She was the only child of
Mr. and Mrs. Chopper. Her father died when she was, as the play-books
express it, 'yet an infant;' and so old Mrs. Chopper, when her daughter
married, made the house of her son-in-law her home from that time
henceforth, and set up her staff of rest with Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle.

Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and the
venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider and abettor in the same.

Mr. Merrywinkle is a rather lean and long-necked gentleman, middle-aged
and middle-sized, and usually troubled with a cold in the head. Mrs.
Merrywinkle is a delicate-looking lady, with very light hair, and is
exceedingly subject to the same unpleasant disorder. The venerable Mrs.
Chopper--who is strictly entitled to the appellation, her daughter not
being very young, otherwise than by courtesy, at the time of her
marriage, which was some years ago--is a mysterious old lady who lurks
behind a pair of spectacles, and is afflicted with a chronic disease,
respecting which she has taken a vast deal of medical advice, and
referred to a vast number of medical books, without meeting any
definition of symptoms that at all suits her, or enables her to say,
'That's my complaint.' Indeed, the absence of authentic information upon
the subject of this complaint would seem to be Mrs. Chopper's greatest
ill, as in all other respects she is an uncommonly hale and hearty
gentlewoman.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Chopper wear an extraordinary quantity of flannel, and
have a habit of putting their feet in hot water to an unnatural extent.
They likewise indulge in chamomile tea and such-like compounds, and rub
themselves on the slightest provocation with camphorated spirits and
other lotions applicable to mumps, sore-throat, rheumatism, or lumbago.

Mr. Merrywinkle's leaving home to go to business on a damp or wet morning
is a very elaborate affair. He puts on wash-leather socks over his
stockings, and India-rubber shoes above his boots, and wears under his
waistcoat a cuirass of hare-skin. Besides these precautions, he winds a
thick shawl round his throat, and blocks up his mouth with a large silk
handkerchief. Thus accoutred, and furnished besides with a great-coat
and umbrella, he braves the dangers of the streets; travelling in severe
weather at a gentle trot, the better to preserve the circulation, and
bringing his mouth to the surface to take breath, but very seldom, and
with the utmost caution. His offi