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“He is a bachelor, with a fine trade, and nobody to leave his money to.”

“His present can’t be less than a thousand pounds?” says I.

“Or, perhaps, a silver tea-set, and some corner-dishes,” says she.

But we could not agree to this: it was too little–too mean for a man of her uncle’s wealth; and we both determined it must be the thousand pounds.

“Dear good uncle! he’s to be here by the coach,” says Magdalen. “Let us ask a little party to meet him.” And so we did, and so they came: my father and mother, old Crutty in his best wig, and the parson who was to marry us the next day. The coach was to come in at six. And there was the tea-table, and there was the punch-bowl, and everybody ready and smiling to receive our dear uncle from London.

Six o’clock came, and the coach, and the man from the “Green Dragon” with a portmanteau, and a fat old gentleman walking behind, of whom I just caught a glimpse–a venerable old gentleman: I thought I’d seen him before.

*****

Then there was a ring at the bell; then a scuffling and bumping in the passage: then old Crutty rushed out, and a great laughing and talking, and “HOW ARE YOU?” and so on, was heard at the door; and then the parlor-door was flung open, and Crutty cried out with a loud voice–

“Good people all! my brother-in-law, Mr. STIFFELKIND!”

MR. STIFFELKIND!–I trembled as I heard the name!

Miss Crutty kissed him; mamma made him a curtsy, and papa made him a bow; and Dr. Snorter, the parson, seized his hand and shook it most warmly: then came my turn!

“Vat!” says he. “It is my dear goot yong frend from Doctor Schvis’hentail’s! is dis de yong gentleman’s honorable moder” (mamma smiled and made a curtsy), “and dis his fader? Sare and madam, you should be broud of soch a sonn. And you my niece, if you have him for a husband you vill be locky, dat is all. Vat dink you, broder Croty, and Madame Stobbs, I ‘ave made your sonn’s boots! Ha–ha!”

My mamma laughed, and said, “I did not know it, but I am sure, sir, he has as pretty a leg for a boot as any in the whole county.”

Old Stiffelkind roared louder. “A very nice leg, ma’am, and a very SHEAP BOOT TOO. Vat! did you not know I make his boots? Perhaps you did not know something else too–p’raps you did not know” (and here the monster clapped his hand on the table and made the punch-ladle tremble in the bowl)–“p’raps you did not know as dat yong man, dat Stobbs, dat sneaking, baltry, squinting fellow, is as vicked as he is ogly. He bot a pair of boots from me and never paid for dem. Dat is noting, nobody never pays; but he bought a pair of boots, and called himself Lord Cornvallis. And I was fool enough to believe him vonce. But look you, niece Magdalen, I ‘ave got five tousand pounds: if you marry him I vill not give you a benny. But look you what I will gif you: I bromised you a bresent, and I will give you DESE!”

And the old monster produced THOSE VERY BOOTS which Swishtail had made him take back.

*****

I DIDN’T marry Miss Crutty: I am not sorry for it though. She was a nasty, ugly, ill-tempered wretch, and I’ve always said so ever since.

And all this arose from those infernal boots, and that unlucky paragraph in the county paper–I’ll tell you how.

In the first place, it was taken up as a quiz by one of the wicked, profligate, unprincipled organs of the London press, who chose to be very facetious about the “Marriage in High Life,” and made all sorts of jokes about me and my dear Miss Crutty.

Secondly, it was read in this London paper by my mortal enemy, Bunting, who had been introduced to old Stiffelkind’s acquaintance by my adventure with him, and had his shoes made regularly by that foreign upstart.