Whiffler, 'what can equal domestic happiness? what can equal the
engaging ways of children! Saunders, why don't you get married?'
Now, this is an embarrassing question, because Mr. Saunders has
been thinking that if he had at any time entertained matrimonial
designs, the revelation of that day would surely have routed them
for ever. 'I am glad, however,' says Mr. Whiffler, 'that you ARE a
bachelor,--glad on one account, Saunders; a selfish one, I admit.
Will you do Mrs. Whiffler and myself a favour?' Mr. Saunders is
surprised--evidently surprised; but he replies, 'with the greatest
pleasure.' 'Then, will you, Saunders,' says Mr. Whiffler, in an
impressive manner, 'will you cement and consolidate our friendship
by coming into the family (so to speak) as a godfather?' 'I shall
be proud and delighted,' replies Mr. Saunders: 'which of the
children is it? really, I thought they were all christened; or--'
'Saunders,' Mr. Whiffler interposes, 'they ARE all christened; you
are right. The fact is, that Mrs. Whiffler is--in short, we expect
another.' 'Not a ninth!' cries the friend, all aghast at the idea.
'Yes, Saunders,' rejoins Mr. Whiffler, solemnly, 'a ninth. Did we
drink Mrs. Whiffler's health? Let us drink it again, Saunders, and
wish her well over it!'

Doctor Johnson used to tell a story of a man who had but one idea,
which was a wrong one. The couple who dote upon their children are
in the same predicament: at home or abroad, at all times, and in
all places, their thoughts are bound up in this one subject, and
have no sphere beyond. They relate the clever things their
offspring say or do, and weary every company with their prolixity
and absurdity. Mr. Whiffler takes a friend by the button at a
street corner on a windy day to tell him a bon mot of his youngest
boy's; and Mrs. Whiffler, calling to see a sick acquaintance,