During his life his daughter had eloped
with Bob Gawffaw, then a gay lieutenant in a marching regiment, who had
been esteemed a very lucky fellow in getting the pretty Miss Croaker,
with the prospect of ten thousand pounds. None thought more highly of
her husband's good fortune than the lady herself; and though _her_
fortune never was realised, she gave herself all the airs of having been
the making of his. At this time Mr. Gawffaw was a reduced lieutenant,
living upon a small paternal property, which he pretended to farm; but
the habits of a military life, joined to a naturally social disposition,
were rather inimical to the pursuits of agriculture, and most of his time
was spent in loitering about the village of G-----, where he generally
continued either to pick up a guest or procure a dinner.
Mrs. Gawffaw despised her husband; had weak nerves and headaches--was
above managing her house--read novels--dyed ribbons--and altered her
gowns according to every pattern she could see or hear of.
Such were Mr. and Mrs. Gawffaw--one of the many ill-assorted couples in
this world--joined, not matched. A sensible man would have curbed her
folly and peevishness; a good-tempered woman would have made his home
comfortable, and rendered him more domestic.
The dinner was such as might have been expected from the previous
specimens--bad of its kind, cold, ill-dressed, and slovenly set down;
but Mrs.
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