured. The more sprightly and good-natured people we have, the
better; therefore, let us wish well to all nice little couples, and hope
that they may increase and multiply.