Besides, as the dear girl was seventeen years older than myself, and as bad in health as she was in temper, how was I to know that the grim king of terrors might not carry her off before she became mine? With the tenderest warmth, then, and most delicate ardour, I continued to press my suit. The happy day was fixed—the ever-memorable 10th of May, 1792; the wedding clothes were ordered; and, to make things secure, I penned a little paragraph for the county paper to this effect:—"Marriage in High Life. We understand that Ensign Stubbs, of the North Bungay Fencibles, and son of Thomas Stubbs, of Sloffemsquiggle, Esquire, is about to lead to the hymeneal altar the lovely and accomplished daughter of Solomon Crutty, Esquire, of the same place. A fortune of twenty thousand pounds is, we hear, the lady's portion. 'None but the brave deserve the fair....'"
"Have you informed your relatives, my beloved," said I to Magdalen one day after sending the above notice; "will any of them attend at your marriage?"
"Uncle Sam will, I daresay," said Miss Crutty, "dear mamma's brother."
"And who was your dear mamma?" said I, for Miss Crutty's respected parent had been long since dead, and I never heard her name mentioned in the family.
Magdalen blushed, and cast down her eyes to the ground. "Mamma was a foreigner," at last she said.
"And of what country?"
"A German; papa married her when she was very young:—she was not of a very good family," said Miss Crutty, hesitating.
"And what care I for family, my love," said I, tenderly kissing the knuckles of the hand which I held; "she must have been an angel who gave birth to you."
"She was a shoemaker's daughter."
A German shoemaker! hang 'em, thought I, I have had enough of them, and so I broke up this conversation, which did not somehow please me....