At last, the bitter, weary month was gone, and Triplet's eye brightened
gloriously. He donned his best suit; and, while tying his cravat,
lectured his family. First, he complimented them upon their deportment in
adversity; hinted that moralists, not experience, had informed him
prosperity was far more trying to the character. Put them all solemnly on
their guard down to Lucy, _aetat_ five, that they were _morituri_ and
_ae,_ and must be pleased to abstain from "insolent gladness" upon his
return.
"Sweet are the uses of adversity!" continued this cheerful monitor. "If
we had not been hard up this while, we should not come with a full relish
to meat three times a week, which, unless I am an ass (and I don't see
myself in that light)," said Triplet dryly, "will, I apprehend, be, after
this day, the primary condition of our future existence."
"James, take the picture with you," said Mrs. Triplet, in one of those
calm, little, desponding voices that fall upon the soul so agreeably when
one is a cock-a-hoop, and desires, with permission, so to remain.
"What on earth am I to take Mrs. Woffington's portrait for?"
"We have nothing in the house," said the wife, blushing.
Triplet's eye glittered like a rattlesnake's.
"The intimation is eccentric," said he. "Are you mad, Jane? Pray,"
continued he, veiling his wrath in scornful words, "is it requisite,
heroic, or judicious on the eve, or more correctly the morn, of affluence
to deposit an unfinished work of art with a mercenary relation? Hang it,
Jane! would you really have me pawn Mrs.
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