He is a plain, honest creature, such as we read of in full-length
descriptions by some folks, but equally comprehensive, though shortly done
by others, under the simple name of John Bull--as ungarnished in his
dress, as in his speech and action; whereas Mrs. Cheeseman, as I have just
told you, is the counterpart of plainness; she has trinkets out of number,
brooches, backed with every kind of hair, from "the flaxen-headed cow-boy"
to the deep-toned "Jim Crow." Then her rings--they _are_ the surprise of
her staring acquaintances; she has them from the most delicate Oriental
fabric to the massiveness of dog's collars.
Uncle Cheeseman says Mrs. C. thinks of nothing else; no sporting
gentleman, handsomely furnished, in the golden days of pugilism, ever
looked upon a ring with more delightful emotions. At going to bed, she
bestows the same affectionate gaze upon them that mothers do upon their
slumbering progeny; nor is that care and affection diminished in the
morning: her very imagination is a ring, seeing that it has neither
beginning nor end--her tender ideas are encircled by the four magical
letters R--I--N--G. Even at church, we are told, she divides her time
between sleeping and secret polishing.
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