Private and confidential; relating to Family Matters.

　　Showing how Mr Kenwigs underwent violentAgitation, and how Mrs Kenwigs was as well ascould be expected.

　　It might have been seven o’clock in the evening, and it wasgrowing dark in the narrow streets near Golden Square, whenMr Kenwigs sent out for a pair of the cheapest white kidgloves—those at fourteen-pence—and selecting the strongest,which happened to be the right-hand one, walked downstairs withan air of pomp and much excitement, and proceeded to muffle theknob of the street-door knocker therein. Having executed this taskwith great nicety, Mr Kenwigs pulled the door to, after him, andjust stepped across the road to try the effect from the opposite sideof the street. Satisfied that nothing could possibly look better in itsway, Mr Kenwigs then stepped back again, and calling throughthe keyhole to Morleena to open the door, vanished into the house,and was seen no longer.

　　Now, considered as an abstract circumstance, there was nomore obvious cause or reason why Mr Kenwigs should take thetrouble of muffling this particular knocker, than there would havebeen for his muffling the knocker of any nobleman or gentlemanresident ten miles off; because, for the greater convenience of thenumerous lodgers, the street-door always stood wide open, andthe knocker was never used at all. The first floor, the second floor,and the third floor, had each a bell of its own. As to the attics, no one ever called on them; if anybody wanted the parlours, theywere close at hand, and all he had to do was to walk straight intothem; while the kitchen had a separate entrance down the areasteps. As a question of mere necessity and usefulness, therefore,this muffling of the knocker was thoroughly incomprehensible.

　　But knockers may be muffled for other purposes than those ofmere utilitarianism, as, in the present instance, was clearly shown.

　　There are certain polite forms and ceremonies which must beobserved in civilised life, or mankind relapse into their originalbarbarism. No genteel lady was ever yet confined—indeed, nogenteel confinement can possibly take place—without theaccompanying symbol of a muffled knocker. Mrs Kenwigs was alady of some pretensions to gentility; Mrs Kenwigs was confined.

　　And, therefore, Mr Kenwigs tied up the silent knocker on thepremises in a white kid glove.

　　‘I’m not quite certain neither,’ said Mr Kenwigs, arranging hisshirt-collar, and walking slowly upstairs, ‘whether, as it’s a boy, Iwon’t have it in the papers.’

　　Pondering upon the advisability of this step, and the sensationit was likely to create in the neighbourhood, Mr Kenwigs betookhimself to the sitting-room, where various extremely diminutivearticles of clothing were airing on a horse before the fire, and MrLumbey, the doctor, was dandling the baby—that is, the oldbaby—not the new one.

　　‘It’s a fine boy, Mr Kenwigs,’ said Mr Lumbey, the doctor.

　　‘You consider him a fine boy, do you, sir?’ returned MrKenwigs.

　　‘It’s the finest boy I ever saw in all my life,’ said the doctor. ‘Inever saw such a baby.’

　　 It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a completeanswer to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of thehuman species, that every baby born into the world is a finer onethan the last.

　　‘I ne-ver saw such a baby,’ said Mr Lumbey, the doctor.

　　‘Morleena was a fine baby,’ remarked Mr Kenwigs; as if thiswere rather an attack, by implication, upon the family.

　　‘They were all fine babies,’ said Mr Lumbey. And Mr Lumbeywent on nursing the baby with a thoughtful look. Whether he wasconsidering under what head he could best charge the nursing inthe bill, was best known to himself.

　　During this short conversation, Miss Morleena, as the eldest ofthe family, and natural representative of her mother during herindisposition, had been hustling and slapping the three youngerMiss Kenwigses, without intermission; which considerate andaffectionate conduct brought tears into the eyes of Mr Kenwigs,and caused him to declare that, in understanding and behaviour,that child was a woman.

　　‘She will be a treasure to the man she marries, sir,’ said MrKenwigs, half aside; ‘I think she’ll marry above her station, MrLumbey.’

　　‘I shouldn’t wonder at all,’ replied the doctor.

　　‘You never see her dance, sir, did you?’ asked Mr Kenwigs.

　　The doctor shook his head.

　　‘Ay!’ said Mr Kenwigs, as though he pitied him from his heart,‘then you don’t know what she’s capable of.’

　　All this time there had been a great whisking in and out of theother room; the door had been opened and shut very softly abouttwenty times a minute (for it was necessary to keep Mrs Kenwigs quiet); and the baby had been exhibited to a score or two ofdeputations from a select body of female friends, who hadassembled in the passage, and about the street-door, to discuss theevent in all its bearings. Indeed, the excitement extended itselfover the whole street, and groups of ladies might be seen standingat the doors, (some in the interesting condition in which MrsKenwigs had last appeared in public,) relating their experiences ofsimilar occurrences. Some few acquired great credit from havingprophesied, the day before yesterday, exactly when it would cometo pass; others, again, related, how that they guessed what it was,directly they saw Mr Kenwigs turn pale and run up the street ashard as ever he could go. Some said one thing, and some another;but all talked together, and all agreed upon two points: first, that itwas very meritorious and highly praiseworthy in Mrs Kenwigs todo as she had done: and secondly, that there never was such askilful and scientific doctor as that Dr Lumbey.

　　In the midst of this general hubbub, Dr Lumbey sat in the first-floor front, as before related, nursing the deposed baby, andtalking to Mr Kenwigs. He was a stout bluff-looking gentleman,with no shirt-collar to speak of, and a beard that had been growingsince yesterday morning; for Dr Lumbey was popular, and theneighbourhood was prolific; and there had been no less than threeother knockers muffled, one after the other within the last forty-eight hours.

　　‘Well, Mr Kenwigs,’ said Dr Lumbey, ‘this makes six. You’llhave a fine family in time, sir.’

　　‘I think six is almost enough, sir,’ returned Mr Kenwigs.

　　‘Pooh! pooh!’ said the doctor. ‘Nonsense! not half enough.’

　　With this, the doctor laughed; but he didn’t laugh half as much as a married friend of Mrs Kenwigs’s, who had just come in fromthe sick chamber to report progress, and take a small sip ofbrandy-and-water: and who seemed to consider it one of the bestjokes ever launched upon society.

　　‘They’re not altogether dependent upon good fortune, neither,’

　　said Mr Kenwigs, taking his second daughter on his knee; ‘theyhave expectations.’

　　‘Oh, indeed!’ said Mr Lumbey, the doctor.

　　‘And very good ones too, I believe, haven’t they?’ asked themarried lady.

　　‘Why, ma’am,’ said Mr Kenwigs, ‘it’s not exactly for me to saywhat they may be, or what they may not be. It’s not for me to boastof any family with which I have the honour to be connected; at thesame time, Mrs Kenwigs’s is—I should say,’ said Mr Kenwigs,abruptly, and raising his voice as he spoke, ‘that my childrenmight come into a matter of a hundred pound apiece, perhaps.

　　Perhaps more, but certainly that.’

　　‘And a very pretty little fortune,’ said the married lady.

　　‘There are some relations of Mrs Kenwigs’s,’ said Mr Kenwigs,taking a pinch of snuff from the doctor’s box, and then sneezingvery hard, for he wasn’t used to it, ‘that might leave their hundredpound apiece to ten people, and yet not go begging when they haddone it.’

　　‘Ah! I know who you mean,’ observed the married lady,nodding her head.

　　‘I made mention of no names, and I wish to make mention of nonames,’ said Mr Kenwigs, with a portentous look. ‘Many of myfriends have met a relation of Mrs Kenwigs’s in this very room, aswould do honour to any company; that’s all.’

　　 ‘I’ve met him,’ said the married lady, with a glance towards DrLumbey.

　　‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a father, to seesuch a man as that, a kissing and taking notice of my children,’

　　pursued Mr Kenwigs. ‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelingsas a man, to know that man. It will be naterally very gratifying tomy feelings as a husband, to make that man acquainted with thisewent.’

　　Having delivered his sentiments in this form of words, MrKenwigs arranged his second daughter’s flaxen tail, and bade herbe a good girl and mind what her sister, Morleena, said.

　　‘That girl grows more like her mother every day,’ said MrLumbey, suddenly stricken with an enthusiastic admiration ofMorleena.

　　‘There!’ rejoined the married lady. ‘What I always say; what Ialways did say! She’s the very picter of her.’ Having thus directedthe general attention to the young lady in question, the marriedlady embraced the opportunity of taking another sip of thebrandy-and-water—and a pretty long sip too.

　　‘Yes! there is a likeness,’ said Mr Kenwigs, after somereflection. ‘But such a woman as Mrs Kenwigs was, afore she wasmarried! Good gracious, such a woman!’

　　Mr Lumbey shook his head with great solemnity, as though toimply that he supposed she must have been rather a dazzler.

　　‘Talk of fairies!’ cried Mr Kenwigs ‘I never see anybody so lightto be alive, never. Such manne............