INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
I was left a widow with seven daughters. I have married them all, or rather, I have let them marry themselves; for I never took any active measures towards bringing about a result which I own to be a desirable one in a family consisting of seven daughters and one son.
I have seen manœuvring mothers succeed; but I have as often seen them fail in their matrimonial speculations. I have seen dignified mothers with modest daughters, pass year after year, unnoticed and unsought; but I have also seen the unobtrusive daughters of retiring mothers form splendid alliances; and at the very beginning of my career as a Chaperon, I came to the conclusion that, as there was no rule which could ensure success, it was safer and more respectable to do too little than to do too much; better simply to fail, than to fail and to be ridiculous at the same time.
Accordingly, when I had mounted my feathered hat and black velvet gown, or my white satin gown and flowered cap, as the occasion might require, and patiently taken my station upon the chair, seat, or bench which I could most conveniently appropriate to myself, I beguiled the weary hours by studying those around me, trusting for the rest to chance, and to the principles which I had endeavoured to impress upon the minds of my girls; viz. not to flirt so as to attract attention,—not to think too highly of their own pretensions,—and, above all, not to be betrayed into laughing at any man before they knew him, by which means more than one girl of my acquaintance has been obliged, for consistency’s sake, to repulse a person whom, upon further acquaintance, she might have sincerely preferred.
My daughters were not beautiful enough, nor did they marry brilliantly enough, to excite the jealousy of other mothers. I had brought them up to avoid a fault odious in all, but especially so in the young, that of being more ready to perceive the failings than the merits of their companions: we were, therefore, a popular family. I had myself the happy knack of being interested in the concerns and distresses of others, and I listened with pleasure to details however trifling: I had consequently many intimate friends.
As people never were afraid of me, transient emotions, and harmless weaknesses, which would have been concealed from a sterner, cleverer, or more important personage, were confessed, or, at all events, permitted to escape in a tête-à-tête with the good-natured, quiet, inoffensive Mrs. ——. But what am I doing? I wish to preserve my incog., and only hope I have not already betrayed myself by the mention of my white satin, and my black velvet gowns.
I will write no more, lest some unguarded expression should give a clue to my name: I will simply add, that my last daughter having been comfortably established a year ago, “Othello’s occupation is gone;” and my purse being somewhat drained by the purchase of so many trousseaux, I have occupied my leisure, and, I trust, shall recruit my finances, by portraying characters and feelings which I believe are true to nature, although under circumstances and in situations not founded on fact.