"Once, while the celebrated John Kemble, the renowned actor and acute critic, was still seated at the dinner-table of an English nobleman, with whom he had been dining, a servant announced that Mrs. Kemble awaited her husband in a carriage at the
door. Some time elapsed, and the impersonator of Shakspeare's mighty creations remained immovable. At length the servant, re-entering,
said: 'Mrs. Kemble bids me say, sir, that she is afraid of getting the rheumatiz.' 'Add ism,' replied the imperturbable critic of language, and quietly continued his discourse with his host."
"If I should ever be compelled to marry—which, of course, I never shall unless you disinherit me, mother, or mammy insists upon leaving us to keep house for that handsome widower, in the long snuff overcoat—[though the respectable female thus alluded to did not even glance up from her stitching, I plainly marked a little nod of virtuous defiance, and a fluttering in the crimpings of the ample cap-border, that plainly expressed desperation to the hopes of the widower aforesaid]—but if fate should decree my 'attaining knowledge under difficulties,' upon this subject, I hope I'll be a little too decent to keep my wife sitting out doors in a London fog (I shall make a bridal tour to Europe, of course), while I am imbibing, even with a 'nobleman.' Speaking of the tyranny of fate, I am, most reluctantly, compelled to deprive you of my refreshing conversation, my dear and excellent mother. If my dilapidated linen is restored to its virgin integrity: in other words, if my shirt is done, I propose retiring to the deepest shades of private life, and getting myself up, without the slightest consideration for the financial affairs of my honored masculine progenitor, for a morning call upon ——, the fortunate youthful beauty I, at present, honor with my particular adoration." So saying, Sir Hopeful slowly emerged from his 'loop-hole of retreat,' and making a profound obeisance to his guardian spirit, and another to me, a shade less lowly, he took himself off, with his linen over his arm, and a grand parting flourish at the door, with his hat upon his walking-stick, for the especial benefit of his little brother, which elicited a shout of unmingled admiration from the juvenile spectators that need not have been despised by Herr Alexander himself.
During dinner that day, as the varied and most bountiful course of pastry, etc., was about to be removed, young Sidney said:
"Mother, allow me to relieve you of the largest half of that solitary-looking piece of mince-pie. I am sorry I cannot afford to take the whole of it under my protecting care."
"My dear son," replied my hostess, pleasantly, "let me suggest the attractions of variety. You have already done your devoir to this pie. Your father pronounces the cocoanut excellent"—and then, as if in reply to the look of surprise that met her good-humored sally, she added, in a tone meant only for the ears of the youth, "this happens to be the last, and mammy eats no other, you remember."
"No great matter, either; to-morrow will be baking-day. Now I know why you took none yourself, mother," answered Sidney, cheerfully, in the same "aside" manner; and the placid smile on the hospitable face of the 'home-mother' alone acknowledged her recognition of the ascription of self-denial to her; for it is not occasionally, but always, that
"In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel guard of loves and graces lie."
Adieu!
Uncle Hal.