Whom to Marry and How to Get Married or, The Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Husband

For the last two days, I have been chuckling aloud while reading from Whom to Marry and How to Get Marriedby Henry and Augustus Mayhew and illustrated by George Cruikshank.  It’s the tale of Lotty De Roos’s tribulations as she tries to find a suitable husband.  The book was published in 1848, but the story opens in 1832. If you are a fan of Regency and Early Victorian romps, you will enjoy this book, especially the word usage and details of daily living.

I told my mother about the book and promised to post an excerpt. I have just finished reading Chapter Three or “Offer Three” and decided to post the initial scenes from that chapter.  In it, Lotty and her mother go on holiday to Brighton. Enjoy:

OFFER THE THIRD.

THIS WAS AS GOOD AN OFFER AS ANY YOUNG GIRL COULD REASONABLY EXPECT — IT SEEMED TO PROMISE VERY FAIRLY INDEED AT ONE TIME, BUT THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE (AS THE READER VERY WELL KNOWS) NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH, AND MINE MET WITH SO MANY OBSTACLES, THAT UPON MY WORD IT WAS A PERFECT CASCADE OF CALAMITY.

About this period, I found I began to take longer and longer to dress; and yet, whatever time I might have been at my toilet, still I was never thoroughly satisfied with myself when I was forced to finish it. I would sit by the hour before my glass, doing my hair in all kinds of ways: first, trying how I looked with it curled like Mamma’s, en saucisson. When I fancied that was too matronly for me, doing it in two small bunches of ringlets, and immediately afterwards brushing them out again, when I thought of their getting out of curl, and hanging down each side of my face like spaniels’ ears. Then I’d turn it all back “a la Chinoise” so as to show off my forehead, with two little pets of “accroches cceurs” gummed to my cheek bones, till I declare my head looked as round and sleek as a bird’s. If that didn’t please me, I’d pull it all down again, and set to work, first doing it “en bandeaux” or else in braids, or else “a la Madonna” and sometimes wishing to gracious that I had only wetted my front hair, and plaited it tight over night, so as to have given it a beautiful wavy appearance, and made it look as if it had a natural curl in it. After this, I’d tell our Mary I thought, as there was going to be no one particular to dinner, I’d wear my aventurine merino; and then, before she’d time to get it out   No, I wouldn’t. As I looked rather pale, I might as well put on my pink striped mousseline de laine ; and as soon as I had got that on, and taken a peep at myself in the glass, I’d change my mind again, and determine to wear my beautiful silk Macgregor plaid, especially as somebody might drop in the evening, and the body of that old mouslin was so shockingly high, that I shouldn’t like any visitor to see me in it. And then, when at last I was dressed, first this band didn’t seem to go well with it, then that one wouldn’t do a bit better; and now this worked collar didn’t please me, and next I could never wear that fichu : and so I would go on fiddle-faddling over my looking-glass until the upstairs bell had rung at least half a dozen times for dinner. Even then, though I knew they must have finished the soup, and that I should catch it for being late, still I couldn’t, for the life of me, help slipping into Mamma’s room on my way down, and just arranging her two beautiful cheval glasses one in front of the other, so as to see myself both before and behind, and to satisfy myself that my skirt looked as nice and full as I liked.

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Gothic Fun — A Short Story from 1894

I try to read in the evenings, because the words and cadence seep into my subconscious during the night and then help me write the next morning. Unfortunately, this evening I left my book downstairs after I had locked up the house, so I pulled up my laptop and read a short story titled, “Separated: A Divided Story,” printed in “Cassell’s Family Magazine, ” 1894.  I simply copied the text, corrected the formatting as I read, and pasted the story here.  It’s not the best story, however, in a mere 6,000 words, engagements are broken, a character goes insane, a family secret is revealed and a love is regained.  As my grandmother would say, “It’s a hoot.”  Sadly, I can’t find the author’s name.  The magazine lists the following contributors:

 

 Separated: A Divided Story

I was very much displeased when Phina came to me with the news that she was engaged to Eustace Manvers.

It seemed so sudden; and he was the one man amongst our acquaintances whom I should have wished my sister not to choose; but as my wishes had not been consulted, I shut my lips tightly, and said nothing. But Phina’s flashing dark eyes read the dissatisfaction in my face, and in a moment her arms were round me.

“Now, little sister, don’t be cross. I know Eustace is not a bit like your dear sedate Robert; but, you see, you and I are so unlike, that it is unreasonable of you to expect me to choose a man of Robert’s stamp.”

I began an indignant defence of my absent Robert, but Phina waxed more eloquent. “Yes, yes, I know he is a model husband, the dear old slow-coach. But you know, Christine, if I were really bound to such a quiet, easy-going man, I should positively grow to hate him in time. I could not settle down for ever in a quiet country place; I want to live, not to stagnate. Eustace and I mean to travel a great deal; we shall be together, and see all the glorious sights and wonderful places of which I have dreamed. Yes, I know we shall be happy; so don’t look grave over it, little sister.”

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