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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
68
The
earliest
set
of
letters
were
two
bundles
tied
together,
and
ticketed
(in
Miss
Jenkyns’s
handwriting)
“Letters
interchanged
between
my
ever-honoured
father
and
my
dearly-beloved
mother,
prior
to
their
marriage,
in
July
1774.”
I
should
guess
that
the
rector
of
Cranford
was
about
twenty-seven
years
of
age
when
he
wrote
those
letters;
and
Miss
Matty
told
me
that
her
mother
was
just
eighteen
at
the
time
of
her
wedding.
With
my
idea
of
the
rector
derived
from
a
picture
in
the
dining-parlour,
stiff
and
stately,
in
a
huge
full-bottomed
wig,
with
gown,
cassock,
and
bands,
and
his
hand
upon
a
copy
of
the
only
sermon
he
ever
published—
it
was
strange
to
read
these
letters.
They
were
full
of
eager,
passionate
ardour;
short
homely
sentences,
right
fresh
from
the
heart
(very
different
from
the
grand
Latinised,
Johnsonian
style
of
the
printed
sermon
preached
before
some
judge
at
assize
time).
His
letters
were
a
curious
contrast
to
those
of
his
girl-bride.
She
was
evidently
rather
annoyed
at
his
demands
upon
her
for
expressions
of
love,
and
could
not
quite
understand
what
he
meant
by
repeating
the
same
thing
over
in
so
many
different
ways;
but
what
she
was
quite
clear
about
was
a
longing
for
a
white
“Paduasoy”—
whatever
that
might
be;
and
six
or
seven
letters
were
principally
occupied
in
asking
her
lover
to
use
his
influence
with
her
parents
(who
evidently
kept
her
in
good
order)
to
obtain
this
or
that
article
of
dress,
more
especially
the
white
“Paduasoy.”
He
cared
nothing
how
she
was
dressed;
she
was
always
lovely
enough
for
him,
as
he
took
pains
to
assure
her,
when
she
begged
him
to
express
in
his
answers
a
predilection
for
particular
pieces
of
finery,
in
order
that
she
might
show
what
he
said
to
her
parents.
But
at
length
he
seemed
to
find
out
that
she
would
not
be
married
till
she
had
a
“trousseau”
to
her
mind;
and
then
he
sent
her
a
letter,
which
had
evidently
accompanied
a
whole
box
full
of
finery,
and
in
which
he
requested
that
she
might
be
dressed
in
everything
her
heart
desired.
This
was
the
first
letter,
ticketed
in
a
frail,
delicate
hand,
“From
my
dearest
John.”
Shortly
afterwards
they
were
married,
I
suppose,
from
the
intermission
in
their
correspondence.
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