If these beings, so closely allied to his wife, and so justly dear to
her, may be considered as drawbacks to Maine's happiness, what man is
there that has not some things in life to complain of? And when I first
knew Mr. Maine, no man seemed more comfortable than he. His cottage was
a picture of elegance and comfort; his table and cellar were excellently
and neatly supplied. There was every enjoyment, but no ostentation. The
omnibus took him to business of a morning; the boat brought him back to
the happiest of homes, where he would while away the long evenings by
reading out the fashionable novels to the ladies as they worked; or
accompany his wife on the flute (which he played elegantly); or in any
one of the hundred pleasing and innocent amusements of the domestic
circle. Mrs. Chuff covered the drawing-rooms with prodigious tapestries,
the work of her hands. Mrs. Sackville had a particular genius for making
covers of tape or network for these tapestried cushions. She could make
home-made wines. She could make preserves and pickles. She had an
album, into which, during the time of his courtship, Sackville Maine bad
written choice scraps of Byron's and Moore's poetry, analogous to his
own situation, and in a fine mercantile hand. She had a large manuscript
receipt-book--every quality, in a word, which indicated a virtuous and
well-bred English female mind.
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