imated, the children of this couple can know no
medium. They are either prodigies of good health or prodigies of bad
health; whatever they are, they must be prodigies. Mr. Whiffler must
have to describe at his office such excruciating agonies constantly
undergone by his eldest boy, as nobody else's eldest boy ever underwent;
or he must be able to declare that there never was a child endowed with
such amazing health, such an indomitable constitution, and such a
cast-iron frame, as his child. His children must be, in some respect or
other, above and beyond the children of all other people. To such an
extent is this feeling pushed, that we were once slightly acquainted with
a lady and gentleman who carried their heads so high and became so proud
after their youngest child fell out of a two-pair-of-stairs window
without hurting himself much, that the greater part of their friends were
obliged to forego their acquaintance. But perhaps this may be an extreme
case, and one not justly entitled to be considered as a precedent of
general application.

If a friend happen to dine in a friendly way with one of these couples
who dote upon their children, it is nearly impossible for him to divert
the conversation from their favourite topic. Everything reminds Mr.
Whiffler of Ned, or Mrs. Whiffler of Mary Anne, or of the time before Ned
was born, or the time before Mary Anne was thought of. The slightest
remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering recollections
of the twins. It is impossible to steer clear of them. They will come
uppermost, let the poor man do what he may. Ned has been known to be
lost sight of for half an hour, Dick has been forgotten, the name of Mary
Anne has not been mentioned, but the twins will out. Nothing can keep
down the twins.

'It's a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,' says Mr. Whiffler to the
visitor, 'but--you have seen our little babies, the--the--twins?' The
friend's heart sinks within him as he answers, 'Oh, yes--often.' 'Your
talking of the Pyramids,' says Mr. Whiffler, quite as a matter of course,
'reminds me of the twins. It's a very extraordinary thing about those
babies--what colour should you say their eyes were?' 'Upon my word,' the
friend stammers, 'I hardly know how to answer'--the fact being, that
except as the friend does not remember to have heard of any departure
from the ordinary course of nature in the instance of these twins, they
might have no eyes at a