and she goes on to tell you that such were Mr. Sliverstone's
labours last week--what with the buryings, marryings, churchings,
christenings, and all together,--that when he was going up the
pulpit stairs on Sunday evening, he was obliged to hold on by the
rails, or he would certainly have fallen over into his own pew.
Mr. Sliverstone, who has been listening and smiling meekly, says,
'Not quite so bad as that, not quite so bad!' he admits though, on
cross-examination, that he WAS very near falling upon the verger
who was following him up to bolt the door; but adds, that it was
his duty as a Christian to fall upon him, if need were, and that
he, Mr. Sliverstone, and (possibly the verger too) ought to glory
in it.

This sentiment communicates new impulse to Mrs. Sliverstone, who
launches into new praises of Mr. Sliverstone's worth and
excellence, to which he listens in the same meek silence, save when
he puts in a word of self-denial relative to some question of fact,
as--'Not seventy-two christenings that week, my dear. Only
seventy-one, only seventy-one.' At length his lady has quite
concluded, and then he says, Why should he repine, why should he
give way, why should he suffer his heart to sink within him? Is it
he alone who toils and suffers? What has she gone through, he
should like to know? What does she go through every day for him
and for society?

With such an exordium Mr. Sliverstone launches out into glowing
praises of the conduct of Mrs. Sliverstone in the production of
eight young children, and the subsequent rearing and fostering of
the same; and thus the husband magnifies the wife, and the wife the
husband.