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DDPP5.book Page i Tuesday, March 28, 2017 5:46 PM
DIGITAL DESIGN
Principles and Practices
DDPP5.book Page iii Tuesday, March 28, 2017 5:46 PM
DIGITAL DESIGN
Principles and Practices
Fifth Edition with Verilog
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
John F. Wakerly
Copyright © 2018, 2006, 2000 by Pearson Education, Inc. Hoboken, NJ 07030. All rights reserved. Manufactured in the
United States of America. This publication is protected by copyright and permissions should be obtained from the
publisher prior to any prohibited reproduction, storage in a retrieval system, or transmission in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise. For information regarding permissions, request forms
and the appropriate contacts within the Pearson Education Global Rights & Permissions department, please visit
www.pearsoned.com/permissions/.
Many of the designations by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where
those designations appear in this book, and the publisher was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been
printed in initial caps or all caps. The author and publisher of this book have used their best efforts in preparing this book.
These efforts include the development, research, and testing of theories and programs to determine their effectiveness.
The author and publisher make no warranty of any kind, expressed or implied, with regard to these programs or the
documentation contained in this book. The author and publisher shall not be liable in any event for incidental or
consequential damages with, or arising out of, the furnishing, performance, or use of these programs.
ISBN-10: 013446009X
1 16 ISBN-13: 9780134460093
www.pearsonhighered.com
DDPP5.book Page v Tuesday, March 28, 2017 5:46 PM
CONTENTS
Preface xv
1 INTRODUCTION 1
1.1 About Digital Design 1
1.2 Analog versus Digital 3
1.3 Analog Signals 7
1.4 Digital Logic Signals 7
1.5 Logic Circuits and Gates 9
1.6 Software Aspects of Digital Design 13
1.7 Integrated Circuits 16
1.8 Logic Families and CMOS 19
1.9 CMOS Logic Circuits 20
1.10 Programmable Devices 25
1.11 Application-Specific ICs 27
1.12 Printed-Circuit Boards 28
1.13 Digital-Design Levels 29
1.14 The Name of the Game 33
1.15 Going Forward 34
Drill Problems 34
vii
DDPP5.book Page viii Tuesday, March 28, 2017 5:46 PM
viii Contents
Contents ix
x Contents
References 294
Drill Problems 295
Exercises 296
Contents xi
xii Contents
Contents xiii
xiv Contents
Index 867
DDPP5.book Page xv Tuesday, March 28, 2017 5:46 PM
PREFACE
This book is for everyone who wants to design and build real digital circuits. It
is based on the idea that, in order to do this, you have to grasp the fundamentals,
but at the same time you need to understand how things work in the real world.
Hence, the “principles and practices” theme.
The practice of digital design has undergone a major transformation during
the past 30 years, a direct result of the stunning increases in integrated-circuit
speed and density over the same time period. In the past, when digital designers
were building systems with thousands or at most tens of thousands of gates and
flip-flops, academic courses emphasized minimization and efficient use of chip
and board-level resources.
Today, a single chip can contain tens of millions of transistors and can be
programmed to create a system-on-a-chip that, using the technology of the past,
would have required hundreds of discrete chips containing millions of individual
gates and flip-flops. Successful product development nowadays is limited more
by the design team’s ability to correctly and completely specify the product’s
detailed functions, than by the team’s ability to cram all the needed circuits into
a single board or chip. Thus, a modern academic program must necessarily
emphasize design methodologies and software tools, including hardware
description languages (HDLs), that allow very large, hierarchical designs to be
accomplished by teams of designers.
On one hand, with HDLs, we see the level of abstraction for typical designs
moving higher, above the level of individual gates and flip-flops. But at the same
time, the increased speed and density of digital circuits at both the chip and
board level is forcing many digital designers to be more competent at a lower,
electrical circuit level.
The most employable and ultimately successful digital designers are
skilled, or at least conversant, at both levels of abstraction. This book gives you
xv
Discovering Diverse Content Through
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were unable to see through the minx; which fully convinces me of the truth
of the popular saying—“that we are all blind mortals.”
And a nice state we found the place in, indeed—everything topsy turvy
throughout the establishment—indeed, any one, to have seen it, would have
said that the whole house had been turned out of windows—not even so
much as a spark of fire in the parlour grate—no cloth laid, nor things on the
table for tea. Indeed, had we been dying of hunger ever so, there was
nothing in the house for us but discomfort and misery—nor was there a
thing to welcome us but some hot water—and even that we should not have
had, if my dear mamma herself had not prepared it for our reception. So
that—to use a figure of speech—the place really seemed as if it did not
belong to us, and that we were nothing better than intruders in our own
house.
I was even forced to stoop to light the fire myself; and my fair readers
may well imagine my feelings when I tell them that there was scarcely even
a bundle of wood in the establishment. As soon as it was fairly alight, I gave
the bellows to poor Edward, who not being, as he said, “used to that sort of
thing,” was consequently in a great passion; so I left him alone to blow up
the fire, while I went to see that deceitful bit of goods, with the epilepsy, as
I thought, up in the front attic—for my mother had put her to bed during her
fit—(pretty fit, indeed!—but more of this hereafter.)
When I got there, I found my dear mamma standing by the bed-side with
a brandy-bottle, giving her some of the liquor in a dessert-spoon, with the
view of bringing her back to her senses. Asking mamma how the poor thing
(a deceitful baggage!) was, she told me that she had given her some spirits
before, and it seemed to do her a world of good, for she had gone off to
sleep afterwards. Presently, the girl opened her eyes, and from the dull,
leaden expression they had, I was quite shocked; for at the time she
appeared to me to be literally standing at death’s door. I shook her gently,
(though if I had known then half as much as I do now, I really think I
should have forgotten myself, and shaken the cat to bits,) and asked her
how she felt herself now. Upon which she made an effort to speak; but the
woman was no longer herself, for she had entirely lost the use of her
tongue, and there was no getting anything out of her. My mamma, however,
thought she would be able to understand, even if she could not speak; and
told Mary that it was very wrong and wicked of her not to have said that she
was subject to fits before she entered our service, and tried to learn whether
they were periodical or not, but all to no purpose. So we both left her; and I
remarked to mamma, as we came down stairs, that, though I should have
felt myself bound to have mentioned the circumstance of her fits in her
character, still the omission was very excusable in her late mistress; for it
really would have been like taking the bread out of the poor creature’s
mouth, which no true lady could be expected to do.
When we returned to the parlour, we found Edward with (thanks to
goodness!) a nice fire, but he was so surly, (and well he might be,) at the
place being so uncomfortable, that he kept banging the things about, though
I did not expect he would have done as much so soon after our marriage;
and I recollect at the time it struck me as being highly indecent. We
described to him the state of the girl, and were much hurt (though we
thought it best not to show it) at the strong want of feeling he displayed
upon hearing an account of her affliction; for he was too ready to put a bad
construction on her illness; and didn’t hesitate to say that he’d forfeit his
head if the fits didn’t turn out to be fits of drunkenness after all, calling the
girl, to our great horror, “a gin-drinking toad.” This so kindled my
mamma’s wrath, that she declared she wondered how he could ever stand
there and say such things; and that she should be very much astonished if
his words did not rise up in judgment against him some fine day or other;
for that she was never more convinced of anything in her life than that we
should eventually find Mary, as she had before said, and would say again,
and she did not care who heard her—a perfect treasure. Though she could
not help allowing that the fits were a slight drawback, and went somewhat
against the girl; still, as she could not reasonably be expected to have more
than one every six weeks, and would be sure to have warning when they
were coming on, why really my mamma said she could not see that there
was so much for a body to put up with, after all.
Edward observed, that, considering all things, he was afraid he should
have a good deal to put up with, from a certain quarter that was not a
hundred miles off. On which my mamma said something that has escaped
me; and Edward replied, I can’t exactly at present call to mind what. So that
I felt that a storm was gathering round about my head, and that the house (if
I may be permitted to use so strong an expression) would shortly be too hot
to hold me. Accordingly, with my usual sagacity in such matters, I went up
and kissed dear mamma, and got her to go down stairs and look after the
tea, for I was anxious to separate them, as I saw they had every disposition
to get together by the ears, which I was sure would give rise to a great deal
of pain on both sides.
At tea, little was said by either party—and, indeed, it was a sorry meal.
For my poor mamma had been thrown into such a flurry by Edward’s cruel,
ungrateful treatment, that she could not for the life of her lay her hands
upon the lump-sugar, and we were obliged to put up with moist, to which
Edward has a horrid dislike—and Mary had forgotten to take in the milk
while she was in her fit—and mamma had had the misfortune to cut the
bread and butter with an oniony knife, which gave my husband’s stomach
quite a turn; so that everything went crooked with us that evening, and we
were not sorry when the time came for mamma to leave. As she was putting
on her bonnet, she told me that Edward had behaved so rude to her, that he
really had quite upset her, (to use a figure of speech,) and she didn’t know
how she was ever to manage to get home, for she positively couldn’t say
whether she was walking on her head or her heels.
When Edward and I retired for the night, the sheets which were intended
for our bed having been burnt to tinder, and having no others aired, we were
obliged to sleep between the blankets, which in no way allayed poor
Edward’s irritation. So that, from the time we went to bed to the time we
got up in the morning, he did nothing but amuse himself by fancying all
sorts of uncomfortable things, and would have it that the feather bed was
damp; and said that it was ten to one if my mother’s treasure (as he
delighted to call her) didn’t make us both get up in the morning with
churchyard coughs at least—or, more probably, with such a severe attack of
the rheumatics, as we should never get over to our dying days—and which,
he nearly frightened me out of my wits by declaring, he confidently
expected would render us both cripples for the rest of our lives. Indeed, he
actually, at one time, went so far as to jump up, and swear that he would not
rest until he took the bed from under me.
I trust I acted during this severe trial as became a woman with her proper
feelings about her; for, as this was the first serious difference Edward and I
had had since our union, I thought it best to let him know that I was no
longer the mere child that he seemed to take me for, and that I was not
going to allow myself to be trodden under foot like a worm, (not I, indeed!)
For I felt that, if I did not at once give him to understand to the contrary, he
might be induced to presume upon my naturally retiring disposition; so I
kept on sobbing as if my heart would break half the night through, and did
not allow him to have any quiet until I had made him confess that he was in
the wrong—and that he had carried his airs too far—and that my dear
mamma, at least, had done all for the best—and that he should be very
happy to see her to dinner to-morrow—and that her greatest enemy could
not but say, that she meant very well.
Thus my courteous readers will see that my first serious trouble in life
arose from servants; and I can assure them it took such a hold of my mind,
that it made me more than once half repent of the vows of eternal love and
constancy that I had made to my beloved Edward; and wish in my heart
(though sincerely attached to my husband) that I was not a married woman.
For at the time we really believed Mary to be subject to fits, and this made
my naturally kind heart bleed with pity for the deceitful minx, so of course I
could not bear to find my husband running the girl down whenever he had
an opportunity. Though when my courteous readers find out, as I did, that I
had a perfect viper for a maid-of-all-work, and learn that I had taken an
habitual drunkard to my bosom, I am sure they will sympathize with me
rather than blame me, for all I did for the creature; although, perhaps, they
will hardly believe it possible that any one could have been such a fool as I
was.
The next morning, Mary came to me with her eyes full of tears to
apologize for her drunkenness; while I, in my natural simplicity, imagined
that the cat was speaking to me on the subject of her fits. She hoped I would
look over it this time, as she did not mean to get in the same state again; on
which I told the toad that it was no fault of hers, as it must be plain to every
rightly constituted mind, that she could have no control over herself in that
respect. She said trouble had brought it upon her, and that it came over her
so strong, at times, that she had no power to stand up against it; all which I
told her was very natural, (as, indeed, it appeared to me then;) and I asked
the creature, in my foolish innocence, if she ever took anything when she
found the fit coming upon her. To which she replied, that in such a state she
was ready to fly to whatever she could get at; but that her stomach was so
weak, that anything strong was too much for her, and upset her directly; and
that it was the reason of her leaving her last situation. Upon which, in a
most simple-minded way, I told the tippling hussy that I didn’t think it
much to the credit of a clergyman to have turned her away for that, and I
actually was stupid enough (the reader, I’m sure, will hardly believe it) to
tell her that whenever she felt the fit coming on, never to attempt to check
it, but to let it have its due course. And that if she would come to me, I
would gladly give her whatever she might take a fancy to, (and a pretty
advantage she took of my offer, as the courteous reader shall shortly see.)
As soon as Edward had gone to business, I ran upstairs and put on my
things, and stepped round to my dear mamma, to tell her all that had
occurred, and how Edward was exceeding sorry for what he had said, and
had asked me to grant him my pardon; and to prevail upon her to forget all
that had passed, and to come to dinner that day. My mamma commended
me for having been able to bring my husband to a proper sense of his
conduct; and said, that she was not the person to bear animosity to any one,
she was sure; though she could not help saying that the names he had called
that poor servant girl, under her awful affliction, had given her quite a
different opinion of his character, and that she was certain she should never
be able to like him half so well again. However, she would try and wipe it
all from her mind and begin anew, if it was only for the sake of her own
sweet Caroline, (that is myself.)
After we had taken a mouthful of some of the best cold roast pork I think
I ever tasted in the whole course of my life, and touched a little stout by
way of luncheon, my mamma told me that she was glad that things had
turned out as they had, for it had made her again determine to present
Edward with the valuable old painting of her noble ancestor, F—tz-R—msb
—tt—m, who is said to have come into England with the Conqueror, and
which relic, after Edward’s conduct last night, she had made a vow should
never belong to a man who could behave so unlike a gentleman as he did.
But now as all was straight, and I was her only child, and the picture had
been handed down in her family for years, and she had always looked upon
me as the heir-at-law to it, she would have it brought round and put up in
some part of the house where it could always be before my eyes, and be
continually reminding me of my station in life, and that the noble blood of a
R—msb—tt—m flowed in my veins.
When we went to look at the portrait of my noble ancestor, we could not
help remarking what a fine head it was, and that any one to look at him
might tell, from the likeness, that he was related to our family. Though
when I said I should wish to have it put up in the drawing-room, and
observed that it would be a nice thing to have hanging there on our “At-
home” day, as it would show Edward’s friends that he had not married an
ordinary person, and prove to them that our family were not mere
mushrooms who had never been heard of, mamma remarked that, if that
was the case, it would be better—now she thought of it—to have our
ancestor done up and cleaned a bit, as she said a good deal of the nobility
that was in his face was lost from its being so dirty as it was; and that if he
was fresh varnished and had a new frame, he would certainly form a
splendid ornament for our drawing-room, on our “At-home” day. And that
she knew a young man who had just started in business in the H—mpst—d
R—d, who would do it so cheaply that she was sure Edward could not
grumble at the expense.
My dear mamma kindly undertook to get all this done for me, though
how she was ever to manage it, she said, was more than she could tell; for
what with the house and the business she had more on her hands at present
than she knew what to do with; and, as she truly observed, she was so full
of one thing and another, just now, that she really did not know which way
to turn.
I thought it best to tell mamma not to mention the subject that evening at
dinner to Edward; stating that I wished it to come as a little surprise to him
when the picture was brought home. For to tell the truth, I was afraid that
she might get talking of her noble ancestors before him; and as I knew that
Edward did not entertain the same elevated opinion of the R—msb—tt—ms
as my mamma justly did, and had even once gone so far as to call our
gracious William the Conqueror, and his noble knights, a set of vagabond
robbers, (upon my word, he did,) I thought it would be better not to let my
dear mamma have her heart again wrung by another difference with my
husband.
We had a very nice plain family dinner that day—a mere simple joint;
but so delightfully cooked—done to a turn—and sent up so respectably, that
it did me good to see it; and I really thought that our toad of a Mary would
turn out a blessing to us, after all. I had told my mother that she must not
look for any fuss and ceremony, or expect us to treat her like a stranger, as
she was too near and dear a friend for us to put ourselves out of the way for
her. Everything went off so admirably no one can tell—and the plates were
so nice and hot—and Mary waited at table so well—and looked so clean
and respectable—which really, considering she had had to cook the dinner, I
was quite surprised and delighted to see. After dinner, dear Edward would
open another bottle of port, and made himself so happy, and got to be such
good friends with mamma. Though I really sat on thorns, (if I might be
allowed the expression,) all the evening; for knowing their disposition as
well as I did, I was in fear that every minute something would come on the
carpet which would upset all, and make them get knocking their heads
against each other again; so that when the dear soul left us, I said to myself,
“I really haven’t been so happy for a long time.”
Edward was in such a good humour, that when we went to bed, I thought
it a capital time to tell him about the picture, and got him to promise that he
would not go on about it before mamma; for though he might not care about
our noble ancestors, still, as mamma’s family was her weak point, it was
very natural that she should cling to the R—msb—tt—ms as fondly as she
did. Besides, I told him that he had a nasty way of his own of saying what
he thought—and that if he didn’t take care, he’d find he’d get into nice
trouble through it some of these fine days; and I was sure that if I went
speaking my mind upon every occasion, my conscience would not allow me
to rest quiet in my bed.
Mary went on pretty well for a day or two, when we noticed that the
creature began to get rather confused in her intellects, and to be quite beside
herself, so that she scarcely seemed to know what she was about, and kept
breaking everything she put her hands upon. I, in my innocence, began to
fear that another fit was coming on, and I should be having the minx laid up
insensible on my “At-home” day—and a nice pickle I should be in then,
goodness knows. So, with my usual good nature, I asked her if she would
take anything, and whether she thought a little brandy would put her
straight. On which the hussy really began to see through my mistake, and to
understand that I was treating her for fits instead of drunkenness; and said
that she was sure I was very good, and that she would try a glass—which
the minx had, and pretended that it quite took her breath away to drink it
(the deceitful cat!)—and she actually had the face to come to me and beg
another one that evening, saying that the first one had done her a world of
good. So that there was I, really and truly encouraging the horrid wretch in
the worst of vices; and, as I heard afterwards, she went about the
neighbourhood, saying that it was no fault of hers, and that I took a delight
in making her tipsy; and the worst of it all was, that it was on that very
evening the picture came home.
Dear mamma had stepped round to tell us, that now he was fresh
varnished, the dear man looked so heavenly in his new gilt frame, that she
felt as if she could hug him. She was in tremendous spirits about it, and told
Edward that it was an ornament that she knew she did wrong in not
presenting to the British Museum, for that a descendant of the very same
family had been Mayor of Norwich three times running. But Edward
behaved himself like a perfect gentleman, and only said “he should hardly
believe it.” A little after eight, the young man from the H—mpst—d R—d
came round with the picture and the bill himself, which dear Edward (who,
I regret to say, is naturally mean, being penny wise and pound foolish) said
he didn’t consider quite so cheap as my mother had made out. However,
when he saw the picture, he seemed to think nothing more of it, and told the
young man to go and get some green cord, so that he might have our
ancestor hung, as soon as possible, in the drawing-room.
When the young man returned, Edward and myself went to the top of the
stairs with the candles, while that good-for-nothing creature, Mary, (whom
I’m sure we none of us suspected of being in liquor at the time,) helped the
young man up with the picture, and mamma went behind, so that she might
take care that it wasn’t grazed against the banisters; and kept telling Mary,
for goodness’ sake to mind what she was about, for that she would not have
anything happen to it for all she was worth. Mary, who was in the advance,
and consequently obliged to come upstairs backwards, went on very well at
first, (though how she ever could have managed to do so, in the state she
must have been in, is a wonder to us all.) They had nearly reached the first
landing when one of the stair-rods being out, the carpet was loose, and we
were horrified by seeing Mary’s feet slip from under her, while the drunken
cat let go her hold of the picture, so that she might save herself from falling.
But what with the liquor the toad had taken on the sly, and what with that
which I had given her that afternoon, and what with coming upstairs
backwards, she had lost all command over herself, so that, after making one
or two vain attempts to keep her balance, we saw her, with horror, pitched
head first into the middle of our noble ancestor; at the same time knocking
backwards the young man from the H—mpst—d R—d; who would, I am
sure, have been killed on the spot, had he not luckily broken his fall by
tumbling right upon dear mamma,—who was providentially not more than
half-a-dozen stairs from the bottom—and taking her legs from under her,
they all three fell one a-top of another, right into the hall—amidst the
screams of my mother, the crashing of the frame of our noble ancestor, and
(I regret to add) the laughter of my husband. I immediately rushed to poor
mamma’s assistance, confidently believing that she hadn’t a sound limb in
her poor body. And when I tell my courteous readers that I found my dear
parent was nearly smothered underneath the young man from the H—mpst
—d R—d, (and he must have been eleven stone, if he was an ounce,) and
that that slut, Mary, (who was certainly no sylph,) was right a-top of the
young man, I am sure they will agree with me, that it was a perfect miracle
how dear mother was ever able to bear it all as she did—for I am happy to
say, she was only dreadfully bruised, and that, indeed, no one was seriously
hurt by the fall but my poor noble ancestor, from whom my mother dated
her descent, and who was literally broken to bits—though my poor dear
mamma (as she afterwards told me) was black and blue all over for weeks.
At the time, she thought little of her own sufferings, for she was chiefly
concerned about the injuries her noble ancestor had sustained; and when she
saw the head of her family all knocked in, as it was, her grief knew no
bounds. My husband, I am ashamed to say, did not seem to be at all affected
by mamma’s distresses; and in a nasty, contrary spirit, no longer grumbled
about paying the money for the picture, when it was broken; and, I verily
believe, looked upon the accident as a good bit of fun; though I should like
to know how he would have liked it himself, the brute!
As soon as we were in the parlour, and my poor mamma had got round
again, Edward observed—with a sarcastic grin, that I could almost have
shaken him for, I could—“What a pity it was that that poor girl, Mary,
should be so subject to fits!” On which my mother burst out, saying, “Fits,
indeed! she never saw such fits. It was nothing more nor less than
downright drunkenness, that it was; and how she could ever have been
imposed upon as she had been, she really couldn’t say; but that it had all
come upon her like a thunderbolt immediately after she saw the girl
staggering up the stairs; and that, indeed, to tell the truth, she had had her
suspicions before; and that on the day of our arrival from Brighton, it struck
her that there was a strong smell of spirits in the house, but which, at the
time, she attributed to the French polish of the new furniture.” And then I
mentioned that the way in which Mary had drunk the brandy I had given
her that afternoon—just as if it was so much water—struck me as looking
very queer at the time; and that I was sure, that if it wasn’t for our “At-
home” day being so near at hand, I should bundle the baggage into the
streets directly without a moment’s warning—only half a loaf was better
than no bread at all—and it would never do to be left in the house without
any one to open the door on such an occasion.
Consequently, as I felt I was in the slut’s power, I thought it would be
better to avoid having any words with her, but to go on treating her civilly
until such time as I could turn her neck and crop out of the house.
The evening before our “At-home” day, while I was busy in the parlour
with a warm flat-iron, taking the creases out of my white satin bridal robe—
which had got dreadfully tumbled in the carriage going to church, and
which mother had told me I ought to receive my friends in on the morrow—
mamma came round to see us, (Edward was going over some of his filthy
law papers,) and with her customary good nature—for she is always
thinking of something for us—brought with her a darling little pet of a
camphine night-lamp that she had picked up that day for a mere nothing;
and which she pointed out to dear Edward would be an immense saving to
us in the course of the year, as it gave the light of two rushlights, and only
cost one farthing for forty-eight hours. And then the dear old soul, who has
always had an excellent head for figures, entered into a very nice
calculation as to how many rushlights went to the pound, and how many we
burnt in the course of the year, and what the expense was; and then putting
them against the expense of the camphine, she proved to Edward as clearly
as ever I heard anything in all my life, that, with a very little extra, he might
be able to buy me another new bonnet every year out of the difference. And
then the good old body filled the lamp with some camphine she had brought
in her pocket in a phial; and lighted it, just to show us how a child of ten
years old might manage the thing, it was so simple; and to let us see how,
when turned down, it gave the light of a rushlight, or when turned up, it was
nearly equal to that of a mould candle, and certainly superior to that of a
long-six. But Edward (just like a lawyer) observing that it smoked when the
flame was high, thought such a circumstance might be a slight drawback to
its beauty; but dear mamma said that of course no one but a maniac would
ever be such an idiot as to go turning it up that height.
As soon as mother had gone, Edward retired to bed, and left me sitting
up to finish my dress, and new cover my white satin shoes, which had got
dreadfully soiled with the mud in going to and from the carriage on our
wedding-day. And besides, I had to clean my white kid gloves, and to let
them hang up all night so as to get the filthy smell of the turpentine out of
them before the morning. It was long past midnight before I had finished
the better part of what I wanted to do; and as I could hear Mary (who had
been waiting up to clean the room overnight so that she might have nothing
to do in the morning to prevent her being ready dressed long before the
visitors came) knocking the things about below in a dreadful ill-humour at
being kept up so late; and as it wasn’t worth while having a fresh candle put
up just to do the few little odd jobs that remained, I rang the bell for Mary;
and lighting mamma’s darling little pet of a camphine lamp, (drat the thing!
I wish it had never come into the house,) went up stairs, taking my things
with me. When I got to my room, I hung my beautiful bridal robes on the
back of a chair, and put out Edward’s nice clean white trousers ready for
him in the morning. I could scarcely keep my eyes open while Mary was
undoing me, and was so glad to get into bed, that I quite forgot, before
doing so, to turn down the camphine lamp. But just as I was dozing off, I
remembered it, and told Mary, who was hanging up my things, to be sure
and turn it down before she left the room; instead of which, the minx, (who
I’m sure was half-fuddled at the time,) went and turned the thing the wrong
way, like a stupid; so that there were both dear Edward and myself sleeping
in a state of blessed innocence, while the filthy thing was smoking away as
hard as it could go all night, just for all the world like the funnel of a steam-
boat, and sending out soot enough to have smothered a whole regiment. As
I had got all the next day upon my mind, luckily I awoke as soon as it was
light in the morning; and when I turned round, and saw my dear Edward’s
face an inch thick of black, I really thought at first that I was in bed with a
filthy negro. So I gave him a good shaking, and woke him directly; and no
sooner had he rubbed his eyes open and looked at me, than the wretch burst
out laughing, and declared that I looked just like a chimney-sweep. I gave a
scream, and jumped out of bed like lightning—if I might be allowed so
strong an expression—and there was the whole place one mass of smuts:
and the beautiful clean dimity curtains, that had not been up a week—and
the white counterpane—and the toilet-covers—and the window-blinds—
and the towels—and my face—and my night-cap—looking just as if they
had been all washed in Indian ink; and, what nearly drove me right out of
my senses—my beautiful white satin bridal robes were actually the same as
if some evil-minded person had been dragging them—just for the pleasure
of the thing—up and down the chimney, and positively would have induced
one, at first sight, to believe that a body had been led to the altar in
bombazeen. I declare the beastly sooty stuff was everywhere,—there was a
shovelful, at least, in my white satin shoes—and my white gloves were like
black kid both inside and out—and it had even got right up my nostrils—
and I do verily believe that a quantity had gone down my throat, for I
generally sleep with my mouth open. But what annoyed me so that I could
hardly bear myself was, that Edward kept chuckling at all my distress, (just
like a man—for of course he knew he wouldn’t have the cleaning of it.) But
when I showed him the grubby state that his ducks were in, I was quite glad
to see how angry it made him. And then of course it was all his mother-in-
law’s fault bringing him her bothering twopenny-halfpenny lamps; and I
really thought I should have been obliged to go into hysterics when I heard
him say that the next time he caught my dear, respected mamma in his
house, he’d pack her off with a flea in her ear!
And a pretty situation I was in, to be sure. I daren’t for the life of me
open my mouth, for fear that the hussy should leave me at a moment’s
notice, at such a time, when, bad as she was, it was impossible to do
without her; and there were my bridal robes spoilt before my very eyes, and
I didn’t know how on earth I was ever to receive my friends, as I really
hadn’t a single thing to put on.
CHAPTER IV.
HOW MARY TURNED OUT, AND HOW HER GOINGS-ON ON MY “AT-HOME”
DAY NEARLY DROVE ME WILD.
As soon as I had recovered my scattered senses, I rang the bell for Mary;
and when she came up, I declare I could scarcely go near her, she smelt of
drink so horridly, though wherever she could have got it at that hour I
couldn’t, if any one had given me a hundred guineas, make out at the time.
(But I wasn’t long in finding out where my lady went to for it, as the reader
will presently see.) And I do verily believe that such a toad never entered a
respectable woman’s service before.
With my usual command over myself, I requested her to take my bridal
robe down, and shake all the smuts off of it in the garden, and to be sure
and take care what she was about with it; as white satin was not to be
picked up in the streets every day. When the minx brought it up again, I
declare I never saw such a grubby thing as it was; and it looked for all the
world like as if it was made out of what the gentlemen call Oxford mixture;
for she had been trying to rub the blacks off with a damp duster! And yet, it
wasn’t advisable to throw it in her teeth, though I could have given it her
well, I could. There was a very handsome and expensive dress completely
spoilt, and made as pretty ducks-and-drakes of as anything I ever saw. It
was of no use to any one, and only fit to be given away.
I was obliged to put on a high-bodied, quiet-looking, dark, snuff-
coloured silk dress, which mamma had bought me before my marriage, as it
was a good-wearing, serviceable colour, and one that would not show the
dirt. But my troubles were doomed not to cease here; for when I was tout-
arrangé, and really thought that I didn’t look so bad, after all, I found that
nothing with any spirit in it was safe in the house from that abominable
toper of a Mary of mine; and that she had positively been drinking all my
Eau-de-Cologne, and filling the bottle up with turpentine; so that when I
went to pour some of the perfume down my bosom, I actually saturated my
things with the filthy stuff, and smelt just like as if I had been newly
French-polished.
But, alas! her thievish propensities didn’t stop here; for if she knew
where any drink was kept, she would never rest easy until she had got it—
no matter how. As for locks and keys, bless you! they were of no more use
than policemen. Actually the hussy couldn’t even keep her fingers off
mamma’s excellent cherry brandy; but must go picking and stealing even
that; and (as I found out afterwards, to my cost,) filling up the bottles with
cold tea and new young cherries instead, (the nasty toad!) And the reader
will soon see how it turned out.
I thought I should have gone mad on my At-home day. I really expected
it would have been the death of poor, dear Edward. And I’m sure, for
myself, I made up my mind that, come what would, I’d never go through
another such a time, not even if I was to be made a princess. I declare the
door-step had never been touched—nor the hall or the stairs swept—not
even so much as a mat shaken—nor a thing dusted—so that you might have
written your name on the backs of the chairs and tables in the drawing-room
—and it was past twelve in the day before I could get that slut Mary even to
clear away the breakfast things out of the parlour—and I had the greatest
difficulty in the world to make her go and clean herself, for she was just the
same as when she got up in the morning, not fit to be seen. I had to light the
fire in the drawing-room, and dust the place, dressed as I was, myself, or
else it would never have been done.
I don’t suppose I could have finished a quarter of an hour before the first
double-knock came to the door, and that slut Mary not down stairs to
answer it. So I rushed up to her room and bundled her down as quick as I
could; though she had been at her old tricks again, I could see, and wasn’t
really in a fit state to be trusted to go to the door; but what could I do? They
had knocked again, and I had only just time to sit myself down, and take up
one of the books off the drawing-room table, when the street-door was
opened. And then, to my great horror, I heard Mary talking, at the top of her
voice, to the visitors in the passage; and demanding to shake hands with
them, and calling them a set of stuck-up things, because they wouldn’t. So I
ran down as fast as my legs would carry me, and looking at her as if I could
have eaten her, told her to go down stairs directly, and remember who she
was, and what she was, and where she came from.
I found it was poor Mrs. B—yl—s and her lovely girls that Mary had
been insulting in this dreadful manner, and who were quite flurried at her
strange goings-on. Luckily, Edward was up-stairs dressing, or there’s no
knowing what he wouldn’t have done. And I declare, there was not a single
person that came into the house that day that she didn’t insult, in some way
or other; and twice I had to go down to her; for she would go, singing and
dancing about, like a downright maniac; and it was only by promising her
some warm spirits and water in the evening, that I could in any way get her
to keep her tongue to herself.
I was so upset, that instead of my friends congratulating me on my
improved appearance, they did nothing but tell me that they could perceive
Mary was worrying me dreadfully, and that they had never seen me look so
bad before. And they kindly advised me to get the jade out of the house as
soon as possible, saying, that if she were a servant of theirs, they should
expect to be burned alive in their beds, for that drunken people were always
so careless with their candles. While dear mamma (who is naturally a long-
headed woman,) said, that every morning she confidently expected to find
the place destroyed by fire, and that her dear children had perished in the
flames. All which took such a hold on my mind, that I couldn’t get a wink
of sleep for a week afterwards, and was always fancying I could hear the
boards crackling, and kept getting up and going over the house, shivering,
in my night-dress, to satisfy myself that all was safe.
We were, at one time, as many as fourteen in the drawing-room, and all
of them highly desirable acquaintances, being people very well to do in the
world; when mamma, who is so proud of her cherry-brandy, would
persuade our friends to take some—if it was only a glassful. So (bother take
it!) I had to get my keys, and trot downstairs for her stupid cherry-brandy—
which I’m sure I couldn’t see the want of, for there was plenty of excellent
red and white wine on the table; and that was good enough for any one any
day, I should think. Besides, I had set my mind upon keeping the cherry-
brandy quietly to myself, as there were only two bottles of it, and Edward
had just laid in several dozen of port and sherry. However, I returned with
one of the bottles and an agreeable smile on my countenance to the
drawing-room, little thinking that I was about to present some of my best
friends with a glass of that horrible wash that that tipsy, thieving Mary had
filled up the bottle with. Then giving it to mamma, I told her pleasantly that
she should fill the glasses, and have all the credit of it to herself. So, the
good, dear old lady did as I said, and handing them round, observed to Mrs.
L—ckl—y, (who is the wife of Edward’s best client, and of highly genteel
connexions,) that she should like her to try that; for she flattered herself that
she would find it very fine, and not to be got everywhere, as she had made
it herself, after her own peculiar way; and that she felt convinced that any
pastrycook would gladly give her twenty guineas for the receipt any
morning; and that she always made a point of using none but the very best
cognac that could be got for money, together with the finest Morella
cherries that were to be picked up in Covent-garden Market. When they had
all got their glasses, dear, unconscious mamma sat down with a self-
contented smile, waiting for the approbation and eulogiums which she
confidently expected they would overwhelm her with. As soon as Mrs. L—
ckl—y had taken one cherry and a spoonful of the wash, all the rest
followed her example. Dear mamma observing that Mrs. L—ckl—y made a
wry face after it, (as well the poor thing might,) said, “I’m afraid the brandy
is too strong for you, Mrs. L—ckl—y; but you needn’t be afraid of it, my
dear—a bottle of such as that would not hurt you, I can assure you.” Now,
really, I shall begin to think you don’t like it, if you don’t finish it. On
which Mrs. L—ckl—y (who is an extremely well-bred woman) answered,
“You’re very good—it is very nice, I’m sure.” And then the poor thing put
another spoonful of the filthy stuff to her lips. Whereupon poor, dear
mamma, (who was determined not to be balked of the compliments she
innocently thought she was entitled to) tried to prevail on some of the other
poor things (who really, considering all, had borne it like martyrs) to go on
with theirs. But Mrs. B—yl—s politely excused herself by saying she
thought it was not quite so rich as some of mother’s that she had had the
pleasure of tasting before, and that sweet woman, Mrs. C—rt—r, said that
she was afraid the brandy had gone off a little, (and so it had, with a
vengeance.) On which Edward (lawyer like), fancying something was
wrong, and thinking it a good opportunity for teasing his poor, dear,
innocent mother-in-law, took a glass himself, and had no sooner tasted it,
than, instead of swallowing it, like a gentleman, he spit the whole into the
fire-place, declaring he had never in all his life tasted such beastly trash.
Whereupon, dear mamma, who believed that he only said as much to annoy
her, took a glassful likewise; and scarcely had she put her lips to it, than she
gave a scream, and the poor, dear soul spluttered it all out of her mouth
again, exclaiming—“Oh that shameful minx of a Mary! I know it’s her!—
the drunken hussy! If she hasn’t been and drunk all the brandy, and filled
the bottle up again with what I’d swear was nasty filthy cold tea and unripe
cherries.” No sooner had she made the discovery, than all the poor dear
ladies who had partaken of the filthy mixture uttered a piercing scream,
while that unfeeling wretch, Edward, rushed out of the room, and I could
actually hear the brute bursting with laughter on the landing-place.
All the dears agreed with poor mamma—who was boiling over, (if I
might be allowed the expression,) that it was very shameful conduct on the
part of the maid, and hoped that mamma would not let it take any effect
upon her on their account, as really they didn’t mind about it. And then
taking a glass of sherry wine a-piece, just to take the taste out of their dear
mouths, they all hurried away, and in less than ten minutes we were left
alone in the drawing-room.
Then we both agreed to make that cat, Mary, finish before our very eyes
the whole of the other bottleful, (which we made up our minds she had of
course served in the same manner,) and directly after she had eaten it all up,
to give her warning, as it would be the best way of punishing her for her
wicked goings-on. So down stairs we went, and having got the bottle out of
the store-room closet, we made the wretch devour the whole of it on the
spot—though from the ready way in which the minx resigned herself to her
fate, and from the effect it had upon her shortly afterwards, (for it only
made her more tipsy than before,) to our horror we found out that she had
never touched that bottle at all—and, indeed, she told us as much when she
had drunk up every drop, and had the impudence to say she should like to
be punished again. So we immediately gave her warning, and told her not to
think of sending to us for a character, indeed. But in the evening, the cherry
brandy we had forced her to take, made her so dreadfully bad, that we had
to carry her upstairs and put her to bed again. All of which was a mere
nothing to us, compared with the good humour it put Edward into; who kept
telling us, with a nasty vulgar giggle, that we ought to be ashamed of
ourselves for driving the poor girl into another fit; and he said he hoped that
dear mamma would take care that the next servant she engaged for him
wasn’t subject to epilepsy, (an aggravating monster!)
Next day I stepped round to mother’s, to consult about the best means of
getting a new servant as soon as possible; for I was determined on finding
some excuse for packing Mary out of the house directly I was suited.
Mamma, however,
“Are you not Irish?” “Och! no, Ma’am I’m Corrnwall sure!”
after what Edward had said, declined, with great, and, I must say, becoming
dignity, interfering in the business further than sending any maids she might
hear of round for me to look at—as she wasn’t going to put herself in the
way again, indeed, of being reproached, as she had been, by her own dear
child’s ungrateful husband. But though mamma was kind enough to send
me several servants from the tradesmen in the neighbourhood, yet I never
saw one for days; for that baggage, Mary, kept setting them against the
place, and saying everything that was bad of us directly they came to the
house.
One morning, however, as Edward was going out, he met one on the
door-step, and sent her into the parlour to me. She was a tall, strong, big-
boned, clean-looking, tidy, and respectable ugly woman, and looked as if
she wasn’t afraid of work: so with my usual quick-sightedness l saw at a
glance that she was just the person to suit me. When I asked her what her
name was, she answered, with a curtsey, and a peculiar twang that was far
from agreeable: “Norah Connor, sure.” To which I replied: “I am afraid
you’re Irish, and I’ve an objection to persons from that country”—(mother
had told me never to take an Irish woman in the house on any account.) But
the woman answered in a tone so meek, that one would have fancied butter
wouldn’t melt in her mouth: “Irish, did ye say? Och! sure now, and isn’t it
Cornwall I am?” And so, with my customary sagacity, I at once saw that I
was mistaking the Cornwall brogue for the Irish one; for having been bred
up in London, I could not of course be expected to be particularly
acquainted with the dialects of other countries,—if, indeed, I except that of
“Le Belle France.” After asking her the usual questions as to “tea and
sugar,” and wages, and cooking, and character, and, in particular, sobriety—
in all of which she seemed to be quite comme il faut (as they say in
Boulogne)—I arranged with her that I would go after her character directly
her late mistress could see me.
Next morning, when we came down, the parlour fire was not even laid,
and all the supper-things were on the table just as we had left them over-
night. For Mary had got up when I rang the up-stairs bell, at six o’clock, to
a moment, and though she had come down and got the street-door key out
of our room, she must have gone up-stairs immediately afterwards, and
tumbled into bed again, for it was clear that she had never shown her face in
the kitchen that day.
Edward flew into a tremendous passion, and rushed up to her room,
where he thundered at the door so that I thought he would have broken it off
its hinges, telling the lazy thing to get up and leave his house that very
instant. As soon as she came down, Edward, being determined to see the
creature clear off the premises, before he left for business, went and got her
trunk and band-box himself, and paying her her wages up to the very day,
bundled her into the street, things and all, where the brazen-faced hussy
stopped ringing at the bell, and declaring that she would summon us if she
did not receive a month’s warning; until she collected quite a crowd all
round the house, and kept telling them in a loud voice, so that all the
neighbours could hear, that I had behaved to her worse than a slave-driver
would—and that she had been half-starved—and forced to live on sprats,
(as I’m a living woman, she’d only had them once!) and that I took a
delight in making her tipsy, (which the courteous reader knows to be a
wicked falsehood,) and that we either couldn’t or wouldn’t pay her her
wages. Nor did she cease her abuse, until Edward got the policemen to
make her move on; which she did, vowing that she would have it all out
before the magistrate, and make us suffer for it.
So that there was I in a pretty state, indeed, left without a servant, and
obliged to have a charwoman in until that wild Irish cat—whom I, in my
blessed innocence, fancied to be a Cornwall woman—was ready to come
into the house, (I wish to goodness gracious, from the bottom of my heart,
that I had never seen the face of the fury,) and I hardly know, I’m sure, how
I shall be able to wait a whole month before telling the reader all about the
shameful way in which she went on towards me—and how I really thought
the vixen would have had my life before she had done with me.
CHAPTER V.
No sooner had Edward packed Mary out of the house, than I suddenly
found myself thrown into as nice a mess as any lady could well be in. Twist
it and turn it which way I would, the blacker it appeared, and I positively
thought that I must have sunk under it. But really my husband is so hasty,
(though I say it who should not perhaps,) that he never will look before he
leaps; and the consequence is, that he is invariably plunging himself
headlong into all kinds of pickles, (if I might be allowed the expression.)
Indeed, my own dear Edward having no more control over his passions than
“a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour,” of course could not keep his
tongue between his teeth, but must go flying at our Mary before the proper
time came for getting rid of the girl. And dear me! if one has not got
strength of mind enough to put up with the faults of other people for a day
or two, I should like to know how, in the name of goodness gracious, we
can ever hope that men will wink when we walk out of the right path
ourselves—or that, if we are so hard upon other persons, how can we expect
that they will bear less heavily on us when they sit in judgment upon us.
Though for myself, I must say, that I have always made it a rule to let the
poisoned arrows of calumny go in at one ear and come out of the other.
I’m sure if Edward had only looked at poor Mary’s love of tippling with
a proper spirit, he would have seen that it was not so much for a body to
stomach after all, and that perhaps the love of drink, bad as it is, is but a
trifling vice as compared with the love of tobacco—to which my husband, I
regret to say, is a disgusting martyr. And such being the case, Edward ought
to have remembered that those who ride about in glass coaches should not
throw stones; for of all habits I must confess that smoking, in my eyes, is
the most dreadful, and that if I was called upon to choose whether I would
sooner be addicted to liquor or tobacco, I really think I should be inclined to
take to drinking in preference.
Not that I was insensible to the wickedness of our Mary’s ways, but still
I do think that my husband might have looked with more Christian charity
upon the poor thing’s infirmity, until my other servant was ready to come
into the house, and then he might have bundled the creature into the street,
as she deserved indeed. For in her absence I was so terribly put to it, that
really I should have blushed if anybody could have seen me making the
shifts I did.
My Irish servant of a Norah (drat her!) couldn’t come in for a week or
so, and the consequence was, that I was left all alone without anybody to
assist me,—which pulled me down so low that it took several weeks to set
me fairly on my legs again. For considering that I had Edward’s dinner
every day on my mind, and the whole house thrown upon my hands, it was
more than I could bear.
All that precious day long I had to answer every tiresome knock at the
door myself, and really just because we had no maid, persons seemed to
take a delight in calling. But thanks to goodness, they were all tradespeople,
whom (of course) I did not so much care about, though I only opened the
door to them just wide enough to take the things in, for fear of the
neighbours, who I knew would be but too glad to laugh at me in my
distress. Indeed, the only person that I showed myself to that day was the
butcher’s boy, when he called for orders; and who being a mere lad, I didn’t
mind about seeing me; and I got him, for a glass of table-beer and a penny,
to take a letter to dear mother, asking her to look round immediately, and
call and see her darling angel (that is myself) in her affliction, which I knew
she would be happy to do.
But as it was a wet day, poor dear mother was so long before she
dropped in upon me, that I made certain she wouldn’t come that morning,
so I set to work to prepare Edward’s dinner. As he is fond of made dishes, I
thought I could not do better than give him a sweet little toad in the hole,
especially as it was very easy to make, and I could get the baker to take it
with him to the bakehouse when he left our daily bread in the afternoon.
While I was making the batter to cover the toad with, a tremendous double-
knock came to the door, which nearly made me drop the egg I had in my
hand at the time. As of course I could not, in the state that I was, go up to
the door myself and say I was not at home, I thought it best to let them
knock away until they were tired; and it was not until I had heard them do
so, I should say, seven or eight times at least, that I went to the kitchen
window, and pulled aside the blind I had let down, when who should it be
but poor dear mother, whom I had kept waiting all that time in the pouring
rain, and who, when she got down in the kitchen, I found to be literally
dripping. Having taken off her pattens, and put her umbrella to dry in the
back kitchen, I threw up the cinders, and made such a nice comfortable
clear fire for her, and got the dear old soul to drink off a glass of scalding-
hot spirits and water, which, I assured her, would not hurt her, as it would
keep the cold out nicely, and which she consented to take in the light of
medicine, as she said she was certain she wanted it; adding, that she felt as
if every bone in her body was broken to bits, and she was sure that on her
road she had picked up the shivers somewhere.
I told mamma all that had taken place, and how hastily Edward had
behaved, without showing the least regard to my feelings, and had set upon
poor Mary for all the world like a Turk. But dear mother told me, with her
usual kindness, that she wasn’t in the least surprised at my husband’s
forgetting himself, as it was just what she had expected from him all along;
for, from the insight she had had into Edward’s character of late, she was
afraid that I should have a good deal more to bear with from him, and that
my time was likely to be a hard one. Still, as the good soul very truly
observed, it was no business of hers, and she was the last person to think of
setting me against my husband; though, from what I had told her, she could
not help saying, that Edward certainly did appear to her to be just like the
rest of the men, and no better than he should be; adding, that the best way
would be for me to have an understanding with him the very first
opportunity, and tell him, that if he couldn’t conduct himself more like a
rational creature for the future, that he had better manage the house himself.
She begged me, in saying this, however, to remember that she had no wish
to figure in quarrels between man and wife; observing, with great truth, that
as I had made my bed, so I must lie upon it; and that if my bed were
strewed with thorns, however uncomfortable it might be, still it could be no
fault of hers, though she pitied me from the bottom of her heart; for, as she
said, it must be a sad change for a poor dear that was so thinskinned as
myself; adding, with great kindness, that if she could possibly have known
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