foul-mouthed, pushing, importunate, and a fool, seems natural, almost
innocently natural, in Goldsmith's story; the squalid Mrs. Primrose is
all this. He is still able, through his Vicar, in the most charmingly
humorous passage in the book, to praise her for her "prudence, economy,
and obedience." Her other, more disgusting, characteristics give her
husband an occasion for rebuking her as "Woman!" This is done, for
example, when, despite her obedience, she refuses to receive that unlucky
schemer, her own daughter, returned in ruins, without insulting her by
the sallies of a kitchen sarcasm.

She plots with her daughters the most disastrous fortune hunt. She has
given them a teaching so effectual that the Vicar has no fear lest the
paltry Sophia should lose her heart to the good, the sensible Burchell,
who had saved her life; for he has no fortune. Mrs. Primrose begins
grotesquely, with her tedious histories of the dishes at dinner, and she
ends upon the last page, anxious, amid the general happiness, in regard
to securing the head of the table. Upon these feminine humours the
author sheds his Vicar's indulgent smile. What a smile for a
self-respecting husband to be pricked to smile! A householder would
wince, one would think, at having opportunity to bestow its tolerance
upon his cook.

Between these two housewifely appearances, Mrs. Primrose potters through
the book; plots--always squalidly; talks the worst kinds of folly; takes
the lead, with a loud laugh, in insulting a former friend; crushes her
repentant daughter with reproaches that show envy rather than
indignation, and kisses that daughter with congratulation upon hearing
that she had, unconsciously and unintentionally, contracted a valid
marriage (with a rogue); spoils and makes common and unclean everything
she touches; has but two really gentle and tender moments all through the