women in the whole of this world, with little darling caps of the
last French make, with beautiful wavy hair, and the neatest
possible waists and aprons.
Yes, there they sit; and others, perhaps, besides Fitz have cast a
sheep's-eye through those enormous plate-glass windowpanes. I
suppose it is the fact of perpetually living among such a quantity
of good things that makes those young ladies so beautiful. They
come into the place, let us say, like ordinary people, and
gradually grow handsomer and handsomer, until they grow out into
the perfect angels you see. It can't be otherwise: if you and I,
my dear fellow, were to have a course of that place, we should
become beautiful too. They live in an atmosphere of the most
delicious pine-apples, blanc-manges, creams, (some whipt, and some
so good that of course they don't want whipping,) jellies, tipsy-
cakes, cherry-brandy--one hundred thousand sweet and lovely things.
Look at the preserved fruits, look at the golden ginger, the
outspreading ananas, the darling little rogues of China oranges,
ranged in the gleaming crystal cylinders. Mon Dieu! Look at the
strawberries in the leaves. Each of them is as large nearly as a
lady's reticule, and looks as if it had been brought up in a
nursery to itself. One of those strawberries is a meal for those
young ladies, behind the counter; they nibble off a little from the
side, and if they are very hungry, which can scarcely ever happen,
they are allowed to go to the crystal canisters and take out a
rout-cake or macaroon. In the evening they sit and tell each other
little riddles out of the bonbons; and when they wish to amuse
themselves, they read the most delightful remarks, in the French
language, about Love, and Cupid, and Beauty, before they place them
inside the crackers. They always are writing down good things into
Mr. Fubsby's ledgers. It must be a perfect feast to read them.
Talk of the Garden of Eden! I believe it was nothing to Mr.
Fubsby's house; and I have no doubt that after those young ladies
have been there a certain time, they get to such a pitch of
loveliness at last, that they become complete angels, with wings
sprouting out of their lovely shoulders, when (after giving just a
preparatory balance or two) they fly up to the counter and perch
there for a minute, hop down again, and affectionately kiss the
other young ladies, and say, "Good-by, dears! We shall meet again
la haut." And then with a whir of their deliciously scented wings,
away they fly for good, whisking over the trees of Brobdingnag
Square, and up into the sky, as the policeman touches his hat.
It is up there that they invent the legends for the crackers, and
the wonderful riddles and remarks on the bonbons. No mortal, I am
sure, could write them.
I never saw a man in such a state as Fitzroy Timmins in the
presence of those ravishing houris. Mrs. Fitz having explained
that they required a dinner for twenty persons, the chief young
lady asked what Mr. and Mrs. Fitz would like, and named a thousand
things, each better than the other, to all of which Fitz instantly
said yes. The wretch was in such a state of infatuation that I
believe if that lady had proposed to him a fricasseed elephant, or
a boa-constrictor in jelly, he would have said, "O yes, certainly;
put it down."
That Peri wrote down in her album a list of things which it would
make your mouth water to listen to. But she took it all quite