Punch (7.1844)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

135

PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER.

LETTER XXIII.

FROM A WIDOWER TO A WIDOW, WITH AN OFFER OF M&RRIAGE.

dear Madam,

Your kind looks and cordial words have

interesting. I can ride forty miles a day, and take a hedge with any
fellow of five-and-twenty. I say, I speak of these things, that you
may know me as I am. Moreover, I assure you I eat with my own
teeth, and grow my own hair. Besides this, I am only two-and-fifty.

What do you say, madam ? As for vices, as I am an honest man, I
do not think I can lay any to my charge. I may have my human
weaknesses—such, indeed, as I have touched upon above; but,
madam, it has ever been my study through life to be respectable. I
have the handsomest pew in the church, and don't owe any man a
shilling.

Well, my dear madam, it is getting late, and I must conclude. I
hate to be out of bed after eleven—it is now past twelve. Hence,
you must perceive how very much I am interested in this business.
In another ten minutes I shall be asleep, and dreaming of you. May
I wake to find my dream—for I know what it will be—a reality !

If our solicitors are mutually satisfied, will you name the day ! I
am superstitious about days—say, then, say Thursday week, and
believe me your devoted lover, till death,

Nicholas Blackthorn.

P.S. May I see you to-morrow ?

LETTER XXIV.
THE WIDOW'S ANSWER,

Your favour of last night has, I own, surprised me. What ■
after one meeting, and that at a card-party, to make such an
accompanied me all the way home, and—the I offer! Well to be sure, you men are strange creatures ! What,
truth is, I write this before going to bed ; I shall indeed, could you have seen in my conduct to think I could look over
sleep the more soundly for having the matter off such boldness ?

my mind. It is true, we have met but once
but we are both of us at that rational point of life, when people know
the most value of time ; and as all ceremony is but an idle waste of
existence, I beg herewith to offer you my hand, and, with it, though
I have been married before, an entire heart. There are hearts,
nadam, allow me to say, all the better for keeping ; they become
mellower, and more worth a woman's acceptance than the crude,
unripe things, too frequently gathered—as chi'dren gather green
fruit—to the discomfort of those who obtain them. I have been

As for the rational point of life you speak of, I must confess I
know not when that exactly occurs ; do you think it—at least with
women—at two-and-thirty : or if not, may I beg to know what age
you consider me ? Perhaps, though, my early and irreparable loss
may have brought a look of premature age upon me. It is very
possible—for what a man he was !

As for what you say about hearts, sir, I know but little ; I only
know the one I have lost. If I did pluck it green, like the winter-
apples in my store-room, it grew riper and riper in my care.

married to one wife, and know enough of the happiness of wedlock You say your wife's portrait smiled while you wrote. His dear
to wish it to be continued in another. The best compliment I can ' miniature is now before me ; I think I see the tears starting through
pay to the dear creature now in heaven, is to seek another dear ; the ivory as I look upon the precious features. If he ever could

have frowned, surely he would frown now to think—but I will not
pursue the theme.

As to your means, sir, I am happy to hear they are sufficient.
Although I can by no possibility have an interest in them, never-
theless I myself too well know the blessings of competence not to
congratulate you. True it is I know but little of the ways of money ;
but am blessed in my solicitors, Messrs. Grip and Nip, No. —,
Furnival's-inn.

You speak of your incumbrances; my husband dying, left r.\e
without a single one. That your daughter should have forgotten her
duty, is an affliction. I am glad, however, to find that you know the
able competence. What is enough for one—it has been said—is j true source of consolation, and refuse to lend yourself to her impru-

creature here on earth. She was a woman of admirable judgment ;
and her portrait—it hangs over my chimney-piece—smiles down upon
me as I write. She seems to know my thoughts, and to approve of
them. I said, madam, she was a woman of excellent judgment.

My means are tolerably good ; more than sufficient for my widowed
state. Of the truth of this, your solicitor shall have the most satis-
factory proof. I have also heard—casually heard—that fortune
has not, my dear madam, been blind to your deserts, and has awarded
you more than enough to keep the wolf from the door. I rejoice at
this ; for whatever might be my disappointment, I would not entail
;pon you the inconvenience of marriage unaccompanied by an agree-

enough for two. But this is the ignorance of Cupid, who never could
learn figures. Now Hymen—as you must know, dear madam —
is a better arithmetician ; taught as he is by butcher and baker.
Love in a cottage is pretty enough for girls and boys ; but men and
•vomen like a larger mansion, with coach-house and stabling.

You may urge against me, that I have incumbrances. By no
means. My daughter having married a beggar, has ceased to have
any natural claim upon me. If I am civil to her, it is solely from a
certain weakness of heart that I cannot wholly conquer ; and some-
thing too, moreover, to keep up appearances with a meddling world.
I have told her that she is never to expect a farthing from me, and I
should despise myself not to be a man of my word.

1 have, too, a son ; but when I tell you that I have once paid his
iebts, incurred in his wild minority, you will allow that, except my
blessing, and, at times, my paternal advice, he can expect nothing
more. I know the duties of a father, and will never satisfy the
cravings of a profligate. Nevertheless, he is my own son ; and what-
ever may be his need, my blessing and my counsel he shall never
want.

My health, madam, has ever been excellent. I have worn like
rock. I have heard of such things as nerves, but believe it my fate
to have been born without any such weaknesses. I speak thus
plainly of essentials, as you and I, madam, are now too wise to thiuk
consumption pretty—to tie ourselves to ill-health, believing it vastly

vidence. Truly, indeed, do you say it is a meddling world. / have
found it so ; as some of my lamented husband's poor relations will
answer for me. However, as I could not endure the sight of any-
thing that reminded me of my dear lost treasure, I have left them
for ever in Cornwall. It is now some months since they have t eased
to distress me.

Your son may mend. If you will allow me as a stranger to speak,
I think you should still act with tenderness towards him. How very
little would pay his passage to Australia !

Health is, indeed, a treasure. 7 know it. Had I not had the
robustness—pardon the word ! — of a mountain nymph, I had never
survived the dreadful shock that cruel death has inflicted on me.
As it was, it struck me down. But, as the poet says, " the bulrush
rises when the oak goes crash."

You are partial to hunting ? It is a noble recreation. My depart-
ed lamb followed the hounds, and, as sportsmen say, would ride at
anything. He once broke his collar-bone ; but, with good nursing
we put him in the saddle again in a month. Ha ! you should have
seen him in his scarlet coat!

In this fleeting life, how small and vain are personal gifts compared
to the treasures of the mind ! Still, if there is anything I admire, it
is fine teeth. A wig, at least in a man, is detestable.

You say you are two-and-fifty. "Well, I must say, you don't look
\ that age.