PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
AUGUST 14, 1841.
THE WIFE CATCHERS.
A LEGEND OF MY UNCLE’S BOOTS.
In Four Chapters.
CHAPTER III.
Haberdashers, continued my friend theboot, are wonderful people; they make the greatest show out of thesmallest stock—whether of brains or ribbons—of any menin the world. A stranger could not pass through the village ofBallybreesthawn without being attracted by a shop which occupiedthe corner of the Market-square and the main street, with a windowlooking both ways for custom. In these windows were displayedsundry articles of use and ornament—toys, stationery,perfumery, ribbons, laces, hardware, spectacles, and Dutchdolls.
In a glass-case on the counter were exhibited patent medicines,Birmingham jewellery, court-plaister, and side-combs. Behind thecounter might be seen Mr. Matthew Tibbins, quite a precedent forcountry shop-keepers, with uncommonly fair hair and slenderfingers, a profusion of visible linen, and a most engaging lisp. Inaddition to his personal attractions, Tibbins possessed a largestock of accomplishments, which, like his goods, “mightsafely challenge competition.” He was an acknowledged wit,and retailed compliments and cotton balls to the young ladies whovisited his emporium. As a poet, too, his merits were universallyknown; for he had once contributed a poetic charade to theLadies’ Almanack. He, moreover, played delightfullyon the Jews’-harp, knew several mysterious tricks in cards,and was an adept in the science of bread and butter-cutting, whichmade him a prodigious favourite with maiden aunts and side-tablecousins. This was the individual whom fate had ordained to crossand thwart Terence in his designs upon the heart of Miss BiddyO’Brannigan, and upon whom that young lady, in sport orcaprice, bestowed a large dividend of those smiles which Terenceimagined should be devoted solely to himself.
The man of small wares was, in truth, a dangerous rival, fromhis very insignificance. Had he been a man of spirit or corporalconsideration, Terence would have pistolled or thrashed him out ofhis audacious notions; but the creature was so smiling andsubmissive that he could not, for the life of him, dirty hisfingers with such a contemptible wretch. Thus Tibbins continuedflattering and wriggling himself into Miss Biddy’s goodgraces, while Terence was fighting and kissing the way to herheart, till the poor girl was fairly bothered between them.
Miss Biddy O’Brannigan, I should have told you, sir, wasan heiress, valued at one thousand pounds in hard cash, living withan old aunt at Rookawn Lodge, about six miles from Ballybreesthawn;and to this retreat of the loves and graces might the rival loversbe seen directing their course, after mass, every Sunday;—thehaberdasher in a green gig with red wheels, and your uncle mountedon a bit of blood, taking the coal off Tibbins’s pipe withthe impudence of his air, and the elegant polish of your humbleservants.
Matters went on in this way for some time—MissO’Brannigan not having declared in favour of either of hersuitors—when one bitter cold evening, I remember it was inthe middle of January, we were whipped off our peg in the hall, andin company with our fellow-labourers, the buckskin continuations,were carried up to your uncle, whom we found busily pr