A Curious Wedding Present.
“There was a fine old gentlemen in this city, who from the humblest beginnings made his way steadily up to commercial fame and immense wealth, all by the manufacture of soap,” said a New-Yorker the other day, “and with all his wealth and prosperity, he never forgot how a poor man feels or lost any of his consideration for the rights of others. Pride never puffed him up, nor made him ashamed of his business or his early history.
”He was proud of the purity and excellence of his soap, and the secrets of his success over his rivals lay in the fact that he invented several processes for cheapening the manufacture of that article, and his great factory in this city was full of machinery of his own invention and manufacture. He made one ample fortune solely out of patenting the ideas of his fertile brain, and several others by selling the manufactures he was thus able to turn out.
“His wife was as intensely purse-proud as he was simple, though her origin was as simple as his own, and her daughter took after her. This child married well, as they say, that is, a young swell about town, proposed to her on account of the great wealth he knew she would inherit. When the engagement was settled the daughter and mother asked the old man what he was going to do in the way of setting the young people up in life.
“Here they ran up against an unexpected snag. The old boy would give nothing in the way of a dowry. He thought the bridegroom should support his wife unaided, till her father’s will gave her a share of his estate. The utmost he could be prevailed upon to do was to give his daughter a wedding present. What this would be he steadfastly refused to say just then. On the wedding day, however, his gift to the bride was the deed for a handsome house in a fashionable street, completely furnished in costly style from top to bottom.
“The bridal tour had all been arranged, so no stop was made by the happy pair to examine the new house. All through the honeymoon they talked of the pleasure they would have in going over the house, examining the pictures and plate and entertaining their friends in it. Great was the delight with which they entered their new home on their return. The carpets were velvet, the hangings of velvet and lace, the furniture hand-carved, the pictures old masters, the linen of the finest, and silverplate was everywhere, even in the kitchen.
“The bridegroom was delighted, but the bride’s cheeks were crimson, and her eyes flashed a fire that tears could not quench. Everywhere she looked she saw familiar objects that filled her with rage, snatching a silver salver from the table, she showed to her husband, engraved on it minutely but with elaborate detail, the representation of a bar of soap with her father’s well-known trademark on it.
“This queer crest was everywhere about the house, worked into carved furniture, woven into the linen and hangings, and even painted on the carriage and stamped on the harness which were presented with the house. It was the old man’s greatest pride, that trade-mark and what it stood for, but whether he had it put on his daughter’s things out of sheer simplicity of heart, or whether he intended it as a rebuke to her foolish pride I never found out.” N. Y. Tribune.
Idaho Statesman [Boise ID] 19 June 1891: p. 6
Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Mrs Daffodil does not believe in sheer simplicity of heart, particularly in wealthy soap magnates. The young lady was full of foolish pride and one expects that she sent the offending silver to the jeweller’s shop to rub out the crest (difficult to do with plate), called in carpenters to putty over the furniture motifs, and tipped the coachman to carelessly scratch the carriage panels with a hoof-cleaner.
No doubt her letter of thanks for the lavish and generous wedding-gift was a model of repressed emotions.
Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes
You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.