“A moment’s patience, with your honour’s leave.—­Ah! truly might it be said of her, that she was descended from the high and great—­her grandfather having been not only six feet three, without the shoes, but for forty odd years principal bell-ringer in the steeple of St. Giles’s, Cripplegate; and her grandmother, for long and long, not only head dry-nurse to one of the noblest families in all England, but bona fide twenty-two stone avoirdupois—­so that it was once proposed, by the undertaker, to bury her at twice!  As to this nonpareil of lovely flesh and blood, her name was Lucy Mainspring, the daughter of a horologer, sir,—­a watchmaker—­vulgo so called—­and though fattish, she was very fair—­fair! by Jupiter, (craving your honour’s pardon for swearing,) she fairly made me give all other thoughts the cut, and twisted the passions of my heart with the red-hot torturing irons of love.  ’Pon honour, sir, I almost grow foolish when I think of those days; but love, sir, nothing can resist love.”

“I hope, Mr. Tims, you were in better luck with Miss Mainspring?”

“A leetle a leetle patience, your honour, and all will be out as quick as directly—­in the twinkling of a bed-post.—­For three successive nights I sat up in a brown study, with a four-in-the-pound candle burning before me till almost cock-crow, composing a love-letter, a most elaborate affair, the pure overflowing of la belle passion, all about Venus, Cupids, bows and arrows, hearts, darts, and them things, which, having copied neatly over on a handsome sheet of foolscap, turned up with gilt, (for, though I say it myself, I scribble a smart fist,) I made a blotch of red wax on the back as large as a dollar, that thereon I might the more indelibly impress a seal, with a couple of pigeons cooing upon it, and ‘toujours wotre’ for the motto.  This I popped into the post-office, and waited patiently—­may I add confidently?—­for the result.

“No answer having come as I expected per return, I began to smell that I was in the wrong box; so, on the following evening, I had a polite visit from her respectable old father, Daniel Mainspring, who asked me what my intentions were?—­’To commence wig-maker on my own bottom,’ answered I.—­’But with respect to my daughter, sir?’—­’Why, to be sure, to make her mistress, sir.’—­’Mistress!’ quoth he, ’did I hear you right, sir?’—­’I hope you are not hard of hearing, Mr. Mainspring.  I wish, sir—­between us, sir—­you understand, sir—­to marry her, sir.’—­’Then you can’t have her, sir.’—­’But I must, sir, for I can’t do without her, sir.’—­’Then you may buy a rope.’—­’Ah! you would not sign my death-warrant—­wouldn’t you not now, Mr. Mainspring?’—­’Before going,’ said he, rummaging his huge coat-pockets with both hands at once, ’there is your letter, which I read over patiently, instead of my daughter, who has never seen it; and I hope you will excuse the liberty I take of calling you a great fool, and wishing you a good morning.’