Spring is coming on apace. Father even sits between the wood Fire and the open Casement, enjoying the mild Air, but it is not considered healthfulle.
"My Dear," says Mother to him this Morning, after some Hours' Absence, "I have bought me a new Mantle of the most absolute Fancy. 'Tis sad-coloured, which I knew you would approve, but with a Garniture of Orange-tawny; three Plaits at the Waist behind, and a little stuck-up Collar."
"You are a comical Woman," says Father, "to spend soe much Money and Mind on a Thing your Husband will never see."
"Oh! but it cost no Money at alle," says she; "that is the best of it."
"What is the best of it?" rejoyned he. "I suppose you bartered for it, if you did not buy it—you Women are always for cheap Pennyworths. Come, what was the Ransom? One of my old Books, or my new Coat?"
"Your last new Coat may be called old too, I'm sure," says Mother; "I believe you married me in it."
"Nay," says Father, "and what if I did? 'Twas new then, at any rate; and the Cid Ruy Diaz was married in a black Satin Doublet, which his Father had worn in three or four Battles."
"A poor Compliment to the Bride," says Mother.
"Well, but, dear Betty, what has gone for this copper-coloured
Mantle?—Sylvester's 'Du Bartas?'" . . .
"Nothing of the sort,—nothing you value or will ever miss. An old Gold
Pocket-piece, that hath lain perdue, e'er soe long, in our Dressing-table
Drawer."