We prefer to enter the residence of the parson, and, seated opposite to his rosy countenance, note a few observations as to what was passing there. In a parenthesis, we have already described the worthy man as fat and oily. Indeed, he was singularly consistent, for whilst he preached good living to others, he did not neglect to practice it himself, though, perhaps, he had a private interpretation of the word, and understood it in a different sense. He told his hearers that they would, in the end, feel the advantages resulting from it: and certainly, after fifty years practice, he looked very comfortable himself. This regimen had endowed him with size and colour, flesh and paint. He had been called a light of the church; only, we presume, because his face, in shape, resembled the moon, though scarcely so pale. Yet, withall, Dr. Mauncel was mild and benevolent, and one of his best properties was, that he had a beautiful daughter, who had just reached her nineteenth winter. Many a sigh had been unconsciously breathed as Mary leant upon her father’s arm, on their way to church: and as she knelt in prayer, many a look had been directed towards her, and lovers envied the vicar for the many caresses he must receive from such a fair being, and thought what a sanctuary her presence would make of the very humblest home. The little arch creature knew this, and flung back her ringlets, that her face might be seen, and then contrived to make it so demure and grave, that one might have imagined that a ray of happy, but feverish love, had never brightened over it. When she smiled, it was always so friendly, that a deeper sentiment, it was thought, could not lurk beneath it; and she would extend her hand so frankly, that no one could venture upon retaining and kissing it,—it felt so sisterly. And yet, the sweet rogue was in love with her cousin William, then residing at the Vicarage; and when the good doctor was paying his addresses either to his meals or his sermon, the young pair were toying with each other’s hands, and his reverence had once been startled from his reveries, by a very loud kiss.
We have, strangely enough, omitted to mention that it was Christmas night on which all the transactions we have recorded of the tailors, took place; so that lights were still seen in the vicarage, and a goose, with others of the same genus, was standing on the table very peaceably, if we except the smoke of their anger, which was ascending, and, as the vicar facetiously remarked, much more comfortable where they were, than without, in the fury of the storm.
“Is all in readiness? Now, nephew, you can fence and carve, bisect and dissect; but when you reach my age, you will only be able to devour, decant, or digest. Stay; Mary, bring Rehoboam and Jeroboam, with all their tribes. Rehoboam was the son of Solomon, and there is no reason why a wise man should not be fond of him. Come, haste, Mary, else I shall send William to bring you.”
“Nay, nay, uncle,” said the youth, “to avoid delay, I will go at once, and chide her so, that she must despatch. Now,—dear Mary,” and the happy couple ran out of the room together.
“Sly rogues,” chuckled the old man, who saw how matters stood.
Mary, it seems, had been refractory, for it was not until a considerable length of time had elapsed, that she appeared, carrying a few glasses, whilst her cousin bore two large bottles, Rehoboam and Jeroboam.
“Ah! ah!” cried the vicar. “Fie, fie, whence come these blushes, Mary? Let both of you approach; now kneel; and God bless you, my dear children! Nephew William, take her hand as a Christmas present from her father; you have already obtained her heart from herself.”
“Dear, dear uncle,” exclaimed the delighted youth, as he clasped his relative’s knees with his hands.
“Nay, nay,” the parson interrupted, “put your arms around that blushing neck. I have long watched you. When you read for the old man, William, she sat beside you, gazing upon the same book, and when your locks and cheeks were together, your voice became agitated, and then she looked innocently into your face. You always preferred a large folio, and she slipped her little hand in one side, beneath it, and then you put yours through, to meet hers; and for hours, the happy father has been delighted with your loves. Ah! one other remembrance comes upon me. In our evening walk I was strolling behind you, when a beautiful child left his sister’s hand, and ran to you, Mary, and climbing up, kissed you once and again. I was near enough to hear William say, ‘now, cousin, give me one likewise.’ Ah! rogues, rogues,” and he took them both in his arms, and hugged them together, when a knocking was heard at the gate. The vicar started, but the lovers were so happy in each other, that they had not even heard the noise.
“Some poor traveller seeking shelter from the storm. How the storm blows without. Hark to that awful howl,” and the good man arose from the table. He heard the servant open the door, and instantly a form bounced into the room, all drifted and covered with snow. A single shake served to discover Mrs. Gideon Chiselwig.