Modern Paris; some sidelights on its inner life . rst night, going to thedining-room after dinner to say good-night to hisfather, he met Mr Curwen coming out of the the other guests as well as their host were lyinginsensible on the floor, all dead drunk. The restraining influence of women . . By the way I wonder what is the proportionbetween the men who are restrained from drinkby women and those who are goaded, urged, gadfly-driven to it by them ? As I was saying, the restraining influence ofwomen, even in those bibulous days, made itselffelt, and, in consequence, it was by no means
Modern Paris; some sidelights on its inner life . rst night, going to thedining-room after dinner to say good-night to hisfather, he met Mr Curwen coming out of the the other guests as well as their host were lyinginsensible on the floor, all dead drunk. The restraining influence of women . . By the way I wonder what is the proportionbetween the men who are restrained from drinkby women and those who are goaded, urged, gadfly-driven to it by them ? As I was saying, the restraining influence ofwomen, even in those bibulous days, made itselffelt, and, in consequence, it was by no means therule for all gentlemen to be found dead drunk afterdinner every night. Apropos of this I remember being told by mymother that at Rydal Mount, when her grandfatherWordsworth was dining with his wife, and, portand sherry being on. the table, might happen toput out his hand towards one or other of thedecanters, the old lady, if he had had the amountshe allowed him, would say : No, no, William; nomore. You have had your three glasses, you JOHN CHRISTIAN CURWEN, Sheriff of Cumberland. MODERN PARIS 65 Then she would rise from the table and, taking adecanter in each hand, cross to the sideboard andlock them up. And the poet never said a word. But when Hartley Coleridge—poor Hartley,who from his staggering gait homewards wasknown in Rydal as the gentleman with businesson both sides of the road —^when Hartley camein while dinner was proceeding, grandmammaWordsworth would lock the decanters up, whetherher husband had had his three glasses of port andsherry or not. She seems to have been an austere woman—great-grandmamma—and my mother and unclesas children were often soundly rated by her. Andit was on these occasions only that the poet opposedher. Nay, Mary, he used to say, * let them are but young. Apropos of children, my mother remembers thatwhen We are Seven first appeared the openingline ran : A simple child, dear brother Jim. One day as she was
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