“My surprise and joy may be imagined. A white Merle! Is it possible? I hastened to reply to the charming note—equal in terseness and fathomless sentiment to a love message in the second column of the _Times_. I besought the fair unknown to come at once to Paris, the refuge of romance-stricken young ladies. My reply had the desired effect; she came at once, or rather soon after her second letter, which informed me that she would not bother her parents with details. It was better to tell them nothing, as they might deem it necessary to send an old carrion Crow to look into my character.
“She came at last. Oh, joy! she was the loveliest Merle in the world. Was it possible that a creature so charming had lived and been reared for me? All my father’s curses, and, above all, my { 258} sufferings were welcome, since Heaven had reserved such an unexpected consolation for me. Till to-day I thought myself doomed to an eternal solitariness, but now I feel, while gazing on my lovely bride, all the nobler qualities of a father fully developed within me. Accept my claw, fair one, let us wed in the Anglo-Saxon fashion, and start for Switzerland.
“Nay,” replied my love, “our wedding must be on a truly magnificent scale, all the Blackbirds of good birth must be invited. Birds in our position ought to observe the nicest ceremony, and not wed like water-spout cats. I have brought a provision of bank-notes with me. Arrange your invitations, and spare no cost in ordering the feast. I am of French origin and love display.”
Blindly yielding to the wishes of my charmer, our wedding was of extraordinary brilliancy. Ten thousand flies were slaughtered for the feast, and we received the nuptial benediction from an old father Cormorant, archbishop _in partibus_, and the happy day’s festivities concluded with a splendid ball.
The more I studied the character of my wife, the greater became my love. She combined in her dainty person every imaginable grace of body and mind. Only she was given to gossip, which I attributed to the influence of the English fog, and never had a moment’s doubt that our genial climate would dissipate this little cloud.
There was some mystery hedging her round, which troubled me with grave forebodings. She used to shut herself up with her maids, under lock and key, for hours together, engaged, so she said, at her toilet. Husbands as a rule have no patience with such proceedings. More than a score of times have I knocked at my wife’s door without receiving the slightest response. One day I insisted with such violence that she was compelled to open the door, but not without favouring me with a sample of her temper. On entering, the first thing that met my gaze was a huge bottle of a sort of paste made up of flour and whitewash. I inquired of my wife what she used that stuff for, to which she replied, it was a mixture for chilblains. This seemed rather strange, yet how could so charming a creature inspire me with anything but confidence.