"We may therefore grant," renewed my father, "that, as a general rule,
the process of courtship tends to the spruceness, and even foppery, of
the individual engaged in the experiment, as Voltaire has very prettily
proved somewhere. Nay, the Mexicans, indeed, were of opinion that the
lady at least ought to continue those cares of her person even after
marriage. There is extant, in Sahagun's 'History of New Spain,' the
advice of an Aztec or Mexican mother to her daughter, in which she says,
'That your husband may not take you in dislike, adorn yourself, wash
yourself, and let your garments be clean.' It is true that the good lady
adds, 'Do it in moderation; since if every day you are washing yourself
and your clothes, the world will say that you are over-delicate; and
particular people will call you--TAPETZON TINEMAXOCH!' What those words
precisely mean," added my father, modestly, "I cannot say, since I never
had the opportunity to acquire the ancient Aztec language,--but something
very opprobrious and horrible, no doubt."

"I dare say a philosopher like Signor Riccabocca," said my uncle, "was
not himself very /tapetzon tine/--what d' ye call it?--and a good healthy
English wife, that poor affectionate Jemima, was thrown away upon him."

"Roland," said my father, "you don't like foreigners; a respectable
prejudice, and quite natural in a man who has been trying his best to
hew them in pieces and blow them up into splinters. But you don't like
philosophers either,--and for that dislike you have no equally good
reason."

"I only implied that they are not much addicted to soap and water," said
my uncle.

"A notable mistake. Many great philosophers have been very great beaux.