ketcher from life. Well, that being the
case, though it is painful to dwell upon any case, accept the following
sketch from nature; it is a recent event--you may not question the
truth--the names I conceal. A sour, sulky, cantankerous fellow, of some
fortune, lean, wizened, and little, with one of those parchment
complexions that indicate a cold antipathy to aught but self, married a
fine generous creature, fair and large in person; neither bride nor
bridegroom were in the flower of youth--a flower which, it is hard to say
why, is supposed to shed "a purple light of love." After the wedding, the
"happy couple" departed to spend the honeymoon among their relations. In
such company, the ill-tempered husband is obliged to behave his best--he
coldly puts on the polite hypocrite in the presence of others--but, every
moment of _tete-a-tete_, vents maliciously his ill-temper upon his spouse.
It happened, that after one day of more remarkably well-acted sweetness,
he retired in more than common disgust at the fatigue he had been obliged
to endure, to make himself appear properly agreeable. He gets into bed,
and instantly tucks up his legs with his knees nigh to his chin,
and--detestable little wretch!--throws out a kick with his utmost power
against his fair, fat, substantial partner. What is the result? He did not
calculate the "_vis inertiae_," that a little body kicking against the
greater is wont to come off second best--so he kicks himself out of bed,
and here ends the comedy of the affair; the rest is tragic enough. Some
how or other, in his fall, he broke his neck upon the spot. This was a
very awkward affair. The bell is rung, up come the friends; the story is
told, nor is it other than they had suspected. It does not end here, for,
of course, there must be an inquest. It is an Irish jury. All said it
served him right--and so what is the verdict?--Justifiable _felo-de-se_."
Here, Eusebius, you have something remarkable;--one happier at the
termination than the commencement of the honeymoon--a widow happier than a
bride. She might go forth to the world again, with the sweet reputation of
having smothered him with kisses, and killed him with kindness--if the
verdict can be concealed; if not, while the husband is buried with the
ignominy of "felonious intent," the widow will be but little disconsolate,
and universally applauded. To those of any experience, it will not be a
cause of wonder how such parties should come together