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Yellowplush, by William Makepeace Thackeray + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush, by +William Makepeace Thackeray + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush + The Yellowplush Papers + +Author: William Makepeace Thackeray + +Release Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2796] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF MR. YELLOWPLUSH *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + MEMOIRS OF MR. CHARLES J. YELLOWPLUSH + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By William Makepeace Thackeray + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>MEMOIRS OF MR. CHARLES J. YELLOWPLUSH</b> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>MISS SHUM'S HUSBAND.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> FORING PARTS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <b>MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> MR. YELLOWPLUSH'S AJEW. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + MEMOIRS OF MR. CHARLES J. YELLOWPLUSH + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS SHUM'S HUSBAND. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + I was born in the year one, of the present or Christian hera, and am, in + consquints, seven-and-thirty years old. My mamma called me Charles James + Harrington Fitzroy Yellowplush, in compliment to several noble families, + and to a sellybrated coachmin whom she knew, who wore a yellow livry, and + drove the Lord Mayor of London. + </p> + <p> + Why she gev me this genlmn's name is a diffiklty, or rayther the name of a + part of his dress; however, it's stuck to me through life, in which I was, + as it were, a footman by buth. + </p> + <p> + Praps he was my father—though on this subjict I can't speak + suttinly, for my ma wrapped up my buth in a mistry. I may be illygitmit, I + may have been changed at nuss; but I've always had genlmnly tastes through + life, and have no doubt that I come of a genlmnly origum. + </p> + <p> + The less I say about my parint the better, for the dear old creatur was + very good to me, and, I fear, had very little other goodness in her. Why, + I can't say; but I always passed as her nevyou. We led a strange life; + sometimes ma was dressed in sattn and rooge, and sometimes in rags and + dutt; sometimes I got kisses, and sometimes kix; sometimes gin, and + sometimes shampang; law bless us! how she used to swear at me, and cuddle + me; there we were, quarrelling and making up, sober and tipsy, starving + and guttling by turns, just as ma got money or spent it. But let me draw a + vail over the seen, and speak of her no more—its 'sfishant for the + public to know, that her name was Miss Montmorency, and we lived in the + New Cut. + </p> + <p> + My poor mother died one morning, Hev'n bless her! and I was left alone in + this wide wicked wuld, without so much money as would buy me a penny roal + for my brexfast. But there was some amongst our naybors (and let me tell + you there's more kindness among them poor disrepettable creaturs, than in + half a dozen lords or barrynets) who took pity upon poor Sal's orfin (for + they bust out laffin when I called her Miss Montmorency), and gev me bred + and shelter. I'm afraid, in spite of their kindness, that my MORRILS + wouldn't have improved if I'd stayed long among 'em. But a benny-violent + genlmn saw me, and put me to school. The academy which I went to was + called the Free School of Saint Bartholomew's the Less—the young + genlmn wore green baize coats, yellow leather whatsisnames, a tin plate on + the left arm, and a cap about the size of a muffing. I stayed there sicks + years; from sicks, that is to say, till my twelth year, during three years + of witch I distinguished myself not a little in the musicle way, for I + bloo the bellus of the church horgin, and very fine tunes we played too. + </p> + <p> + Well, it's not worth recounting my jewvenile follies (what trix we used to + play the applewoman! and how we put snuff in the old clark's Prayer-book—my + eye!); but one day, a genlmn entered the school-room—it was on the + very day when I went to subtraxion—and asked the master for a young + lad for a servant. They pitched upon me glad enough; and nex day found me + sleeping in the sculry, close under the sink, at Mr. Bago's country-house + at Pentonwille. + </p> + <p> + Bago kep a shop in Smithfield market, and drov a taring good trade in the + hoil and Italian way. I've heard him say, that he cleared no less than + fifty pounds every year by letting his front room at hanging time. His + winders looked right opsit Newgit, and many and many dozen chaps has he + seen hanging there. Laws was laws in the year ten, and they screwed chaps' + nex for nex to nothink. But my bisniss was at his country-house, where I + made my first ontray into fashnabl life. I was knife, errint, and + stable-boy then, and an't ashamed to own it; for my merrits have raised me + to what I am—two livries, forty pound a year, malt-licker, washin, + silk-stocking, and wax candles—not countin wails, which is somethink + pretty considerable at OUR house, I can tell you. + </p> + <p> + I didn't stay long here, for a suckmstance happened which got me a very + different situation. A handsome young genlmn, who kep a tilbry and a ridin + horse at livry, wanted a tiger. I bid at once for the place; and, being a + neat tidy-looking lad, he took me. Bago gave me a character, and he my + first livry; proud enough I was of it, as you may fancy. + </p> + <p> + My new master had some business in the city, for he went in every morning + at ten, got out of his tilbry at the Citty Road, and had it waiting for + him at six; when, if it was summer, he spanked round into the Park, and + drove one of the neatest turnouts there. Wery proud I was in a gold-laced + hat, a drab coat and a red weskit, to sit by his side, when he drove. I + already began to ogle the gals in the carridges, and to feel that longing + for fashionabl life which I've had ever since. When he was at the oppera, + or the play, down I went to skittles, or to White Condick Gardens; and Mr. + Frederic Altamont's young man was somebody, I warrant: to be sure there is + very few man-servants at Pentonwille, the poppylation being mostly gals of + all work; and so, though only fourteen, I was as much a man down there, as + if I had been as old as Jerusalem. + </p> + <p> + But the most singular thing was, that my master, who was such a gay chap, + should live in such a hole. He had only a ground-floor in John Street—a + parlor and a bedroom. I slep over the way, and only came in with his boots + and brexfast of a morning. + </p> + <p> + The house he lodged in belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Shum. They were a poor but + proliffic couple, who had rented the place for many years; and they and + their family were squeezed in it pretty tight, I can tell you. + </p> + <p> + Shum said he had been a hofficer, and so he had. He had been a sub-deputy + assistant vice-commissary, or some such think; and, as I heerd afterwards, + had been obliged to leave on account of his NERVOUSNESS. He was such a + coward, the fact is, that he was considered dangerous to the harmy, and + sent home. + </p> + <p> + He had married a widow Buckmaster, who had been a Miss Slamcoe. She was a + Bristol gal; and her father being a bankrup in the tallow-chandlering way, + left, in course, a pretty little sum of money. A thousand pound was + settled on her; and she was as high and mighty as if it had been a + millium. + </p> + <p> + Buckmaster died, leaving nothink; nothink except four ugly daughters by + Miss Slamcoe: and her forty pound a year was rayther a narrow income for + one of her appytite and pretensions. In an unlucky hour for Shum she met + him. He was a widower with a little daughter of three years old, a little + house at Pentonwille, and a little income about as big as her own. I + believe she bullyd the poor creature into marridge; and it was agreed that + he should let his ground-floor at John Street, and so add somethink to + their means. + </p> + <p> + They married; and the widow Buckmaster was the gray mare, I can tell you. + She was always talking and blustering about her famly, the celebrity of + the Buckmasters, and the antickety of the Slamcoes. They had a six-roomed + house (not counting kitching and sculry), and now twelve daughters in all; + whizz.—4 Miss Buckmasters: Miss Betsy, Miss Dosy, Miss Biddy, and + Miss Winny; 1 Miss Shum, Mary by name, Shum's daughter, and seven others, + who shall be nameless. Mrs. Shum was a fat, red-haired woman, at least a + foot taller than S.; who was but a yard and a half high, pale-faced, + red-nosed, knock-kneed, bald-headed, his nose and shut-frill all brown + with snuff. + </p> + <p> + Before the house was a little garden, where the washin of the famly was + all ways hanging. There was so many of 'em that it was obliged to be done + by relays. There was six rails and a stocking on each, and four small + goosbry bushes, always covered with some bit of linning or other. The hall + was a regular puddle: wet dabs of dishclouts flapped in your face; soapy + smoking bits of flanning went nigh to choke you; and while you were + looking up to prevent hanging yourself with the ropes which were strung + across and about, slap came the hedge of a pail against your shins, till + one was like to be drove mad with hagony. The great slattnly doddling + girls was always on the stairs, poking about with nasty flower-pots, + a-cooking something, or sprawling in the window-seats with greasy + curl-papers, reading greasy novels. An infernal pianna was jingling from + morning till night—two eldest Miss Buckmasters, “Battle of Prag”—six + youngest Miss Shums, “In my Cottage,” till I knew every note in the + “Battle of Prag,” and cussed the day when “In my Cottage” was rote. The + younger girls, too, were always bouncing and thumping about the house, + with torn pinnyfores, and dogs-eard grammars, and large pieces of bread + and treacle. I never see such a house. + </p> + <p> + As for Mrs. Shum, she was such a fine lady, that she did nothink but lay + on the drawing-room sophy, read novels, drink, scold, scream, and go into + hystarrix. Little Shum kep reading an old newspaper from weeks' end to + weeks' end, when he was not engaged in teaching the children, or goin for + the beer, or cleanin the shoes: for they kep no servant. This house in + John Street was in short a regular Pandymony. + </p> + <p> + What could have brought Mr. Frederic Altamont to dwell in such a place? + The reason is hobvius: he adoared the fust Miss Shum. + </p> + <p> + And suttnly he did not show a bad taste; for though the other daughters + were as ugly as their hideous ma, Mary Shum was a pretty little pink, + modest creatur, with glossy black hair and tender blue eyes, and a neck as + white as plaster of Parish. She wore a dismal old black gownd, which had + grown too short for her, and too tight; but it only served to show her + pretty angles and feet, and bewchus figger. Master, though he had looked + rather low for the gal of his art, had certainly looked in the right + place. Never was one more pretty or more hamiable. I gav her always the + buttered toast left from our brexfust, and a cup of tea or chocklate, as + Altamont might fancy: and the poor thing was glad enough of it, I can + vouch; for they had precious short commons up stairs, and she the least of + all. + </p> + <p> + For it seemed as if which of the Shum famly should try to snub the poor + thing most. There was the four Buckmaster girls always at her. It was, + Mary, git the coal-skittle; Mary, run down to the public-house for the + beer; Mary, I intend to wear your clean stockens out walking, or your new + bonnet to church. Only her poor father was kind to her; and he, poor old + muff! his kindness was of no use. Mary bore all the scolding like a + hangel, as she was: no, not if she had a pair of wings and a goold + trumpet, could she have been a greater hangel. + </p> + <p> + I never shall forgit one seen that took place. It was when Master was in + the city; and so, having nothink earthly to do, I happened to be listening + on the stairs. The old scolding was a-going on, and the old tune of that + hojus “Battle of Prag.” Old Shum made some remark; and Miss Buckmaster + cried out, “Law, pa! what a fool you are!” All the gals began laffin, and + so did Mrs. Shum; all, that is, excep Mary, who turned as red as flams, + and going up to Miss Betsy Buckmaster, give her two such wax on her great + red ears as made them tingle again. + </p> + <p> + Old Mrs. Shum screamed, and ran at her like a Bengal tiger. Her great arms + vent veeling about like a vinmill, as she cuffed and thumped poor Mary for + taking her pa's part. Mary Shum, who was always a-crying before, didn't + shed a tear now. “I will do it again,” she said, “if Betsy insults my + father.” New thumps, new shreex; and the old horridan went on beatin the + poor girl till she was quite exosted, and fell down on the sophy, puffin + like a poppus. + </p> + <p> + “For shame, Mary,” began old Shum; “for shame, you naughty gal, you! for + hurting the feelings of your dear mamma, and beating your kind sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it was because she called you a—” + </p> + <p> + “If she did, you pert miss,” said Shum, looking mighty dignitified, “I + could correct her, and not you.” + </p> + <p> + “You correct me, indeed!” said Miss Betsy, turning up her nose, if + possible, higher than before; “I should like to see you erect me! + Imperence!” and they all began laffin again. + </p> + <p> + By this time Mrs. S. had recovered from the effex of her exsize, and she + began to pour in HER wolly. Fust she called Mary names, then Shum. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why,” screeched she, “why did I ever leave a genteel famly, where I + ad every ellygance and lucksry, to marry a creatur like this? He is unfit + to be called a man, he is unworthy to marry a gentlewoman; and as for that + hussy, I disown her. Thank heaven she an't a Slamcoe; she is only fit to + be a Shum!” + </p> + <p> + “That's true, mamma,” said all the gals; for their mother had taught them + this pretty piece of manners, and they despised their father heartily: + indeed, I have always remarked that, in famlies where the wife is + internally talking about the merits of her branch, the husband is + invariably a spooney. + </p> + <p> + Well, when she was exosted again, down she fell on the sofy, at her old + trix—more screeching—more convulshuns: and she wouldn't stop, + this time, till Shum had got her half a pint of her old remedy, from the + “Blue Lion” over the way. She grew more easy as she finished the gin; but + Mary was sent out of the room, and told not to come back agin all day. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mary,” says I,—for my heart yurned to the poor gal, as she + came sobbing and miserable down stairs: “Miss Mary,” says I, “if I might + make so bold, here's master's room empty, and I know where the cold bif + and pickles is.” “Oh, Charles!” said she, nodding her head sadly, “I'm too + retched to have any happytite.” And she flung herself on a chair, and + began to cry fit to bust. + </p> + <p> + At this moment who should come in but my master. I had taken hold of Miss + Mary's hand, somehow, and do believe I should have kist it, when, as I + said, Haltamont made his appearance. “What's this?” cries he, lookin at me + as black as thunder, or as Mr. Phillips as Hickit, in the new tragedy of + MacBuff. + </p> + <p> + “It's only Miss Mary, sir,” answered I. + </p> + <p> + “Get out, sir,” says he, as fierce as posbil; and I felt somethink (I + think it was the tip of his to) touching me behind, and found myself, nex + minit, sprawling among the wet flannings and buckets and things. + </p> + <p> + The people from up stairs came to see what was the matter, as I was cussin + and crying out. “It's only Charles, ma,” screamed out Miss Betsy. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mary?” says Mrs. Shum, from the sofy. + </p> + <p> + “She's in Master's room, miss,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “She's in the lodger's room, ma,” cries Miss Shum, heckoing me. + </p> + <p> + “Very good; tell her to stay there till he comes back.” And then Miss Shum + went bouncing up the stairs again, little knowing of Haltamont's return. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I'd long before observed that my master had an anchoring after Mary Shum; + indeed, as I have said, it was purely for her sake that he took and kep + his lodgings at Pentonwille. Excep for the sake of love, which is above + being mersnary, fourteen shillings a wick was a LITTLE too strong for two + such rat-holes as he lived in. I do blieve the famly had nothing else but + their lodger to live on: they brekfisted off his tea-leaves, they cut away + pounds and pounds of meat from his jints (he always dined at home), and + his baker's bill was at least enough for six. But that wasn't my business. + I saw him grin, sometimes, when I laid down the cold bif of a morning, to + see how little was left of yesterday's sirline; but he never said a + syllabub: for true love don't mind a pound of meat or so hextra. + </p> + <p> + At first, he was very kind and attentive to all the gals; Miss Betsy, in + partickler, grew mighty fond of him: they sat, for whole evenings, playing + cribbitch, he taking his pipe and glas, she her tea and muffing; but as it + was improper for her to come alone, she brought one of her sisters, and + this was genrally Mary,—for he made a pint of asking her, too,—and + one day, when one of the others came instead, he told her, very quitely, + that he hadn't invited her; and Miss Buckmaster was too fond of muffings + to try this game on again: besides, she was jealous of her three grown + sisters, and considered Mary as only a child. Law bless us! how she used + to ogle him, and quot bits of pottry, and play “Meet Me by Moonlike,” on + an old gitter: she reglar flung herself at his head: but he wouldn't have + it, bein better ockypied elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + One night, as genteel as possible, he brought home tickets for “Ashley's,” + and proposed to take the two young ladies—Miss Betsy and Miss Mary, + in course. I recklect he called me aside that afternoon, assuming a + solamon and misterus hare, “Charles,” said he, “ARE YOU UP TO SNUFF?” + </p> + <p> + “Why sir,” said I, “I'm genrally considered tolerably downy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says he, “I'll give you half a suffering if you can manage this + bisness for me; I've chose a rainy night on purpus. When the theatre is + over, you must be waitin with two umbrellows; give me one, and hold the + other over Miss Buckmaster: and, hark ye, sir, TURN TO THE RIGHT when you + leave the theater, and say the coach is ordered to stand a little way up + the street, in order to get rid of the crowd.” + </p> + <p> + We went (in a fly hired by Mr. A.), and never shall I forgit Cartliche's + hacting on that memrable night. Talk of Kimble! talk of Magreedy! Ashley's + for my money, with Cartlitch in the principal part. But this is nothink to + the porpus. When the play was over, I was at the door with the umbrellos. + It was raining cats and dogs, sure enough. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Altamont came out presently, Miss Mary under his arm, and Miss Betsy + following behind, rayther sulky. “This way, sir,” cries I, pushin forward; + and I threw a great cloak over Miss Betsy, fit to smother her. Mr. A. and + Miss Mary skipped on and was out of sight when Miss Betsy's cloak was + settled, you may be sure. + </p> + <p> + “They're only gone to the fly, miss. It's a little way up the street, away + from the crowd of carridges.” And off we turned TO THE RIGHT, and no + mistake. + </p> + <p> + After marchin a little through the plash and mud, “Has anybody seen Coxy's + fly?” cries I, with the most innocent haxent in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Cox's fly!” hollows out one chap. “Is it the vaggin you want?” says + another. “I see the blackin wan pass,” giggles out another gentlmn; and + there was such a hinterchange of compliments as you never heerd. I pass + them over though, because some of 'em were not wery genteel. + </p> + <p> + “Law, miss,” said I, “what shall I do? My master will never forgive me; + and I haven't a single sixpence to pay a coach.” Miss Betsy was just going + to call one when I said that; but the coachman wouldn't have it at that + price, he said, and I knew very well that SHE hadn't four or five + shillings to pay for a wehicle. So, in the midst of that tarin rain, at + midnight, we had to walk four miles, from Westminster Bridge to + Pentonwille; and what was wuss, I DIDN'T HAPPEN TO KNOW THE WAY. A very + nice walk it was, and no mistake. + </p> + <p> + At about half-past two, we got safe to John Street. My master was at the + garden gate. Miss Mary flew into Miss Betsy's arms, while master begun + cussin and swearing at me for disobeying his orders, and TURNING TO THE + RIGHT INSTEAD OF TO THE LEFT! Law bless me! his hacting of hanger was very + near as natral and as terrybl as Mr. Cartlich's in the play. + </p> + <p> + They had waited half an hour, he said, in the fly, in the little street at + the left of the theater; they had drove up and down in the greatest fright + possible; and at last came home, thinking it was in vain to wait any more. + They gave her 'ot rum-and-water and roast oysters for supper, and this + consoled her a little. + </p> + <p> + I hope nobody will cast an imputation on Miss Mary for HER share in this + adventer, for she was as honest a gal as ever lived, and I do believe is + hignorant to this day of our little strattygim. Besides, all's fair in + love; and, as my master could never get to see her alone, on account of + her infernal eleven sisters and ma, he took this opportunity of expressin + his attachment to her. + </p> + <p> + If he was in love with her before, you may be sure she paid it him back + again now. Ever after the night at Ashley's, they were as tender as two + tuttle-doves—which fully accounts for the axdent what happened to + me, in being kicked out of the room: and in course I bore no mallis. + </p> + <p> + I don't know whether Miss Betsy still fancied that my master was in love + with her, but she loved muffings and tea, and kem down to his parlor as + much as ever. + </p> + <p> + Now comes the sing'lar part of my history. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + But who was this genlmn with a fine name—Mr. Frederic Altamont? or + what was he? The most mysterus genlmn that ever I knew. Once I said to him + on a wery rainy day, “Sir, shall I bring the gig down to your office?” and + he gave me one of his black looks and one of his loudest hoaths, and told + me to mind my own bizziness, and attend to my orders. Another day,—it + was on the day when Miss Mary slapped Miss Betsy's face,—Miss M., + who adoared him, as I have said already, kep on asking him what was his + buth, parentidg, and ediccation. “Dear Frederic,” says she, “why this + mistry about yourself and your hactions? why hide from your little Mary”—they + were as tender as this, I can tell you—“your buth and your + professin?” + </p> + <p> + I spose Mr. Frederic looked black, for I was ONLY listening, and he said, + in a voice hagitated by emotion, “Mary,” said he, “if you love me, ask me + this no more: let it be sfishnt for you to know that I am a honest man, + and that a secret, what it would be misery for you to larn, must hang over + all my actions—that is from ten o'clock till six.” + </p> + <p> + They went on chaffin and talking in this melumcolly and mysterus way, and + I didn't lose a word of what they said; for them houses in Pentonwille + have only walls made of pasteboard, and you hear rayther better outside + the room than in. But, though he kep up his secret, he swore to her his + affektion this day pint blank. Nothing should prevent him, he said, from + leading her to the halter, from makin her his adoarable wife. After this + was a slight silence. “Dearest Frederic,” mummered out miss, speakin as if + she was chokin, “I am yours—yours for ever.” And then silence agen, + and one or two smax, as if there was kissin going on. Here I thought it + best to give a rattle at the door-lock; for, as I live, there was old Mrs. + Shum a-walkin down the stairs! + </p> + <p> + It appears that one of the younger gals, a-looking out of the bed-rum + window, had seen my master come in, and coming down to tea half an hour + afterwards, said so in a cussary way. Old Mrs. Shum, who was a dragon of + vertyou, cam bustling down the stairs, panting and frowning, as fat and as + fierce as a old sow at feedin time. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the lodger, fellow?” says she to me. + </p> + <p> + I spoke loud enough to be heard down the street—“If you mean, ma'am, + my master, Mr. Frederic Altamont, esquire, he's just stept in, and is + puttin on clean shoes in his bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + She said nothink in answer, but flumps past me, and opening the + parlor-door, sees master looking very queer, and Miss Mary a-drooping down + her head like a pale lily. + </p> + <p> + “Did you come into my famly,” says she, “to corrupt my daughters, and to + destroy the hinnocence of that infamous gal? Did you come here, sir, as a + seducer, or only as a lodger? Speak, sir, speak!”—and she folded her + arms quite fierce, and looked like Mrs. Siddums in the Tragic Mews. + </p> + <p> + “I came here, Mrs. Shum,” said he, “because I loved your daughter, or I + never would have condescended to live in such a beggarly hole. I have + treated her in every respect like a genlmn, and she is as innocent now, + ma'm, as she was when she was born. If she'll marry me, I am ready; if + she'll leave you, she shall have a home where she shall be neither bullyd + nor starved: no hangry frumps of sisters, no cross mother-in-law, only an + affeckshnat husband, and all the pure pleasures of Hyming.” + </p> + <p> + Mary flung herself into his arms—“Dear, dear Frederic,” says she, + “I'll never leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss,” says Mrs. Shum, “you ain't a Slamcoe nor yet a Buckmaster, thank + God. You may marry this person if your pa thinks proper, and he may insult + me—brave me—trample on my feelinx in my own house—and + there's no-o-o-obody by to defend me.” + </p> + <p> + I knew what she was going to be at: on came her histarrix agen, and she + began screechin and roaring like mad. Down comes of course the eleven gals + and old Shum. There was a pretty row. “Look here, sir,” says she, “at the + conduck of your precious trull of a daughter—alone with this man, + kissin and dandlin, and Lawd knows what besides.” + </p> + <p> + “What, he?” cries Miss Betsy—“he in love with Mary. Oh, the wretch, + the monster, the deceiver!”—and she falls down too, screeching away + as loud as her mamma; for the silly creature fancied still that Altamont + had a fondness for her. + </p> + <p> + “SILENCE THESE WOMEN!” shouts out Altamont, thundering loud. “I love your + daughter, Mr. Shum. I will take her without a penny, and can afford to + keep her. If you don't give her to me, she'll come of her own will. Is + that enough?—may I have her?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll talk of this matter, sir,” says Mr. Shum, looking as high and + mighty as an alderman. “Gals, go up stairs with your dear mamma.”—And + they all trooped up again, and so the skrimmage ended. + </p> + <p> + You may be sure that old Shum was not very sorry to get a husband for his + daughter Mary, for the old creatur loved her better than all the pack + which had been brought him or born to him by Mrs. Buckmaster. But, strange + to say, when he came to talk of settlements and so forth, not a word would + my master answer. He said he made four hundred a year reglar—he + wouldn't tell how—but Mary, if she married him, must share all that + he had, and ask no questions; only this he would say, as he'd said before, + that he was a honest man. + </p> + <p> + They were married in a few days, and took a very genteel house at + Islington; but still my master went away to business, and nobody knew + where. Who could he be? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + If ever a young kipple in the middlin classes began life with a chance of + happiness, it was Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Altamont. There house at Cannon + Row, Islington, was as comfortable as house could be. Carpited from top to + to; pore's rates small; furnitur elygant; and three deomestix: of which I, + in course, was one. My life wasn't so easy as in Mr. A.'s bachelor days; + but, what then? The three W's is my maxum: plenty of work, plenty of + wittles, and plenty of wages. Altamont kep his gig no longer, but went to + the city in an omlibuster. + </p> + <p> + One would have thought, I say, that Mrs. A., with such an effeckshnut + husband, might have been as happy as her blessid majisty. Nothing of the + sort. For the fust six months it was all very well; but then she grew + gloomier and gloomier, though A. did everythink in life to please her. + </p> + <p> + Old Shum used to come reglarly four times a wick to Cannon Row, where he + lunched, and dined, and teed, and supd. The pore little man was a thought + too fond of wine and spirits; and many and many's the night that I've had + to support him home. And you may be sure that Miss Betsy did not now + desert her sister: she was at our place mornink, noon, and night; not much + to my mayster's liking, though he was too good-natured to wex his wife in + trifles. + </p> + <p> + But Betsy never had forgotten the recollection of old days, and hated + Altamont like the foul feind. She put all kind of bad things into the head + of poor innocent missis; who, from being all gayety and cheerfulness, grew + to be quite melumcolly and pale, and retchid, just as if she had been the + most misrable woman in the world. + </p> + <p> + In three months more, a baby comes, in course, and with it old Mrs. Shum, + who stuck to Mrs.' side as close as a wampire, and made her retchider and + retchider. She used to bust into tears when Altamont came home: she used + to sigh and wheep over the pore child, and say, “My child, my child, your + father is false to me;” or, “your father deceives me;” or “what will you + do when your pore mother is no more?” or such like sentimental stuff. + </p> + <p> + It all came from Mother Shum, and her old trix, as I soon found out. The + fact is, when there is a mistry of this kind in the house, its a servant's + DUTY to listen; and listen I did, one day when Mrs. was cryin as usual, + and fat Mrs. Shum a sittin consolin her, as she called it: though, heaven + knows, she only grew wuss and wuss for the consolation. + </p> + <p> + Well, I listened; Mrs. Shum was a-rockin the baby, and missis cryin as + yousual. + </p> + <p> + “Pore dear innocint,” says Mrs. S., heavin a great sigh, “you're the child + of a unknown father and a misrable mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't speak ill of Frederic, mamma,” says missis; “he is all kindness to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “All kindness, indeed! yes, he gives you a fine house, and a fine gownd, + and a ride in a fly whenever you please; but WHERE DOES ALL HIS MONEY COME + FROM? Who is he—what is he? Who knows that he mayn't be a murderer, + or a housebreaker, or a utterer of forged notes? How can he make his money + honestly, when he won't say where he gets it? Why does he leave you eight + hours every blessid day, and won't say where he goes to? Oh, Mary, Mary, + you are the most injured of women!” + </p> + <p> + And with this Mrs. Shum began sobbin; and Miss Betsy began yowling like a + cat in a gitter; and pore missis cried, too—tears is so remarkable + infeckshus. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, mamma,” wimpered out she, “Frederic is a shop-boy, and don't + like me to know that he is not a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “A shopboy,” says Betsy, “he a shopboy! O no, no, no! more likely a + wretched willain of a murderer, stabbin and robing all day, and feedin you + with the fruits of his ill-gotten games!” + </p> + <p> + More crying and screechin here took place, in which the baby joined; and + made a very pretty consort, I can tell you. + </p> + <p> + “He can't be a robber,” cries missis; “he's too good, too kind, for that: + besides, murdering is done at night, and Frederic is always home at + eight.” + </p> + <p> + “But he can be a forger,” says Betsy, “a wicked, wicked FORGER. Why does + he go away every day? to forge notes, to be sure. Why does he go to the + city? to be near banks and places, and so do it more at his convenience.” + </p> + <p> + “But he brings home a sum of money every day—about thirty shillings—sometimes + fifty: and then he smiles, and says it's a good day's work. This is not + like a forger,” said pore Mrs. A. + </p> + <p> + “I have it—I have it!” screams out Mrs. S. “The villain—the + sneaking, double-faced Jonas! he's married to somebody else he is, and + that's why he leaves you, the base biggymist!” + </p> + <p> + At this, Mrs. Altamont, struck all of a heap, fainted clean away. A + dreadful business it was—hystarrix; then hystarrix, in course, from + Mrs. Shum; bells ringin, child squalin, suvvants tearin up and down stairs + with hot water! If ever there is a noosance in the world, it's a house + where faintain is always goin on. I wouldn't live in one,—no, not to + be groom of the chambers, and git two hundred a year. + </p> + <p> + It was eight o'clock in the evenin when this row took place; and such a + row it was, that nobody but me heard master's knock. He came in, and heard + the hooping, and screeching, and roaring. He seemed very much frightened + at first, and said, “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Shum's here,” says I, “and Mrs. in astarrix.” + </p> + <p> + Altamont looked as black as thunder, and growled out a word which I don't + like to name,—let it suffice that it begins with a D and ends with a + NATION; and he tore up stairs like mad. + </p> + <p> + He bust open the bedroom door; missis lay quite pale and stony on the + sofy; the babby was screechin from the craddle; Miss Betsy was sprawlin + over missis; and Mrs. Shum half on the bed and half on the ground: all + howlin and squeelin, like so many dogs at the moond. + </p> + <p> + When A. came in, the mother and daughter stopped all of a sudding. There + had been one or two tiffs before between them, and they feared him as if + he had been a hogre. + </p> + <p> + “What's this infernal screeching and crying about?” says he. “Oh, Mr. + Altamont,” cries the old woman, “you know too well; it's about you that + this darling child is misrabble!” + </p> + <p> + “And why about me, pray, madam?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir, dare you ask why? Because you deceive her, sir; because you are + a false, cowardly traitor, sir; because YOU HAVE A WIFE ELSEWHERE, SIR!” + And the old lady and Miss Betsy began to roar again as loud as ever. + </p> + <p> + Altamont pawsed for a minnit, and then flung the door wide open; nex he + seized Miss Betsy as if his hand were a vice, and he world her out of the + room; then up he goes to Mrs. S. “Get up,” says he, thundering loud, “you + lazy, trolloping, mischsef-making, lying old fool! Get up, and get out of + this house. You have been the cuss and bain of my happyniss since you + entered it. With your d——d lies, and novvle rending, and + histerrix, you have perwerted Mary, and made her almost as mad as + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “My child! my child!” shriex out Mrs. Shum, and clings round missis. But + Altamont ran between them, and griping the old lady by her arm, dragged + her to the door. “Follow your daughter, ma'm,” says he, and down she went. + “CHAWLS, SEE THOSE LADIES TO THE DOOR,” he hollows out, “and never let + them pass it again.” We walked down together, and off they went: and + master locked and double-locked the bedroom door after him, intendin, of + course, to have a tator-tator (as they say) with his wife. You may be sure + that I followed up stairs again pretty quick, to hear the result of their + confidence. + </p> + <p> + As they say at St. Stevenses, it was rayther a stormy debate. “Mary,” says + master, “you're no longer the merry greatful gal I knew and loved at + Pentonwill: there's some secret a pressin on you—there's no smilin + welcom for me now, as there used formly to be! Your mother and + sister-in-law have perwerted you, Mary: and that's why I've drove them + from this house, which they shall not re-enter in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “O, Frederic! it's YOU is the cause, and not I. Why do you have any mistry + from me? Where do you spend your days? Why did you leave me, even on the + day of your marridge, for eight hours, and continue to do so every day?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” says he, “I makes my livelihood by it. I leave you, and don't + tell you HOW I make it: for it would make you none the happier to know.” + </p> + <p> + It was in this way the convysation ren on—more tears and questions + on my missises part, more sturmness and silence on my master's: it ended + for the first time since their marridge, in a reglar quarrel. Wery + difrent, I can tell you, from all the hammerous billing and kewing which + had proceeded their nupshuls. + </p> + <p> + Master went out, slamming the door in a fury; as well he might. Says he, + “If I can't have a comforable life, I can have a jolly one;” and so he + went off to the hed tavern, and came home that evening beesly + intawsicated. When high words begin in a family drink generally follows on + the genlman's side; and then, fearwell to all conjubial happyniss! These + two pipple, so fond and loving, were now sirly, silent, and full of il + wil. Master went out earlier, and came home later; missis cried more, and + looked even paler than before. + </p> + <p> + Well, things went on in this uncomfortable way, master still in the mopes, + missis tempted by the deamons of jellosy and curosity; until a singlar + axident brought to light all the goings on of Mr. Altamont. + </p> + <p> + It was the tenth of January; I recklect the day, for old Shum gev me half + a crownd (the fust and last of his money I ever see, by the way): he was + dining along with master, and they were making merry together. + </p> + <p> + Master said, as he was mixing his fifth tumler of punch and little Shum + his twelfth or so—master said, “I see you twice in the City to-day, + Mr. Shum.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's curous!” says Shum. “I WAS in the City. To-day's the day + when the divvydins (God bless 'em) is paid; and me and Mrs. S. went for + our half-year's inkem. But we only got out of the coach, crossed the + street to the Bank, took our money, and got in agen. How could you see me + twice?” + </p> + <p> + Altamont stuttered and stammered and hemd, and hawd. “O!” says he, “I was + passing—passing as you went in and out.” And he instantly turned the + conversation, and began talking about pollytix, or the weather, or some + such stuff. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear,” said my missis, “but how could you see papa TWICE?” Master + didn't answer, but talked pollytix more than ever. Still she would continy + on. “Where was you, my dear, when you saw pa? What were you doing, my + love, to see pa twice?” and so forth. Master looked angrier and angrier, + and his wife only pressed him wuss and wuss. + </p> + <p> + This was, as I said, little Shum's twelfth tumler; and I knew pritty well + that he could git very little further; for, as reglar as the thirteenth + came, Shum was drunk. The thirteenth did come, and its consquinzes. I was + obliged to leed him home to John Street, where I left him in the hangry + arms of Mrs. Shum. + </p> + <p> + “How the d—,” sayd he all the way, “how the d-dd—the deddy—deddy—devil—could + he have seen me TWICE?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + It was a sad slip on Altamont's part, for no sooner did he go out the next + morning than missis went out too. She tor down the street, and never + stopped till she came to her pa's house at Pentonwill. She was clositid + for an hour with her ma, and when she left her she drove straight to the + City. She walked before the Bank, and behind the Bank, and round the Bank: + she came home disperryted, having learned nothink. + </p> + <p> + And it was now an extraordinary thing that from Shum's house for the next + ten days there was nothing but expyditions into the city. Mrs. S., tho her + dropsicle legs had never carred her half so fur before, was eternally on + the key veve, as the French say. If she didn't go, Miss Betsy did, or + misses did: they seemed to have an attrackshun to the Bank, and went there + as natral as an omlibus. + </p> + <p> + At last one day, old Mrs. Shum comes to our house—(she wasn't + admitted when master was there, but came still in his absints)—and + she wore a hair of tryumph, as she entered. “Mary,” says she, “where is + the money your husbind brought to you yesterday?” My master used always to + give it to missis when he returned. + </p> + <p> + “The money, ma!” says Mary. “Why here!” And pulling out her puss, she + showed a sovrin, a good heap of silver, and an odd-looking little coin. + </p> + <p> + “THAT'S IT! that's it!” cried Mrs. S. “A Queene Anne's sixpence, isn't it, + dear—dated seventeen hundred and three?” + </p> + <p> + It was so sure enough: a Queen Ans sixpence of that very date. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my love,” says she, “I have found him! Come with me to-morrow, and + you shall KNOW ALL!” + </p> + <p> + And now comes the end of my story. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The ladies nex morning set out for the City, and I walked behind, doing + the genteel thing, with a nosegy and a goold stick. We walked down the New + Road—we walked down the City Road—we walked to the Bank. We + were crossing from that heddyfiz to the other side of Cornhill, when all + of a sudden missis shreeked, and fainted spontaceously away. + </p> + <p> + I rushed forrard, and raised her to my arms: spiling thereby a new weskit + and a pair of crimson smalcloes. I rushed forrard. I say, very nearly + knocking down the old sweeper who was hobbling away as fast as posibil. We + took her to Birch's; we provided her with a hackney-coach and every + lucksury, and carried her home to Islington. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + That night master never came home. Nor the nex night, nor the nex. On the + fourth day an octioneer arrived; he took an infantry of the furnitur, and + placed a bill in the window. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the wick Altamont made his appearance. He was haggard and + pale; not so haggard, however, not so pale as his miserable wife. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her very tendrilly. I may say, it's from him that I coppied + MY look to Miss ——. He looked at her very tendrilly and held + out his arms. She gev a suffycating shreek, and rusht into his umbraces. + </p> + <p> + “Mary,” says he, “you know all now. I have sold my place; I have got three + thousand pounds for it, and saved two more. I've sold my house and + furnitur, and that brings me another. We'll go abroad and love each other, + has formly.” + </p> + <p> + And now you ask me, Who he was? I shudder to relate.—Mr. Haltamont + SWEP THE CROSSING FROM THE BANK TO CORNHILL!! + </p> + <p> + Of cors, I left his servis. I met him, few years after, at Badden-Badden, + where he and Mrs. A. were much respectid, and pass for pipple of propaty. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE. + </h2> + <p> + DIMOND CUT DIMOND. + </p> + <p> + The name of my nex master was, if posbil, still more ellygant and + youfonious than that of my fust. I now found myself boddy servant to the + Honrabble Halgernon Percy Deuceace, youngest and fifth son of the Earl of + Crabs. + </p> + <p> + Halgernon was a barrystir—that is, he lived in Pump Cort, Temple: a + wulgar naybrood, witch praps my readers don't no. Suffiz to say, it's on + the confines of the citty, and the choasen aboad of the lawyers of this + metrappolish. + </p> + <p> + When I say that Mr. Deuceace was a barrystir, I don't mean that he went + sesshums or surcoats (as they call 'em), but simply that he kep chambers, + lived in Pump Cort, and looked out for a commitionarship, or a + revisinship, or any other place that the Wig guvvyment could give him. His + father was a Wig pier (as the landriss told me), and had been a Toary + pier. The fack is, his lordship was so poar, that he would be anythink or + nothink, to get provisions for his sons and an inkum for himself. + </p> + <p> + I phansy that he aloud Halgernon two hundred a year; and it would have + been a very comforable maintenants, only he knever paid him. + </p> + <p> + Owever, the young genlmn was a genlmn, and no mistake; he got his + allowents of nothing a year, and spent it in the most honrabble and + fashnabble manner. He kep a kab—-he went to Holmax—and + Crockfud's—he moved in the most xquizzit suckles and trubbld the law + boox very little, I can tell you. Those fashnabble gents have ways of + getten money, witch comman pipple doan't understand. + </p> + <p> + Though he only had a therd floar in Pump Cort, he lived as if he had the + welth of Cresas. The tenpun notes floo abowt as common as haypince—clarrit + and shampang was at his house as vulgar as gin; and verry glad I was, to + be sure, to be a valley to a zion of the nobillaty. + </p> + <p> + Deuceace had, in his sittin-room, a large pictur on a sheet of paper. The + names of his family was wrote on it; it was wrote in the shape of a tree, + a-groin out of a man-in-armer's stomick, and the names were on little + plates among the bows. The pictur said that the Deuceaces kem into England + in the year 1066, along with William Conqueruns. My master called it his + podygree. I do bleev it was because he had this pictur, and because he was + the HONRABBLE Deuceace, that he mannitched to live as he did. If he had + been a common man, you'd have said he was no better than a swinler. It's + only rank and buth that can warrant such singularities as my master + show'd. For it's no use disgysing it—the Honrabble Halgernon was a + GAMBLER. For a man of wulgar family, it's the wust trade that can be—for + a man of common feelinx of honesty, this profession is quite imposbil; but + for a real thoroughbread genlmn, it's the esiest and most prophetable line + he can take. + </p> + <p> + It may praps appear curious that such a fashnabble man should live in the + Temple; but it must be recklected, that it's not only lawyers who live in + what's called the Ins of Cort. Many batchylers, who have nothink to do + with lor, have here their loginx; and many sham barrysters, who never put + on a wig and gownd twise in their lives, kip apartments in the Temple, + instead of Bon Street, Pickledilly, or other fashnabble places. + </p> + <p> + Frinstance, on our stairkis (so these houses are called), there was 8 sets + of chamberses, and only 3 lawyers. These was bottom floar, Screwson, + Hewson, and Jewson, attorneys; fust floar, Mr. Sergeant Flabber—opsite, + Mr. Counslor Bruffy; and secknd pair, Mr. Haggerstony, an Irish counslor, + praktising at the Old Baly, and lickwise what they call reporter to the + Morning Post nyouspapper. Opsite him was wrote + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MR. RICHARD BLEWITT; +</pre> + <p> + and on the thud floar, with my master, lived one Mr. Dawkins. + </p> + <p> + This young fellow was a new comer into the Temple, and unlucky it was for + him too—he'd better have never been born; for it's my firm apinion + that the Temple ruined him—that is, with the help of my master and + Mr. Dick Blewitt: as you shall hear. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dawkins, as I was gave to understand by his young man, had just left + the Universary of Oxford, and had a pretty little fortn of his own—six + thousand pound, or so—in the stox. He was jest of age, an orfin who + had lost his father and mother; and having distinkwished hisself at + Collitch, where he gained seffral prices, was come to town to push his + fortn, and study the barryster's bisness. + </p> + <p> + Not bein of a very high fammly hisself—indeed, I've heard say his + father was a chismonger, or somethink of that lo sort—Dawkins was + glad to find his old Oxford frend, Mr. Blewitt, yonger son to rich Squire + Blewitt, of Listershire, and to take rooms so near him. + </p> + <p> + Now, tho' there was a considdrable intimacy between me and Mr. Blewitt's + gentleman, there was scarcely any betwixt our masters,—mine being + too much of the aristoxy to associate with one of Mr. Blewitt's sort. + Blewitt was what they call a bettin man; he went reglar to Tattlesall's, + kep a pony, wore a white hat, a blue berd's-eye handkercher, and a + cut-away coat. In his manners he was the very contrary of my master, who + was a slim, ellygant man as ever I see—he had very white hands, + rayther a sallow face, with sharp dark ise, and small wiskus neatly + trimmed and as black as Warren's jet—he spoke very low and soft—he + seemed to be watchin the person with whom he was in convysation, and + always flatterd everybody. As for Blewitt, he was quite of another sort. + He was always swearin, singing, and slappin people on the back, as hearty + as posbill. He seemed a merry, careless, honest cretur, whom one would + trust with life and soul. So thought Dawkins, at least; who, though a + quiet young man, fond of his boox, novvles, Byron's poems, foot-playing, + and such like scientafic amusemints, grew hand in glove with honest Dick + Blewitt, and soon after with my master, the Honrabble Halgernon. Poor Daw! + he thought he was makin good connexions and real frends—he had + fallen in with a couple of the most etrocious swinlers that ever lived. + </p> + <p> + Before Mr. Dawkins's arrivial in our house, Mr. Deuceace had barely + condysended to speak to Mr. Blewitt; it was only about a month after that + suckumstance that my master, all of a sudding, grew very friendly with + him. The reason was pretty clear,—Deuceace WANTED HIM. Dawkins had + not been an hour in master's company before he knew that he had a pidgin + to pluck. + </p> + <p> + Blewitt knew this too: and bein very fond of pidgin, intended to keep this + one entirely to himself. It was amusin to see the Honrabble Halgernon + manuvring to get this poor bird out of Blewitt's clause, who thought he + had it safe. In fact, he'd brought Dawkins to these chambers for that very + porpos, thinking to have him under his eye, and strip him at leisure. + </p> + <p> + My master very soon found out what was Mr. Blewitt's game. Gamblers know + gamblers, if not by instink, at least by reputation; and though Mr. + Blewitt moved in a much lower speare than Mr. Deuceace, they knew each + other's dealins and caracters puffickly well. + </p> + <p> + “Charles you scoundrel,” says Deuceace to me one day (he always spoak in + that kind way), “who is this person that has taken the opsit chambers, and + plays the flute so industrusly?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Mr. Dawkins, a rich young gentleman from Oxford, and a great friend + of Mr. Blewittses, sir,” says I; “they seem to live in each other's + rooms.” + </p> + <p> + Master said nothink, but he GRIN'D—my eye, how he did grin. Not the + fowl find himself could snear more satannickly. + </p> + <p> + I knew what he meant: + </p> + <p> + Imprimish. A man who plays the floot is a simpleton. + </p> + <p> + Secknly. Mr. Blewitt is a raskle. + </p> + <p> + Thirdmo. When a raskle and a simpleton is always together, and when the + simpleton is RICH, one knows pretty well what will come of it. + </p> + <p> + I was but a lad in them days, but I knew what was what, as well as my + master; it's not gentlemen only that's up to snough. Law bless us! there + was four of us on this stairkes, four as nice young men as you ever see: + Mr. Bruffy's young man, Mr. Dawkinses, Mr. Blewitt's, and me—and we + knew what our masters was about as well as thay did theirselfs. + Frinstance, I can say this for MYSELF, there wasn't a paper in Deuceace's + desk or drawer, not a bill, a note, or mimerandum, which I hadn't read as + well as he: with Blewitt's it was the same—me and his young man used + to read 'em all. There wasn't a bottle of wine that we didn't get a glass + out of, nor a pound of sugar that we didn't have some lumps of it. We had + keys to all the cubbards—we pipped into all the letters that kem and + went—-we pored over all the bill-files—we'd the best pickens + out of the dinners, the livvers of the fowls, the forcemit balls out of + the soup, the egs from the sallit. As for the coals and candles, we left + them to the landrisses. You may call this robry—nonsince—it's + only our rights—a suvvant's purquizzits is as sacred as the laws of + Hengland. + </p> + <p> + Well, the long and short of it is this. Richard Blewitt, esquire, was + sityouated as follows: He'd an incum of three hundred a year from his + father. Out of this he had to pay one hundred and ninety for money + borrowed by him at collidge, seventy for chambers, seventy more for his + hoss, aty for his suvvant on bord wagis, and about three hundred and fifty + for a sepparat establishment in the Regency Park; besides this, his + pockit-money, say a hunderd, his eatin, drinkin, and wine-marchant's bill, + about two hunderd moar. So that you see he laid by a pretty handsome sum + at the end of the year. + </p> + <p> + My master was diffrent; and being a more fashnable man than Mr. B., in + course he owed a deal more mony. There was fust: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Account contray, at Crockford's L 3711 0 0 + Bills of xchange and I. O. U.'s (but he + didn't pay these in most cases) 4963 0 0 + 21 tailors' bills, in all 1306 11 9 + 3 hossdealers' do 402 0 0 + 2 coachbuilder 506 0 0 + Bills contracted at Cambridtch 2193 6 8 + Sundries 987 10 0 + —————— + L 14069 8 5 +</pre> + <p> + I give this as a curosity—pipple doan't know how in many cases + fashnabble life is carried on; and to know even what a real gnlmn OWES is + somethink instructif and agreeable. + </p> + <p> + But to my tail. The very day after my master had made the inquiries + concerning Mr. Dawkins, witch I mentioned already, he met Mr. Blewitt on + the stairs; and byoutiffle it was to see how this gnlmn, who had before + been almost cut by my master, was now received by him. One of the sweetest + smiles I ever saw was now vizzable on Mr. Deuceace's countenance. He held + out his hand, covered with a white kid glove, and said, in the most frenly + tone of vice posbill, “What! Mr. Blewitt? It is an age since we met. What + a shame that such near naybors should see each other so seldom!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Blewitt, who was standing at his door, in a pe-green dressing-gown, + smoakin a segar, and singing a hunting coarus, looked surprised, + flattered, and then suspicious. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” says he, “it is, Mr. Deuceace, a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Not, I think, since we dined at Sir George Hookey's. By-the-by, what an + evening that was—hay, Mr. Blewitt? What wine! what capital songs! I + recollect your 'May-day in the morning'—cuss me, the best comick + song I ever heard. I was speaking to the Duke of Doncaster about it only + yesterday. You know the duke, I think?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Blewitt said, quite surly, “No, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Not know him!” cries master; “why, hang it, Blewitt! he knows YOU; as + every sporting man in England does, I should think. Why, man, your good + things are in everybody's mouth at Newmarket.” + </p> + <p> + And so master went on chaffin Mr. Blewitt. That genlmn at fust answered + him quite short and angry: but, after a little more flummery, he grew as + pleased as posbill, took in all Deuceace's flatry, and bleeved all his + lies. At last the door shut, and they both went into Mr. Blewitt's + chambers together. + </p> + <p> + Of course I can't say what past there; but in an hour master kem up to his + own room as yaller as mustard, and smellin sadly of backo smoke. I never + see any genmln more sick than he was; HE'D BEEN SMOAKIN SEAGARS along with + Blewitt. I said nothink, in course, tho I'd often heard him xpress his + horrow of backo, and knew very well he would as soon swallow pizon as + smoke. But he wasn't a chap to do a thing without a reason: if he'd been + smoakin, I warrant he had smoked to some porpus. + </p> + <p> + I didn't hear the convysation betwean 'em; but Mr. Blewitt's man did: it + was,—“Well, Mr. Blewitt, what capital seagars! Have you one for a + friend to smoak?” (The old fox, it wasn't only the SEAGARS he was + a-smoakin!) “Walk in,” says Mr. Blewitt; and they began a chaffin + together; master very ankshous about the young gintleman who had come to + live in our chambers, Mr. Dawkins, and always coming back to that subject,—saying + that people on the same stairkis ot to be frenly; how glad he'd be, for + his part, to know Mr. Dick Blewitt, and ANY FRIEND OF HIS, and so on. Mr. + Dick, howsever, seamed quite aware of the trap laid for him. “I really + don't know this Dawkins,” says he: “he's a chismonger's son, I hear; and + tho I've exchanged visits with him, I doan't intend to continyou the + acquaintance,—not wishin to assoshate with that kind of pipple.” So + they went on, master fishin, and Mr. Blewitt not wishin to take the hook + at no price. + </p> + <p> + “Confound the vulgar thief!” muttard my master, as he was laying on his + sophy, after being so very ill; “I've poisoned myself with his infernal + tobacco, and he has foiled me. The cursed swindling boor! he thinks he'll + ruin this poor Cheese-monger, does he? I'll step in, and WARN him.” + </p> + <p> + I thought I should bust a-laffin, when he talked in this style. I knew + very well what his “warning” meant,—lockin the stable-door but + stealin the hoss fust. + </p> + <p> + Next day, his strattygam for becoming acquainted with Mr. Dawkins we + exicuted; and very pritty it was. + </p> + <p> + Besides potry and the flute, Mr. Dawkins, I must tell you, had some other + parshallities—wiz., he was very fond of good eatin and drinkin. + After doddling over his music and boox all day, this young genlmn used to + sally out of evenings, dine sumptiously at a tavern, drinkin all sorts of + wine along with his friend Mr. Blewitt. He was a quiet young fellow enough + at fust; but it was Mr. B. who (for his own porpuses, no doubt,) had got + him into this kind of life. Well, I needn't say that he who eats a fine + dinner, and drinks too much overnight, wants a bottle of soda-water, and a + gril, praps, in the morning. Such was Mr. Dawkinses case; and reglar + almost as twelve o'clock came, the waiter from “Dix Coffy-House” was to be + seen on our stairkis, bringing up Mr. D.'s hot breakfast. + </p> + <p> + No man would have thought there was anythink in such a trifling + cirkumstance; master did, though, and pounced upon it like a cock on a + barlycorn. + </p> + <p> + He sent me out to Mr. Morell's in Pickledilly, for wot's called a + Strasbug-pie—in French, a “patty defau graw.” He takes a card, and + nails it on the outside case (patty defaw graws come generally in a round + wooden box, like a drumb); and what do you think he writes on it? why, as + follos:—“For the Honorable Algernon Percy Deuceace, &c. &c. + &c. With Prince Talleyrand's compliments.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Tallyram's complimints, indeed! I laff when I think of it, still, + the old surpint! He WAS a surpint, that Deuceace, and no mistake. + </p> + <p> + Well, by a most extrornary piece of ill-luck, the nex day punctially as + Mr. Dawkinses brexfas was coming UP the stairs, Mr. Halgernon Percy + Deuceace was going DOWN. He was as gay as a lark, humming an Oppra tune, + and twizzting round his head his hevy gold-headed cane. Down he went very + fast, and by a most unlucky axdent struck his cane against the waiter's + tray, and away went Mr. Dawkinses gril, kayann, kitchup, soda-water and + all! I can't think how my master should have choas such an exact time; to + be sure, his windo looked upon the court, and he could see every one who + came into our door. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the axdent had took place, master was in such a rage as, to be + sure, no man ever was in befor; he swoar at the waiter in the most + dreddfle way; he threatened him with his stick, and it was only when he + see that the waiter was rayther a bigger man than hisself that he was in + the least pazzyfied. He returned to his own chambres; and John, the + waiter, went off for more gril to Dixes Coffy-house. + </p> + <p> + “This is a most unlucky axdent, to be sure, Charles,” says master to me, + after a few minits paws, during witch he had been and wrote a note, put it + into an anvelope, and sealed it with his big seal of arms. “But stay—a + thought strikes me—take this note to Mr. Dawkins, and that pye you + brought yesterday; and hearkye, you scoundrel, if you say where you got it + I will break every bone in your skin!” + </p> + <p> + These kind of promises were among the few which I knew him to keep: and as + I loved boath my skinn and my boans, I carried the noat, and of cors said + nothink. Waiting in Mr. Dawkinses chambus for a few minnits, I returned to + my master with an anser. I may as well give both of these documence, of + which I happen to have taken coppies: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + + THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE TO T. S. DAWKINS, ESQ. + + “TEMPLE, Tuesday. + + “Mr. DEUCEACE presents his compliments to Mr. Dawkins, and begs at + the same time to offer his most sincere apologies and regrets for + the accident which has just taken place. + + “May Mr. Deuceace be allowed to take a neighbor's privilege, and to + remedy the evil he has occasioned to the best of his power if Mr. + Dawkins will do him the favor to partake of the contents of the + accompanying case (from Strasbourg direct, and the gift of a + friend, on whose taste as a gourmand Mr. Dawkins may rely), perhaps + he will find that it is not a bad substitute for the plat which Mr. + Deuceace's awkwardness destroyed. + + “It will also, Mr. Deuceace is sure, be no small gratification to + the original donor of the 'pate', when he learns that it has fallen + into the hands of so celebrated a bon vivant as Mr. Dawkins. + + “T. S. DAWKINS, Esq., &c. &c. &c.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + + FROM T. S. DAWKINS, ESQ., TO THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE. + + “MR. THOMAS SMITH DAWKINS presents his grateful compliments to the + Hon. Mr. Deuceace, and accepts with the greatest pleasure Mr. + Deuceace's generous proffer. + + “It would be one of the HAPPIEST MOMENTS of Mr. Smith Dawkins's + life, if the Hon. Mr. Deuceace would EXTEND HIS GENEROSITY still + further, and condescend to partake of the repast which his + MUNIFICENT POLITENESS has furnished. + + “TEMPLE, Tuesday.” + </pre> + <p> + Many and many a time, I say, have I grin'd over these letters, which I had + wrote from the original by Mr. Bruffy's copyin clark. Deuceace's flam + about Prince Tallyram was puffickly successful. I saw young Dawkins blush + with delite as he red the note; he toar up for or five sheets before he + composed the answer to it, which was as you red abuff, and roat in a hand + quite trembling with pleasyer. If you could but have seen the look of + triumph in Deuceace's wicked black eyes, when he read the noat! I never + see a deamin yet, but I can phansy 1, a holding a writhing soal on his + pitchfrock, and smilin like Deuceace. He dressed himself in his very best + clothes, and in he went, after sending me over to say that he would except + with pleasyour Mr. Dawkins's invite. + </p> + <p> + The pie was cut up, and a most frenly conversation begun betwixt the two + genlmin. Deuceace was quite captivating. He spoke to Mr. Dawkins in the + most respeckful and flatrin manner,—agread in every think he said,—prazed + his taste, his furniter, his coat, his classick nolledge, and his playin + on the floot; you'd have thought, to hear him, that such a polygon of + exlens as Dawkins did not breath,—that such a modist, sinsear, + honrabble genlmn as Deuceace was to be seen nowhere xcept in Pump Cort. + Poor Daw was complitly taken in. My master said he'd introduce him to the + Duke of Doncaster, and heaven knows how many nobs more, till Dawkins was + quite intawsicated with pleasyour. I know as a fac (and it pretty well + shows the young genlmn's carryter), that he went that very day and ordered + 2 new coats, on porpos to be introjuiced to the lords in. + </p> + <p> + But the best joak of all was at last. Singin, swagrin, and swarink—up + stares came Mr. Dick Blewitt. He flung opn Mr. Dawkins's door, shouting + out, “Daw my old buck, how are you?” when, all of a sudden, he sees Mr. + Deuceace: his jor dropt, he turned chocky white, and then burnin red, and + looked as if a stror would knock him down. “My dear Mr. Blewitt,” says my + master, smilin and offring his hand, “how glad I am to see you. Mr. + Dawkins and I were just talking about your pony! Pray sit down.” + </p> + <p> + Blewitt did; and now was the question, who should sit the other out; but + law bless you! Mr. Blewitt was no match for my master: all the time he was + fidgetty, silent, and sulky; on the contry, master was charmin. I never + herd such a flo of conversatin, or so many wittacisms as he uttered. At + last, completely beat, Mr. Blewitt took his leaf; that instant master + followed him; and passin his arm through that of Mr. Dick, led him into + our chambers, and began talkin to him in the most affabl and affeckshnat + manner. + </p> + <p> + But Dick was too angry to listen; at last, when master was telling him + some long story about the Duke of Doncaster, Blewitt burst out— + </p> + <p> + “A plague on the Duke of Doncaster! Come, come, Mr. Deuceace, don't you be + running your rigs upon me; I ain't the man to be bamboozl'd by long-winded + stories about dukes and duchesses. You think I don't know you; every man + knows you and your line of country. Yes, you're after young Dawkins there, + and think to pluck him; but you shan't,—no, by —— you + shan't.” (The reader must recklect that the oaths which interspussed Mr. + B.'s convysation I have left out.) Well, after he'd fired a wolley of 'em, + Mr. Deuceace spoke as cool as possbill. + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye, Blewitt. I know you to be one of the most infernal thieves and + scoundrels unhung. If you attempt to hector with me, I will cane you; if + you want more, I'll shoot you; if you meddle between me and Dawkins, I + will do both. I know your whole life, you miserable swindler and coward. I + know you have already won two hundred pounds of this lad, and want all. I + will have half, or you never shall have a penny.” It's quite true that + master knew things; but how was the wonder. + </p> + <p> + I couldn't see Mr. B.'s face during this dialogue, bein on the wrong side + of the door; but there was a considdrable paws after thuse complymints had + passed between the two genlmn,—one walkin quickly up and down the + room—tother, angry and stupid, sittin down, and stampin with his + foot. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen to this, Mr. Blewitt,” continues master at last. “If you're + quiet, you shall have half this fellow's money: but venture to win a + shilling from him in my absence, or without my consent, and you do it at + your peril.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Mr. Deuceace,” cries Dick, “it's very hard, and I must say, + not fair: the game was of my startin, and you've no right to interfere + with my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Blewitt, you are a fool! You professed yesterday not to know this + man, and I was obliged to find him out for myself. I should like to know + by what law of honor I am bound to give him up to you?” + </p> + <p> + It was charmin to hear this pair of raskles talkin about HONOR. I declare + I could have found it in my heart to warn young Dawkins of the precious + way in which these chaps were going to serve him. But if THEY didn't know + what honor was, I did; and never, never did I tell tails about my masters + when in their sarvice—OUT, in cors, the hobligation is no longer + binding. + </p> + <p> + Well, the nex day there was a gran dinner at our chambers. White soop, + turbit, and lobstir sos; saddil of Scoch muttn, grous, and M'Arony; wines, + shampang, hock, maderia, a bottle of poart, and ever so many of clarrit. + The compny presint was three; wiz., the Honrabble A. P. Deuceace, R. + Blewitt, and Mr. Dawkins, Exquires. My i, how we genlmn in the kitchin did + enjy it. Mr. Blewittes man eat so much grous (when it was brot out of the + parlor), that I reely thought he would be sik; Mr. Dawkinses genlmn (who + was only abowt 13 years of age) grew so il with M'Arony and plumb-puddn, + as to be obleeged to take sefral of Mr. D's. pils, which 1/2 kild him. But + this is all promiscuous: I an't talkin of the survants now, but the + masters. + </p> + <p> + Would you bleeve it? After dinner and praps 8 bottles of wine between the + 3, the genlm sat down to ecarty. It's a game where only 2 plays, and + where, in coarse, when there's only 3, one looks on. + </p> + <p> + Fust, they playd crown pints, and a pound the bett. At this game they were + wonderful equill; and about supper-time (when grilled am, more shampang, + devld biskits, and other things, was brot in) the play stood thus: Mr. + Dawkins had won 2 pounds; Mr. Blewitt 30 shillings; the Honrabble Mr. + Deuceace having lost 3L. l0s. After the devvle and the shampang the play + was a little higher. Now it was pound pints, and five pound the bet. I + thought, to be sure, after hearing the complymints between Blewitt and + master in the morning, that now poor Dawkins's time was come. + </p> + <p> + Not so: Dawkins won always, Mr. B. betting on his play, and giving him the + very best of advice. At the end of the evening (which was abowt five + o'clock the nex morning) they stopt. Master was counting up the skore on a + card. + </p> + <p> + “Blewitt,” says he, “I've been unlucky. I owe you, let me see—yes, + five-and-forty pounds?” + </p> + <p> + “Five-and-forty,” says Blewitt, “and no mistake!” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a cheque,” says the honrabble genlmn. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don't mention it, my dear sir!” But master got a grate sheet of + paper, and drew him a check on Messeers. Pump, Algit and Co., his bankers. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” says master, “I've got to settle with you, my dear Mr. Dawkins. If + you had backd your luck, I should have owed you a very handsome sum of + money. Voyons, thirteen points at a pound—it is easy to calculate;” + and drawin out his puss, he clinked over the table 13 goolden suverings, + which shon till they made my eyes wink. + </p> + <p> + So did pore Dawkinses, as he put out his hand, all trembling, and drew + them in. + </p> + <p> + “Let me say,” added master, “let me say (and I've had some little + experience), that you are the very best ecarte player with whom I ever sat + down.” + </p> + <p> + Dawkinses eyes glissened as he put the money up, and said, “Law, Deuceace, + you flatter me.” + </p> + <p> + FLATTER him! I should think he did. It was the very think which master + ment. + </p> + <p> + “But mind you, Dawkins,” continyoud he, “I must have my revenge; for I'm + ruined—positively ruined by your luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” says Mr. Thomas Smith Dawkins, as pleased as if he had + gained a millium, “shall it be to-morrow? Blewitt, what say you?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Blewitt agreed, in course. My master, after a little demurring, + consented too. “We'll meet,” says he, “at your chambers. But mind, my dear + fello, not too much wine: I can't stand it at any time, especially when I + have to play ecarte with YOU.” + </p> + <p> + Pore Dawkins left our rooms as happy as a prins. “Here, Charles,” says he, + and flung me a sovring. Pore fellow! pore fellow! I knew what was a-comin! + </p> + <p> + But the best of it was, that these 13 sovrings which Dawkins won, MASTER + HAD BORROWED THEM FROM MR. BLEWITT! I brought 'em, with 7 more, from that + young genlmn's chambers that very morning: for, since his interview with + master, Blewitt had nothing to refuse him. + </p> + <p> + Well, shall I continue the tail? If Mr. Dawkins had been the least bit + wiser, it would have taken him six months befoar he lost his money; as it + was, he was such a confunded ninny, that it took him a very short time to + part with it. + </p> + <p> + Nex day (it was Thursday, and master's acquaintance with Mr. Dawkins had + only commenced on Tuesday), Mr. Dawkins, as I said, gev his party,—dinner + at 7. Mr. Blewitt and the two Mr. D.'s as befoar. Play begins at 11. This + time I knew the bisness was pretty serious, for we suvvants was packed off + to bed at 2 o'clock. On Friday, I went to chambers—no master—he + kem in for 5 minutes at about 12, made a little toilit, ordered more + devvles and soda-water, and back again he went to Mr. Dawkins's. + </p> + <p> + They had dinner there at 7 again, but nobody seamed to eat, for all the + vittles came out to us genlmn: they had in more wine though, and must have + drunk at least two dozen in the 36 hours. + </p> + <p> + At ten o'clock, however, on Friday night, back my master came to his + chambers. I saw him as I never saw him before, namly reglar drunk. He + staggered about the room, he danced, he hickipd, he swoar, he flung me a + heap of silver, and, finely, he sunk down exosted on his bed; I pullin off + his boots and close, and making him comfrabble. + </p> + <p> + When I had removed his garmints, I did what it's the duty of every servant + to do—I emtied his pockits, and looked at his pockit-book and all + his letters: a number of axdents have been prevented that way. + </p> + <p> + I found there, among a heap of things, the following pretty dockyment— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. O. U. + L 4700. + THOMAS SMITH DAWKINS. + Friday, 16th January. +</pre> + <p> + There was another bit of paper of the same kind—“I. 0. U. four + hundred pounds: Richard Blewitt:” but this, in corse, ment nothink. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Nex mornin, at nine, master was up, and as sober as a judg. He drest, and + was off to Mr. Dawkins. At ten, he ordered a cab, and the two gentlmn went + together. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall he drive, sir?” says I. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, tell him to drive to THE BANK.” + </p> + <p> + Pore Dawkins! his eyes red with remors and sleepliss drunkenniss, gave a + shudder and a sob, as he sunk back in the wehicle; and they drove on. + </p> + <p> + That day he sold out every hapny he was worth, xcept five hundred pounds. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Abowt 12 master had returned, and Mr. Dick Blewitt came stridin up the + stairs with a sollum and important hair. + </p> + <p> + “Is your master at home?” says he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” says I; and in he walks. I, in coars, with my ear to the + keyhole, listning with all my mite. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says Blewitt, “we maid a pretty good night of it, Mr. Deuceace. + Yu've settled, I see, with Dawkins.” + </p> + <p> + “Settled!” says master. “Oh, yes—yes—I've settled with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Four thousand seven hundred, I think?” + </p> + <p> + “About that—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That makes my share—let me see—two thousand three hundred and + fifty; which I'll thank you to fork out.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word—why—Mr. Blewitt,” says master, “I don't really + understand what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” says Blewitt, in an axent such as I never + before heard. “You don't know what I mean! Did you not promise me that we + were to go shares? Didn't I lend you twenty sovereigns the other night to + pay our losings to Dawkins? Didn't you swear, on your honor as a + gentleman, to give me half of all that might be won in this affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed, sir,” says Deuceace; “agreed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, and now what have you to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, THAT I DON'T INTEND TO KEEP MY PROMISE! You infernal fool and ninny! + do you suppose I was laboring for YOU? Do you fancy I was going to the + expense of giving a dinner to that jackass yonder, that you should profit + by it? Get away, sir! Leave the room, sir! Or, stop—here—I + will give you four hundred pounds—your own note of hand, sir, for + that sum, if you will consent to forget all that has passed between us, + and that you have never known Mr. Algernon Deuceace.” + </p> + <p> + I've seen pipple angery before now, but never any like Blewitt. He + stormed, groaned, belloed, swoar! At last, he fairly began blubbring; now + cussing and nashing his teeth, now praying dear Mr. Deuceace to grant him + mercy. + </p> + <p> + At last, master flung open the door (heaven bless us! it's well I didn't + tumble hed over eels into the room!), and said, “Charles, show the + gentleman down stairs!” My master looked at him quite steddy. Blewitt + slunk down, as misrabble as any man I ever see. As for Dawkins, heaven + knows where he was! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Charles,” says my master to me, about an hour afterwards, “I'm going to + Paris; you may come, too, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FORING PARTS. + </h2> + <p> + It was a singular proof of my master's modesty, that though he had won + this andsome sum of Mr. Dawkins, and was inclined to be as extravygant and + osntatious as any man I ever seed, yet, when he determined on going to + Paris, he didn't let a single frend know of all them winnings of his; + didn't acquaint my Lord Crabs his father, that he was about to leave his + natiff shoars—neigh—didn't even so much as call together his + tradesmin, and pay off their little bills befor his departure. + </p> + <p> + On the contry, “Chawles,” said he to me, “stick a piece of paper on my + door,” which is the way that lawyers do, “and write 'Back at seven' upon + it.” Back at seven I wrote, and stuck it on our outer oak. And so + mistearus was Deuceace about his continental tour (to all except me), that + when the landriss brought him her account for the last month (amountain, + at the very least, to 2L. 10s.), master told her to leave it till Monday + morning, when it should be properly settled. It's extrodny how ickonomical + a man becomes, when he's got five thousand lbs. in his pockit. + </p> + <p> + Back at 7 indeed! At 7 we were a-roalin on the Dover Road, in the Reglator + Coach—master inside, me out. A strange company of people there was, + too, in that wehicle,—3 sailors; an Italyin with his music-box and + munky; a missionary, going to convert the heathens in France; 2 oppra + girls (they call 'em figure-aunts), and the figure-aunts' mothers inside; + 4 Frenchmin, with gingybred caps and mustashes, singing, chattering, and + jesticklating in the most vonderful vay. Such compliments as passed + between them and the figure-aunts! such a munshin of biskits and sippin of + brandy! such “O mong Jews,” and “O sacrrres,” and “kill fay frwaws!” I + didn't understand their languidge at that time, so of course can't + igsplain much of their conwersation; but it pleased me, nevertheless, for + now I felt that I was reely going into foring parts: which, ever sins I + had had any edication at all, was always my fondest wish. Heavin bless us! + thought I, if these are specimeens of all Frenchmen, what a set they must + be. The pore Italyin's monky, sittin mopin and meluncolly on his box, was + not half so ugly, and seamed quite as reasonabble. + </p> + <p> + Well, we arrived at Dover—“Ship Hotel” weal cutlets half a ginny, + glas of ale a shilling, glas of neagush, half a crownd, a hapnyworth of + wax-lites four shillings, and so on. But master paid without grumbling; as + long as it was for himself he never minded the expens: and nex day we + embarked in the packit for Balong sir-mare—which means in French, + the town of Balong sityouated on the sea. I who had heard of foring + wonders, expected this to be the fust and greatest: phansy, then, my + disapintment, when we got there, to find this Balong, not situated on the + sea, but on the SHOAR. + </p> + <p> + But oh! the gettin there was the bisniss. How I did wish for Pump Court + agin, as we were tawsing abowt in the Channel! Gentle reader, av you ever + been on the otion?—“The sea, the sea, the open sea!” as Barry + Cromwell says. As soon as we entered our little wessel, and I'd looked to + master's luggitch and mine (mine was rapt up in a very small hankercher), + as soon, I say, as we entered our little wessel, as soon as I saw the + waives, black and frothy, like fresh drawn porter, a-dashin against the + ribs of our galliant bark, the keal like a wedge, splittin the billoes in + two, the sales a-flaffin in the hair, the standard of Hengland floating at + the mask-head, the steward a-getting ready the basins and things, the + capting proudly tredding the deck and giving orders to the salers, the + white rox of Albany and the bathin-masheens disappearing in the distans—then, + then I felt, for the first time, the mite, the madgisty of existence. + “Yellowplush my boy,” said I, in a dialogue with myself, “your life is now + about to commens—your carear, as a man, dates from your entrans on + board this packit. Be wise, be manly, be cautious, forgit the follies of + your youth. You are no longer a boy now, but a FOOTMAN. Throw down your + tops, your marbles, your boyish games—throw off your childish + habbits with your inky clerk's jackit—throw up your—” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Here, I recklect, I was obleeged to stopp. A fealin, in the fust place + singlar, in the next place painful, and at last compleatly overpowering, + had come upon me while I was making the abuff speach, and now I found + myself in a sityouation which Dellixy for Bids me to describe. Suffis to + say, that now I dixcovered what basins was made for—that for many, + many hours, I lay in a hagony of exostion, dead to all intense and + porpuses, the rain pattering in my face, the salers tramplink over my body—the + panes of purgatory going on inside. When we'd been about four hours in + this sityouation (it seam'd to me four ears), the steward comes to that + part of the deck where we servants were all huddled up together, and calls + out “Charles!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says I, gurgling out a faint “yes, what's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “You're wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Your master's wery ill,” says he, with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “Master be hanged!” says I, turning round, more misrable than ever. I + woodn't have moved that day for twenty thousand masters—no, not for + the Empror of Russia or the Pop of Room. + </p> + <p> + Well, to cut this sad subjik short, many and many a voyitch have I sins + had upon what Shakspur calls the “wasty dip,” but never such a retched one + as that from Dover to Balong, in the year Anna Domino 1818. Steemers were + scarce in those days; and our journey was made in a smack. At last, when I + was in a stage of despare and exostion, as reely to phansy myself at + Death's doar, we got to the end of our journey. Late in the evening we + hailed the Gaelic shoars, and hankered in the arbor of Balong sir-mare. + </p> + <p> + It was the entrans of Parrowdice to me and master: and as we entered the + calm water, and saw the comfrabble lights gleaming in the houses, and felt + the roal of the vessel degreasing, never was two mortials gladder, I + warrant, than we were. At length our capting drew up at the key, and our + journey was down. But such a bustle and clatter, such jabbering, such + shrieking and swaring, such wollies of oafs and axicrations as saluted us + on landing, I never knew! We were boarded, in the fust place, by + custom-house officers in cock-hats, who seased our luggitch, and called + for our passpots: then a crowd of inn-waiters came, tumbling and screaming + on deck—“Dis way, sare,” cries one; “Hotel Meurice,” says another; + “Hotel de Bang,” screeches another chap—the tower of Babyle was + nothink to it. The fust thing that struck me on landing was a big fellow + with ear-rings, who very nigh knock me down, in wrenching master's + carpet-bag out of my hand, as I was carrying it to the hotell. But we got + to it safe at last; and, for the fust time in my life, I slep in a foring + country. + </p> + <p> + I shan't describe this town of Balong, which, as it has been visited by + not less (on an avaridg) than two milliums of English since I fust saw it + twenty years ago, is tolrabbly well known already. It's a dingy melumcolly + place, to my mind; the only thing moving in the streets is the gutter + which runs down 'em. As for wooden shoes, I saw few of 'em; and for frogs, + upon my honor I never see a single Frenchman swallow one, which I had been + led to beleave was their reg'lar, though beastly, custom. One thing which + amazed me was the singlar name which they give to this town of Balong. + It's divided, as every boddy knows, into an upper town (sitouate on a + mounting, and surrounded by a wall, or bullyvar) and a lower town, which + is on the level of the sea. Well, will it be believed that they call the + upper town the Hot Veal, and the other the Base Veal, which is on the + contry, genrally good in France, though the beaf, it must be confest, is + excrabble. + </p> + <p> + It was in the Base Veal that Deuceace took his lodgian, at the Hotel de + Bang, in a very crooked street called the Rue del Ascew; and if he'd been + the Archbishop of Devonshire, or the Duke of Canterbury, he could not have + given himself greater hairs, I can tell you. Nothink was too fine for us + now; we had a sweet of rooms on the first floor, which belonged to the + prime minister of France (at least the landlord said they were the + premier's); and the Hon. Algernon Percy Deuceace, who had not paid his + landriss, and came to Dover in a coach, seamed now to think that goold was + too vulgar for him, and a carridge and six would break down with a man of + his weight. Shampang flew about like ginger-pop, besides bordo, clarit, + burgundy, burgong, and other wines, and all the delixes of the Balong + kitchins. We stopped a fortnit at this dull place, and did nothing from + morning till night excep walk on the bench, and watch the ships going in + and out of arber, with one of them long, sliding opra-glasses, which they + call, I don't know why, tallow-scoops. Our amusements for the fortnit we + stopped here were boath numerous and daliteful; nothink, in fact, could be + more pickong, as they say. In the morning before breakfast we boath walked + on the Peer; master in a blue mareen jackit, and me in a slap-up new + livry; both provided with long sliding opra-glasses, called as I said (I + don't know Y, but I suppose it's a scientafick term) tallow-scoops. With + these we igsamined, very attentively, the otion, the sea-weed, the + pebbles, the dead cats, the fishwimmin, and the waives (like little + children playing at leap-frog), which came tumblin over 1 another on to + the shoar. It seemed to me as if they were scrambling to get there, as + well they might, being sick of the sea, and anxious for the blessid, + peaceable terry firmy. + </p> + <p> + After brexfast, down we went again (that is, master on his beat, and me on + mine,—for my place in this foring town was a complete shinycure), + and putting our tally-scoops again in our eyes, we egsamined a little more + the otion, pebbils, dead cats, and so on; and this lasted till dinner, and + dinner till bedtime, and bedtime lasted till nex day, when came brexfast, + and dinner, and tally-scooping, as before. This is the way with all people + of this town, of which, as I've heard say, there is ten thousand happy + English, who lead this plesnt life from year's end to year's end. + </p> + <p> + Besides this, there's billiards and gambling for the gentlemen, a little + dancing for the gals, and scandle for the dowygers. In none of these + amusements did we partake. We were a LITTLE too good to play crown pints + at cards, and never get paid when we won; or to go dangling after the + portionless gals, or amuse ourselves with slops and penny-wist along with + the old ladies. No, no; my master was a man of fortn now, and behayved + himself as sich. If ever he condysended to go into the public room of the + Hotel de Bang—the French (doubtless for reasons best known to + themselves) call this a sallymanjy—he swoar more and lowder than any + one there; he abyoused the waiters, the wittles, the wines. With his glas + in his i, he staired at every body. He took always the place before the + fire. He talked about “my carridge,” “my currier,” “my servant;” and he + did wright. I've always found through life, that if you wish to be + respected by English people, you must be insalent to them, especially if + you are a sprig of nobiliaty. We LIKE being insulted by noblemen,—it + shows they're familiar with us. Law bless us! I've known many and many a + genlmn about town who'd rather be kicked by a lord than not be noticed by + him; they've even had an aw of ME, because I was a lord's footman. While + my master was hectoring in the parlor, at Balong, pretious airs I gave + myself in the kitching, I can tell you; and the consequints was, that we + were better served, and moar liked, than many pipple with twice our merit. + </p> + <p> + Deuceace had some particklar plans, no doubt, which kep him so long at + Balong; and it clearly was his wish to act the man of fortune there for a + little time before he tried the character of Paris. He purchased a + carridge, he hired a currier, he rigged me in a fine new livry blazin with + lace, and he past through the Balong bank a thousand pounds of the money + he had won from Dawkins, to his credit at a Paris house; showing the + Balong bankers at the same time, that he'd plenty moar in his potfolie. + This was killin two birds with one stone; the bankers' clerks spread the + nuse over the town, and in a day after master had paid the money every old + dowyger in Balong had looked out the Crabs' family podigree in the + Peeridge, and was quite intimate with the Deuceace name and estates. If + Sattn himself were a lord, I do beleave there's many vurtuous English + mothers would be glad to have him for a son-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Now, though my master had thought fitt to leave town without + excommunicating with his father on the subject of his intended continental + tripe, as soon as he was settled at Balong he roat my Lord Crabbs a + letter, of which I happen to have a copy. It ran thus:— + </p> + <p> + “BOULOGNE, January 25. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR FATHER,—I have long, in the course of my legal studies, + found the necessity of a knowledge of French, in which language all the + early history of our profession is written, and have determined to take a + little relaxation from chamber reading, which has seriously injured my + health. If my modest finances can bear a two months' journey, and a + residence at Paris, I propose to remain there that period. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have the kindness to send me a letter of introduction to Lord + Bobtail, our ambassador? My name, and your old friendship with him, I know + would secure me a reception at his house; but a pressing letter from + yourself would at once be more courteous, and more effectual. + </p> + <p> + “May I also ask you for my last quarter's salary? I am not an expensive + man, my dear father, as you know; but we are no chameleons, and fifty + pounds (with my little earnings in my profession) would vastly add to the + agremens of my continental excursion. + </p> + <p> + “Present my love to all my brothers and sisters. Ah! how I wish the hard + portion of a younger son had not been mine, and that I could live without + the dire necessity for labor, happy among the rural scenes of my + childhood, and in the society of my dear sisters and you! Heaven bless + you, dearest father, and all those beloved ones now dwelling under the + dear old roof at Sizes. + </p> + <p> + “Ever your affectionate son, + </p> + <p> + “Algernon. + </p> + <p> + “THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF CRABS, &c., + </p> + <p> + SIZES COURT, BUCKS.” + </p> + <p> + To this affeckshnat letter his lordship replied, by return of poast, as + follos:— + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR ALGERNON,—Your letter came safe to hand and I enclose you + the letter for Lord Bobtail as you desire. He is a kind man, and has one + of the best cooks in Europe. + </p> + <p> + “We were all charmed with your warm remembrances of us, not having seen + you for seven years. We cannot but be pleased at the family affection + which, in spite of time and absence, still clings so fondly to home. It is + a sad, selfish world, and very few who have entered it can afford to keep + those fresh feelings which you have, my dear son. + </p> + <p> + “May you long retain them, is a fond father's earnest prayer. Be sure, + dear Algernon, that they will be through life your greatest comfort, as + well as your best worldly ally; consoling you in misfortune, cheering you + in depression, aiding and inspiring you to exertion and success. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, truly sorry, that my account at Coutts's is so low, just now, + as to render a payment of your allowance for the present impossible. I see + by my book that I owe you now nine quarters, or 450L. Depend on it, my + dear boy, that they shall be faithfully paid over to you on the first + opportunity. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, I have enclosed some extracts from the newspapers, which may + interest you: and have received a very strange letter from a Mr. Blewitt, + about a play transaction, which, I suppose, is the case alluded to in + these prints. He says you won 4700L. from one Dawkins: that the lad paid + it; that he, Blewitt, was to go what he calls 'snacks' in the winning; but + that you refused to share the booty. How can you, my dear boy, quarrel + with these vulgar people, or lay yourself in any way open to their + attacks? I have played myself a good deal, and there is no man living who + can accuse me of a doubtful act. You should either have shot this Blewitt + or paid him. Now, as the matter stands, it is too late to do the former; + and, perhaps, it would be Quixotic to perform the latter. My dearest boy! + recollect through life that YOU NEVER CAN AFFORD TO BE DISHONEST WITH A + ROQUE. Four thousand seven hundred pounds was a great coup, to be sure. + </p> + <p> + “As you are now in such high feather, can you, dearest Algernon! lend me + five hundred pounds? Upon my soul and honor, I will repay you. Your + brothers and sisters send you their love. I need not add, that you have + always the blessings of your affectionate father, + </p> + <p> + “CRABS.” + </p> + <p> + “P.S.—Make it 500, and I will give you my note-of-hand for a + thousand.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I needn't say that this did not QUITE enter into Deuceace's eyedears. Lend + his father 500 pound, indeed! He'd as soon have lent him a box on the + year! In the fust place, he hadn seen old Crabs for seven years, as that + nobleman remarked in his epistol; in the secknd he hated him, and they + hated each other; and nex, if master had loved his father ever so much, he + loved somebody else better—his father's son, namely: and sooner than + deprive that exlent young man of a penny, he'd have sean all the fathers + in the world hangin at Newgat, and all the “beloved ones,” as he called + his sisters, the Lady Deuceacisses, so many convix at Bottomy Bay. + </p> + <p> + The newspaper parrografs showed that, however secret WE wished to keep the + play transaction, the public knew it now full well. Blewitt, as I found + after, was the author of the libels which appeared right and left: + </p> + <p> + “GAMBLING IN HIGH LIFE—the HONORABLE Mr. D—c—ce again!—This + celebrated whist-player has turned his accomplishments to some profit. On + Friday, the 16th January, he won five thousand pounds from a VERY young + gentleman, Th-m-s Sm-th D-wk-ns, Esq., and lost two thousand five hundred + to R. Bl-w-tt, Esq., of the T-mple. Mr. D. very honorably paid the sum + lost by him to the honorable whist-player, but we have not heard that, + BEFORE HIS SUDDEN TRIP TO PARIS, Mr. D—uc—ce paid HIS losings + to Mr. Bl-w-tt.” + </p> + <p> + Nex came a “Notice to Corryspondents:” + </p> + <p> + “Fair Play asks us, if we know of the gambling doings of the notorious + Deuceace? We answer, WE DO; and, in our very next Number, propose to make + some of them public.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + They didn't appear, however; but, on the contry, the very same newspeper, + which had been before so abusiff of Deuceace, was now loud in his praise. + It said:— + </p> + <p> + “A paragraph was inadvertently admitted into our paper of last week, most + unjustly assailing the character of a gentleman of high birth and talents, + the son of the exemplary E-rl of Cr-bs. We repel, with scorn and + indignation, the dastardly falsehoods of the malignant slanderer who + vilified Mr. De—ce-ce, and beg to offer that gentleman the only + reparation in our power for having thus tampered with his unsullied name. + We disbelieve the RUFFIAN and HIS STORY, and most sincerely regret that + such a tale, or SUCH A WRITER, should ever have been brought forward to + the readers of this paper.” + </p> + <p> + This was satisfactory, and no mistake: and much pleased we were at the + denial of this conshentious editor. So much pleased that master sent him a + ten-pound noat, and his complymints. He'd sent another to the same + address, BEFORE this parrowgraff was printed; WHY, I can't think: for I + woodn't suppose any thing musnary in a littery man. + </p> + <p> + Well, after this bisniss was concluded, the currier hired, the carridge + smartened a little, and me set up in my new livries, we bade ojew to + Bulong in the grandest state posbill. What a figure we cut! and, my i, + what a figger the postillion cut! A cock-hat, a jackit made out of a cow's + skin (it was in cold weather), a pig-tale about 3 fit in length, and a + pair of boots! Oh, sich a pare! A bishop might almost have preached out of + one, or a modrat-sized famly slep in it. Me and Mr. Schwigshhnaps, the + currier, sate behind in the rumbill; master aloan in the inside, as grand + as a Turk, and rapt up in his fine fir-cloak. Off we sett, bowing gracefly + to the crowd; the harniss-bells jinglin, the great white hosses snortin, + kickin, and squeelin, and the postilium cracking his wip, as loud as if + he'd been drivin her majesty the quean. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Well, I shan't describe our voyitch. We passed sefral sitties, willitches, + and metrappolishes; sleeping the fust night at Amiens, witch, as + everyboddy knows, is famous ever since the year 1802 for what's called the + Pease of Amiens. We had some, very good, done with sugar and brown sos, in + the Amiens way. But after all the boasting about them, I think I like our + marrowphats better. + </p> + <p> + Speaking of wedgytables, another singler axdent happened here concarning + them. Master, who was brexfasting before going away, told me to go and get + him his fur travling-shoes. I went and toald the waiter of the inn, who + stared, grinned (as these chaps always do), said “Bong” (which means, very + well), and presently came back. + </p> + <p> + I'M BLEST IF HE DIDN'T BRING MASTER A PLATE OF CABBITCH! Would you bleave + it, that now, in the nineteenth sentry, when they say there's + schoolmasters abroad, these stewpid French jackasses are so extonishingly + ignorant as to call a CABBIDGE a SHOO! Never, never let it be said, after + this, that these benighted, souperstitious, misrabble SAVIDGES, are + equill, in any respex, to the great Brittish people. The moor I travvle, + the moor I see of the world, and other natiums, I am proud of my own, and + despise and deplore the retchid ignorance of the rest of Yourup. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + My remarks on Parris you shall have by an early opportunity. Me and + Deuceace played some curious pranx there, I can tell you. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + THE TWO BUNDLES OF HAY. + </p> + <p> + Lieutenant-General Sir George Griffin, K.C.B., was about seventy-five + years old when he left this life, and the East Ingine army, of which he + was a distinguished ornyment. Sir George's first appearance in Injar was + in the character of a cabbingboy to a vessel; from which he rose to be + clerk to the owners at Calcutta, from which he became all of a sudden a + capting in the Company's service; and so rose and rose, until he rose to + be a leftenant-general, when he stopped rising altogether—hopping + the twig of this life, as drummers, generals, dustmen, and emperors must + do. + </p> + <p> + Sir George did not leave any mal hair to perpetuate the name of Griffin. A + widow of about twenty-seven, and a daughter avaritching twenty-three, was + left behind to deploar his loss, and share his proppaty. On old Sir + George's deth, his interesting widdo and orfan, who had both been with him + in Injer, returned home—tried London for a few months, did not like + it, and resolved on a trip to Paris; where very small London people become + very great ones, if they've money, as these Griffinses had. The + intelligent reader need not be told that Miss Griffin was not the daughter + of Lady Griffin; for though marritches are made tolrabbly early in Injer, + people are not quite so precoashoos as all that: the fact is, Lady G. was + Sir George's second wife. I need scarcely add, that Miss Matilda Griffin + wos the offspring of his fust marritch. + </p> + <p> + Miss Leonora Kicksey, a ansum, lively Islington gal, taken out to + Calcutta, and, amongst his other goods, very comfortably disposed of by + her uncle, Capting Kicksey, was one-and-twenty when she married Sir George + at seventy-one; and the 13 Miss Kickseys, nine of whom kep a school at + Islington (the other 4 being married variously in the city), were not a + little envius of my lady's luck, and not a little proud of their + relationship to her. One of 'em, Miss Jemima Kicksey, the oldest, and by + no means the least ugly of the sett, was staying with her ladyship, and + gev me all the partecklars. Of the rest of the famly, being of a lo sort, + I in course no nothink; MY acquaintance, thank my stars, don't lie among + them, or the likes of them. + </p> + <p> + Well, this Miss Jemima lived with her younger and more fortnat sister, in + the qualaty of companion, or toddy. Poar thing! I'd a soon be a gally + slave, as lead the life she did! Every body in the house despised her; her + ladyship insulted her; the very kitching gals scorned and flouted her. She + roat the notes, she kep the bills, she made the tea, she whipped the + chocklate, she cleaned the canary birds, and gev out the linning for the + wash. She was my lady's walking pocket, or rettycule; and fetched and + carried her handkercher, or her smell-bottle, like a well-bred spaniel. + All night, at her ladyship's swarries, she thumped kidrills (nobody ever + thought of asking HER to dance!); when Miss Griffing sung, she played the + piano, and was scolded because the singer was out of tune; abommanating + dogs, she never drove out without her ladyship's puddle in her lap; and, + reglarly unwell in a carriage, she never got anything but the back seat. + Poar Jemima! I can see her now in my lady's SECKND-BEST old clothes (the + ladies'-maids always got the prime leavings): a liloc sattn gown, + crumpled, blotched, and greasy; a pair of white sattn shoes, of the color + of Inger rubber; a faded yellow velvet hat, with a wreath of hartifishl + flowers run to sead, and a bird of Parrowdice perched on the top of it, + melumcolly and moulting, with only a couple of feathers left in his + unfortunate tail. + </p> + <p> + Besides this ornyment to their saloon, Lady and Miss Griffin kept a number + of other servants in the kitching; 2 ladies'-maids; 2 footmin, six feet + high each, crimson coats, goold knots, and white cassymear pantyloons; a + coachmin to match; a page: and a Shassure, a kind of servant only known + among forriners, and who looks more like a major-general than any other + mortial, wearing a cock-hat, a unicorn covered with silver lace, + mustashos, eplets, and a sword by his side. All these to wait upon two + ladies; not counting a host of the fair sex, such as cooks, scullion, + housekeepers, and so forth. + </p> + <p> + My Lady Griffin's lodging was at forty pound a week, in a grand sweet of + rooms in the Plas Vandome at Paris. And, having thus described their + house, and their servants' hall, I may give a few words of description + concerning the ladies themselves. + </p> + <p> + In the fust place, and in coarse, they hated each other. My lady was + twenty-seven—a widdo of two years—fat, fair, and rosy. A slow, + quiet, cold-looking woman, as those fair-haired gals generally are, it + seemed difficult to rouse her either into likes or dislikes; to the + former, at least. She never loved any body but ONE, and that was herself. + She hated, in her calm, quiet way, almost every one else who came near her—every + one, from her neighbor, the duke, who had slighted her at dinner, down to + John the footman, who had torn a hole in her train. I think this woman's + heart was like one of them lithograffic stones, you CAN'T RUB OUT ANY + THING when once it's drawn or wrote on it; nor could you out of her + ladyship's stone—heart, I mean—in the shape of an affront, a + slight, or real, or phansied injury. She boar an exlent, irreprotchable + character, against which the tongue of scandal never wagged. She was + allowed to be the best wife posbill—and so she was; but she killed + her old husband in two years, as dead as ever Mr. Thurtell killed Mr. + William Weare. She never got into a passion, not she—she never said + a rude word; but she'd a genius—a genius which many women have—of + making A HELL of a house, and tort'ring the poor creatures of her family, + until they were wellnigh drove mad. + </p> + <p> + Miss Matilda Griffin was a good deal uglier, and about as amiable as her + mother-in-law. She was crooked, and squinted; my lady, to do her justice, + was straight, and looked the same way with her i's. She was dark, and my + lady was fair—sentimental, as her ladyship was cold. My lady was + never in a passion—Miss Matilda always; and awfille were the scenes + which used to pass between these 2 women, and the wickid, wickid quarls + which took place. Why did they live together? There was the mistry. Not + related, and hating each other like pison, it would surely have been + easier to remain seprat, and so have detested each other at a distans. + </p> + <p> + As for the fortune which old Sir George had left, that, it was clear, was + very considrabble—300 thousand lb. at the least, as I have heard + say. But nobody knew how it was disposed of. Some said that her ladyship + was sole mistriss of it, others that it was divided, others that she had + only a life inkum, and that the money was all to go (as was natral) to + Miss Matilda. These are subjix which are not praps very interesting to the + British public, but were mighty important to my master, the Honrable + Algernon Percy Deuceace, esquire, barrister-at-law, etsettler, etsettler. + </p> + <p> + For I've forgot to inform you that my master was very intimat in this + house; and that we were now comfortably settled at the Hotel Mirabew + (pronounced Marobo in French), in the Rew delly Pay, at Paris. We had our + cab, and two riding horses; our banker's book, and a thousand pound for a + balantz at Lafitt's; our club at the corner of the Rew Gramong; our share + in a box at the oppras; our apartments, spacious and elygant; our swarries + at court; our dinners at his excellency Lord Bobtail's and elsewhere. + Thanks to poar Dawkins's five thousand pound, we were as complete + gentlemen as any in Paris. + </p> + <p> + Now my master, like a wise man as he was, seaing himself at the head of a + smart sum of money, and in a country where his debts could not bother him, + determined to give up for the present every think like gambling—at + least, high play; as for losing or winning a ralow of Napoleums at whist + or ecarty, it did not matter; it looks like money to do such things, and + gives a kind of respectabilaty. “But as for play, he wouldn't—oh no! + not for worlds!—do such a thing.” He HAD played, like other young + men of fashn, and won and lost [old fox! he didn't say he had PAID]; but + he had given up the amusement, and was now determined, he said, to live on + his inkum. The fact is, my master was doing his very best to act the + respectable man: and a very good game it is, too; but it requires a + precious great roag to play it. + </p> + <p> + He made his appearans reglar at church—me carrying a handsome large + black marocky Prayer-book and Bible, with the psalms and lessons marked + out with red ribbings; and you'd have thought, as I graivly laid the + volloms down before him, and as he berried his head in his nicely brushed + hat, before service began, that such a pious, proper morl, young nobleman + was not to be found in the whole of the peeridge. It was a comfort to look + at him. Efry old tabby and dowyger at my Lord Bobtail's turned up the + wights of their i's when they spoke of him, and vowed they had never seen + such a dear, daliteful, exlent young man. What a good son he must be, they + said; and oh, what a good son-in-law! He had the pick of all the English + gals at Paris before we had been there 3 months. But, unfortunately, most + of them were poar; and love and a cottidge was not quite in master's way + of thinking. + </p> + <p> + Well, about this time my Lady Griffin and Miss G. made their appearants at + Parris, and master, who was up to snough, very soon changed his noat. He + sate near them at chapple, and sung hims with my lady: he danced with 'em + at the embassy balls; he road with them in the Boy de Balong and the + Shandeleasies (which is the French High Park); he roat potry in Miss + Griffin's halbim, and sang jewets along with her and Lady Griffin; he + brought sweet-meats for the puddle-dog; he gave money to the footmin, + kissis and gloves to the sniggering ladies'-maids; he was sivvle even to + poar Miss Kicksey; there wasn't a single soal at the Griffinses that + didn't adoar this good young man. + </p> + <p> + The ladies, if they hated befoar, you may be sure detested each other now + wuss than ever. There had been always a jallowsy between them: miss + jellows of her mother-in-law's bewty; madam of miss's espree: miss + taunting my lady about the school at Islington, and my lady sneering at + miss for her squint and her crookid back. And now came a stronger caws. + They both fell in love with Mr. Deuceace—my lady, that is to say, as + much as she could, with her cold selfish temper. She liked Deuceace, who + amused her and made her laff. She liked his manners, his riding, and his + good loox; and being a pervinew herself had a dubble respect for real + aristocratick flesh and blood. Miss's love, on the contry, was all flams + and fury. She'd always been at this work from the time she had been at + school, where she very nigh run away with a Frentch master; next with a + footman (which I may say, in confidence, is by no means unnatral or + unusyouall, as I COULD SHOW IF I LIKED); and so had been going on sins + fifteen. She reglarly flung herself at Deuceace's head—such sighing, + crying, and ogling, I never see. Often was I ready to bust out laffin, as + I brought master skoars of rose-colored billydoos, folded up like + cockhats, and smellin like barber's shops, which this very tender young + lady used to address to him. Now, though master was a scoundrill and no + mistake, he was a gentlemin, and a man of good breading; and miss CAME A + LITTLE TOO STRONG (pardon the wulgarity of the xpression) with her hardor + and attachmint, for one of his taste. Besides, she had a crookid spine, + and a squint; so that (supposing their fortns tolrabbly equal) Deuceace + reely preferred the mother-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Now, then, it was his bisniss to find out which had the most money. With + an English famly this would have been easy: a look at a will at Doctor + Commons'es would settle the matter at once. But this India naybob's will + was at Calcutty, or some outlandish place; and there was no getting sight + of a coppy of it. I will do Mr. Algernon Deuceace the justass to say, that + he was so little musnary in his love for Lady Griffin, that he would have + married her gladly, even if she had ten thousand pounds less than Miss + Matilda. In the meantime, his plan was to keep 'em both in play, until he + could strike the best fish of the two—not a difficult matter for a + man of his genus: besides, Miss was hooked for certain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <h3> + “HONOR THY FATHER.” + </h3> + <p> + I said that my master was adoard by every person in my Lady Griffin's + establishmint. I should have said by every person excep one,—a young + French gnlmn, that is, who, before our appearants, had been mighty + partiklar with my lady, ockupying by her side exackly the same pasition + which the Honrable Mr. Deuceace now held. It was bewtiffle and headifying + to see how coolly that young nobleman kicked the poar Shevalliay de L'Orge + out of his shoes, and how gracefully he himself stept into 'em. Munseer de + L'Orge was a smart young French jentleman, of about my master's age and + good looks, but not possest of half my master's impidince. Not that that + quallaty is uncommon in France; but few, very few, had it to such a degree + as my exlent employer, Mr. Deuceace. Besides De L'Orge was reglarly and + reely in love with Lady Griffin, and master only pretending: he had, of + coars, an advantitch, which the poor Frentchman never could git. He was + all smiles and gaty, while Delorge was ockward and melumcolly. My master + had said twenty pretty things to Lady Griffin, befor the shevalier had + finished smoothing his hat, staring at her, and sighing fit to bust his + weskit. O luv, luv! THIS isn't the way to win a woman, or my name's not + Fitzroy Yellowplush! Myself, when I begun my carear among the fair six, I + was always sighing and moping, like this poar Frenchman. What was the + consquints? The foar fust women I adoared lafft at me, and left me for + something more lively. With the rest I have edopted a diffrent game, and + with tolerable suxess, I can tell you. But this is eggatism, which I + aboar. + </p> + <p> + Well, the long and the short of it is, that Munseer Ferdinand Hyppolite + Xavier Stanislas, Shevalier de L'Orge, was reglar cut out by Munseer + Algernon Percy Deuceace, Exquire. Poar Ferdinand did not leave the house—he + hadn't the heart to do that—nor had my lady the desire to dismiss + him. He was usefle in a thousand different ways, gitting oppra-boxes, and + invitations to French swarries, bying gloves, and O de Colong, writing + French noats, and such like. Always let me recommend an English famly, + going to Paris, to have at least one young man of the sort about them. + Never mind how old your ladyship is, he will make love to you; never mind + what errints you send him upon, he'll trot off and do them. Besides, he's + always quite and well-dresst, and never drinx moar than a pint of wine at + dinner, which (as I say) is a pint to consider. Such a conveniants of a + man was Munseer de L'Orge—the greatest use and comfort to my lady + posbill; if it was but to laff at his bad pronunciatium of English, it was + somethink amusink; the fun was to pit him against poar Miss Kicksey, she + speakin French, and he our naytif British tong. + </p> + <p> + My master, to do him justace, was perfickly sivvle to this poar young + Frenchman; and having kicked him out of the place which he occupied, + sertingly treated his fallen anymy with every respect and consideration. + Poar modist, down-hearted little Ferdinand adoured my lady as a goddice! + and so he was very polite likewise to my master—never venturing once + to be jellows of him, or to question my Lady Griffin's right to change her + lover, if she choase to do so. + </p> + <p> + Thus, then, matters stood; master had two strinx to his bo, and might take + either the widdo or the orfn, as he preferred: com bong lwee somblay, as + the Frentch say. His only pint was to discover how the money was disposed + off, which evidently belonged to one or other, or boath. At any rate he + was sure of one; as sure as any mortal man can be in this sublimary spear, + where nothink is suttin except unsertnty. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + A very unixpected insident here took place, which in a good deal changed + my master's calkylations. + </p> + <p> + One night, after conducting the two ladies to the oppra, after suppink of + white soop, sammy-deperdrow, and shampang glassy (which means eyced), at + their house in the Plas Vandom, me and master droav hoam in the cab, as + happy as possbill. + </p> + <p> + “Chawls you d——d scoundrel,” says he to me (for he was in an + exlent humer), “when I'm married, I'll dubbil your wagis.” + </p> + <p> + This he might do, to be sure, without injuring himself, seeing that he had + us yet never paid me any. But, what then? Law bless us! things would be at + a pretty pass if we suvvants only lived on our WAGIS; our puckwisits is + the thing, and no mistake. + </p> + <p> + I ixprest my gratitude as best I could; swoar that it wasn't for wagis I + served him—that I would as leaf weight upon him for nothink; and + that never, never, so long as I livd, would I, of my own accord, part from + such an exlent master. By the time these two spitches had been made—my + spitch and his—we arrived at the “Hotel Mirabeu;” which, us every + body knows, ain't very distant from the Plas Vandome. Up we marched to our + apartmince, me carrying the light and the cloax, master hummink a hair out + of the oppra, as merry as a lark. + </p> + <p> + I opened the door of our salong. There was lights already in the room; an + empty shampang bottle roalin on the floar, another on the table; near + which the sofy was drawn, and on it lay a stout old genlmn, smoaking + seagars as if he'd bean in an inn tap-room. + </p> + <p> + Deuceace (who abommunates seagars, as I've already shown) bust into a + furious raige against the genlmn, whom he could hardly see for the smoak; + and, with a number of oaves quite unnecessary to repeat, asked him what + bisniss he'd there. + </p> + <p> + The smoaking chap rose, and, laying down his seagar, began a ror of + laffin, and said, “What! Algy my boy! don't you know me?” + </p> + <p> + The reader may praps recklect a very affecting letter which was published + in the last chapter of these memoars; in which the writer requested a loan + of five hundred pound from Mr. Algernon Deuceace, and which boar the + respected signatur of the Earl of Crabs, Mr. Deuceace's own father. It was + that distinguished arastycrat who was now smokin and laffin in our room. + </p> + <p> + My Lord Crabs was, as I preshumed, about 60 years old. A stowt, burly, + red-faced, bald-headed nobleman, whose nose seemed blushing at what his + mouth was continually swallowing; whose hand, praps, trembled a little; + and whose thy and legg was not quite so full or as steddy as they had been + in former days. But he was a respecktabble, fine-looking old nobleman; and + though it must be confest, 1/2 drunk when we fust made our appearance in + the salong, yet by no means moor so than a reel noblemin ought to be. + </p> + <p> + “What, Algy my boy!” shouts out his lordship, advancing and seasing master + by the hand, “doan't you know your own father?” + </p> + <p> + Master seemed anythink but overhappy. “My lord,” says he, looking very + pail, and speakin rayther slow, “I didn't—I confess—the + unexpected pleasure—of seeing you in Paris. The fact is, sir, said + he,” recovering himself a little; “the fact is, there was such a + confounded smoke of tobacco in the room, that I really could not see who + the stranger was who had paid me such an unexpected visit.” + </p> + <p> + “A bad habit, Algernon; a bad habit,” said my lord, lighting another + seagar: “a disgusting and filthy practice, which you, my dear child, will + do well to avoid. It is at best, dear Algernon, but a nasty, idle pastime, + unfitting a man as well for mental exertion as for respectable society; + sacrificing, at once, the vigor of the intellect and the graces of the + person. By-the-by, what infernal bad tobacco they have, too, in this + hotel. Could not you send your servant to get me a few seagars at the Cafe + de Paris? Give him a five-franc piece, and let him go at once, that's a + good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Here his lordship hiccupt, and drank off a fresh tumbler of shampang. Very + sulkily, master drew out the coin, and sent me on the errint. + </p> + <p> + Knowing the Cafe de Paris to be shut at that hour, I didn't say a word, + but quietly establisht myself in the ante-room; where, as it happened by a + singler coinstdints, I could hear every word of the conversation between + this exlent pair of relatifs. + </p> + <p> + “Help yourself, and get another bottle,” says my lord, after a sollum + paws. My poar master, the king of all other compnies in which he moved, + seamed here but to play secknd fiddill, and went to the cubbard, from + which his father had already igstracted two bottils of his prime Sillary. + </p> + <p> + He put it down before his father, coft, spit, opened the windows, stirred + the fire, yawned, clapt his hand to his forehead, and suttnly seamed as + uneezy as a genlmn could be. But it was of no use; the old one would not + budg. “Help yourself,” says he again, “and pass me the bottil.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good, father,” says master; “but really, I neither drink nor + smoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Right, my boy: quite right. Talk about a good conscience in this life—a + good STOMACK is everythink. No bad nights, no headachs—eh? Quite + cool and collected for your law studies in the morning?—eh?” And the + old nobleman here grinned, in a manner which would have done creddit to + Mr. Grimoldi. + </p> + <p> + Master sate pale and wincing, as I've seen a pore soldier under the cat. + He didn't anser a word. His exlent pa went on, warming as he continued to + speak, and drinking a fresh glas at evry full stop. + </p> + <p> + “How you must improve, with such talents and such principles! Why, + Algernon, all London talks of your industry and perseverance: you're not + merely a philosopher, man; hang it! you've got the philosopher's stone. + Fine rooms, fine horses, champagne, and all for 200 a year!” + </p> + <p> + “I presume, sir,” says my master, “that you mean the two hundred a year + which YOU pay me?” + </p> + <p> + “The very sum, my boy; the very sum!” cries my lord, laffin as if he would + die. “Why, that's the wonder! I never pay the two hundred a year, and you + keep all this state up upon nothing. Give me your secret, O you young + Trismegistus! Tell your old father how such wonders can be worked, and I + will—yes, then, upon my word, I will—pay you your two hundred + a year!” + </p> + <p> + “Enfin, my lord,” says Mr. Deuceace, starting up, and losing all patience, + “will you have the goodness to tell me what this visit means? You leave me + to starve, for all you care; and you grow mighty facetious because I earn + my bread. You find me in prosperity, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely, my boy; precisely. Keep your temper, and pass that bottle. I + find you in prosperity; and a young gentleman of your genius and + acquirements asks me why I seek your society? Oh, Algernon! Algernon! this + is not worthy of such a profound philosopher. WHY do I seek you? Why, + because you ARE in prosperity, O my son! else, why the devil should I + bother my self about you? Did I, your poor mother, or your family, ever + get from you a single affectionate feeling? Did we, or any other of your + friends or intimates, ever know you to be guilty of a single honest or + generous action? Did we ever pretend any love for you, or you for us? + Algernon Deuceace, you don't want a father to tell you that you are a + swindler and a spendthrift! I have paid thousands for the debts of + yourself and your brothers; and, if you pay nobody else, I am determined + you shall repay me. You would not do it by fair means, when I wrote to you + and asked you for a loan of money. I knew you would not. Had I written + again to warn you of my coming, you would have given me the slip; and so I + came, uninvited, to FORCE you to repay me. THAT'S why I am here, Mr. + Algernon; and so help yourself and pass the bottle.” + </p> + <p> + After this speach, the old genlmn sunk down on the sofa, and puffed as + much smoke out of his mouth as if he'd been the chimley of a steam-injian. + I was pleased, I confess, with the sean, and liked to see this venrabble + and virtuous old man a-nocking his son about the hed; just as Deuceace had + done with Mr. Richard Blewitt, as I've before shown. Master's face was, + fust, red-hot; next, chawk-white: and then sky-blew. He looked, for all + the world, like Mr. Tippy Cooke in the tragady of Frankinstang. At last, + he mannidged to speek. + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” says he, “I expected when I saw you that some such scheme was + on foot. Swindler and spendthrift as I am, at least it is but a family + failing; and I am indebted for my virtues to my father's precious example. + Your lordship has, I perceive, added drunkenness to the list of your + accomplishments, and, I suppose, under the influence of that gentlemanly + excitement, has come to make these preposterous propositions to me. When + you are sober, you will, perhaps, be wise enough to know, that, fool as I + may be, I am not such a fool as you think me; and that if I have got + money, I intend to keep it—every farthing of it, though you were to + be ten times as drunk, and ten times as threatening as you are now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, my boy,” said Lord Crabs, who seemed to have been half asleep + during his son's oratium, and received all his sneers and surcasms with + the most complete good-humor; “well, well, if you will resist, tant pis + pour toi. I've no desire to ruin you, recollect, and am not in the + slightest degree angry but I must and will have a thousand pounds. You had + better give me the money at once; it will cost you more if you don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” says Mr. Deuceace, “I will be equally candid. I would not give you + a farthing to save you from—” + </p> + <p> + Here I thought proper to open the doar, and, touching my hat, said, “I + have been to the Cafe de Paris, my lord, but the house is shut.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon: there's a good lad; you may keep the five francs. And now, get me a + candle and show me down stairs.” + </p> + <p> + But my master seized the wax taper. “Pardon me, my lord,” says he. “What! + a servant do it, when your son is in the room? Ah, par exemple, my dear + father,” said he, laughing, “you think there is no politeness left among + us.” And he led the way out. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, my dear boy,” said Lord Crabs. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, sir,” says he. “Are you wrapped warm? Mind the step!” + </p> + <p> + And so this affeckshnate pair parted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <h3> + MINEWVRING. + </h3> + <p> + Master rose the nex morning with a dismal countinants—he seamed to + think that his pa's visit boded him no good. I heard him muttering at his + brexfast, and fumbling among his hundred pound notes; once he had laid a + parsle of them aside (I knew what he meant), to send 'em to his father. + “But no,” says he at last, clutching them all up together again, and + throwing them into his escritaw, “what harm can he do me? If he is a + knave, I know another who's full as sharp. Let's see if we cannot beat him + at his own weapons.” With that Mr. Deuceace drest himself in his best + clothes, and marched off to the Plas Vandom, to pay his cort to the fair + widdo and the intresting orfn. + </p> + <p> + It was abowt ten o'clock, and he propoased to the ladies, on seeing them, + a number of planns for the day's rackryation. Riding in the Body Balong, + going to the Twillaries to see King Looy Disweet (who was then the raining + sufferin of the French crownd) go to chapple, and, finely, a dinner at 5 + o'clock at the Caffy de Parry; whents they were all to adjourn, to see a + new peace at the theatre of the Pot St. Martin, called Sussannar and the + Elders. + </p> + <p> + The gals agread to everythink, exsep the two last prepositiums. “We have + an engagement, my dear Mr. Algernon,” said my lady. “Look—a very + kind letter from Lady Bobtail.” And she handed over a pafewmd noat from + that exolted lady. It ran thus:— + </p> + <p> + “FBG. ST. HONORE, Thursday, Feb. 15, 1817. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR LADY GRIFFIN,—It is an age since we met. Harassing public + duties occupy so much myself and Lord Bobtail, that we have scarce time to + see our private friends; among whom, I hope, my dear Lady Griffin will + allow me to rank her. Will you excuse so unceremonious an invitation, and + dine with us at the embassy to-day? We shall be en petite comite, and + shall have the pleasure of hearing, I hope, some of your charming + daughter's singing in the evening. I ought, perhaps, to have addressed a + separate, note to dear Miss Griffin; but I hope she will pardon a poor + diplomate, who has so many letters to write, you know. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell till seven, when I POSITIVELY MUST see you both. Ever, dearest + Lady Griffin, your affectionate + </p> + <p> + “ELIZA BOBTAIL.” + </p> + <p> + Such a letter from the ambassdriss, brot by the ambasdor's Shassure, and + sealed with his seal of arms, would affect anybody in the middling ranx of + life. It droav Lady Griffin mad with delight; and, long before my master's + arrivle, she'd sent Mortimer and Fitzclarence, her two footmin, along with + a polite reply in the affummatiff. + </p> + <p> + Master read the noat with no such fealinx of joy. He felt that there was + somethink a-going on behind the seans, and, though he could not tell how, + was sure that some danger was near him. That old fox of a father of his + had begun his M'Inations pretty early! + </p> + <p> + Deuceace handed back the letter; sneared, and poohd, and hinted that such + an invitation was an insult at best (what he called a pees ally); and, the + ladies might depend upon it, was only sent because Lady Bobtail wanted to + fill up two spare places at her table. But Lady Griffin and Miss would not + have his insinwations; they knew too fu lords ever to refuse an invitatium + from any one of them. Go they would; and poor Deuceace must dine alone. + After they had been on their ride, and had had their other amusemince, + master came back with them, chatted, and laft; he was mighty sarkastix + with my lady; tender and sentrymentle with Miss; and left them both in + high sperrits to perform their twollet, before dinner. + </p> + <p> + As I came to the door (for I was as famillyer as a servnt of the house), + as I came into the drawing-room to announts his cab, I saw master very + quietly taking his pocket-book (or pot fool, as the French call it) and + thrusting it under one of the cushinx of the sofa. What game is this? + thinx I. + </p> + <p> + Why, this was the game. In abowt two hours, when he knew the ladies were + gon, he pretends to be vastly anxious abowt the loss of his potfolio; and + back he goes to Lady Griffinses to seek for it there. + </p> + <p> + “Pray,” says he, on going in, “ask Miss Kicksey if I may see her for a + single moment.” And down comes Miss Kicksey, quite smiling, and happy to + see him. + </p> + <p> + “Law, Mr. Deuceace!” says she, trying to blush as hard as ever she could, + “you quite surprise me! I don't know whether I ought, really, being alone, + to admit a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, don't say so, dear Miss Kicksey! for do you know, I came here for a + double purpose—to ask about a pocket-book which I have lost, and + may, perhaps, have left here; and then, to ask you if you will have the + great goodness to pity a solitary bachelor, and give him a cup of your + nice tea?” + </p> + <p> + NICE TEA! I thot I should have split; for I'm blest if master had eaten a + morsle of dinner! + </p> + <p> + Never mind: down to tea they sat. “Do you take cream and sugar, dear sir?” + says poar Kicksey, with a voice as tender as a tuttle-duff. + </p> + <p> + “Both, dearest Miss Kicksey!” answers master; who stowed in a power of + sashong and muffinx which would have done honor to a washawoman. + </p> + <p> + I shan't describe the conversation that took place betwigst master and + this young lady. The reader, praps, knows y Deuceace took the trouble to + talk to her for an hour, and to swallow all her tea. He wanted to find out + from her all she knew about the famly money matters, and settle at once + which of the two Griffinses he should marry. + </p> + <p> + The poar thing, of cors, was no match for such a man as my master. In a + quarter of an hour, he had, if I may use the igspression, “turned her + inside out.” He knew everything that she knew; and that, poar creature, + was very little. There was nine thousand a year, she had heard say, in + money, in houses, in banks in Injar, and what not. Boath the ladies signed + papers for selling or buying, and the money seemed equilly divided + betwigst them. + </p> + <p> + NINE THOUSAND A YEAR! Deuceace went away, his cheex tingling, his heart + beating. He, without a penny, could nex morning, if he liked, be master of + five thousand per hannum! + </p> + <p> + Yes. But how? Which had the money, the mother or the daughter? All the + tea-drinking had not taught him this piece of nollidge; and Deuceace + thought it a pity that he could not marry both. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The ladies came back at night, mightaly pleased with their reception at + the ambasdor's; and, stepping out of their carridge, bid coachmin drive on + with a gentlemin who had handed them out—a stout old gentlemin, who + shook hands most tenderly at parting, and promised to call often upon my + Lady Griffin. He was so polite, that he wanted to mount the stairs with + her ladyship; but no, she would not suffer it. “Edward,” says she to the + coachmin, quite loud, and pleased that all the people in the hotel should + hear her, “you will take the carriage, and drive HIS LORDSHIP home.” Now, + can you guess who his lordship was? The Right Hon. the Earl of Crabs, to + be sure; the very old genlmn whom I had seen on such charming terms with + his son the day before. Master knew this the nex day, and began to think + he had been a fool to deny his pa the thousand pound. + </p> + <p> + Now, though the suckmstansies of the dinner at the ambasdor's only came to + my years some time after, I may as well relate 'em here, word for word, as + they was told me by the very genlmn who waited behind Lord Crabseses + chair. + </p> + <p> + There was only a “petty comity” at dinner, as Lady Bobtail said; and my + Lord Crabs was placed betwigst the two Griffinses, being mighty ellygant + and palite to both. “Allow me,” says he to Lady G. (between the soop and + the fish), “my dear madam, to thank you—fervently thank you for your + goodness to my poor boy. Your ladyship is too young to experience, but, I + am sure, far too tender not to understand the gratitude which must fill a + fond parent's heart for kindness shown to his child. Believe me,” says my + lord, looking her full and tenderly in the face, “that the favors you have + done to another have been done equally to myself, and awaken in my bosom + the same grateful and affectionate feelings with which you have already + inspired my son Algernon.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Griffin blusht, and droopt her head till her ringlets fell into her + fish-plate: and she swallowed Lord Crabs's flumry just as she would so + many musharuins. My lord (whose powers of slack-jaw was notoarious) nex + addrast another spitch to Miss Griffin. He said he'd heard how Deuceace + was SITUATED. Miss blusht—what a happy dog he was—Miss blusht + crimson, and then he sighed deeply, and began eating his turbat and + lobster sos. Master was a good un at flumry, but, law bless you! he was no + moar equill to the old man than a mole-hill is to a mounting. Before the + night was over, he had made as much progress as another man would in a + ear. One almost forgot his red nose and his big stomick, and his wicked + leering i's, in his gentle insiniwating woice, his fund of annygoats, and, + above all, the bewtific, morl, religious, and honrabble toan of his genral + conservation. Praps you will say that these ladies were, for such rich + pipple, mightaly esaly captivated; but recklect, my dear sir, that they + were fresh from Injar,—that they'd not sean many lords,—that + they adoared the peeridge, as every honest woman does in England who has + proper feelinx, and has read the fashnabble novvles,—and that here + at Paris was their fust step into fashnabble sosiaty. + </p> + <p> + Well, after dinner, while Miss Matilda was singing “Die tantie,” or “Dip + your chair,” or some of them sellabrated Italyian hairs (when she began + this squall, hang me if she'd ever stop), my lord gets hold of Lady + Griffin again, and gradgaly begins to talk to her in a very different + strane. + </p> + <p> + “What a blessing it is for us all,” says he, “that Algernon has found a + friend so respectable as your ladyship.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, my lord; and why? I suppose I am not the only respectable friend + that Mr. Deuceace has?” + </p> + <p> + “No, surely; not the only one he HAS HAD: his birth, and, permit me to + say, his relationship to myself, have procured him many. But—” (here + my lord heaved a very affecting and large sigh). + </p> + <p> + “But what?” says my lady, laffing at the igspression of his dismal face. + “You don't mean that Mr. Deuceace has lost them or is unworthy of them?” + </p> + <p> + “I trust not, my dear madam, I trust not; but he is wild, thoughtless, + extravagant, and embarrassed: and you know a man under these circumstances + is not very particular as to his associates.” + </p> + <p> + “Embarrassed? Good heavens! He says he has two thousand a year left him by + a god-mother; and he does not seem even to spend his income—a very + handsome independence, too, for a bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + My lord nodded his head sadly, and said,—“Will your ladyship give me + your word of honor to be secret? My son has but a thousand a year, which I + allow him, and is heavily in debt. He has played, madam, I fear; and for + this reason I am so glad to hear that he is in a respectable domestic + circle, where he may learn, in the presence of far greater and purer + attractions, to forget the dice-box, and the low company which has been + his bane.” + </p> + <p> + My Lady Griffin looked very grave indeed. Was it true? Was Deuceace + sincere in his professions of love, or was he only a sharper wooing her + for her money? Could she doubt her informer? his own father, and, what's + more, a real flesh and blood pear of parlyment? She determined she would + try him. Praps she did not know she had liked Deuceace so much, until she + kem to feel how much she should HATE him if she found he'd been playing + her false. + </p> + <p> + The evening was over, and back they came, as wee've seen,—my lord + driving home in my lady's carridge, her ladyship and Miss walking up + stairs to their own apartmince. + </p> + <p> + Here, for a wonder, was poar Miss Kicksey quite happy and smiling, and + evidently full of a secret,—something mighty pleasant, to judge from + her loox. She did not long keep it. As she was making tea for the ladies + (for in that house they took a cup regular before bedtime), “Well, my + lady,” says she, “who do you think has been to drink tea with me?” Poar + thing, a frendly face was a event in her life—a tea-party quite a + hera! + </p> + <p> + “Why, perhaps, Lenoir my maid,” says my lady, looking grave. “I wish, Miss + Kicksey, you would not demean yourself by mixing with my domestics. + Recollect, madam, that you are sister to Lady Griffin.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lady, it was not Lenoir; it was a gentleman, and a handsome + gentleman, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was Monsieur de l'Orge, then,” says Miss; “he promised to bring me + some guitar-strings.” + </p> + <p> + “No, nor yet M. de l'Orge. He came, but was not so polite as to ask for + me. What do you think of your own beau, the Honorable Mr. Algernon + Deuceace;” and, so saying, poar Kicksey clapped her hands together, and + looked as joyfle as if she'd come in to a fortin. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Deuceace here; and why, pray?” says my lady, who recklected all that + his exlent pa had been saying to her. + </p> + <p> + “Why, in the first place, he had left his pocket-book, and in the second, + he wanted, he said, a dish of my nice tea; which he took, and stayed with + me an hour, or moar.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, Miss Kicksey,” said Miss Matilda, quite contempshusly, “what + may have been the subject of your conversation with Mr. Algernon? Did you + talk politics, or music, or fine arts, or metaphysics?” Miss M. being what + was called a blue (as most hump-backed women in sosiaty are), always made + a pint to speak on these grand subjects. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed; he talked of no such awful matters. If he had, you know, + Matilda, I should never have understood him. First we talked about the + weather, next about muffins and crumpets. Crumpets, he said, he liked + best; and then we talked” (here Miss Kicksey's voice fell) “about poor + dear Sir George in heaven! what a good husband he was, and—” + </p> + <p> + “What a good fortune he left, eh, Miss Kicksey?” says my lady, with a + hard, snearing voice, and a diabollicle grin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear Leonora, he spoke so respectfully of your blessed husband, and + seemed so anxious about you and Matilda, it was quite charming to hear + him, dear man!” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, Miss Kicksey, what did you tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I told him that you and Leonora had nine thousand a year, and—” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, nothing; that is all I know. I am sure I wish I had ninety,” says + poor Kicksey, her eyes turning to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Ninety fiddlesticks! Did not Mr. Deuceace ask how the money was left, and + to which of us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I could not tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it!” says my lady, slapping down her tea-cup,—“I knew it!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” says Miss Matilda, “and why not, Lady Griffin? There is no reason + you should break your tea-cup, because Algernon asks a harmless question. + HE is not mercenary; he is all candor, innocence, generosity! He is + himself blessed with a sufficient portion of the world's goods to be + content; and often and often has he told me he hoped the woman of his + choice might come to him without a penny, that he might show the purity of + his affection.” + </p> + <p> + “I've no doubt,” says my lady. “Perhaps the lady of his choice is Miss + Matilda Griffin!” and she flung out of the room, slamming the door, and + leaving Miss Matilda to bust into tears, as was her reglar custom, and + pour her loves and woas into the buzzom of Miss Kicksey. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <h3> + “HITTING THE NALE ON THE HEDD.” + </h3> + <p> + The nex morning, down came me and master to Lady Griffinses,—I + amusing myself with the gals in the antyroom, he paying his devours to the + ladies in the salong. Miss was thrumming on her gitter; my lady was before + a great box of papers, busy with accounts, bankers' books, lawyers' + letters, and what not. Law bless us! it's a kind of bisniss I should like + well enuff; especially when my hannual account was seven or eight thousand + on the right side, like my lady's. My lady in this house kep all these + matters to herself. Miss was a vast deal too sentrimentle to mind + business. + </p> + <p> + Miss Matilda's eyes sparkled as master came in; she pinted gracefully to a + place on the sofy beside her, which Deuceace took. My lady only looked up + for a moment, smiled very kindly, and down went her head among the papers + agen, as busy as a B. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Griffin has had letters from London,” says Miss, “from nasty lawyers + and people. Come here and sit by me, you naughty man you!” + </p> + <p> + And down sat master. “Willingly,” says he, “my dear Miss Griffin; why, I + declare, it is quits a tete-a-tete.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says Miss (after the prillimnary flumries, in coarse), “we met a + friend of yours at the embassy, Mr. Deuceace.” + </p> + <p> + “My father, doubtless; he is a great friend of the ambassador, and + surprised me myself by a visit the night before last.” + </p> + <p> + “What a dear delightful old man! how he loves you, Mr. Deuceace!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, amazingly!” says master, throwing his i's to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “He spoke of nothing but you, and such praises of you!” + </p> + <p> + Master breathed more freely. “He is very good, my dear father; but blind, + as all fathers are, he is so partial and attached to me.” + </p> + <p> + “He spoke of you being his favorite child, and regretted that you were not + his eldest son. 'I can but leave him the small portion of a younger + brother,' he said; 'but never mind, he has talents, a noble name, and an + independence of his own.'” + </p> + <p> + “An independence? yes, oh yes; I am quite independent of my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand pounds a year left you by your godmother; the very same you + told us you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither more nor less,” says master, bobbing his head; “a sufficiency, my + dear Miss Griffin,—to a man of my moderate habits an ample + provision.” + </p> + <p> + “By-the-by,” cries out Lady Griffin, interrupting the conversation, “you + who are talking about money matters there, I wish you would come to the + aid of poor ME! Come, naughty boy, and help me out with this long long + sum.” + </p> + <p> + DIDN'T HE GO—that's all! My i, how his i's shone, as he skipt across + the room, and seated himself by my lady! + </p> + <p> + “Look!” said she, “my agents write me over that they have received a + remittance of 7,200 rupees, at 2s. 9d. a rupee. Do tell me what the sum + is, in pounds and shillings;” which master did with great gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Nine hundred and ninety pounds. Good; I daresay you are right. I'm sure I + can't go through the fatigue to see. And now comes another question. Whose + money is this, mine or Matilda's? You see it is the interest of a sum in + India, which we have not had occasion to touch; and, according to the + terms of poor Sir George's will, I really don't know how to dispose of the + money except to spend it. Matilda, what shall we do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “La, ma'am, I wish you would arrange the business yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Algernon, YOU tell me;” and she laid her hand on his and + looked him most pathetickly in the face. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” says he, “I don't know how Sir George left his money; you must let + me see his will, first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, willingly.” + </p> + <p> + Master's chair seemed suddenly to have got springs in the cushns; he was + obliged to HOLD HIMSELF DOWN. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, I have only a copy, taken by my hand from Sir George's own + manuscript. Soldiers, you know, do not employ lawyers much, and this was + written on the night before going into action.” And she read, “'I, George + Griffin,' &c. &c.—you know how these things begin—'being + now of sane mind'—um, um, um,—'leave to my friends, Thomas + Abraham Hicks, a colonel in the H. E. I. Company's Service, and to John + Monro Mackirkincroft (of the house of Huffle, Mackirkincroft, and Dobbs, + at Calcutta), the whole of my property, to be realized as speedily as they + may (consistently with the interests of the property), in trust for my + wife, Leonora Emilia Griffin (born L. E. Kicksey), and my only legitimate + child, Matilda Griffin. The interest resulting from such property to be + paid to them, share and share alike; the principal to remain untouched, in + the names of the said T. A. Hicks and J. M. Mackirkincroft, until the + death of my wife, Leonora Emilia Griffin, when it shall be paid to my + daughter, Matilda Griffin, her heirs, executors, or assigns.'” + </p> + <p> + “There,” said my lady, “we won't read any more; all the rest is stuff. But + now you know the whole business, tell us what is to be done with the + money?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the money, unquestionably, should be divided between you.” + </p> + <p> + “Tant mieux, say I; I really thought it had been all Matilda's.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + There was a paws for a minit or two after the will had been read. Master + left the desk at which he had been seated with her ladyship, paced up and + down the room for a while, and then came round to the place where Miss + Matilda was seated. At last he said, in a low, trembling voice,— + </p> + <p> + “I am almost sorry, my dear Lady Griffin, that you have read that will to + me; for an attachment such as mine must seem, I fear, mercenary, when the + object of it is so greatly favored by worldly fortune. Miss Griffin—Matilda! + I know I may say the word; your dear eyes grant me the permission. I need + not tell you, or you, dear mother-in-law, how long, how fondly, I have + adored you. My tender, my beautiful Matilda, I will not affect to say I + have not read your heart ere this, and that I have not known the + preference with which you have honored me. SPEAK IT, dear girl! from your + own sweet lips: in the presence of an affectionate parent, utter the + sentence which is to seal my happiness for life. Matilda, dearest Matilda! + say, oh say, that you love me!” + </p> + <p> + Miss M. shivered, turned pail, rowled her eyes about, and fell on master's + neck, whispering hodibly, “I DO!” + </p> + <p> + My lady looked at the pair for a moment with her teeth grinding, her i's + glaring, her busm throbbing, and her face chock white; for all the world + like Madam Pasty, in the oppra of “Mydear” (when she's goin to mudder her + childring, you recklect); and out she flounced from the room, without a + word, knocking down poar me, who happened to be very near the dor, and + leaving my master along with his crook-back mistress. + </p> + <p> + I've repotted the speech he made to her pretty well. The fact is, I got it + in a ruff copy; only on the copy it's wrote, “Lady Griffin, Leonora!” + instead of “Miss Griffin, Matilda,” as in the abuff, and so on. + </p> + <p> + Master had hit the right nail on the head this time, he thought: but his + adventors an't over yet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <h3> + THE GRIFFIN'S CLAWS. + </h3> + <p> + Well, master had hit the right nail on the head this time: thanx to luck—the + crooked one, to be sure, but then it had the GOOLD NOBB, which was the + part Deuceace most valued, as well he should; being a connyshure as to the + relletiff valyou of pretious metals, and much preferring virging goold + like this to poor old battered iron like my Lady Griffin. + </p> + <p> + And so, in spite of his father (at which old noblemin Mr. Deuceace now + snapt his fingers), in spite of his detts (which, to do him Justas, had + never stood much in his way), and in spite of his povatty, idleness, + extravagans, swindling, and debotcheries of all kinds (which an't + GENERALLY very favorable to a young man who has to make his way in the + world); in spite of all, there he was, I say, at the topp of the trea, the + fewcher master of a perfect fortun, the defianced husband of a fool of a + wife. What can mortial man want more? Vishns of ambishn now occupied his + soal. Shooting boxes, oppra boxes, money boxes always full; hunters at + Melton; a seat in the house of Commins: heaven knows what! and not a poar + footman, who only describes what he's seen, and can't, in cors, pennytrate + into the idears and the busms of men. + </p> + <p> + You may be shore that the three-cornered noats came pretty thick now from + the Griffinses. Miss was always a-writing them befoar; and now, nite, + noon, and mornink, breakfast, dinner, and sopper, in they came, till my + pantry (for master never read 'em, and I carried 'em out) was puffickly + intolrabble from the odor of musk, ambygrease, bargymot, and other sense + with which they were impregniated. Here's the contense of three on 'em, + which I've kep in my dex these twenty years as skeewriosities. Faw! I can + smel 'em at this very minit, as I am copying them down. + </p> + <p> + BILLY DOO. No. I. + </p> + <p> + “Monday morning, 2 o'clock. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis the witching hour of night. Luna illumines my chamber, and falls + upon my sleepless pillow. By her light I am inditing these words to thee, + my Algernon. My brave and beautiful, my soul's lord! when shall the time + come when the tedious night shall not separate us, nor the blessed day? + Twelve! one! two! I have heard the bells chime, and the quarters, and + never cease to think of my husband. My adored Percy, pardon the girlish + confession,—I have kissed the letter at this place. Will thy lips + press it too, and remain for a moment on the spot which has been equally + saluted by your + </p> + <p> + “MATILDA?” + </p> + <p> + This was the FUST letter, and was brot to our house by one of the poar + footmin, Fitzclarence, at sicks o'clock in the morning. I thot it was for + life and death, and woak master at that extraornary hour, and gave it to + him. I shall never forgit him, when he red it; he cramped it up, and he + cust and swoar, applying to the lady who roat, the genlmn that brought it, + and me who introjuiced it to his notice such a collection of epitafs as I + seldum hered, excep at Billinxgit. The fact is thiss; for a fust letter, + miss's noat was RATHER too strong and sentymentle. But that was her way; + she was always reading melancholy stoary books—“Thaduse of Wawsaw,” + the “Sorrows of MacWhirter,” and such like. + </p> + <p> + After about 6 of them, master never yoused to read them, but handid them + over to me, to see if there was anythink in them which must be answered, + in order to kip up appearuntses. The next letter is + </p> + <p> + No. II. + </p> + <p> + “BELOVED! to what strange madnesses will passion lead one! Lady Griffin, + since your avowal yesterday, has not spoken a word to your poor Matilda; + has declared that she will admit no one (heigho! not even you, my + Algernon); and has locked herself in her own dressing-room. I do believe + that she is JEALOUS, and fancies that you were in love with HER! Ha, ha! I + could have told her ANOTHER TALE—n'est-ce pas? Adieu, adieu, adieu! + A thousand thousand million kisses! + </p> + <p> + “M. G. + </p> + <p> + “Monday afternoon, 2 o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + There was another letter kem before bedtime; for though me and master + called at the Griffinses, we wairnt aloud to enter at no price. Mortimer + and Fitzclarence grin'd at me, as much as to say we were going to be + relations; but I don't spose master was very sorry when he was obleached + to come back without seeing the fare objict of his affeckshns. + </p> + <p> + Well, on Chewsdy there was the same game; ditto on Wensday; only, when we + called there, who should we see but our father, Lord Crabs, who was + waiving his hand to Miss Kicksey, and saying HE SHOULD BE BACK TO DINNER + AT 7, just as me and master came up the stares. There was no admittns for + us though. “Bah! bah! never mind,” says my lord, taking his son + affeckshnately by the hand. “What, two strings to your bow; ay, Algernon? + The dowager a little jealous, miss a little lovesick. But my lady's fit of + anger will vanish, and I promise you, my boy, that you shall see your fair + one to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + And so saying, my lord walked master down stares, looking at him as tender + and affeckshnat, and speaking to him as sweet as posbill. Master did not + know what to think of it. He never new what game his old father was at; + only he somehow felt that he had got his head in a net, in spite of his + suxess on Sunday. I knew it—I knew it quite well, as soon as I saw + the old genlmn igsammin him by a kind of smile which came over his old + face, and was somethink betwigst the angellic and the direbollicle. + </p> + <p> + But master's dowts were cleared up nex day and every thing was bright + again. At brexfast, in comes a note with inclosier, boath of witch I here + copy:— + </p> + <p> + No. IX. + </p> + <p> + “Thursday morning. + </p> + <p> + “Victoria, Victoria! Mamma has yielded at last; not her consent to our + union, but her consent to receive you as before; and has promised to + forget the past. Silly woman, how could she ever think of you as anything + but the lover of your Matilda? I am in a whirl of delicious joy and + passionate excitement. I have been awake all this long night, thinking of + thee, my Algernon, and longing for the blissful hour of meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Come! M. G.” + </p> + <p> + This is the inclosier from my lady:— + </p> + <p> + “I will not tell you that your behavior on Sunday did not deeply shock me. + I had been foolish enough to think of other plans, and to fancy your heart + (if you had any) was fixed elsewhere than on one at whose foibles you have + often laughed with me, and whose person at least cannot have charmed you. + </p> + <p> + “My step-daughter will not, I presume, marry without at least going + through the ceremony of asking my consent; I cannot, as yet, give it. Have + I not reason to doubt whether she will be happy in trusting herself to + you? + </p> + <p> + “But she is of age, and has the right to receive in her own house all + those who may be agreeable to her,—certainly you, who are likely to + be one day so nearly connected with her. If I have honest reason to + believe that your love for Miss Griffin is sincere; if I find in a few + months that you yourself are still desirous to marry her, I can, of + course, place no further obstacles in your way. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome, then, to return to our hotel. I cannot promise to + receive you as I did of old; you would despise me if I did. I can promise, + however, to think no more of all that has passed between us, and yield up + my own happiness for that of the daughter of my dear husband. + </p> + <p> + “L. E. G.” + </p> + <p> + Well, now, an't this a manly, straitforard letter enough, and natral from + a woman whom we had, to confess the truth, treated most scuvvily? Master + thought so, and went and made a tender, respeckful speach to Lady Griffin + (a little flumry costs nothink). Grave and sorroflle he kist her hand, + and, speakin in a very low adgitayted voice, calld Hevn to witness how he + deplord that his conduct should ever have given rise to such an unfornt + ideer; but if he might offer her esteem, respect, the warmest and + tenderest admiration, he trusted she would accept the same, and a deal + moar flumry of the kind, with dark, sollum glansis of the eyes, and plenty + of white pockit-hankercher. + </p> + <p> + He thought he'd make all safe. Poar fool! he was in a net—sich a net + as I never yet see set to ketch a roag in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE JEWEL. + </h3> + <p> + The Shevalier de l'Orge, the young Frenchmin whom I wrote of in my last, + who had been rather shy of his visits while master was coming it so very + strong, now came back to his old place by the side of Lady Griffin: there + was no love now, though, betwigst him and master, although the shevallier + had got his lady back agin; Deuceace being compleatly devoted to his + crookid Veanus. + </p> + <p> + The shevalier was a little, pale, moddist, insinifishnt creature; and I + shoodn't have thought, from his appearants, would have the heart to do + harm to a fli, much less to stand befor such a tremendious tiger and + fire-eater as my master. But I see putty well, after a week, from his + manner of going on—of speakin at master, and lookin at him, and + olding his lips tight when Deuceace came into the room, and glaring at him + with his i's, that he hated the Honrabble Algernon Percy. + </p> + <p> + Shall I tell you why? Because my Lady Griffin hated him: hated him wuss + than pison, or the devvle, or even wuss than her daughter-in-law. Praps + you phansy that the letter you have juss red was honest; praps you amadgin + that the sean of the reading of the will came on by mere chans, and in the + reglar cors of suckmstansies: it was all a GAME, I tell you—a reglar + trap; and that extrodnar clever young man, my master, as neatly put his + foot into it, as ever a pocher did in fesnt preserve. + </p> + <p> + The shevalier had his q from Lady Griffin. When Deuceace went off the + feald, back came De l'Orge to her feet, not a witt less tender than befor. + Por fellow, por fellow! he really loved this woman. He might as well have + foln in love with a bore-constructor! He was so blinded and beat by the + power wich she had got over him, that if she told him black was white he'd + beleave it, or if she ordered him to commit murder, he'd do it: she wanted + something very like it, I can tell you. + </p> + <p> + I've already said how, in the fust part of their acquaintance, master used + to laff at De l'Orge's bad Inglish, and funny ways. The little creature + had a thowsnd of these; and being small, and a Frenchman, master, in cors, + looked on him with that good-humored kind of contemp which a good Brittn + ot always to show. He rayther treated him like an intelligent munky than a + man, and ordered him about as if he'd bean my lady's footman. + </p> + <p> + All this munseer took in very good part, until after the quarl betwigst + master and Lady Griffin; when that lady took care to turn the tables. + Whenever master and miss were not present (as I've heard the servants + say), she used to laff at shevalliay for his obeajance and sivillatty to + master. For her part, she wondered how a man of his birth could act a + servnt: how any man could submit to such contemsheous behavior from + another; and then she told him how Deuceace was always snearing at him + behind his back; how, in fact, he ought to hate him corjaly, and how it + was suttaly time to show his sperrit. + </p> + <p> + Well, the poar little man beleaved all this from his hart, and was angry + or pleased, gentle or quarlsum, igsactly as my lady liked. There got to be + frequint rows betwigst him and master; sharp words flung at each other + across the dinner-table; dispewts about handing ladies their + smeling-botls, or seeing them to their carridge; or going in and out of a + roam fust, or any such nonsince. + </p> + <p> + “For hevn's sake,” I heerd my lady, in the midl of one of these tiffs, + say, pail, and the tears trembling in her i's, “do, do be calm, Mr. + Deuceace. Monsieur de l'Orge, I beseech you to forgive him. You are, both + of you, so esteemed, lov'd, by members of this family, that for its peace + as well as your own, you should forbear to quarrel.” + </p> + <p> + It was on the way to the Sally Mangy that this brangling had begun, and it + ended jest as they were seating themselves. I shall never forgit poar + little De l'Orge's eyes, when my lady said “both of you.” He stair'd at my + lady for a momint, turned pail, red, look'd wild, and then, going round to + master, shook his hand as if he would have wrung it off. Mr. Deuceace only + bow'd and grin'd, and turned away quite stately; Miss heaved a loud O from + her busm, and looked up in his face with an igspreshn jest as if she could + have eat him up with love; and the little shevalliay sate down to his + soop-plate, and wus so happy, that I'm blest if he wasn't crying! He + thought the widdow had made her declyration, and would have him; and so + thought Deuceace, who look'd at her for some time mighty bitter and + contempshus, and then fell a-talking with Miss. + </p> + <p> + Now, though master didn't choose to marry Lady Griffin, as he might have + done, he yet thought fit to be very angry at the notion of her marrying + anybody else; and so, consquintly, was in a fewry at this confision which + she had made regarding her parshaleaty for the French shevaleer. + </p> + <p> + And this I've perseaved in the cors of my expearants through life, that + when you vex him, a roag's no longer a roag: you find him out at onst when + he's in a passion, for he shows, as it ware, his cloven foot the very + instnt you tread on it. At least, this is what YOUNG roags do; it requires + very cool blood and long practis to get over this pint, and not to show + your pashn when you feel it and snarl when you are angry. Old Crabs + wouldn't do it; being like another noblemin, of whom I heard the Duke of + Wellington say, while waiting behind his graci's chair, that if you were + kicking him from behind, no one standing before him would know it, from + the bewtifle smiling igspreshn of his face. Young master hadn't got so far + in the thief's grammer, and, when he was angry, show'd it. And it's also + to be remarked (a very profownd observatin for a footmin, but we have i's + though we DO wear plush britchis), it's to be remarked, I say, that one of + these chaps is much sooner maid angry than another, because honest men + yield to other people, roags never do; honest men love other people, roags + only themselves; and the slightest thing which comes in the way of thir + beloved objects sets them fewrious. Master hadn't led a life of gambling, + swindling, and every kind of debotch to be good-tempered at the end of it, + I prommis you. + </p> + <p> + He was in a pashun, and when he WAS in a pashn, a more insalent, + insuffrable, overbearing broot didn't live. + </p> + <p> + This was the very pint to which my lady wished to bring him; for I must + tell you, that though she had been trying all her might to set master and + the shevalliay by the years, she had suxeaded only so far as to make them + hate each profowndly: but somehow or other, the 2 cox wouldn't FIGHT. + </p> + <p> + I doan't think Deuceace ever suspected any game on the part of her + ladyship, for she carried it on so admirally, that the quarls which daily + took place betwigst him and the Frenchman never seemed to come from her; + on the contry, she acted as the reglar pease-maker between them, as I've + just shown in the tiff which took place at the door of the Sally Mangy. + Besides, the 2 young men, though reddy enough to snarl, were natrally + unwilling to come to bloes. I'll tell you why: being friends, and idle, + they spent their mornins as young fashnabbles genrally do, at billiads, + fensing, riding, pistle-shooting, or some such improoving study. In + billiads, master beat the Frenchman hollow (and had won a pretious sight + of money from him: but that's neither here nor there, or, as the French + say, ontry noo); at pistle-shooting, master could knock down eight + immidges out of ten, and De l'Orge seven; and in fensing, the Frenchman + could pink the Honorable Algernon down evry one of his weskit buttns. + They'd each of them been out more than onst, for every Frenchman will + fight, and master had been obleag'd to do so in the cors of his bisniss; + and knowing each other's curridg, as well as the fact that either could + put a hundrid bolls running into a hat at 30 yards, they wairnt very + willing to try such exparrymence upon their own hats with their own heads + in them. So you see they kep quiet, and only grould at each other. + </p> + <p> + But to-day Deuceace was in one of his thundering black humers; and when in + this way he wouldn't stop for man or devvle. I said that he walked away + from the shevalliay, who had given him his hand in his sudden bust of + joyfle good-humor; and who, I do bleave, would have hugd a she-bear, so + very happy was he. Master walked away from him pale and hotty, and, taking + his seat at table, no moor mindid the brandishments of Miss Griffin, but + only replied to them with a pshaw, or a dam at one of us servnts, or abuse + of the soop, or the wine; cussing and swearing like a trooper, and not + like a well-bred son of a noble British peer. + </p> + <p> + “Will your ladyship,” says he, slivering off the wing of a pully ally + bashymall, “allow me to help you?” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you! no; but I will trouble Monsieur de l'Orge.” And towards that + gnlmn she turned, with a most tender and fasnating smile. + </p> + <p> + “Your ladyship has taken a very sudden admiration for Mr. de l'Orge's + carving. You used to like mine once.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very skilful; but to-day, if you will allow me, I will partake of + something a little simpler.” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman helped; and, being so happy, in cors, spilt the gravy. A + great blob of brown sos spurted on to master's chick, and myandrewed down + his shert-collar and virging-white weskit. + </p> + <p> + “Confound you!” says he, “M. de l'Orge, you have done this on purpose.” + And down went his knife and fork, over went his tumbler of wine, a deal of + it into poar Miss Griffinses lap, who looked fritened and ready to cry. + </p> + <p> + My lady bust into a fit of laffin, peel upon peel, as if it was the best + joak in the world. De l'Orge giggled and grin'd too. “Pardong,” says he; + “meal pardong, mong share munseer.” * And he looked as if he would have + done it again for a penny. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * In the long dialogues, we have generally ventured to + change the peculiar spelling of our friend Mr. Yellowplush. +</pre> + <p> + The little Frenchman was quite in extasis; he found himself all of a suddn + at the very top of the trea; and the laff for onst turned against his + rivle: he actialy had the ordassaty to propose to my lady in English to + take a glass of wine. + </p> + <p> + “Veal you,” says he, in his jargin, “take a glas of Madere viz me, mi + ladi?” And he looked round, as if he'd igsackly hit the English manner and + pronunciation. + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure,” says Lady G., most graciously nodding at + him, and gazing at him as she drank up the wine. She'd refused master + before, and THIS didn't increase his good-humer. + </p> + <p> + Well, they went on, master snarling, snapping, and swearing, making + himself, I must confess, as much of a blaggard as any I ever see; and my + lady employing her time betwigst him and the shevalliay, doing every think + to irritate master, and flatter the Frenchmn. Desert came: and by this + time, Miss was stock-still with fright, the chevaleer half tipsy with + pleasure and gratafied vannaty, my lady puffickly raygent with smiles and + master bloo with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Deuceace,” says my lady, in a most winning voice, after a little + chaffing (in which she only worked him up moar and moar), “may I trouble + you for a few of those grapes? they look delicious.” + </p> + <p> + For answer, master seas'd hold of the grayp dish, and sent it sliding down + the table to De l'Orge; upsetting, in his way, fruit-plates, glasses, + dickanters, and heaven knows what. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de l'Orge,” says he, shouting out at the top of his voice, “have + the goodness to help Lady Griffin. She wanted MY grapes long ago, and has + found out they are sour!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + There was a dead paws of a moment or so. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Ah!” says my lady, “vous osez m'insulter, devant mes gens, dans ma propre + maison—c'est par trop fort, monsieur.” And up she got, and flung out + of the room. Miss followed her, screeching out, “Mamma—for God's + sake—Lady Griffin!” and here the door slammed on the pair. + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship did very well to speak French. DE L'ORGE WOULD NOT HAVE + UNDERSTOOD HER ELSE; as it was he heard quite enough; and as the door + clikt too, in the presents of me, and Messeers Mortimer and Fitzclarence, + the family footmen, he walks round to my master, and hits him a slap on + the face, and says, “prends ca, menteur et lache!” which means, “Take + that, you liar and coward!”—rayther strong igspreshns for one genlmn + to use to another. + </p> + <p> + Master staggered back and looked bewildered; and then he gave a kind of a + scream, and then he made a run at the Frenchman, and then me and Mortimer + flung ourselves upon him, whilst Fitzclarence embraced the shevalliay. + </p> + <p> + “A demain!” says he, clinching his little fist, and walking away, not very + sorry to git off. + </p> + <p> + When he was fairly down stares, we let go of master: who swallowed a + goblit of water, and then pawsing a little and pullout his pus, he + presented to Messeers Mortimer and Fitzclarence a luydor each. “I will + give you five more to-morrow,” says he, “if you will promise to keep this + secrit.” + </p> + <p> + And then he walked in to the ladies. “If you knew,” says he, going up to + Lady Griffin, and speaking very slow (in cors we were all at the keyhole), + “the pain I have endured in the last minute, in consequence of the + rudeness and insolence of which I have been guilty to your ladyship, you + would think my own remorse was punishment sufficient, and would grant me + pardon.” + </p> + <p> + My lady bowed, and said she didn't wish for explanations. Mr. Deuceace was + her daughter's guest, and not hers; but she certainly would never demean + herself by sitting again at table with him. And so saying out she boltid + again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Algernon! Algernon!” says Miss, in teers, “what is this dreadful + mystery—these fearful shocking quarrels? Tell me, has anything + happened? Where, where is the chevalier?” + </p> + <p> + Master smiled and said, “Be under no alarm, my sweetest Matilda. De l'Orge + did not understand a word of the dispute; he was too much in love for + that. He is but gone away for half an hour, I believe; and will return to + coffee.” + </p> + <p> + I knew what master's game was, for if miss had got a hinkling of the + quarrel betwigst him and the Frenchman, we should have had her screeming + at the “Hotel Mirabeu,” and the juice and all to pay. He only stopt for a + few minnits and cumfitted her, and then drove off to his friend, Captain + Bullseye, of the Rifles; with whom, I spose, he talked over this unplesnt + bisniss. We fownd, at our hotel, a note from De l'Orge, saying where his + secknd was to be seen. + </p> + <p> + Two mornings after there was a parrowgraf in Gallynanny's Messinger, which + I hear beg leaf to transcribe:— + </p> + <p> + “FEARFUL DUEL.—Yesterday morning, at six o'clock, a meeting took + place, in the Bois de Boulogne, between the Hon. A. P. D—ce-ce, a + younger son of the Earl of Cr-bs, and the Chevalier de l'O—-. The + chevalier was attended by Major de M—-, of the Royal Guard, and the + Hon. Mr. D—- by Captain B-lls-ye, of the British Rifle Corps. As far + as we have been able to learn the particulars of this deplorable affair, + the dispute originated in the house of a lovely lady (one of the most + brilliant ornaments of our embassy), and the duel took place on the + morning ensuing. + </p> + <p> + “The chevalier (the challenged party, and the most accomplished amateur + swordsman in Paris) waived his right of choosing the weapons, and the + combat took place with pistols. + </p> + <p> + “The combatants were placed at forty paces, with directions to advance to + a barrier which separated them only eight paces. Each was furnished with + two pistols. Monsieur de l'O—- fired almost immediately, and the + ball took effect in the left wrist of his antagonist, who dropped the + pistol which he held in that hand. He fired, however, directly with his + right, and the chevalier fell to the ground, we fear mortally wounded. A + ball has entered above his hip-joint, and there is very little hope that + he can recover. + </p> + <p> + “We have heard that the cause of this desperate duel was a blow which the + chevalier ventured to give to the Hon. Mr. D. If so, there is some reason + for the unusual and determined manner in which the duel was fought. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Deu—a-e returned to his hotel; whither his excellent father, + the Right Hon. Earl of Cr-bs, immediately hastened on hearing of the sad + news, and is now bestowing on his son the most affectionate parental + attention. The news only reached his lordship yesterday at noon, while at + breakfast with his Excellency Lord Bobtail, our ambassador. The noble earl + fainted on receiving the intelligence; but in spite of the shock to his + own nerves and health, persisted in passing last night by the couch of his + son.” + </p> + <p> + And so he did. “This is a sad business, Charles,” says my lord to me, + after seeing his son, and settling himself down in our salong. “Have you + any segars in the house? And hark ye, send me up a bottle of wine and some + luncheon. I can certainly not leave the neighborhood of my dear boy.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE CONSQUINSIES. + </h3> + <p> + The shevalliay did not die, for the ball came out of its own accord, in + the midst of a violent fever and inflamayshn which was brot on by the + wound. He was kept in bed for 6 weeks though, and did not recover for a + long time after. + </p> + <p> + As for master, his lot, I'm sorry to say, was wuss than that of his + advisary. Inflammation came on too; and, to make an ugly story short, they + were obliged to take off his hand at the rist. + </p> + <p> + He bore it, in cors, like a Trojin, and in a month he too was well, and + his wound heel'd; but I never see a man look so like a devvle as he used + sometimes, when he looked down at the stump! + </p> + <p> + To be sure, in Miss Griffinses eyes, this only indeerd him the mor. She + sent twenty noats a day to ask for him, calling him her beloved, her + unfortunat, her hero, her wictim, and I dono what. I've kep some of the + noats, as I tell you, and curiously sentimentle they are, beating the + sorrows of MacWhirter all to nothing. + </p> + <p> + Old Crabs used to come offen, and consumed a power of wine and seagars at + our house. I bleave he was at Paris because there was an exycution in his + own house in England; and his son was a sure find (as they say) during his + illness, and couldn't deny himself to the old genlmn. His eveninx my lord + spent reglar at Lady Griffin's; where, as master was ill, I didn't go any + more now, and where the shevalier wasn't there to disturb him. + </p> + <p> + “You see how that woman hates you, Deuceace,” says my lord, one day, in a + fit of cander, after they had been talking about Lady Griffin: “SHE HAS + NOT DONE WITH YOU YET, I tell you fairly.” + </p> + <p> + “Curse her,” says master, in a fury, lifting up his maim'd arm—“curse + her! but I will be even with her one day. I am sure of Matilda: I took + care to put that beyond the reach of a failure. The girl must marry me, + for her own sake.” + </p> + <p> + “FOR HER OWN SAKE! O ho! Good, good!” My lord lifted his i's, and said + gravely, “I understand, my dear boy: it is an excellent plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says master, grinning fearcely and knowingly at his exlent old + father, “as the girl is safe, what harm can I fear from the fiend of a + step-mother?” + </p> + <p> + My lord only gev a long whizzle, and, soon after, taking up his hat, + walked off. I saw him sawnter down the Plas Vandome, and go in quite + calmly to the old door of Lady Griffinses hotel. Bless his old face! such + a puffickly good-natured, kind-hearted, merry, selfish old scoundrel, I + never shall see again. + </p> + <p> + His lordship was quite right in saying to master that “Lady Griffin hadn't + done with him.” No moar she had. But she never would have thought of the + nex game she was going to play, IF SOMEBODY HADN'T PUT HER UP TO IT. Who + did? If you red the above passidge, and saw how a venrabble old genlmn + took his hat, and sauntered down the Plas Vandome (looking hard and kind + at all the nussary-maids—buns they call them in France—in the + way), I leave you to guess who was the author of the nex scheam: a woman, + suttnly, never would have pitcht on it. + </p> + <p> + In the fuss payper which I wrote concerning Mr. Deuceace's adventers, and + his kind behayvior to Messrs. Dawkins and Blewitt, I had the honor of + laying before the public a skidewl of my master's detts, in witch was the + following itim: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Bills of xchange and I.O.U.'s, 4963L. 0s. 0d.” + </pre> + <p> + The I.O.U.se were trifling, say a thowsnd pound. The bills amountid to + four thowsnd moar. + </p> + <p> + Now, the lor is in France, that if a genlmn gives these in England, and a + French genlmn gits them in any way, he can pursew the Englishman who has + drawn them, even though he should be in France. Master did not know this + fact—laboring under a very common mistak, that, when onst out of + England, he might wissle at all the debts he left behind him. + </p> + <p> + My Lady Griffin sent over to her slissators in London, who made + arrangemints with the persons who possest the fine collection of ortografs + on stampt paper which master had left behind him; and they were glad enuff + to take any oppertunity of getting back their money. + </p> + <p> + One fine morning, as I was looking about in the court-yard of our hotel, + talking to the servant-gals, as was my reglar custom, in order to improve + myself in the French languidge, one of them comes up to me and says, + “Tenez, Monsieur Charles, down below in the office there is a bailiff, + with a couple of gendarmes, who is asking for your master—a-t-il des + dettes par hasard?” + </p> + <p> + I was struck all of a heap—the truth flasht on my mind's hi. + “Toinette,” says I, for that was the gal's name—“Toinette,” says I, + giving her a kiss, “keep them for two minits, as you valyou my affeckshn;” + and then I gave her another kiss, and ran up stares to our chambers. + Master had now pretty well recovered of his wound, and was aloud to drive + abowt: it was lucky for him that he had the strength to move. “Sir, sir,” + says I, “the bailiffs are after you, and you must run for your life.” + </p> + <p> + “Bailiff?” says he: “nonsense! I don't, thank heaven, owe a shilling to + any man.” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff, sir,” says I, forgetting my respeck; “don't you owe money in + England? I tell you the bailiffs are here, and will be on you in a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + As I spoke, cling cling, ling ling, goes the bell of the antyshamber, and + there they were sure enough! + </p> + <p> + What was to be done? Quick as litening, I throws off my livry coat, claps + my goold lace hat on master's head, and makes him put on my livry. Then I + wraps myself up in his dressing-gown, and lolling down on the sofa, bids + him open the dor. + </p> + <p> + There they were—the bailiff—two jondarms with him—Toinette, + and an old waiter. When Toinette sees master, she smiles, and says: “Dis + donc, Charles! ou est donc ton maitre? Chez lui, n'est-ce pas? C'est le + jeune a monsieur,” says she, curtsying to the bailiff. + </p> + <p> + The old waiter was just a-going to blurt out, “Mais ce n'est pas!” when + Toinette stops him, and says, “Laissez donc passer ces messieurs, vieux + bete;” and in they walk, the 2 jon d'arms taking their post in the hall. + </p> + <p> + Master throws open the salong doar very gravely, and touching MY hat says, + “Have you any orders about the cab, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, Chawls,” says I; “I shan't drive out to-day.” + </p> + <p> + The old bailiff grinned, for he understood English (having had plenty of + English customers), and says in French, as master goes out, “I think, sir, + you had better let your servant get a coach, for I am under the painful + necessity of arresting you, au nom de la loi, for the sum of ninety-eight + thousand seven hundred francs, owed by you to the Sieur Jacques Francois + Lebrun, of Paris;” and he pulls out a number of bills, with master's + acceptances on them sure enough. + </p> + <p> + “Take a chair, sir,” says I; and down he sits; and I began to chaff him, + as well as I could, about the weather, my illness, my sad axdent, having + lost one of my hands, which was stuck into my busum, and so on. + </p> + <p> + At last, after a minnit or two, I could contane no longer, and bust out in + a horse laff. + </p> + <p> + The old fellow turned quite pail, and began to suspect somethink. “Hola!” + says he; “gendarmes! a moi! a moi! Je suis floue, vole,” which means, in + English, that he was reglar sold. + </p> + <p> + The jondarmes jumped into the room, and so did Toinette and the waiter. + Grasefly rising from my arm-chare, I took my hand from my dressing-gownd, + and, flinging it open, stuck up on the chair one of the neatest legs ever + seen. + </p> + <p> + I then pinted majestickly—to what do you think?—to my PLUSH + TITES! those sellabrated inigspressables which have rendered me famous in + Yourope. + </p> + <p> + Taking the hint, the jondarmes and the servnts rord out laffing; and so + did Charles Yellowplush, Esquire, I can tell you. Old Grippard the bailiff + looked as if he would faint in his chare. + </p> + <p> + I heard a kab galloping like mad out of the hotel-gate, and knew then that + my master was safe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE END OF MR. DEUCEACE'S HISTORY. LIMBO. + </h3> + <p> + My tail is droring rabidly to a close; my suvvice with Mr. Deuceace didn't + continyou very long after the last chapter, in which I described my + admiral strattyjam, and my singlar self-devocean. There's very few + servnts, I can tell you, who'd have thought of such a contrivance, and + very few moar would have eggsycuted it when thought of. + </p> + <p> + But, after all, beyond the trifling advantich to myself in selling + master's roab de sham, which you, gentle reader, may remember I woar, and + in dixcovering a fipun note in one of the pockets,—beyond this, I + say, there was to poar master very little advantich in what had been done. + It's true he had escaped. Very good. But Frans is not like Great Brittin; + a man in a livry coat, with 1 arm, is pretty easily known, and caught, + too, as I can tell you. + </p> + <p> + Such was the case with master. He coodn leave Paris, moarover, if he + would. What was to become, in that case, of his bride—his unchbacked + hairis? He knew that young lady's temprimong (as the Parishers say) too + well to let her long out of his site. She had nine thousand a yer. She'd + been in love a duzn times befor, and mite be agin. The Honrabble Algernon + Deuceace was a little too wide awake to trust much to the constnsy of so + very inflammable a young creacher. Heavn bless us, it was a marycle she + wasn't earlier married! I do bleave (from suttn seans that past betwigst + us) that she'd have married me, if she hadn't been sejuiced by the + supearor rank and indianuity of the genlmn in whose survace I was. + </p> + <p> + Well, to use a commin igspreshn, the beaks were after him. How was he to + manitch? He coodn get away from his debts, and he wooden quit the fare + objict of his affeckshns. He was ableejd, then, as the French say, to lie + perdew,—going out at night, like a howl out of a hivy-bush, and + returning in the daytime to his roast. For its a maxum in France (and I + wood it were followed in Ingland), that after dark no man is lible for his + detts; and in any of the royal gardens—the Twillaries, the Pally + Roil, or the Lucksimbug, for example—a man may wander from sunrise + to evening, and hear nothing of the ojus dunns: they an't admitted into + these places of public enjyment and rondyvoo any more than dogs; the + centuries at the garden-gates having orders to shuit all such. + </p> + <p> + Master, then, was in this uncomfrable situation—neither liking to go + nor to stay! peeping out at nights to have an interview with his miss; + ableagd to shuffle off her repeated questions as to the reason of all this + disgeise, and to talk of his two thowsnd a year jest as if he had it and + didn't owe a shilling in the world. + </p> + <p> + Of course, now, he began to grow mighty eager for the marritch. + </p> + <p> + He roat as many noats as she had done befor; swoar against delay and + cerymony; talked of the pleasures of Hyming, the ardship that the ardor of + two arts should be allowed to igspire, the folly of waiting for the + consent of Lady Griffin. She was but a step-mother, and an unkind one. + Miss was (he said) a major, might marry whom she liked; and suttnly had + paid Lady G. quite as much attention as she ought, by paying her the + compliment to ask her at all. + </p> + <p> + And so they went on. The curious thing was, that when master was pressed + about his cause for not coming out till night-time, he was misterus; and + Miss Griffin, when asked why she wooden marry, igsprest, or rather, DIDN'T + igspress, a simlar secrasy. Wasn't it hard? the cup seemed to be at the + lip of both of 'em, and yet somehow, they could not manitch to take a + drink. + </p> + <p> + But one morning, in reply to a most desprat epistol wrote by my master + over night, Deuceace, delighted, gits an answer from his soal's beluffd, + which ran thus:— + </p> + <p> + MISS GRIFFIN TO THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE. + </p> + <p> + “DEAREST,—You say you would share a cottage with me; there is no + need, luckily, for that! You plead the sad sinking of your spirits at our + delayed union. Beloved, do you think MY heart rejoices at our separation? + You bid me disregard the refusal of Lady Griffin, and tell me that I owe + her no further duty. + </p> + <p> + “Adored Algernon! I can refuse you no more. I was willing not to lose a + single chance of reconciliation with this unnatural step-mother. Respect + for the memory of my sainted father bid me do all in my power to gain her + consent to my union with you: nay, shall I own it? prudence dictated the + measure; for to whom should she leave the share of money accorded to her + by my father's will but to my father's child. + </p> + <p> + “But there are bounds beyond which no forbearance can go; and, thank + heaven, we have no need of looking to Lady Griffin for sordid wealth: we + have a competency without her. Is it not so, dearest Algernon? + </p> + <p> + “Be it as you wish, then, dearest, bravest, and best. Your poor Matilda + has yielded to you her heart long ago; she has no longer need to keep back + her name. Name the hour, and I will delay no more; but seek for refuge in + your arms from the contumely and insult which meet me ever here. + </p> + <p> + “MATILDA. + </p> + <p> + “P.S. Oh, Algernon! if you did but know what a noble part your dear father + has acted throughout, in doing his best endeavors to further our plans, + and to soften Lady Griffin! It is not his fault that she is inexorable as + she is. I send you a note sent by her to Lord Crabs; we will laugh at it + soon, n'est-ce pas?” + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + “MY LORD,—In reply to your demand for Miss Griffin's hand, in favor + of your son, Mr. Algernon Deuceace, I can only repeat what I before have + been under the necessity of stating to you,—that I do not believe a + union with a person of Mr. Deuceace's character would conduce to my + stepdaughter's happiness, and therefore REFUSE MY CONSENT. I will beg you + to communicate the contents of this note to Mr. Deuceace; and implore you + no more to touch upon a subject which you must be aware is deeply painful + to me. + </p> + <p> + “I remain your lordship's most humble servant, + </p> + <p> + “L. E. GRIFFIN. “THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF CRABS.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang her ladyship!” says my master, “what care I for it?” As for the old + lord who'd been so afishous in his kindness and advice, master recknsiled + that pretty well, with thinking that his lordship knew he was going to + marry ten thousand a year, and igspected to get some share of it; for he + roat back the following letter to his father, as well as a flaming one to + Miss: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my dear father, for your kindness in that awkward business. + You know how painfully I am situated just now, and can pretty well guess + BOTH THE CAUSES of my disquiet. A marriage with my beloved Matilda will + make me the happiest of men. The dear girl consents, and laughs at the + foolish pretensions of her mother-in-law. To tell you the truth, I wonder + she yielded to them so long. Carry your kindness a step further, and find + for us a parson, a license, and make us two into one. We are both major, + you know; so that the ceremony of a guardian's consent is unnecessary. + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate + </p> + <p> + “ALGERNON DEUCEACE. + </p> + <p> + “How I regret that difference between us some time back! Matters are + changed now, and shall be more still AFTER THE MARRIAGE.” + </p> + <p> + I knew what my master meant,—that he would give the old lord the + money after he was married; and as it was probble that miss would see the + letter he roat, he made it such as not to let her see two clearly into his + present uncomfrable situation. + </p> + <p> + I took this letter along with the tender one for Miss, reading both of + 'em, in course, by the way. Miss, on getting hers, gave an inegspressable + look with the white of her i's, kist the letter, and prest it to her busm. + Lord Crabs read his quite calm, and then they fell a-talking together; and + told me to wait awhile, and I should git an anser. + </p> + <p> + After a deal of counseltation, my lord brought out a card, and there was + simply written on it, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To-morrow, at the Ambassador's, at Twelve. +</pre> + <p> + “Carry that back to your master, Chawls,” says he, “and bid him not to + fail.” + </p> + <p> + You may be sure I stept back to him pretty quick, and gave him the card + and the messinge. Master looked sattasfied with both; but suttnly not over + happy; no man is the day before his marridge; much more his marridge with + a hump-back, Harriss though she be. + </p> + <p> + Well, as he was a-going to depart this bachelor life, he did what every + man in such suckmstances ought to do; he made his will,—that is, he + made a dispasition of his property, and wrote letters to his creditors + telling them of his lucky chance; and that after his marridge he would + sutnly pay them every stiver. BEFORE, they must know his povvaty well + enough to be sure that paymint was out of the question. + </p> + <p> + To do him justas, he seam'd to be inclined to do the thing that was right, + now that it didn't put him to any inkinvenients to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Chawls,” says he, handing me over a tenpun-note, “here's your wagis, and + thank you for getting me out of the scrape with the bailiffs: when you are + married, you shall be my valet out of liv'ry, and I'll treble your + salary.” + </p> + <p> + His vallit! praps his butler! Yes, thought I, here's a chance—a + vallit to ten thousand a year. Nothing to do but to shave him, and read + his notes, and let my whiskers grow; to dress in spick and span black, and + a clean shut per day; muffings every night in the housekeeper's room; the + pick of the gals in the servants' hall; a chap to clean my boots for me, + and my master's opera bone reglar once a week. I knew what a vallit was as + well as any genlmn in service; and this I can tell you, he's genrally a + hapier, idler, handsomer, mor genlmnly man than his master. He has more + money to spend, for genlmn WILL leave their silver in their waistcoat + pockets; more suxess among the gals; as good dinners, and as good wine—that + is, if he's friends with the butler: and friends in corse they will be if + they know which way their interest lies. + </p> + <p> + But these are only cassels in the air, what the French call shutter + d'Espang. It wasn't roat in the book of fate that I was to be Mr. + Deuceace's vallit. + </p> + <p> + Days will pass at last—even days befor a wedding, (the longist and + unpleasantist day in the whole of a man's life, I can tell you, excep, may + be, the day before his hanging); and at length Aroarer dawned on the + suspicious morning which was to unite in the bonds of Hyming the Honrable + Algernon Percy Deuceace, Exquire, and Miss Matilda Griffin. My master's + wardrobe wasn't so rich as it had been; for he'd left the whole of his + nicknax and trumpry of dressing-cases and rob dy shams, his bewtifle + museum of varnished boots, his curous colleckshn of Stulz and Staub coats, + when he had been ableaged to quit so suddnly our pore dear lodginx at the + Hotel Mirabew; and being incog at a friend's house, ad contentid himself + with ordring a coople of shoots of cloves from a common tailor, with a + suffishnt quantaty of linning. + </p> + <p> + Well, he put on the best of his coats—a blue; and I thought it my + duty to ask him whether he'd want his frock again: he was good natured and + said, “Take it and be hanged to you.” Half-past eleven o'clock came, and I + was sent to look out at the door, if there were any suspicious charicters + (a precious good nose I have to find a bailiff out, I can tell you, and an + i which will almost see one round a corner); and presenly a very modest + green glass coach droave up, and in master stept. I didn't in corse, + appear on the box; because, being known, my appearints might have + compromised master. But I took a short cut, and walked as quick as posbil + down to the Rue de Foburg St. Honore, where his exlnsy the English + ambasdor lives, and where marridges are always performed betwigst English + folk at Paris. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + There is, almost nex door to the ambasdor's hotel, another hotel, of that + lo kind which the French call cabbyrays, or wine-houses; and jest as + master's green glass-coach pulled up, another coach drove off, out of + which came two ladies, whom I knew pretty well,—suffiz, that one had + a humpback, and the ingenious reader will know why SHE came there; the + other was poor Miss Kicksey, who came to see her turned off. + </p> + <p> + Well, master's glass-coach droav up, jest as I got within a few yards of + the door; our carridge, I say, droav up, and stopt. Down gits coachmin to + open the door, and comes I to give Mr. Deuceace an arm, when out of the + cabaray shoot four fellows, and draw up betwigst the coach and + embassy-doar; two other chaps go to the other doar of the carridge, and, + opening it, one says—“Rendez-vous, M. Deuceace! Je vous arrete au + nom de la loi!” (which means, “Get out of that, Mr. D.; you are nabbed and + no mistake.”) Master turned gashly pail, and sprung to the other side of + the coach, as if a serpint had stung him. He flung open the door, and was + for making off that way; but he saw the four chaps standing betwigst + libbarty and him. He slams down the front window, and screams out, + “Fouettez, cocher!” (which means, “Go it, coachmm!”) in a despert loud + voice; but coachmin wooden go it, and besides was off his box. + </p> + <p> + The long and short of the matter was, that jest as I came up to the door + two of the bums jumped into the carridge. I saw all; I knew my duty, and + so very mornfly I got up behind. + </p> + <p> + “Tiens,” says one of the chaps in the street; “c'est ce drole qui nous a + floure l'autre jour.” I knew 'em, but was too melumcolly to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ou irons-nous donc?” says coachmin to the genlmn who had got inside. + </p> + <p> + A deep woice from the intearor shouted out, in reply to the coachmin, “A + SAINTE PELAGIE!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + And now, praps, I ot to dixcribe to you the humors of the prizn of Sainte + Pelagie, which is the French for Fleat, or Queen's Bentch: but on this + subject I'm rather shy of writing, partly because the admiral Boz has, in + the history of Mr. Pickwick, made such a dixcripshun of a prizn, that mine + wooden read very amyousingly afterwids; and, also, because, to tell you + the truth, I didn't stay long in it, being not in a humer to waist my + igsistance by passing away the ears of my youth in such a dull place. + </p> + <p> + My fust errint now was, as you may phansy, to carry a noat from master to + his destined bride. The poar thing was sadly taken aback, as I can tell + you, when she found, after remaining two hours at the Embassy, that her + husband didn't make his appearance. And so, after staying on and on, and + yet seeing no husband, she was forsed at last to trudge dishconslit home, + where I was already waiting for her with a letter from my master. + </p> + <p> + There was no use now denying the fact of his arrest, and so he confest it + at onst: but he made a cock-and-bull story of treachery of a friend, + infimous fodgery, and heaven knows what. However, it didn't matter much; + if he had told her that he had been betrayed by the man in the moon, she + would have bleavd him. + </p> + <p> + Lady Griffin never used to appear now at any of my visits. She kep one + drawing-room, and Miss dined and lived alone in another; they quarld so + much that praps it was best they should live apart; only my Lord Crabs + used to see both, comforting each with that winning and innsnt way he had. + He came in as Miss, in tears, was lisning to my account of master's + seazure, and hoping that the prisn wasn't a horrid place, with a nasty + horrid dunjeon, and a dreadfle jailer, and nasty horrid bread and water. + Law bless us! she had borrod her ideers from the novvles she had been + reading! + </p> + <p> + “O my lord, my lord,” says she, “have you heard this fatal story?” + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Matilda, what? For heaven's sake, you alarm me! What—yes—no—is + it—no, it can't be! Speak!” says my lord, seizing me by the choler + of my coat. “What has happened to my boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Please you, my lord,” says I, “he's at this moment in prisn, no wuss,—having + been incarserated about two hours ago.” + </p> + <p> + “In prison! Algernon in prison! 'tis impossible! Imprisoned, for what sum? + Mention it, and I will pay to the utmost farthing in my power.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure your lordship is very kind,” says I (recklecting the sean + betwixgst him and master, whom he wanted to diddil out of a thowsand lb.); + “and you'll be happy to hear he's only in for a trifle. Five thousand + pound is, I think, pretty near the mark.” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand pounds!—confusion!” says my lord, clasping his hands, + and looking up to heaven, “and I have not five hundred! Dearest Matilda, + how shall we help him?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, my lord, I have but three guineas, and you know how Lady Griffin + has the—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my sweet child, I know what you would say; but be of good cheer—Algernon, + you know, has ample funds of his own.” + </p> + <p> + Thinking my lord meant Dawkins's five thousand, of which, to be sure, a + good lump was left, I held my tung; but I cooden help wondering at Lord + Crabs's igstream compashn for his son, and Miss, with her 10,000L. a year, + having only 3 guineas is her pockit. + </p> + <p> + I took home (bless us, what a home!) a long and very inflamble letter from + Miss, in which she dixscribed her own sorror at the disappointment; swoar + she lov'd him only the moar for his misfortns; made light of them; as a + pusson for a paltry sum of five thousand pound ought never to be cast + down, 'specially as he had a certain independence in view; and vowed that + nothing, nothing, should ever injuice her to part from him, etsettler, + etsettler. + </p> + <p> + I told master of the conversation which had past betwigst me and my lord, + and of his handsome offers, and his horrow at hearing of his son's being + taken; and likewise mentioned how strange it was that Miss should only + have 3 guineas, and with such a fortn: bless us, I should have thot that + she would always have carried a hundred thowsnd lb. in her pockit! + </p> + <p> + At this master only said Pshaw! But the rest of the story about his father + seemed to dixquiet him a good deal, and he made me repeat it over agin. + </p> + <p> + He walked up and down the room agytated, and it seam'd as if a new lite + was breaking in upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Chawls,” says he, “did you observe—did Miss—did my father + seem PARTICULARLY INTIMATE with Miss Griffin?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean, sir?” says I. + </p> + <p> + “Did Lord Crabs appear very fond of Miss Griffin?” + </p> + <p> + “He was suttnly very kind to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, sir, speak at once: did Miss Griffin seem very fond of his + lordship?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, to tell the truth, sir, I must say she seemed VERY fond of him.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he call her?” + </p> + <p> + “He called her his dearest gal.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he take her hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he—” + </p> + <p> + “And he what?” + </p> + <p> + “He kist her, and told her not to be so wery down-hearted about the + misfortn which had hapnd to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have it now!” says he, clinching his fist, and growing gashly pail—“I + have it now—the infernal old hoary scoundrel! the wicked, unnatural + wretch! He would take her from me!” And he poured out a volley of oaves + which are impossbill to be repeatid here. + </p> + <p> + I thot as much long ago: and when my lord kem with his vizits so pretious + affeckshnt at my Lady Griffinses, I expected some such game was in the + wind. Indeed, I'd heard a somethink of it from the Griffinses servnts, + that my lord was mighty tender with the ladies. + </p> + <p> + One thing, however, was evident to a man of his intleckshal capassaties; + he must either marry the gal at onst, or he stood very small chance of + having her. He must get out of limbo immediantly, or his respectid father + might be stepping into his vaykint shoes. Oh! he saw it all now—the + fust attempt at arest, the marridge fixt at 12 o'clock, and the bayliffs + fixt to come and intarup the marridge!—the jewel, praps, betwigst + him and De l'Orge: but no, it was the WOMAN who did that—a MAN don't + deal such fowl blows, igspecially a father to his son: a woman may, poar + thing!—she's no other means of reventch, and is used to fight with + underhand wepns all her life through. + </p> + <p> + Well, whatever the pint might be, this Deuceace saw pretty clear that he'd + been beat by his father at his own game—a trapp set for him onst, + which had been defitted by my presnts of mind—another trap set + afterwids, in which my lord had been suxesfle. Now, my lord, roag as he + was, was much too good-natured to do an unkind ackshn, mearly for the sake + of doing it. He'd got to that pich that he didn't mind injaries—they + were all fair play to him—he gave 'em, and reseav'd them, without a + thought of mallis. If he wanted to injer his son, it was to benefick + himself. And how was this to be done? By getting the hairiss to himself, + to be sure. The Honrabble Mr. D. didn't say so; but I knew his feelinx + well enough—he regretted that he had not given the old genlmn the + money he askt for. + </p> + <p> + Poar fello! he thought he had hit it; but he was wide of the mark after + all. + </p> + <p> + Well, but what was to be done? It was clear that he must marry the gal at + any rate—cootky coot, as the French say: that is, marry her, and + hang the igspence. + </p> + <p> + To do so he must first git out of prisn—to get out of prisn he must + pay his debts—and to pay his debts, he must give every shilling he + was worth. Never mind: four thousand pound is a small stake to a reglar + gambler, igspecially when he must play it, or rot for life in prisn; and + when, if he plays it well, it will give him ten thousand a year. + </p> + <p> + So, seeing there was no help for it, he maid up his mind, and accordingly + wrote the follying letter to Miss Griffin:— + </p> + <p> + “MY ADORED MATILDA,—Your letter has indeed been a comfort to a poor + fellow, who had hoped that this night would have been the most blessed in + his life, and now finds himself condemned to spend it within a prison + wall! You know the accursed conspiracy which has brought these liabilities + upon me, and the foolish friendship which has cost me so much. But what + matters! We have, as you say, enough, even though I must pay this shameful + demand upon me; and five thousand pounds are as nothing, compared to the + happiness which I lose in being separated a night from thee! Courage, + however! If I make a sacrifice it is for you; and I were heartless indeed + if I allowed my own losses to balance for a moment against your happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so, beloved one? IS not your happiness bound up with mine, in a + union with me? I am proud to think so—proud, too, to offer such a + humble proof as this of the depth and purity of my affection. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me that you will still be mine; tell me that you will be mine + tomorrow; and to-morrow these vile chains shall be removed, and I will be + free once more—or if bound, only bound to you! My adorable Matilda! + my betrothed bride! Write to me ere the evening closes, for I shall never + be able to shut my eyes in slumber upon my prison couch, until they have + been first blessed by the sight of a few words from thee! Write to me, + love! write to me! I languish for the reply which is to make or mar me for + ever. Your affectionate + </p> + <p> + “A. P. D.” + </p> + <p> + Having polisht off this epistol, master intrustid it to me to carry, and + bade me at the same time to try and give it into Miss Griffin's hand + alone. I ran with it to Lady Griffinses. I found Miss, as I desired, in a + sollatary condition; and I presented her with master's pafewmed Billy. + </p> + <p> + She read it, and the number of size to which she gave vint, and the tears + which she shed, beggar digscription. She wep and sighed until I thought + she would bust. She even claspt my hand in her's, and said, “O Charles! is + he very, very miserable?” + </p> + <p> + “He is, ma'am,” says I; “very miserable indeed—nobody, upon my + honor, could be miserablerer.” + </p> + <p> + On hearing this pethetic remark, her mind was made up at onst: and sitting + down to her eskrewtaw, she immediantly ableaged master with an answer. + Here it is in black and white: + </p> + <p> + “My prisoned bird shall pine no more, but fly home to its nest in these + arms! Adored Algernon, I will meet thee to-morrow, at the same place, at + the same hour. Then, then, it will be impossible for aught but death to + divide us. + </p> + <p> + “M. G.” + </p> + <p> + This kind of flumry style comes, you see, of reading novvles, and + cultivating littery purshuits in a small way. How much better is it to be + puffickly ignorant of the hart of writing, and to trust to the writing of + the heart. This is MY style: artyfiz I despise, and trust compleatly to + natur: but revnong a no mootong, as our continential friends remark: to + that nice white sheep, Algernon Percy Deuceace, Exquire; that wenrabble + old ram, my Lord Crabs his father; and that tender and dellygit young + lamb, Miss Matilda Griffin. + </p> + <p> + She had just foalded up into its proper triangular shape the noat + transcribed abuff, and I was just on the point of saying, according to my + master's orders, “Miss, if you please, the Honrabble Mr. Deuceace would be + very much ableaged to you to keep the seminary which is to take place + to-morrow a profound se—,” when my master's father entered, and I + fell back to the door. Miss, without a word, rusht into his arms, burst + into teers agin, as was her reglar way (it must be confest she was of a + very mist constitution), and showing to him his son's note, cried, “Look, + my dear lord, how nobly your Algernon, OUR Algernon, writes to me. Who can + doubt, after this, of the purity of his matchless affection?” + </p> + <p> + My lord took the letter, read it, seamed a good deal amyoused, and + returning it to its owner, said, very much to my surprise, “My dear Miss + Griffin, he certainly does seem in earnest; and if you choose to make this + match without the consent of your mother-in-law, you know the consequence, + and are of course your own mistress.” + </p> + <p> + “Consequences!—for shame, my lord! A little money, more or less, + what matters it to two hearts like ours?” + </p> + <p> + “Hearts are very pretty things, my sweet young lady, but Three-per-Cents + are better.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, have we not an ample income of our own, without the aid of Lady + Griffin?” + </p> + <p> + My lord shrugged his shoulders. “Be it so, my love,” says he. “I'm sure I + can have no other reason to prevent a union which is founded upon such + disinterested affection.” + </p> + <p> + And here the conversation dropt. Miss retired, clasping her hands, and + making play with the whites of her i's. My lord began trotting up and down + the room, with his fat hands stuck in his britchis pockits, his countnince + lighted up with igstream joy, and singing, to my inordnit igstonishment: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “See the conquering hero comes! + Tiddy diddy doll—tiddy doll, doll, doll.” + </pre> + <p> + He began singing this song, and tearing up and down the room like mad. I + stood amazd—a new light broke in upon me. He wasn't going, then, to + make love to Miss Griffin! Master might marry her! Had she not got the for—? + </p> + <p> + I say, I was just standing stock still, my eyes fixt, my hands + puppindicklar, my mouf wide open and these igstrordinary thoughts passing + in my mind, when my lord having got to the last “doll” of his song, just + as I came to the sillible “for” of my ventriloquism, or inward speech—we + had eatch jest reached the pint digscribed, when the meditations of both + were sudnly stopt, by my lord, in the midst of his singin and trottin + match, coming bolt up aginst poar me, sending me up aginst one end of the + room, himself flying back to the other: and it was only after considrabble + agitation that we were at length restored to anything like a liquilibrium. + </p> + <p> + “What, YOU here, you infernal rascal?” says my lord. + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship's very kind to notus me,” says I; “I am here.” And I gave + him a look. + </p> + <p> + He saw I knew the whole game. + </p> + <p> + And after whisling a bit, as was his habit when puzzled (I bleave he'd + have only whisled if he had been told he was to be hanged in five minits), + after whisling a bit, he stops sudnly, and coming up to me, says: + </p> + <p> + “Hearkye, Charles, this marriage must take place to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Must it, sir?” says I; “now, for my part, I don't think—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, my good fellow; if it does not take place, what do you gain?” + </p> + <p> + This stagger'd me. If it didn't take place, I only lost a situation, for + master had but just enough money to pay his detts; and it wooden soot my + book to serve him in prisn or starving. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says my lord, “you see the force of my argument. Now, look here!” + and he lugs out a crisp, fluttering, snowy HUNDRED-PUN NOTE! “If my son + and Miss Griffin are married to-morrow, you shall have this; and I will, + moreover, take you into my service, and give you double your present + wages.” + </p> + <p> + Flesh and blood cooden bear it. “My lord,” says I, laying my hand upon my + busm, “only give me security, and I'm yours for ever.” + </p> + <p> + The old noblemin grin'd, and pattid me on the shoulder. “Right, my lad,” + says he, “right—you're a nice promising youth. Here is the best + security.” And he pulls out his pockit-book, returns the hundred-pun bill, + and takes out one for fifty. “Here is half to-day; to-morrow you shall + have the remainder.” + </p> + <p> + My fingers trembled a little as I took the pretty fluttering bit of paper, + about five times as big as any sum of money I had ever had in my life. I + cast my i upon the amount: it was a fifty sure enough—a bank + poss-bill, made payable to Leonora Emilia Griffin, and indorsed by her. + The cat was out of the bag. Now, gentle reader, I spose you begin to see + the game. + </p> + <p> + “Recollect, from this day you are in my service.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, you overpoar me with your faviors.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to the devil, sir,” says he: “do your duty, and hold your tongue.” + </p> + <p> + And thus I went from the service of the Honorabble Algernon Deuceace to + that of his exlnsy the Right Honorabble Earl of Crabs. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + On going back to prisn, I found Deuceace locked up in that oajus place to + which his igstravygansies had deservedly led him; and felt for him, I must + say, a great deal of contemp. A raskle such as he—a swindler, who + had robbed poar Dawkins of the means of igsistance; who had cheated his + fellow-roag, Mr. Richard Blewitt, and who was making a musnary marridge + with a disgusting creacher like Miss Griffin, didn merit any compashn on + my purt; and I determined quite to keep secret the suckmstansies of my + privit intervew with his exlnsy my presnt master. + </p> + <p> + I gev him Miss Griffinses trianglar, which he read with a satasfied air. + Then, turning to me, says he: “You gave this to Miss Griffin alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You gave her my message?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are quite sure Lord Crabs was not there when you gave either the + message or the note?” + </p> + <p> + “Not there upon my honor,” says I. + </p> + <p> + “Hang your honor, sir! Brush my hat and coat, and go CALL A COACH—do + you hear?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I did as I was ordered; and on coming back found master in what's called, + I think, the greffe of the prisn. The officer in waiting had out a great + register, and was talking to master in the French tongue, in coarse; a + number of poar prisners were looking eagerly on. + </p> + <p> + “Let us see, my lor,” says he; “the debt is 98,700 francs; there are + capture expenses, interest so much; and the whole sum amounts to a hundred + thousand francs, moins 13.” + </p> + <p> + Deuceace, in a very myjestic way, takes out of his pocketbook four thowsnd + pun notes. “This is not French money, but I presume that you know it, M. + Greffier,” says he. + </p> + <p> + The greffier turned round to old Solomon, a money-changer, who had one or + two clients in the prisn, and hapnd luckily to be there. “Les billets sont + bons,” says he. “Je les prendrai pour cent mille douze cent francs, et + j'espere, my lor, de vous revoir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” says the greffier; “I know them to be good, and I will give my lor + the difference, and make out his release.” + </p> + <p> + Which was done. The poar debtors gave a feeble cheer, as the great dubble + iron gates swung open and clang to again, and Deuceace stept out and me + after him, to breathe the fresh hair. + </p> + <p> + He had been in the place but six hours, and was now free again—free, + and to be married to ten thousand a year nex day. But, for all that, he + lookt very faint and pale. He HAD put down his great stake; and when he + came out of Sainte Pelagie, he had but fifty pounds left in the world! + </p> + <p> + Never mind—when onst the money's down, make your mind easy; and so + Deuceace did. He drove back to the Hotel Mirabew, where he ordered + apartmince infinately more splendid than befor; and I pretty soon told + Toinette, and the rest of the suvvants, how nobly he behayved, and how he + valyoud four thousnd pound no more than ditch water. And such was the + consquincies of my praises, and the poplarity I got for us boath, that the + delighted landlady immediantly charged him dubble what she would have + done, if it hadn been for my stoaries. + </p> + <p> + He ordered splendid apartmince, then, for the nex week; a + carridge-and-four for Fontainebleau to-morrow at 12 precisely; and having + settled all these things, went quietly to the “Roshy de Cancale,” where he + dined: as well he might, for it was now eight o'clock. I didn't spare the + shompang neither that night, I can tell you; for when I carried the note + he gave me for Miss Griffin in the evening, informing her of his freedom, + that young lady remarked my hagitated manner of walking and speaking, and + said, “Honest Charles! he is flusht with the events of the day. Here, + Charles, is a napoleon; take it and drink to your mistress.” + </p> + <p> + I pockitid it; but, I must say, I didn't like the money—it went + against my stomick to take it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + THE MARRIAGE. + </h3> + <p> + Well, the nex day came: at 12 the carridge-and-four was waiting at the + ambasdor's doar; and Miss Griffin and the faithfle Kicksey were punctial + to the apintment. + </p> + <p> + I don't wish to digscribe the marridge seminary—how the embasy + chapling jined the hands of this loving young couple—how one of the + embasy footmin was called in to witness the marridge—how Miss wep + and fainted as usial—and how Deuceace carried her, fainting, to the + brisky, and drove off to Fontingblo, where they were to pass the fust weak + of the honey-moon. They took no servnts, because they wisht, they said, to + be privit. And so, when I had shut up the steps, and bid the postilion + drive on, I bid ajew to the Honrabble Algernon, and went off strait to his + exlent father. + </p> + <p> + “Is it all over, Chawls?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I saw them turned off at igsactly a quarter past 12, my lord,” says I. + </p> + <p> + “Did you give Miss Griffin the paper, as I told you, before her marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, my lord, in the presents of Mr. Brown, Lord Bobtail's man; who can + swear to her having had it.” + </p> + <p> + I must tell you that my lord had made me read a paper which Lady Griffin + had written, and which I was comishnd to give in the manner menshnd abuff. + It ran to this effect:— + </p> + <p> + “According to the authority given me by the will of my late dear husband, + I forbid the marriage of Miss Griffin with the Honorable Algernon Percy + Deuceace. If Miss Griffin persists in the union, I warn her that she must + abide by the consequences of her act. + </p> + <p> + “LEONORA EMILIA GRIFFIN.” + </p> + <p> + “RUE DE RIVOLI, May 8, 1818.” + </p> + <p> + When I gave this to Miss as she entered the cortyard, a minnit before my + master's arrivle, she only read it contemptiously, and said, “I laugh at + the threats of Lady Griffin;” and she toar the paper in two, and walked + on, leaning on the arm of the faithful and obleaging Miss Kicksey. + </p> + <p> + I picked up the paper for fear of axdents, and brot it to my lord. Not + that there was any necessaty; for he'd kep a copy, and made me and another + witniss (my Lady Griffin's solissator) read them both, before he sent + either away. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” says he; and he projuiced from his potfolio the fello of that + bewchus fifty-pun note, which he'd given me yesterday. “I keep my promise, + you see, Charles,” says he. “You are now in Lady Griffin's service, in the + place of Mr. Fitzclarence, who retires. Go to Froje's, and get a livery.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my lord,” says I, “I was not to go into Lady Griffnses service, + according to the bargain, but into—” + </p> + <p> + “It's all the same thing,” says he; and he walked off. I went to Mr. + Froje's, and ordered a new livry; and found, likwise, that our coachmin + and Munseer Mortimer had been there too. My lady's livery was changed, and + was now of the same color as my old coat at Mr. Deuceace's; and I'm blest + if there wasn't a tremenjious great earl's corronit on the butins, instid + of the Griffin rampint, which was worn befoar. + </p> + <p> + I asked no questions, however, but had myself measured; and slep that + night at the Plas Vandome. I didn't go out with the carridge for a day or + two, though; my lady only taking one footmin, she said, until HER NEW + CARRIDGE was turned out. + </p> + <p> + I think you can guess what's in the wind NOW! + </p> + <p> + I bot myself a dressing-case, a box of Ody colong, a few duzen lawn sherts + and neckcloths, and other things which were necessary for a genlmn in my + rank. Silk stockings was provided by the rules of the house. And I + completed the bisniss by writing the follying ginteel letter to my late + master:— + </p> + <p> + “CHARLES YELLOWPLUSH, ESQUIRE, TO THE HONORABLE A. P. DEUCEACE. + </p> + <p> + “SUR,—Suckmstansies have acurd sins I last had the honner of wating + on you, which render it impossbil that I should remane any longer in your + suvvice. I'll thank you to leave out my thinx, when they come home on + Sattady from the wash. + </p> + <p> + “Your obeajnt servnt, + </p> + <p> + “CHARLES YELLOWPLUSH.” “PLAS VENDOME.” + </p> + <p> + The athography of the abuv noat, I confess, is atrocious; but ke voolyvoo? + I was only eighteen, and hadn then the expearance in writing which I've + enjide sins. + </p> + <p> + Having thus done my jewty in evry way, I shall prosead, in the nex + chapter, to say what hapnd in my new place. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <h3> + THE HONEY-MOON. + </h3> + <p> + The weak at Fontingblow past quickly away; and at the end of it, our son + and daughter-in-law—a pare of nice young tuttle-duvs—returned + to their nest, at the Hotel Mirabew. I suspeck that the COCK turtle-dove + was preshos sick of his barging. + </p> + <p> + When they arriv'd, the fust thing they found on their table was a large + parsle wrapt up in silver paper, and a newspaper, and a couple of cards, + tied up with a peace of white ribbing. In the parsle was a hansume piece + of plum-cake, with a deal of sugar. On the cards was wrote, in Goffick + characters, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Earl of Crabs. +</pre> + <p> + And, in very small Italian, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Countess of Crabs. +</pre> + <p> + And in the paper was the following parrowgraff:— + </p> + <p> + “MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.—Yesterday, at the British embassy, the Right + Honorable John Augustus Altamont Plantagenet, Earl of Crabs, to Leonora + Emilia, widow of the late Lieutenant-General Sir George Griffin, K. C. B. + An elegant dejeune was given to the happy couple by his Excellency Lord + Bobtail, who gave away the bride. The elite of the foreign diplomacy, the + Prince Talleyrand and Marshal the Duke of Dalmatia on behalf of H. M. the + King of France, honored the banquet and the marriage ceremony. Lord and + Lady Crabs intend passing a few weeks at Saint Cloud.” + </p> + <p> + The above dockyments, along with my own triffling billy, of which I have + also givn a copy, greated Mr. and Mrs. Deuceace on their arrivle from + Fontingblo. Not being present, I can't say what Deuceace said; but I can + fancy how he LOOKT, and how poor Mrs. Deuceace lookt. They weren't much + inclined to rest after the fiteeg of the junny; for, in 1/2 an hour after + their arrival at Paris, the hosses were put to the carridge agen, and down + they came thundering to our country-house at St. Cloud (pronounst by those + absud Frenchmin Sing Kloo), to interrup our chaste loves and delishs + marridge injyments. + </p> + <p> + My lord was sittn in a crimson satan dressing-gown, lolling on a sofa at + an open windy, smoaking seagars, as ushle; her ladyship, who, to du her + justice, didn mind the smell, occupied another end of the room, and was + working, in wusted, a pare of slippers, or an umbrellore case, or a + coal-skittle, or some such nonsints. You would have thought to have sean + 'em that they had been married a sentry, at least. Well, I bust in upon + this conjugal tator-tator, and said, very much alarmed, “My lord, here's + your son and daughter-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says my lord, quite calm, “and what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Deuceace!” says my lady, starting up, and looking fritened. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my love, my son; but you need not be alarmed. Pray, Charles, say + that Lady Crabs and I will be very happy to see Mr. and Mrs. Deuceace; and + that they must excuse us receiving them en famille. Sit still, my blessing—take + things coolly. Have you got the box with the papers?” + </p> + <p> + My lady pointed to a great green box—the same from which she had + taken the papers, when Deuceace fust saw them,—and handed over to my + lord a fine gold key. I went out, met Deuceace and his wife on the stepps, + gave my messinge, and bowed them palitely in. + </p> + <p> + My lord didn't rise, but smoaked away as usual (praps a little quicker, + but I can't say); my lady sat upright, looking handsum and strong. + Deuceace walked in, his left arm tied to his breast, his wife and hat on + the other. He looked very pale and frightened; his wife, poar thing! had + her head berried in her handkerchief, and sobd fit to break her heart. + </p> + <p> + Miss Kicksey, who was in the room (but I didn't mention her, she was less + than nothink in our house), went up to Mrs. Deuceace at onst, and held out + her arms—she had a heart, that old Kicksey, and I respect her for + it. The poor hunchback flung herself into Miss's arms, with a kind of + whooping screech, and kep there for some time, sobbing in quite a + historical manner. I saw there was going to be a sean, and so, in cors, + left the door ajar. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome to Saint Cloud, Algy my boy!” says my lord, in a loud, hearty + voice. “You thought you would give us the slip, eh, you rogue? But we knew + it, my dear fellow: we knew the whole affair—did we not, my soul?—and + you see, kept our secret better than you did yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I must confess, sir,” says Deuceace, bowing, “that I had no idea of the + happiness which awaited me in the shape of a mother-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you dog; no, no,” says my lord, giggling: “old birds, you know, not + to be caught with chaff, like young ones. But here we are, all spliced and + happy, at last. Sit down, Algernon; let us smoke a segar, and talk over + the perils and adventures of the last month. My love,” says my lord, + turning to his lady, “you have no malice against poor Algernon, I trust? + Pray shake HIS HAND.” (A grin.) + </p> + <p> + But my lady rose and said, “I have told Mr. Deuceace, that I never wished + to see him, or speak to him, more. I see no reason, now, to change my + opinion.” And herewith she sailed out of the room, by the door through + which Kicksey had carried poor Mrs. Deuceace. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” says my lord, as Lady Crabs swept by, “I was in hopes she + had forgiven you; but I know the whole story, and I must confess you used + her cruelly ill. Two strings to your bow!—that was your game, was + it, you rogue?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean, my lord, that you know all that past between me and Lady + Grif—Lady Crabs, before our quarrel?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly—you made love to her, and she was almost in love with + you; you jilted her for money, she got a man to shoot your hand off in + revenge: no more dice-boxes, now, Deuceace; no more sauter la coupe. I + can't think how the deuce you will manage to live without them.” + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship is very kind; but I have given up play altogether,” says + Deuceace, looking mighty black and uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed! Benedick has turned a moral man, has he? This is better and + better. Are you thinking of going into the church, Deuceace?” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, may I ask you to be a little more serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Serious! a quoi bon? I am serious—serious in my surprise that, when + you might have had either of these women, you should have preferred that + hideous wife of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you, in turn, how you came to be so little squeamish about a + wife, as to choose a woman who had just been making love to your own son?” + says Deuceace, growing fierce. + </p> + <p> + “How can you ask such a question? I owe forty thousand pounds—there + is an execution at Sizes Hall—every acre I have is in the hands of + my creditors; and that's why I married her. Do you think there was any + love? Lady Crabs is a dev'lish fine woman, but she's not a fool—she + married me for my coronet, and I married her for her money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lord, you need not ask me, I think, why I married the + daughter-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I DO, my dear boy. How the deuce are you to live? Dawkins's five + thousand pounds won't last forever; and afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean, my lord—you don't—I mean, you can't— D—-!” + says he, starting up, and losing all patience, “you don't dare to say that + Miss Griffin had not a fortune of ten thousand a year?” + </p> + <p> + My lord was rolling up, and wetting betwigst his lips, another segar; he + lookt up, after he had lighted it, and said quietly— + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Miss Griffin had a fortune of ten thousand a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, and has she not got it now? Has she spent it in a week?” + </p> + <p> + “SHE HAS NOT GOT A SIX-PENCE NOW: SHE MARRIED WITHOUT HER MOTHER'S + CONSENT!” + </p> + <p> + Deuceace sunk down in a chair; and I never see such a dreadful picture of + despair as there was in the face of that retchid man!—he writhed, + and nasht his teeth, he tore open his coat, and wriggled madly the stump + of his left hand, until, fairly beat, he threw it over his livid pale + face, and sinking backwards, fairly wept alowd. + </p> + <p> + Bah! it's a dreddfle thing to hear a man crying! his pashn torn up from + the very roots of his heart, as it must be before it can git such a vent. + My lord, meanwhile, rolled his segar, lighted it, and went on. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, the girl has not a shilling. I wished to have left you alone + in peace, with your four thousand pounds: you might have lived decently + upon it in Germany, where money is at 5 per cent, where your duns would + not find you, and a couple of hundred a year would have kept you and your + wife in comfort. But, you see, Lady Crabs would not listen to it. You had + injured her; and, after she had tried to kill you and failed, she + determined to ruin you, and succeeded. I must own to you that I directed + the arresting business, and put her up to buying your protested bills: she + got them for a trifle, and as you have paid them, has made a good two + thousand pounds by her bargain. It was a painful thing to be sure, for a + father to get his son arrested; but que voulez-vous! I did not appear in + the transaction: she would have you ruined; and it was absolutely + necessary that YOU should marry before I could, so I pleaded your cause + with Miss Griffin, and made you the happy man you are. You rogue, you + rogue! you thought to match your old father, did you? But, never mind; + lunch will be ready soon. In the meantime, have a segar, and drink a glass + of Sauterne.” + </p> + <p> + Deuceace, who had been listening to this speech, sprung up wildly. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not believe it,” he said: “it's a lie, an infernal lie! forged by + you, you hoary villain, and by the murderess and strumpet you have + married. I'll not believe it; show me the will. Matilda! Matilda!” shouted + he, screaming hoarsely, and flinging open the door by which she had gone + out. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your temper, my boy. You ARE vexed, and I feel for you: but don't + use such bad language: it is quite needless, believe me.” + </p> + <p> + “Matilda!” shouted out Deuceace again; and the poor crooked thing came + trembling in, followed by Miss Kicksey. + </p> + <p> + “Is this true, woman?” says he, clutching hold of her hand. + </p> + <p> + “What, dear Algernon?” says she. + </p> + <p> + “What?” screams out Deuceace,—“what? Why that you are a beggar, for + marrying without your mother's consent—that you basely lied to me, + in order to bring about this match—that you are a swindler, in + conspiracy with that old fiend yonder and the she-devil his wife?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” sobbed the poor woman, “that I have nothing; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but what? Why don't you speak, you drivelling fool?” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing!—but you, dearest, have two thousand a year. Is that + not enough for us? You love me for myself, don't you, Algernon? You have + told me so a thousand times—say so again, dear husband; and do not, + do not be so unkind.” And here she sank on her knees, and clung to him, + and tried to catch his hand, and kiss it. + </p> + <p> + “How much did you say?” says my lord. + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand a year, sir; he has told us so a thousand times.” + </p> + <p> + “TWO THOUSAND! Two thou—ho, ho, ho!—haw! haw! haw!” roars my + lord. “That is, I vow, the best thing I ever heard in my life. My dear + creature, he has not a shilling—not a single maravedi, by all the + gods and goddesses.” And this exlnt noblemin began laffin louder than + ever: a very kind and feeling genlmn he was, as all must confess. + </p> + <p> + There was a paws: and Mrs. Deuceace didn begin cussing and swearing at her + husband as he had done at her: she only said, “O Algernon! is this true?” + and got up, and went to a chair and wep in quiet. + </p> + <p> + My lord opened the great box. “If you or your lawyers would like to + examine Sir George's will, it is quite at your service; you will see here + the proviso which I mentioned, that gives the entire fortune to Lady + Griffin—Lady Crabs that is: and here, my dear boy, you see the + danger of hasty conclusions. Her ladyship only showed you the FIRST PAGE + OF THE WILL, of course; she wanted to try you. You thought you made a + great stroke in at once proposing to Miss Griffin—do not mind it, my + love, he really loves you now very sincerely!—when, in fact, you + would have done much better to have read the rest of the will. You were + completely bitten, my boy—humbugged, bamboozled—ay, and by + your old father, you dog. I told you I would, you know, when you refused + to lend me a portion of your Dawkins money. I told you I would; and I DID. + I had you the very next day. Let this be a lesson to you, Percy my boy; + don't try your luck again against such old hands: look deuced well before + you leap: audi alteram partem, my lad, which means, read both sides of the + will. I think lunch is ready; but I see you don't smoke. Shall we go in?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, my lord,” says Mr. Deuceace, very humble: “I shall not share your + hospitality—but—but you know my condition; I am penniless—you + know the manner in which my wife has been brought up—” + </p> + <p> + “The Honorable Mrs. Deuceace, sir, shall always find a home here, as if + nothing had occurred to interrupt the friendship between her dear mother + and herself.” + </p> + <p> + “And for me, sir,” says Deuceace, speaking faint, and very slow; “I hope—I + trust—I think, my lord, you will not forget me?” + </p> + <p> + “Forget you, sir; certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “And that you will make some provision—?” + </p> + <p> + “Algernon Deuceace,” says my lord, getting up from the sophy, and looking + at him with sich a jolly malignity, as I never see, “I declare, before + heaven, that I will not give you a penny!” + </p> + <p> + Hereupon my lord held out his hand to Mrs. Deuceace, and said, “My dear, + will you join your mother and me? We shall always, as I said, have a home + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” said the poar thing, dropping a curtsy, “my home is with HIM!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + About three months after, when the season was beginning at Paris, and the + autumn leafs was on the ground, my lord, my lady, me and Mortimer, were + taking a stroal in the Boddy Balong, the carridge driving on slowly ahead, + and us as happy as possbill, admiring the pleasant woods and the goldn + sunset. + </p> + <p> + My lord was expayshating to my lady upon the exquizit beauty of the sean, + and pouring forth a host of butifle and virtuous sentaments sootable to + the hour. It was dalitefle to hear him. “Ah!” said he, “black must be the + heart, my love, which does not feel the influence of a scene like this; + gathering as it were, from those sunlit skies, a portion of their + celestial gold, and gaining somewhat of heaven with each pure draught of + this delicious air!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Crabs did not speak, but prest his arm and looked upwards. Mortimer + and I, too, felt some of the infliwents of the sean, and lent on our goold + sticks in silence. The carriage drew up close to us, and my lord and my + lady sauntered slowly tords it. + </p> + <p> + Jest at the place was a bench, and on the bench sate a poorly drest woman, + and by her, leaning against a tree, was a man whom I thought I'd sean + befor. He was drest in a shabby blew coat, with white seems and copper + buttons; a torn hat was on his head, and great quantaties of matted hair + and whiskers disfiggared his countnints. He was not shaved, and as pale as + stone. + </p> + <p> + My lord and lady didn tak the slightest notice of him, but past on to the + carridge. Me and Mortimer lickwise took OUR places. As we past, the man + had got a grip of the woman's shoulder, who was holding down her head + sobbing bitterly. + </p> + <p> + No sooner were my lord and lady seated, than they both, with igstream + dellixy and good natur, burst into a ror of lafter, peal upon peal, + whooping and screaching enough to frighten the evening silents. + </p> + <p> + DEUCEACE turned round. I see his face now—the face of a devvle of + hell! Fust, he lookt towards the carridge, and pinted to it with his + maimed arm; then he raised the other, AND STRUCK THE WOMAN BY HIS SIDE. + She fell, screaming. + </p> + <p> + Poor thing! Poor thing! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. YELLOWPLUSH'S AJEW. + </h2> + <p> + The end of Mr. Deuceace's history is going to be the end of my + corrispondince. I wish the public was as sory to part with me as I am with + the public; becaws I fansy reely that we've become frends, and feal for my + part a becoming greaf at saying ajew. + </p> + <p> + It's imposbill for me to continyow, however, a-writin, as I have done—violetting + the rules of authography, and trampling upon the fust princepills of + English grammar. When I began, I knew no better: when I'd carrid on these + papers a little further, and grew accustmd to writin, I began to smel out + somethink quear in my style. Within the last sex weaks I have been + learning to spell: and when all the world was rejoicing at the + festivvaties of our youthful Quean—*when all i's were fixed upon her + long sweet of ambasdors and princes, following the splendid carridge of + Marshle the Duke of Damlatiar, and blinking at the pearls and dimince of + Prince Oystereasy—Yellowplush was in his loanly pantry—HIS + eyes were fixt upon the spelling-book—his heart was bent upon + mastring the diffickleties of the littery professhn. I have been, in fact, + CONVERTID. + </p> + <p> + * This was written in 1838. + </p> + <p> + You shall here how. Ours, you know, is a Wig house; and ever sins his + third son has got a place in the Treasury, his secknd a captingsy in the + Guards, his fust, the secretary of embasy at Pekin, with a prospick of + being appinted ambasdor at Loo Choo—ever sins master's sons have + reseaved these attentions, and master himself has had the promis of a + pearitch, he has been the most reglar, consistnt, honrabble Libbaral, in + or out of the House of Commins. + </p> + <p> + Well, being a Whig, it's the fashn, as you know, to reseave littery + pipple; and accordingly, at dinner, tother day, whose name do you think I + had to hollar out on the fust landing-place about a wick ago? After + several dukes and markises had been enounced, a very gentell fly drives up + to our doar, and out steps two gentlemen. One was pail, and wor + spektickles, a wig, and a white neckcloth. The other was slim with a hook + nose, a pail fase, a small waist, a pare of falling shoulders, a tight + coat, and a catarack of black satting tumbling out of his busm, and + falling into a gilt velvet weskit. The little genlmn settled his wigg, and + pulled out his ribbins; the younger one fluffed the dust of his shoes, + looked at his whiskers in a little pockit-glas, settled his crevatt; and + they both mounted upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “What name, sir?” says I, to the old genlmn. + </p> + <p> + “Name!—a! now, you thief o' the wurrld,” says he, “do you pretind + nat to know ME? Say it's the Cabinet Cyclopa—no, I mane the + Litherary Chran—psha!—bluthanowns!—say it's DOCTHOR + DIOCLESIAN LARNER—I think he'll know me now—ay, Nid?” But the + genlmn called Nid was at the botm of the stare, and pretended to be very + busy with his shoo-string. So the little genlmn went upstares alone. + </p> + <p> + “DOCTOR DIOLESIUS LARNER!” says I. + </p> + <p> + “DOCTOR ATHANASIUS LARDNER!” says Greville Fitz-Roy, our secknd footman, + on the fust landing-place. + </p> + <p> + “DOCTOR IGNATIUS LOYOLA!” says the groom of the chambers, who pretends to + be a scholar; and in the little genlmn went. When safely housed, the other + chap came; and when I asked him his name, said, in a thick, gobbling kind + of voice: + </p> + <p> + “Sawedwadgeorgeearllittnbulwig.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir what?” says I, quite agast at the name. + </p> + <p> + “Sawedwad—no, I mean MISTAWedwad Lyttn Bulwig.” + </p> + <p> + My neas trembled under me, my i's fild with tiers, my voice shook, as I + past up the venrabble name to the other footman, and saw this fust of + English writers go up to the drawing-room! + </p> + <p> + It's needless to mention the names of the rest of the compny, or to + dixcribe the suckmstansies of the dinner. Suffiz to say that the two + littery genlmn behaved very well, and seamed to have good appytights; + igspecially the little Irishman in the whig, who et, drunk, and talked as + much as a duzn. He told how he'd been presented at cort by his friend, Mr. + Bulwig, and how the Quean had received 'em both, with a dignity + undigscribable; and how her blessid Majisty asked what was the bony fidy + sale of the Cabinit Cyclopaedy, and how be (Doctor Larner) told her that, + on his honner, it was under ten thowsnd. + </p> + <p> + You may guess that the Doctor, when he made this speach, was pretty far + gone. The fact is, that whether it was the coronation, or the goodness of + the wine (cappitle it is in our house, I can tell you), or the natral + propensaties of the gests assembled, which made them so igspecially jolly, + I don't know; but they had kep up the meating pretty late, and our poar + butler was quite tired with the perpechual baskits of clarrit which he'd + been called upon to bring up. So that about 11 o'clock, if I were to say + they were merry, I should use a mild term; if I wer to say they were + intawsicated, I should use a nigspresshn more near to the truth, but less + rispeckful in one of my situashn. + </p> + <p> + The cumpany reseaved this annountsmint with mute extonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, Doctor Larnder,” says a spiteful genlmn, willing to keep up the + littery conversation, “what is the Cabinet Cyclopaedia?” + </p> + <p> + “It's the littherary wontherr of the wurrld,” says he; “and sure your + lordship must have seen it; the latther numbers ispicially—cheap as + durrt, bound in gleezed calico, six shillings a vollum. The illusthrious + neems of Walther Scott, Thomas Moore, Docther Southey, Sir James + Mackintosh, Docther Donovan, and meself, are to be found in the list of + conthributors. It's the Phaynix of Cyclopajies—a litherary Bacon.” + </p> + <p> + “A what?” says the genlmn nex to him. + </p> + <p> + “A Bacon, shining in the darkness of our age; fild wid the pure end + lambent flame of science, burning with the gorrgeous scintillations of + divine litherature—a monumintum, in fact, are perinnius, bound in + pink calico, six shillings a vollum.” + </p> + <p> + “This wigmawole,” said Mr. Bulwig (who seemed rather disgusted that his + friend should take up so much of the convassation), “this wigmawole is all + vewy well; but it's cuwious that you don't wemember, in chawactewising the + litewawy mewits of the vawious magazines, cwonicles, weviews, and + encyclopaedias, the existence of a cwitical weview and litewary chwonicle, + which, though the aewa of its appeawance is dated only at a vewy few + months pwevious to the pwesent pewiod, is, nevertheless, so wemarkable for + its intwinsic mewits as to be wead, not in the metwopolis alone, but in + the countwy—not in Fwance merely, but in the west of Euwope—whewever + our pure Wenglish is spoken, it stwetches its peaceful sceptre—pewused + in Amewica, fwom New York to Ningawa—wepwinted in Canada, from + Montweal to Towonto—and, as I am gwatified to hear fwom my fwend the + governor of Cape Coast Castle, wegularly weceived in Afwica, and + twanslated into the Mandingo language by the missionawies and the + bushwangers. I need not say, gentlemen—sir—that is, Mr. + Speaker—I mean, Sir John—that I allude to the Litewary + Chwonicle, of which I have the honor to be pwincipal contwibutor.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true; my dear Mr. Bullwig,” says my master: “you and I being Whigs, + must of course stand by our own friends; and I will agree, without a + moment's hesitation, that the Literary what-d'ye-call'em is the prince of + periodicals.” + </p> + <p> + “The pwince of pewiodicals?” says Bullwig; “my dear Sir John, it's the + empewow of the pwess.” + </p> + <p> + “Soit,—let it be the emperor of the press, as you poetically call + it: but, between ourselves, confess it,—Do not the Tory writers beat + your Whigs hollow? You talk about magazines. Look at—” + </p> + <p> + “Look at hwat?” shouts out Larder. “There's none, Sir Jan, compared to + ourrs.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I think that—” + </p> + <p> + “It is 'Bentley's Mislany' you mane?” says Ignatius, as sharp as a niddle. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no; but—” + </p> + <p> + “O thin, it's Co'burn, sure! and that divvle Thayodor—a pretty + paper, sir, but light—thrashy, milk-and-wathery—not sthrong, + like the Litherary Chran—good luck to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Doctor Lander, I was going to tell at once the name of the + periodical, it's FRASER'S MAGAZINE.” + </p> + <p> + “FRESER!” says the Doctor. “O thunder and turf!” + </p> + <p> + “FWASER!” says Bullwig. “O—ah—hum—haw—yes—no—why,—that + is weally—no, weally, upon my weputation, I never before heard the + name of the pewiodical. By the by, Sir John, what wemarkable good clawet + this is; is it Lawose or Laff—?” + </p> + <p> + Laff, indeed! he cooden git beyond laff; and I'm blest if I could kip it + neither,—for hearing him pretend ignurnts, and being behind the + skreend, settlin somethink for the genlmn, I bust into such a raw of + laffing as never was igseeded. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” says Bullwig, turning red. “Have I said anything impwobable, aw + widiculous? for, weally, I never befaw wecollect to have heard in society + such a twemendous peal of cachinnation—that which the twagic bard + who fought at Mawathon has called an anewithmon gelasma.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, be the holy piper,” says Larder, “I think you are dthrawing a little + on your imagination. Not read Fraser! Don't believe him, my lord duke; he + reads every word of it, the rogue! The boys about that magazine baste him + as if he was a sack of oatmale. My reason for crying out, Sir Jan, was + because you mintioned Fraser at all. Bullwig has every syllable of it be + heart—from the pailitix down to the 'Yellowplush Correspondence.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!” says Bullwig, affecting to laff (you may be sure my ears prickt + up when I heard the name of the “Yellowplush Correspondence”). “Ha, ha! + why, to tell truth, I HAVE wead the cowespondence to which you allude: + it's a gweat favowite at court. I was talking with Spwing Wice and John + Wussell about it the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what do you think of it?” says Sir John, looking mity waggish—for + he knew it was me who roat it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, weally and twuly, there's considewable cleverness about the + cweature; but it's low, disgustingly low: it violates pwabability, and the + orthogwaphy is so carefully inaccuwate, that it requires a positive study + to compwehend it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, faith,” says Larner; “the arthagraphy is detestible; it's as bad for + a man to write bad spillin as it is for 'em to speak wid a brrogue. + Iducation furst, and ganius afterwards. Your health, my lord, and good + luck to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yaw wemark,” says Bullwig, “is vewy appwopwiate. You will wecollect, Sir + John, in Hewodotus (as for you, Doctor, you know more about Iwish than + about Gweek),—you will wecollect, without doubt, a stowy nawwated by + that cwedulous though fascinating chwonicler, of a certain kind of sheep + which is known only in a certain distwict of Awabia, and of which the tail + is so enormous, that it either dwaggles on the gwound, or is bound up by + the shepherds of the country into a small wheelbawwow, or cart, which + makes the chwonicler sneewingly wemark that thus 'the sheep of Awabia have + their own chawiots.' I have often thought, sir (this clawet is weally + nectaweous)—I have often, I say, thought that the wace of man may be + compawed to these Awabian sheep—genius is our tail, education our + wheelbawwow. Without art and education to pwop it, this genius dwops on + the gwound, and is polluted by the mud, or injured by the wocks upon the + way: with the wheelbawwow it is stwengthened, incweased, and supported—a + pwide to the owner, a blessing to mankind.” + </p> + <p> + “A very appropriate simile,” says Sir John; “and I am afraid that the + genius of our friend Yellowplush has need of some such support.” + </p> + <p> + “Apropos,” said Bullwig, “who IS Yellowplush? I was given to understand + that the name was only a fictitious one, and that the papers were written + by the author of the 'Diary of a Physician;' if so, the man has + wonderfully improved in style, and there is some hope of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” says the Duke of Doublejowl; “everybody knows it's Barnard, the + celebrated author of 'Sam Slick.'” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, my dear duke,” says Lord Bagwig; “it's the authoress of 'High + Life,' 'Almack's,' and other fashionable novels.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlestick's end!” says Doctor Larner; “don't be blushing and pretinding + to ask questions; don't we know you, Bullwig? It's you yourself, you thief + of the world: we smoked you from the very beginning.” + </p> + <p> + Bullwig was about indignantly to reply, when Sir John interrupted them, + and said,—“I must correct you all, gentlemen; Mr. Yellowplush is no + other than Mr. Yellowplush: he gave you, my dear Bullwig, your last glass + of champagne at dinner, and is now an inmate of my house, and an ornament + of my kitchen!” + </p> + <p> + “Gad!” says Doublejowl, “let's have him up.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear, hear!” says Bagwig. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now,” says Larner, “your grace is not going to call up and talk to a + footman, sure? Is it gintale?” + </p> + <p> + “To say the least of it,” says Bullwig, “the pwactice is iwwegular, and + indecowous; and I weally don't see how the interview can be in any way + pwofitable.” + </p> + <p> + But the vices of the company went against the two littery men, and + everybody excep them was for having up poor me. The bell was wrung; butler + came. “Send up Charles,” says master; and Charles, who was standing behind + the skreand, was persnly abliged to come in. + </p> + <p> + “Charles,” says master, “I have been telling these gentlemen who is the + author of the 'Yellowplush Correspondence' in Fraser's Magazine.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the best magazine in Europe,” says the duke. + </p> + <p> + “And no mistake,” says my lord. + </p> + <p> + “Hwhat!” says Larner; “and where's the Litherary Chran?” + </p> + <p> + I said myself nothink, but made a bough, and blusht like pickle-cabbitch. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Yellowplush,” says his grace, “will you, in the first place, drink a + glass of wine?” + </p> + <p> + I boughed agin. + </p> + <p> + “And what wine do you prefer, sir? humble port or imperial burgundy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, your grace,” says I, “I know my place, and ain't above kitchin + wines. I will take a glass of port, and drink it to the health of this + honrabble compny.” + </p> + <p> + When I'd swigged off the bumper, which his grace himself did me the honor + to pour out for me, there was a silints for a minnit; when my master said:— + </p> + <p> + “Charles Yellowplush, I have perused your memoirs in Fraser's Magazine + with so much curiosity, and have so high an opinion of your talents as a + writer, that I really cannot keep you as a footman any longer, or allow + you to discharge duties for which you are now quite unfit. With all my + admiration for your talents, Mr. Yellowplush, I still am confident that + many of your friends in the servants'-hall will clean my boots a great + deal better than a gentleman of your genius can ever be expected to do—it + is for this purpose I employ footmen, and not that they may be writing + articles in magazines. But—you need not look so red, my good fellow, + and had better take another glass of port—I don't wish to throw you + upon the wide world without the means of a livelihood, and have made + interest for a little place which you will have under government, and + which will give you an income of eighty pounds per annum; which you can + double, I presume, by your literary labors.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” says I, clasping my hands, and busting into tears, “do not—for + heaven's sake, do not!—think of any such think, or drive me from + your suvvice, because I have been fool enough to write in magaseens. Glans + but one moment at your honor's plate—every spoon is as bright as a + mirror; condysend to igsamine your shoes—your honor may see + reflected in them the fases of every one in the company. I blacked them + shoes, I cleaned that there plate. If occasionally I've forgot the footman + in the litterary man, and committed to paper my remindicences of + fashnabble life, it was from a sincere desire to do good, and promote + nollitch: and I appeal to your honor,—I lay my hand on my busm, and + in the fase of this noble company beg you to say, When you rung your bell, + who came to you fust? When you stopt out at Brooke's till morning, who sat + up for you? When you was ill, who forgot the natral dignities of his + station, and answered the two-pair bell? Oh, sir,” says I, “I know what's + what; don't send me away. I know them littery chaps, and, beleave me, I'd + rather be a footman. The work's not so hard—the pay is better: the + vittels incompyrably supearor. I have but to clean my things, and run my + errints, and you put clothes on my back, and meat in my mouth. Sir! Mr. + Bullwig! an't I right? shall I quit MY station and sink—that is to + say, rise—to YOURS?” + </p> + <p> + Bullwig was violently affected; a tear stood in his glistening i. + “Yellowplush,” says he, seizing my hand, “you ARE right. Quit not your + present occupation; black boots, clean knives, wear plush, all your life, + but don't turn literary man. Look at me. I am the first novelist in + Europe. I have ranged with eagle wing over the wide regions of literature, + and perched on every eminence in its turn. I have gazed with eagle eyes on + the sun of philosophy, and fathomed the mysterious depths of the human + mind. All languages are familiar to me, all thoughts are known to me, all + men understood by me. I have gathered wisdom from the honeyed lips of + Plato, as we wandered in the gardens of Acadames—wisdom, too, from + the mouth of Job Johnson, as we smoked our 'backy in Seven Dials. Such + must be the studies, and such is the mission, in this world, of the + Poet-Philosopher. But the knowledge is only emptiness; the initiation is + but misery; the initiated, a man shunned and bann'd by his fellows. Oh,” + said Bullwig, clasping his hands, and throwing his fine i's up to the + chandelier, “the curse of Pwometheus descends upon his wace. Wath and + punishment pursue them from genewation to genewation! Wo to genius, the + heaven-scaler, the fire-stealer! Wo and thrice bitter desolation! Earth is + the wock on which Zeus, wemorseless, stwetches his withing victim—men, + the vultures that feed and fatten on him. Ai, ai! it is agony eternal—gwoaning + and solitawy despair! And you, Yellowplush, would penetwate these + mystewies: you would waise the awful veil, and stand in the twemendous + Pwesence. Beware; as you value your peace, beware! Withdwaw, wash + Neophyte! For heaven's sake—O for heaven's sake!”—here he + looked round with agony—“give me a glass of bwandy-and-water, for + this clawet is beginning to disagwee with me.” + </p> + <p> + Bullwig having concluded this spitch, very much to his own sattasfackshn, + looked round to the compny for aplaws, and then swigged off the glass of + brandy-and-water, giving a sollum sigh as he took the last gulph; and then + Doctor Ignatius, who longed for a chans, and, in order to show his + independence, began flatly contradicting his friend, addressed me, and the + rest of the genlmn present, in the following manner:— + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye,” says he, “my gossoon, doan't be led asthray by the nonsinse of + that divil of a Bullwig. He's jillous of ye, my bhoy: that's the rale, + undoubted thruth; and it's only to keep you out of litherary life that + he's palavering you in this way. I'll tell you what—Plush ye + blackguard,—my honorable frind the mimber there has told me a hunder + times by the smallest computation, of his intense admiration of your + talents, and the wonderful sthir they were making in the world. He can't + bear a rival. He's mad with envy, hatred, oncharatableness. Look at him, + Plush, and look at me. My father was not a juke exactly, nor aven a + markis, and see, nevertheliss, to what a pitch I am come. I spare no + ixpinse; I'm the iditor of a cople of pariodicals; I dthrive about in me + carridge: I dine wid the lords of the land; and why—in the name of + the piper that pleed before Mosus, hwy? Because I'm a litherary man. + Because I know how to play me cards. Because I'm Docther Larner, in fact, + and mimber of every society in and out of Europe. I might have remained + all my life in Thrinity Colledge, and never made such an incom as that + offered you by Sir Jan; but I came to London—to London, my boy, and + now see! Look again at me friend Bullwig. He IS a gentleman, to be sure, + and bad luck to 'im, say I; and what has been the result of his litherary + labor? I'll tell you what; and I'll tell this gintale society, by the + shade of Saint Patrick, they're going to make him a BARINET.” + </p> + <p> + “A BARNET, Doctor!” says I; “you don't mean to say they're going to make + him a barnet!” + </p> + <p> + “As sure as I've made meself a docthor,” says Larner. + </p> + <p> + “What, a baronet, like Sir John?” + </p> + <p> + “The divle a bit else.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray what for?” + </p> + <p> + “What faw?” says Bullwig. “Ask the histowy of litwatuwe what faw? Ask + Colburn, ask Bentley, ask Saunders and Otley, ask the gweat Bwitish + nation, what faw? The blood in my veins comes puwified thwough ten + thousand years of chivalwous ancestwy; but that is neither here nor there: + my political principles—the equal wights which I have advocated—the + gweat cause of fweedom that I have celebwated, are known to all. But this, + I confess, has nothing to do with the question. No, the question is this—on + the thwone of litewature I stand unwivalled, pwe-eminent; and the Bwitish + government, honowing genius in me, compliments the Bwitish nation by + lifting into the bosom of the heweditawy nobility, the most gifted member + of the democwacy.” (The honrabble genlm here sunk down amidst repeated + cheers.) + </p> + <p> + “Sir John,” says I, “and my lord duke, the words of my rivrint frend + Ignatius, and the remarks of the honrabble genlmn who has just sate down, + have made me change the detummination which I had the honor of igspressing + just now. + </p> + <p> + “I igsept the eighty pound a year; knowing that I shall ave plenty of time + for pursuing my littery career, and hoping some day to set on that same + bentch of barranites, which is deckarated by the presnts of my honrabble + friend. + </p> + <p> + “Why shooden I? It's trew I ain't done anythink as YET to deserve such an + honor; and it's very probable that I never shall. But what then?—quaw + dong, as our friends say? I'd much rayther have a coat-of-arms than a coat + of livry. I'd much rayther have my blud-red hand spralink in the middle of + a shield, than underneath a tea-tray. A barranit I will be; and, in + consiquints, must cease to be a footmin. + </p> + <p> + “As to my politticle princepills, these, I confess, ain't settled: they + are, I know, necessary; but they ain't necessary UNTIL ASKT FOR; besides, + I reglar read the Sattarist newspaper, and so ignirince on this pint would + be inigscusable. + </p> + <p> + “But if one man can git to be a doctor, and another a barranit, and + another a capting in the navy, and another a countess, and another the + wife of a governor of the Cape of Good Hope, I begin to perseave that the + littery trade ain't such a very bad un; igspecially if you're up to + snough, and know what's o'clock. I'll learn to make myself usefle, in the + fust place; then I'll larn to spell; and, I trust, by reading the novvles + of the honrabble member, and the scientafick treatiseses of the reverend + doctor, I may find the secrit of suxess, and git a litell for my own + share. I've sevral frends in the press, having paid for many of those + chaps' drink, and given them other treets; and so I think I've got all the + emilents of suxess; therefore, I am detummined, as I said, to igsept your + kind offer, and beg to withdraw the wuds which I made yous of when I + refyoused your hoxpatable offer. I must, however—” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd withdraw yourself,” said Sir John, bursting into a most + igstrorinary rage, “and not interrupt the company with your infernal talk! + Go down, and get us coffee: and, hark ye! hold your impertinent tongue, or + I'll break every bone in your body. You shall have the place as I said; + and while you're in my service, you shall be my servant; but you don't + stay in my service after to-morrow. Go down stairs, sir; and don't stand + staring here!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + In this abrupt way, my evening ended; it's with a melancholy regret that I + think what came of it. I don't wear plush any more. I am an altered, a + wiser, and, I trust, a better man. + </p> + <p> + I'm about a novvle (having made great progriss in spelling), in the style + of my friend Bullwig; and preparing for publigation, in the Doctor's + Cyclopedear, “The Lives of Eminent British and Foring Wosherwomen.” + </p> + <p> + SKIMMINGS FROM “THE DAIRY OF GEORGE IV.” CHARLES YELLOWPLUSH, ESQ, TO + OLIVER YORKE, ESQ.* + </p> + <p> + DEAR WHY,—Takin advantage of the Crismiss holydays, Sir John and me + (who is a member of parlyment) had gone down to our place in Yorkshire for + six wicks, to shoot grows and woodcox, and enjoy old English hospitalaty. + This ugly Canady bisniss unluckaly put an end to our sports in the + country, and brot us up to Buckly Square as fast as four posterses could + gallip. When there, I found your parcel, containing the two vollumes of a + new book; which, as I have been away from the literary world, and emplied + solely in athlatic exorcises, have been laying neglected in my pantry, + among my knife-cloaths, and dekanters, and blacking-bottles, and bed-room + candles, and things. + </p> + <p> + * These Memoirs were originally published in Fraser's Magazine, and it may + be stated for the benefit of the unlearned in such matters, that “Oliver + Yorke” is the assumed name of the editor of that periodical. + </p> + <p> + This will, I'm sure, account for my delay in notussing the work. I see + sefral of the papers and magazeens have been befoarhand with me, and have + given their apinions concerning it: specially the Quotly Revew, which has + most mussilessly cut to peases the author of this Dairy of the Times of + George IV.* + </p> + <p> + * Diary illustrative of the Times of George the Fourth, interspersed with + Original Letters from the late Queen Caroline, and from various other + distinguished Persons. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Tot ou tard, tout se scait.”—MAINTENON. +</pre> + <p> + In 2 vols. London, 1838. Henry Colburn. + </p> + <p> + That it's a woman who wrote it is evydent from the style of the writing, + as well as from certain proofs in the book itself. Most suttnly a femail + wrote this Dairy; but who this Dairy-maid may be, I, in coarse, can't + conjecter: and indeed, common galliantry forbids me to ask. I can only + judge of the book itself; which, it appears to me, is clearly trenching + upon my ground and favrite subjicks, viz. fashnabble life, as igsibited in + the houses of the nobility, gentry, and rile fammly. + </p> + <p> + But I bare no mallis—infamation is infamation, and it doesn't matter + where the infamy comes from; and whether the Dairy be from that + distinguished pen to which it is ornarily attributed—whether, I say, + it comes from a lady of honor to the late quean, or a scullion to that + diffunct majisty, no matter: all we ask is nollidge; never mind how we + have it. Nollidge, as our cook says, is like trikel-possit—it's + always good, though you was to drink it out of an old shoo. + </p> + <p> + Well, then, although this Dairy is likely searusly to injur my pussonal + intrests, by fourstalling a deal of what I had to say in my private + memoars—though many, many guineas, is taken from my pockit, by + cuttin short the tail of my narratif—though much that I had to say + in souperior languidge, greased with all the ellygance of my orytory, the + benefick of my classcle reading, the chawms of my agreble wit, is thus + abruply brot befor the world by an inferior genus, neither knowing nor + writing English; yet I say, that nevertheless I must say, what I am + puffickly prepaired to say, to gainsay which no man can say a word—yet + I say, that I say I consider this publication welkom. Far from viewing it + with enfy, I greet it with applaws; because it increases that most exlent + specious of nollidge, I mean “FASHNABBLE NOLLIDGE:” compayred to witch all + other nollidge is nonsince—a bag of goold to a pare of snuffers. + </p> + <p> + Could Lord Broom, on the Canady question, say moar? or say what he had tu + say better? We are marters, both of us, to prinsple; and every body who + knows eather knows that we would sacrafice anythink rather than that. + Fashion is the goddiss I adoar. This delightful work is an offring on her + srine; and as sich all her wushippers are bound to hail it. Here is not a + question of trumpry lords and honrabbles, generals and barronites, but the + crown itself, and the king and queen's actions; witch may be considered as + the crown jewels. Here's princes, and grand-dukes and airsparent, and + heaven knows what; all with blood-royal in their veins, and their names + mentioned in the very fust page of the peeridge. In this book you become + so intmate with the Prince of Wales, that you may follow him, if you + please, to his marridge-bed: or, if you prefer the Princiss Charlotte, you + may have with her an hour's tator-tator.* + </p> + <p> + * Our estimable correspondent means, we presume, tete-a-tete.—O. Y. + </p> + <p> + Now, though most of the remarkable extrax from this book have been given + already (the cream of the Dairy, as I wittily say,) I shall trouble you, + nevertheless, with a few; partly because they can't be repeated too often, + and because the toan of obsyvation with which they have been genrally + received by the press, is not igsackly such as I think they merit. How, + indeed, can these common magaseen and newspaper pipple know anythink of + fashnabble life, let alone ryal? + </p> + <p> + Conseaving, then, that the publication of the Dairy has done reel good on + this scoar, and may probly do a deal moor, I shall look through it, for + the porpus of selecting the most ellygant passidges, and which I think may + be peculiarly adapted to the reader's benefick. + </p> + <p> + For you see, my dear Mr. Yorke, that in the fust place, that this is no + common catchpny book, like that of most authors and authoresses, who write + for the base looker of gain. Heaven bless you! the Dairy-maid is above + anything musnary. She is a woman of rank, and no mistake; and is as much + above doin a common or vulgar action as I am superaor to taking beer after + dinner with my cheese. She proves that most satisfackarily, as we see in + the following passidge:— + </p> + <p> + “Her royal highness came to me, and having spoken a few phrases on + different subjects, produced all the papers she wishes to have published: + her whole correspondence with the prince relative to Lady J—-'s + dismissal; his subsequent neglect of the princess; and, finally, the + acquittal of her supposed guilt, signed by the Duke of Portland, &c., + at the time of the secret inquiry: when, if proof could have been brought + against her, it certainly would have been done; and which acquittal, to + the disgrace of all parties concerned, as well as to the justice of the + nation in general, was not made public at the time. A common criminal is + publicly condemned or acquitted. Her royal highness commanded me to have + these letters published forthwith, saying, 'You may sell them for a great + sum.' At first (for she had spoken to me before concerning this business), + I thought of availing myself of the opportunity; but upon second thoughts, + I turned from this idea with detestation: for, if I do wrong by obeying + her wishes and endeavoring to serve her, I will do so at least from good + and disinterested motives, not from any sordid views. The princess + commands me, and I will obey her, whatever may be the issue; but not for + fare or fee. I own I tremble, not so much for myself, as for the idea that + she is not taking the best and most dignified way of having these papers + published. Why make a secret of it at all? If wrong, it should not be + done; if right it should be done openly, and in the face of her enemies. + In her royal highness's case, as in that of wronged princes in general, + why do they shrink from straightforward dealings, and rather have recourse + to crooked policy? I wish, in this particular instance, I could make her + royal highness feel thus: but she is naturally indignant at being falsely + accused, and will not condescend to an avowed explanation.” + </p> + <p> + Can anythink be more just and honrabble than this? The Dairy-lady is quite + fair and abovebored. A clear stage, says she, and no favior! “I won't do + behind my back what I am ashamed of before my face: not I!” No more she + does; for you see that, though she was offered this manyscrip by the + princess FOR NOTHINK, though she knew that she could actially get for it a + large sum of money, she was above it, like an honest, noble, grateful, + fashnabble woman, as she was. She aboars secrecy, and never will have + recors to disguise or crookid polacy. This ought to be an ansure to them + RADICLE SNEERERS, who pretend that they are the equals of fashnabble + pepple; wheras it's a well-known fact, that the vulgar roagues have no + notion of honor. + </p> + <p> + And after this positif declaration, which reflex honor on her ladyship + (long life to her! I've often waited behind her chair!)—after this + positif declaration, that, even for the porpus of DEFENDING her missis, + she was so hi-minded as to refuse anythink like a peculiarly + consideration, it is actially asserted in the public prints by a + booxeller, that he has given her A THOUSAND POUND for the Dairy. A + thousand pound! nonsince!—it's a phigment! a base lible! This woman + take a thousand pound, in a matter where her dear mistriss, friend, and + benyfactriss was concerned! Never! A thousand baggonits would be more + prefrabble to a woman of her xqizzit feelins and fashion. + </p> + <p> + But to proseed. It's been objected to me, when I wrote some of my + expearunces in fashnabble life, that my languidge was occasionally vulgar, + and not such as is genrally used in those exqizzit famlies which I + frequent. Now, I'll lay a wager that there is in this book, wrote as all + the world knows, by a rele lady, and speakin of kings and queens as if + they were as common as sand-boys—there is in this book more + wulgarity than ever I displayed, more nastiness than ever I would dare TO + THINK ON, and more bad grammar than ever I wrote since I was a boy at + school. As for authografy, evry genlmn has his own: never mind spellin, I + say, so long as the sence is right. + </p> + <p> + Let me here quot a letter from a corryspondent of this charming lady of + honor; and a very nice corryspondent he is, too, without any mistake: + </p> + <p> + “Lady O—-, poor Lady O—-! knows the rules of prudence, I fear + me, as imperfectly as she doth those of the Greek and Latin Grammars: or + she hath let her brother, who is a sad swine, become master of her + secrets, and then contrived to quarrel with him. You would see the outline + of the melange in the newspapers; but not the report that Mr. S—- is + about to publish a pamphlet, as an addition to the Harleian Tracts, + setting forth the amatory adventures of his sister. We shall break our + necks in haste to buy it, of course crying 'Shameful' all the while; and + it is said that Lady O—- is to be cut, which I cannot entirely + believe. Let her tell two or three old women about town that they are + young and handsome, and give some well-timed parties, and she may still + keep the society which she hath been used to. The times are not so hard as + they once were, when a woman could not construe Magna Charta with anything + like impunity. People were full as gallant many years ago. But the days + are gone by wherein my lord-protector of the commonwealth of England was + wont to go a lovemaking to Mrs. Fleetwood, with the Bible under his arm. + </p> + <p> + “And so Miss Jacky Gordon is really clothed with a husband at last, and + Miss Laura Manners left without a mate! She and Lord Stair should marry + and have children in mere revenge. As to Miss Gordon, she's a Venus well + suited for such a Vulcan,—whom nothing but money and a title could + have rendered tolerable, even to a kitchen wench. It is said that the + matrimonial correspondence between this couple is to be published, full of + sad scandalous relations, of which you may be sure scarcely a word is + true. In former times, the Duchess of St. A—-s made use of these + elegant epistles in order to intimidate Lady Johnstone: but that ruse + would not avail; so in spite, they are to be printed. What a cargo of + amiable creatures! Yet will some people scarcely believe in the existence + of Pandemonium. + </p> + <p> + “Tuesday Morning.—You are perfectly right respecting the hot rooms + here, which we all cry out against, and all find very comfortable—much + more so than the cold sands and bleak neighborhood of the sea; which looks + vastly well in one of Vander Velde's pictures hung upon crimson damask, + but hideous and shocking in reality. H—- and his 'elle' (talking of + parties) were last night at Cholmondeley House, but seem not to ripen in + their love. He is certainly good-humored, and I believe, good-hearted, so + deserves a good wife; but his cara seems a genuine London miss made up of + many affectations. Will she form a comfortable helpmate? For me, I like + not her origin, and deem many strange things to run in blood, besides + madness and the Hanoverian evil. + </p> + <p> + “Thursday.—I verily do believe that I shall never get to the end of + this small sheet of paper, so many unheard of interruptions have I had; + and now I have been to Vauxhall, and caught the toothache. I was of Lady + E. B—-m and H—-'s party: very dull—the Lady giving us + all a supper after our promenade— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Much ado was there, God wot + She would love, but he would not.' +</pre> + <p> + He ate a great deal of ice, although he did not seem to require it: and + she 'faisoit les yeux doux' enough not only to have melted all the ice + which he swallowed, but his own hard heart into the bargain. The thing + will not do. In the meantime, Miss Long hath become quite cruel to + Wellesley Pole, and divides her favor equally between Lords Killeen and + Kilworth, two as simple Irishmen as ever gave birth to a bull. I wish to + Hymen that she were fairly married, for all this pother gives one a + disgusting picture of human nature.” + </p> + <p> + A disgusting pictur of human nature, indeed—and isn't he who + moralizes about it, and she to whom he writes, a couple of pretty heads in + the same piece? Which, Mr. Yorke, is the wust, the scandle or the + scandle-mongers? See what it is to be a moral man of fashn. Fust, he + scrapes togither all the bad stoaries about all the people of his + acquentance—he goes to a ball, and laffs or snears at everybody + there—he is asked to a dinner, and brings away, along with meat and + wine to his heart's content, a sour stomick filled with nasty stories of + all the people present there. He has such a squeamish appytite, that all + the world seems to DISAGREE with him. And what has he got to say to his + delicate female frend? Why that— + </p> + <p> + Fust. Mr. S. is going to publish indescent stoaries about Lady O—-, + his sister, which everybody's goin to by. + </p> + <p> + Nex. That Miss Gordon is going to be cloathed with an usband; and that all + their matrimonial corryspondins is to be published too. + </p> + <p> + 3. That Lord H. is going to be married; but there's some thing rong in his + wife's blood. + </p> + <p> + 4. Miss Long has cut Mr. Wellesley, and is gone after two Irish lords. + </p> + <p> + Wooden you phancy, now, that the author of such a letter, instead of + writin about pipple of tip-top qualaty, was describin Vinegar Yard? Would + you beleave that the lady he was a-ritin to was a chased, modist lady of + honor, and mother of a famly? O trumpery! O morris! as Homer says: this is + a higeous pictur of manners, such as I weap to think of, as evry morl man + must weap. + </p> + <p> + The above is one pritty pictur of mearly fashnabble life: what follows is + about families even higher situated than the most fashnabble. Here we have + the princessregient, her daughter the Princess Sharlot, her grandmamma the + old quean, and her madjisty's daughters the two princesses. If this is not + high life, I don't know where it is to be found; and it's pleasing to see + what affeckshn and harmny rains in such an exolted spear. + </p> + <p> + “Sunday 24th.—Yesterday, the princess went to meet the Princess + Charlotte at Kensington. Lady —— told me that, when the latter + arrived, she rushed up to her mother, and said, 'For God's sake, be civil + to her,' meaning the Duchess of Leeds, who followed her. Lady —— + said she felt sorry for the latter; but when the Princess of Wales talked + to her, she soon became so free and easy, that one could not have any + FEELING about her FEELINGS. Princess Charlotte, I was told, was looking + handsome, very pale, but her head more becomingly dressed,—that is + to say, less dressed than usual. Her figure is of that full round shape + which is now in its prime; but she disfigures herself by wearing her + bodice so short, that she literally has no waist. Her feet are very + pretty; and so are her hands and arms, and her ears, and the shape of her + head. Her countenance is expressive, when she allows her passions to play + upon it; and I never saw any face, with so little shade, express so many + powerful and varied emotions. Lady —— told me that the + Princess Charlotte talked to her about her situation, and said, in a very + quiet, but determined way, she WOULD NOT BEAR IT, and that as soon as + parliament met, she intended to come to Warwick House, and remain there; + that she was also determined not to consider the Duchess of Leeds as her + GOVERNESS but only as her FIRST LADY. She made many observations on other + persons and subjects; and appears to be very quick, very penetrating, but + imperious and wilful. There is a tone of romance, too, in her character, + which will only serve to mislead her. + </p> + <p> + “She told her mother that there had been a great battle at Windsor between + the queen and the prince, the former refusing to give up Miss Knight from + her own person to attend on Princess Charlotte as sub-governess. But the + prince-regent had gone to Windsor himself, and insisted on her doing so; + and the 'old Beguin' was forced to submit, but has been ill ever since: + and Sir Henry Halford declared it was a complete breaking up of her + constitution—to the great delight of the two princesses, who were + talking about this affair. Miss Knight was the very person they wished to + have; they think they can do as they like with her. It has been ordered + that the Princess Charlotte should not see her mother alone for a single + moment; but the latter went into her room, stuffed a pair of large shoes + full of papers, and having given them to her daughter, she went home. Lady + —— told me everything was written down and sent to Mr. + Brougham NEXT DAY.” + </p> + <p> + See what discord will creap even into the best regulated famlies. Here are + six of 'em—viz., the quean and her two daughters, her son, and his + wife and daughter; and the manner in which they hate one another is a + compleat puzzle. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {his mother. + The Prince hates... {his wife. + {his daughter. + + Princess Charlotte hates her father. + + Princess of Wales hates her husband. +</pre> + <p> + The old quean, by their squobbles, is on the pint of death; and her two + jewtiful daughters are delighted at the news. What a happy, fashnabble, + Christian famly! O Mr. Yorke, Mr. Yorke, if this is the way in the + drawin-rooms, I'm quite content to live below, in pease and charaty with + all men; writin, as I am now, in my pantry, or els havin a quiet game at + cards in the servants-all. With US there's no bitter, wicked, quarling of + this sort. WE don't hate our children, or bully our mothers, or wish 'em + ded when they're sick, as this Dairywoman says kings and queens do. When + we're writing to our friends or sweethearts, WE don't fill our letters + with nasty stoaries, takin away the carricter of our fellow-servants, as + this maid of honor's amusin' moral frend does. But, in coarse, it's not + for us to judge of our betters;—these great people are a supeerur + race, and we can't comprehend their ways. + </p> + <p> + Do you recklect—it's twenty years ago now—how a bewtiffle + princess died in givin buth to a poar baby, and how the whole nation of + Hengland wep, as though it was one man, over that sweet woman and child, + in which were sentered the hopes of every one of us, and of which each was + as proud as of his own wife or infnt? Do you recklect how pore fellows + spent their last shillin to buy a black crape for their hats, and + clergymen cried in the pulpit, and the whole country through was no better + than a great dismal funeral? Do you recklet, Mr. Yorke, who was the person + that we all took on so about? We called her the Princis Sharlot of Wales; + and we valyoud a single drop of her blood more than the whole heartless + body of her father. Well, we looked up to her as a kind of saint or angle, + and blest God (such foolish loyal English pipple as we ware in those days) + who had sent this sweet lady to rule over us. But heaven bless you! it was + only souperstition. She was no better than she should be, as it turns out—or + at least the Dairy-maid says so. No better?—if my daughters or yours + was 1/2 so bad, we'd as leaf be dead ourselves, and they hanged. But + listen to this pritty charritable story, and a truce to reflexshuns:— + </p> + <p> + “Sunday, January, 9, 1814.—Yesterday, according to appointment, I + went to Princess Charlotte. Found at Warwick House the harp-player, Dizzi; + was asked to remain and listen to his performance, but was talked to + during the whole time, which completely prevented all possibility of + listening to the music. The Duchess of Leeds and her daughter were in the + room, but left it soon. Next arrived Miss Knight, who remained all the + time I was there. Princess Charlotte was very gracious—showed me all + her bonny dyes, as B—-would have called them—pictures, and + cases, and jewels, &c. She talked in a very desultory way, and it + would be difficult to say of what. She observed her mother was in very low + spirits. I asked her how she supposed she could be otherwise? This + QUESTIONING answer saves a great deal of trouble, and serves two purposes—i.e. + avoids committing oneself, or giving offence by silence. There was hung in + the apartment one portrait, amongst others, that very much resembled the + Duke of D—-. I asked Miss Knight whom it represented. She said that + was not known; it had been supposed a likeness of the Pretender, when + young. This answer suited my thoughts so comically I could have laughed, + if one ever did at courts anything but the contrary of what one was + inclined to do. + </p> + <p> + “Princess Charlotte has a very great variety of expression in her + countenance—a play of features, and a force of muscle, rarely seen + in connection with such soft and shadeless coloring. Her hands and arms + are beautiful; but I think her figure is already gone, and will soon be + precisely like her mother's: in short it is the very picture of her, and + NOT IN MINIATURE. I could not help analyzing my own sensations during the + time I was with her, and thought more of them than I did of her. Why was I + at all flattered, at all more amused, at all more supple to this young + princess, than to her who is only the same sort of person set in the shade + of circumstances and of years? It is that youth, and the approach of + power, and the latent views of self-interest, sway the heart and dazzle + the understanding. If this is so with a heart not, I trust, corrupt, and a + head not particularly formed for interested calculations, what effect must + not the same causes produce on the generality of mankind? + </p> + <p> + “In the course of the conversation, the Princess Charlotte contrived to + edge in a good deal of tum-de-dy, and would, if I had entered into the + thing, have gone on with it, while looking at a little picture of herself, + which had about thirty or forty different dresses to put over it, done on + isinglass, and which allowed the general coloring of the picture to be + seen through its transparency. It was, I thought, a pretty enough conceit, + though rather like dressing up a doll. 'Ah!,' said Miss Knight, 'I am not + content though, madame—for I yet should have liked one more dress—that + of the favorite Sultana.' + </p> + <p> + “'No, no!' said the princess, 'I never was a favorite, and never can be + one,'—looking at a picture which she said was her father's, but + which I do not believe was done for the regent any more than for me, but + represented a young man in a hussar's dress—probably a former + favorite. + </p> + <p> + “The Princess Charlotte seemed much hurt at the little notice that was + taken of her birthday. After keeping me for two hours and a half she + dismissed me; and I am sure I could not say what she said, except that it + was an olio of decousus and heterogeneous things, partaking of the + characteristics of her mother, grafted on a younger scion. I dined + tete-a-tete with my dear old aunt: hers is always a sweet and soothing + society to me.” + </p> + <p> + There's a pleasing, lady-like, moral extract for you! An innocent young + thing of fifteen has picturs of TWO lovers in her room, and expex a good + number more. This dellygate young creature EDGES in a good deal of TUMDEDY + (I can't find it in Johnson's Dixonary), and would have GONE ON WITH THE + THING (ellygence of languidge), if the dairy-lady would have let her. + </p> + <p> + Now, to tell you the truth, Mr. Yorke, I doan't beleave a single syllible + of this story. This lady of honner says, in the fust place, that the + princess would have talked a good deal of TUMDEDY: which means, I suppose, + indeasnsy, if she, the lady of honner WOULD HAVE LET HER. This IS a good + one! Why, she lets every body else talk tumdedy to their hearts' content; + she lets her friends WRITE tumdedy, and, after keeping it for a quarter of + a sentry, she PRINTS it. Why then, be so squeamish about HEARING a little! + And, then, there's the stoary of the two portricks. This woman has the + honner to be received in the frendlyest manner by a British princess; and + what does the grateful loyal creature do? 2 picturs of the princess's + relations are hanging in her room, and the Dairy-woman swears away the + poor young princess's carrickter, by swearing they are picturs of her + LOVERS. For shame, oh, for shame! you slanderin backbitin dairy-woman you! + If you told all them things to your “dear old aunt,” on going to dine with + her, you must have had very “sweet and soothing society” indeed. + </p> + <p> + I had marked out many more extrax, which I intended to write about; but I + think I have said enough about this Dairy: in fack, the butler, and the + gals in the servants'-hall are not well pleased that I should go on + reading this naughty book; so we'll have no more of it, only one passidge + about Pollytics, witch is sertnly quite new:— + </p> + <p> + “No one was so likely to be able to defeat Bonaparte as the Crown Prince, + from the intimate knowledge he possessed of his character. Bernadotte was + also instigated against Bonaparte by one who not only owed him a personal + hatred, but who possessed a mind equal to his, and who gave the Crown + Prince both information and advice how to act. This was no less a person + than Madame de Stael. It was not, as some have asserted, THAT SHE WAS IN + LOVE WITH BERNADOTTE; for, at the time of their intimacy, MADAME DE STAEL + WAS IN LOVE WITH ROCCA. But she used her influence (which was not small) + with the Crown Prince, to make him fight against Bonaparte, and to her + wisdom may be attributed much of the success which accompanied his attack + upon him. Bernadotte has raised the flame of liberty, which seems + fortunately to blaze all around. May it liberate Europe; and from the + ashes of the laurel may olive branches spring up, and overshadow the + earth!” + </p> + <p> + There's a discuvery! that the overthrow of Boneypart is owing to MADAME DE + STAEL! What nonsince for Colonel Southey or Doctor Napier to write + histories of the war with that Capsican hupstart and murderer, when here + we have the whole affair explaned by the lady of honor! + </p> + <p> + “Sunday, April 10, 1814.—The incidents which take place every hour + are miraculous. Bonaparte is deposed, but alive; subdued, but allowed to + choose his place of residence. The island of Elba is the spot he has + selected for his ignominious retreat. France is holding forth repentant + arms to her banished sovereign. The Poissardes who dragged Louis XVI. to + the scaffold are presenting flowers to the Emperor of Russia, the restorer + of their legitimate king! What a stupendous field for philosophy to + expatiate in! What an endless material for thought! What humiliation to + the pride of mere human greatness! How are the mighty fallen! Of all that + was great in Napoleon, what remains? Despoiled of his usurped power, he + sinks to insignificance. There was no moral greatness in the man. The + meteor dazzled, scorched, is put out,—utterly, and for ever. But the + power which rests in those who have delivered the nations from bondage, is + a power that is delegated to them from heaven; and the manner in which + they have used it is a guarantee for its continuance. The Duke of + Wellington has gained laurels unstained by any useless flow of blood. He + has done more than conquer others—he has conquered himself: and in + the midst of the blaze and flush of victory, surrounded by the homage of + nations, he has not been betrayed into the commission of any act of + cruelty or wanton offence. He was as cool and self-possessed under the + blaze and dazzle of fame as a common man would be under the shade of his + garden-tree, or by the hearth of his home. But the tyrant who kept Europe + in awe is now a pitiable object for scorn to point the finger of derision + at: and humanity shudders as it remembers the scourge with which this + man's ambition was permitted to devastate every home tie, and every + heartfelt joy.” + </p> + <p> + And now, after this sublime passidge, as full of awfle reflections and + pious sentyments as those of Mrs. Cole in the play, I shall only quot one + little extrak more:— + </p> + <p> + “All goes gloomily with the poor princess. Lady Charlotte Campbell told me + she regrets not seeing all these curious personages; but she says, the + more the princess is forsaken, the more happy she is at having offered to + attend her at this time. THIS IS VERY AMIABLE IN HER, and cannot fail to + be gratifying to the princess.” + </p> + <p> + So it is—wery amiable, wery kind and considerate in her, indeed. + Poor Princess! how lucky you was to find a frend who loved you for your + own sake, and when all the rest of the wuld turned its back kep steady to + you. As for believing that Lady Sharlot had any hand in this book,* heaven + forbid! she is all gratitude, pure gratitude, depend upon it. SHE would + not go for to blacken her old frend and patron's carrickter, after having + been so outrageously faithful to her; SHE wouldn't do it, at no price, + depend upon it. How sorry she must be that others an't quite so squemish, + and show up in this indesent way the follies of her kind, genrus, foolish + bennyfactris! + </p> + <p> + * The “authorized” announcement, in the John Bull newspaper, sets this + question at rest. It is declared that her ladyship is not the writer of + the Diary.—O. Y. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI. + </h2> + <p> + CH-S Y-LL-WPL-SH, ESQ., TO SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, BT. JOHN THOMAS + SMITH, ESQ., TO C—S Y—H, ESQ. NOTUS. + </p> + <p> + The suckmstansies of the following harticle are as follos:—Me and my + friend, the sellabrated Mr. Smith, reckonized each other in the Haymarket + Theatre, during the performints of the new play. I was settn in the + gallery, and sung out to him (he was in the pit), to jine us after the + play, over a glass of bear and a cold hoyster, in my pantry, the family + being out. + </p> + <p> + Smith came as appinted. We descorsed on the subjick of the comady; and, + after sefral glases, we each of us agreed to write a letter to the other, + giving our notiums of the pease. Paper was brought that momint; and Smith + writing his harticle across the knife-bord, I dasht off mine on the + dresser. + </p> + <p> + Our agreement was, that I (being remarkabble for my style of riting) + should cretasize the languidge, whilst he should take up with the plot of + the play; and the candied reader will parding me for having holtered the + original address of my letter, and directed it to Sir Edward himself; and + for having incopperated Smith's remarks in the midst of my own:— + </p> + <p> + MAYFAIR, Nov. 30, 1839. Midnite. + </p> + <p> + HONRABBLE BARNET!—Retired from the littery world a year or moar, I + didn't think anythink would injuice me to come forrards again: for I was + content with my share of reputation, and propoas'd to add nothink to those + immortial wux which have rendered this Magaseen so sallybrated. + </p> + <p> + Shall I tell you the reazn of my re-appearants?—a desire for the + benefick of my fellow-creatures? Fiddlestick! A mighty truth with which my + busm labored, and which I must bring forth or die? Nonsince—stuff: + money's the secret, my dear Barnet,—money—l'argong, gelt, + spicunia. Here's quarter-day coming, and I'm blest if I can pay my + landlud, unless I can ad hartificially to my inkum. + </p> + <p> + This is, however, betwigst you and me. There's no need to blacard the + streets with it, or to tell the British public that Fitzroy Y-ll-wpl-sh is + short of money, or that the sallybrated hauthor of the Y—- Papers is + in peskewniary difficklties, or is fiteagued by his superhuman littery + labors, or by his famly suckmstansies, or by any other pusnal matter: my + maxim, dear B, is on these pints to be as quiet as posbile. What the juice + does the public care for you or me? Why must we always, in prefizzes and + what not, be a-talking about ourselves and our igstrodnary merrats, woas, + and injaries? It is on this subjick that I porpies, my dear Barnet, to + speak to you in a frendly way; and praps you'll find my advise tolrabbly + holesum. + </p> + <p> + Well, then,—if you care about the apinions, fur good or evil, of us + poor suvvants, I tell you, in the most candied way, I like you, Barnet. + I've had my fling at you in my day (for, entry nou, that last stoary I + roat about you and Larnder was as big a bownsir as ever was)—I've + had my fling at you; but I like you. One may objeck to an immense deal of + your writings, which, betwigst you and me, contain more sham scentiment, + sham morallaty, sham poatry, than you'd like to own; but, in spite of + this, there's the STUFF in you: you've a kind and loyal heart in you, + Barnet—a trifle deboshed, perhaps; a kean i, igspecially for what's + comic (as for your tradgady, it's mighty flatchulent), and a ready plesnt + pen. The man who says you are an As is an As himself. Don't believe him, + Barnet! not that I suppose you wil,—for, if I've formed a correck + apinion of you from your wucks, you think your small-beear as good as most + men's: every man does,—and why not? We brew, and we love our own tap—amen; + but the pint betwigst us, is this stewpid, absudd way of crying out, + because the public don't like it too. Why shood they, my dear Barnet? You + may vow that they are fools; or that the critix are your enemies; or that + the wuld should judge your poams by your critticle rules, and not their + own: you may beat your breast, and vow you are a marter, and you won't + mend the matter. Take heart, man! you're not so misrabble after all: your + spirits need not be so VERY cast down; you are not so VERY badly paid. I'd + lay a wager that you make, with one thing or another—plays, novvles, + pamphlicks, and little odd jobbs here and there—your three thowsnd a + year. There's many a man, dear Bullwig that works for less, and lives + content. Why shouldn't you? Three thowsnd a year is no such bad thing,—let + alone the barnetcy: it must be a great comfort to have that bloody hand in + your skitching. + </p> + <p> + But don't you sea, that in a wuld naturally envius, wickid, and fond of a + joak, this very barnetcy, these very cumplaints,—this ceaseless + groning, and moning, and wining of yours, is igsackly the thing which + makes people laff and snear more? If you were ever at a great school, you + must recklect who was the boy most bullid, and buffited, and purshewd—he + who minded it most. He who could take a basting got but few; he who rord + and wep because the knotty boys called him nicknames, was nicknamed wuss + and wuss. I recklect there was at our school, in Smithfield, a chap of + this milksop, spoony sort, who appeared among the romping, ragged fellers + in a fine flanning dressing-gownd, that his mama had given him. That pore + boy was beaten in a way that his dear ma and aunts didn't know him; his + fine flanning dressing-gownd was torn all to ribbings, and he got no pease + in the school ever after, but was abliged to be taken to some other + saminary, where, I make no doubt, he was paid off igsactly in the same + way. + </p> + <p> + Do you take the halligory, my dear Barnet? Mutayto nominy—you know + what I mean. You are the boy, and your barnetcy is the dressing-gownd. You + dress yourself out finer than other chaps and they all begin to sault and + hustle you; it's human nature, Barnet. You show weakness, think of your + dear ma, mayhap, and begin to cry: it's all over with you; the whole + school is at you—upper boys and under, big and little; the dirtiest + little fag in the place will pipe out blaggerd names at you, and takes his + pewny tug at your tail. + </p> + <p> + The only way to avoid such consperracies is to put a pair of stowt + shoalders forrards, and bust through the crowd of raggymuffins. A good + bold fellow dubls his fistt, and cries, “Wha dares meddle wi' me?” When + Scott got HIS barnetcy, for instans, did any one of us cry out? No, by the + laws, he was our master; and wo betide the chap that said neigh to him! + But there's barnets and barnets. Do you recklect that fine chapter in + “Squintin Durward,” about the too fellos and cups, at the siege of the + bishop's castle? One of them was a brave warner, and kep HIS cup; they + strangled the other chap—strangled him, and laffed at him too. + </p> + <p> + With respeck, then, to the barnetcy pint, this is my advice: brazen it + out. Us littery men I take to be like a pack of schoolboys—childish, + greedy, envius, holding by our friends, and always ready to fight. What + must be a man's conduck among such? He must either take no notis, and pass + on myjastick, or else turn round and pummle soundly—one, two, right + and left, ding dong over the face and eyes; above all, never acknowledge + that he is hurt. Years ago, for instans (we've no ill-blood, but only + mention this by way of igsample), you began a sparring with this Magaseen. + Law bless you, such a ridicklus gaym I never see: a man so belaybord, + beflustered, bewolloped, was never known; it was the laff of the whole + town. Your intelackshal natur, respected Barnet, is not fizzickly adapted, + so to speak, for encounters of this sort. You must not indulge in combats + with us course bullies of the press: you have not the STAMINY for a reglar + set-to. What, then, is your plan? In the midst of the mob to pass as quiet + as you can: you won't be undistubbed. Who is? Some stray kix and buffits + will fall to you—mortial man is subjick to such; but if you begin to + wins and cry out, and set up for a marter, wo betide you! + </p> + <p> + These remarks, pusnal as I confess them to be, are yet, I assure you, + written in perfick good-natur, and have been inspired by your play of the + “Sea Capting,” and prefiz to it; which latter is on matters intirely + pusnal, and will, therefore, I trust, igscuse this kind of ad hominam (as + they say) disk-cushion. I propose, honrabble Barnit, to cumsider calmly + this play and prephiz, and to speak of both with that honisty which, in + the pantry or studdy, I've been always phamous for. Let us, in the first + place, listen to the opening of the “Preface of the Fourth Edition:” + </p> + <p> + “No one can be more sensible than I am of the many faults and deficiencies + to be found in this play; but, perhaps, when it is considered how very + rarely it has happened in the history of our dramatic literature that good + acting plays have been produced, except by those who have either been + actors themselves, or formed their habits of literature, almost of life, + behind the scenes, I might have looked for a criticism more generous, and + less exacting and rigorous, than that by which the attempts of an author + accustomed to another class of composition have been received by a large + proportion of the periodical press. + </p> + <p> + “It is scarcely possible, indeed, that this play should not contain faults + of two kinds, first, the faults of one who has necessarily much to learn + in the mechanism of his art; and, secondly, of one who, having written + largely in the narrative style of fiction, may not unfrequently mistake + the effects of a novel for the effects of a drama. I may add to these, + perhaps, the deficiencies that arise from uncertain health and broken + spirits, which render the author more susceptible than he might have been + some years since to that spirit of depreciation and hostility which it has + been his misfortune to excite amongst the general contributors to the + periodical press for the consciousness that every endeavor will be made to + cavil, to distort, to misrepresent, and, in fine, if possible, to RUN + DOWN, will occasionally haunt even the hours of composition, to check the + inspiration, and damp the ardor. + </p> + <p> + “Having confessed thus much frankly and fairly, and with a hope that I may + ultimately do better, should I continue to write for the stage (which + nothing but an assurance that, with all my defects, I may yet bring some + little aid to the drama, at a time when any aid, however humble, ought to + be welcome to the lovers of the art, could induce me to do), may I be + permitted to say a few words as to some of the objections which have been + made against this play?” + </p> + <p> + Now, my dear sir, look what a pretty number of please you put forrards + here, why your play shouldn't be good. + </p> + <p> + First. Good plays are almost always written by actors. + </p> + <p> + Secknd. You are a novice to the style of composition. + </p> + <p> + Third. You MAY be mistaken in your effects, being a novelist by trade, and + not a play-writer. + </p> + <p> + Fourthly. Your in such bad helth and sperrits. + </p> + <p> + Fifthly. Your so afraid of the critix, that they damp your arder. + </p> + <p> + For shame, for shame, man! What confeshns is these,—what painful + pewling and piping! Your not a babby. I take you to be some seven or eight + and thutty years old—“in the morning of youth,” as the flosofer + says. Don't let any such nonsince take your reazn prisoner. What, you, an + old hand amongst us,—an old soljer of our sovring quean the press,—you, + who have had the best pay, have held the topmost rank (ay, and DESERVED + them too!—I gif you lef to quot me in sasiaty, and say, “I AM a man + of genius: Y-ll-wpl-sh says so”),—you to lose heart, and cry + pickavy, and begin to howl, because little boys fling stones at you! Fie, + man! take courage; and, bearing the terrows of your blood-red hand, as the + poet says, punish us, if we've ofended you: punish us like a man, or bear + your own punishment like a man. Don't try to come off with such misrabble + lodgic as that above. + </p> + <p> + What do you? You give four satisfackary reazns that the play is bad (the + secknd is naught,—for your no such chicking at play-writing, this + being the forth). You show that the play must be bad, and THEN begin to + deal with the critix for finding folt! + </p> + <p> + Was there ever wuss generalship? The play IS bad,—your right—a + wuss I never see or read. But why kneed YOU say so? If it was so VERY bad, + why publish it? BECAUSE YOU WISH TO SERVE THE DRAMA! O fie! don't lay that + flattering function to your sole, as Milton observes. Do you believe that + this “Sea Capting” can serve the drama? Did you never intend that it + should serve anything, or anybody ELSE? Of cors you did! You wrote it for + money,—money from the maniger, money from the bookseller,—for + the same reason that I write this. Sir, Shakspeare wrote for the very same + reasons, and I never heard that he bragged about serving the drama. Away + with this canting about great motifs! Let us not be too prowd, my dear + Barnet, and fansy ourselves marters of the truth, marters or apostels. We + are but tradesmen, working for bread, and not for righteousness' sake. + Let's try and work honestly; but don't let us be prayting pompisly about + our “sacred calling.” The taylor who makes your coats (and very well they + are made too, with the best of velvit collars)—I say Stulze, or + Nugee, might cry out that THEIR motifs were but to assert the eturnle + truth of tayloring, with just as much reazn; and who would believe them? + </p> + <p> + Well; after this acknollitchmint that the play is bad, come sefral pages + of attack on the critix, and the folt those gentry have found with it. + With these I shan't middle for the presnt. You defend all the characters 1 + by 1, and conclude your remarks as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “I must be pardoned for this disquisition on my own designs. When every + means is employed to misrepresent, it becomes, perhaps, allowable to + explain. And if I do not think that my faults as a dramatic author are to + be found in the study and delineation of character, it is precisely + because THAT is the point on which all my previous pursuits in literature + and actual life would be most likely to preserve me from the errors I own + elsewhere, whether of misjudgment or inexperience. + </p> + <p> + “I have now only to add my thanks to the actors for the zeal and talent + with which they have embodied the characters entrusted to them. The + sweetness and grace with which Miss Faucit embellished the part of Violet, + which, though only a sketch, is most necessary to the coloring and harmony + of the play, were perhaps the more pleasing to the audience from the + generosity, rare with actors, which induced her to take a part so far + inferior to her powers. The applause which attends the performance of Mrs. + Warner and Mr. Strickland attests their success in characters of unusual + difficulty; while the singular beauty and nobleness, whether of conception + or execution, with which the greatest of living actors has elevated the + part of Norman (so totally different from his ordinary range of + character), is a new proof of his versatility and accomplishment in all + that belongs to his art. It would be scarcely gracious to conclude these + remarks without expressing my acknowledgment of that generous and + indulgent sense of justice which, forgetting all political differences in + a literary arena, has enabled me to appeal to approving audiences—from + hostile critics. And it is this which alone encourages me to hope that, + sooner or later, I may add to the dramatic literature of my country + something that may find, perhaps, almost as many friends in the next age + as it has been the fate of the author to find enemies in this.” + </p> + <p> + See, now, what a good comfrabble vanaty is! Pepple have quarld with the + dramatic characters of your play. “No,” says you; “if I AM remarkabble for + anythink, it's for my study and delineation of character; THAT is + presizely the pint to which my littery purshuits have led me.” Have you + read “Jil Blaw,” my dear sir? Have you pirouzed that exlent tragady, the + “Critic?” There's something so like this in Sir Fretful Plaguy, and the + Archbishop of Granadiers, that I'm blest if I can't laff till my sides + ake. Think of the critix fixing on the very pint for which you are famus!—the + roags! And spose they had said the plot was absudd, or the langwitch + absudder still, don't you think you would have had a word in defens of + them too—you who hope to find frends for your dramatic wux in the + nex age? Poo! I tell thee, Barnet, that the nex age will be wiser and + better than this; and do you think that it will imply itself a reading of + your trajadies? This is misantrofy, Barnet—reglar Byronism; and you + ot to have a better apinian of human natur. + </p> + <p> + Your apinion about the actors I shan't here meddle with. They all acted + exlently as far as my humbile judgement goes, and your write in giving + them all possible prays. But let's consider the last sentence of the + prefiz, my dear Barnet, and see what a pretty set of apiniuns you lay + down. + </p> + <p> + 1. The critix are your inymies in this age. + </p> + <p> + 2. In the nex, however, you hope to find newmrous frends. + </p> + <p> + 3. And it's a satisfackshn to think that, in spite of politticle + diffrances, you have found frendly aujences here. + </p> + <p> + Now, my dear Barnet, for a man who begins so humbly with what my friend + Father Prout calls an argamantum ad misericorjam, who ignowledges that his + play is bad, that his pore dear helth is bad, and those cussid critix have + played the juice with him—I say, for a man who beginns in such a + humbill toan, it's rather RICH to see how you end. + </p> + <p> + My dear Barnet, DO you suppose that POLITTICLE DIFFRANCES prejudice pepple + against YOU? What ARE your politix? Wig, I presume—so are mine, + ontry noo. And what if they ARE Wig, or Raddiccle, or Cumsuvvative? Does + any mortial man in England care a phig for your politix? Do you think + yourself such a mity man in parlymint, that critix are to be angry with + you, and aujences to be cumsidered magnanamous because they treat you + fairly? There, now, was Sherridn, he who roat the “Rifles” and “School for + Scandle” (I saw the “Rifles” after your play, and, O Barnet, if you KNEW + what a relief it was!)—there, I say, was Sherridn—he WAS a + politticle character, if you please—he COULD make a spitch or two—do + you spose that Pitt, Purseyvall, Castlerag, old George the Third himself, + wooden go to see the “Rivles”—ay, and clap hands too, and laff and + ror, for all Sherry's Wiggery? Do you spose the critix wouldn't applaud + too? For shame, Barnet! what ninnis, what hartless raskles, you must + beleave them to be,—in the fust plase, to fancy that you are a + politticle genus; in the secknd, to let your politix interfear with their + notiums about littery merits! + </p> + <p> + “Put that nonsince out of your head,” as Fox said to Bonypart. Wasn't it + that great genus, Dennis, that wrote in Swiff and Poop's time, who fansid + that the French king wooden make pease unless Dennis was delivered up to + him? Upon my wud, I doan't think he carrid his diddlusion much further + than a serting honrabble barnet of my aquentance. + </p> + <p> + And then for the nex age. Respected sir, this is another diddlusion; a + gross misteak on your part, or my name is not Y—sh. These plays + immortial? Ah, parrysampe, as the French say, this is too strong—the + small-beer of the “Sea Capting,” or of any suxessor of the “Sea Capting,” + to keep sweet for sentries and sentries! Barnet, Barnet! do you know the + natur of bear? Six weeks is not past, and here your last casque is sour—the + public won't even now drink it; and I lay a wager that, betwigst this day + (the thuttieth November) and the end of the year, the barl will be off the + stox altogether, never, never to return. + </p> + <p> + I've notted down a few frazes here and there, which you will do well do + igsamin:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “The eternal Flora + Woos to her odorous haunts the western wind; + While circling round and upwards from the boughs, + Golden with fruits that lure the joyous birds, + Melody, like a happy soul released, + Hangs in the air, and from invisible plumes + Shakes sweetness down!” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “And these the lips + Where, till this hour, the sad and holy kiss + Of parting linger'd, as the fragrance left + By ANGELS when they touch the earth and vanish.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “Hark! she has blessed her son! I bid ye witness, + Ye listening heavens—thou circumambient air: + The ocean sighs it back—and with the murmur + Rustle the happy leaves. All nature breathes + Aloud—aloft—to the Great Parent's ear, + The blessing of the mother on her child.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “I dream of love, enduring faith, a heart + Mingled with mine—a deathless heritage, + Which I can take unsullied to the STARS, + When the Great Father calls his children home.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “The blue air, breathless in the STARRY peace, + After long silence hushed as heaven, but filled + With happy thoughts as heaven with ANGELS.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “Till one calm night, when over earth and wave + Heaven looked its love from all its numberless STARS.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “Those eyes, the guiding STARS by which I steered.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “That great mother + (The only parent I have known), whose face + Is bright with gazing ever on the STARS— + The mother-sea.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “My bark shall be our home; + The STARS that light the ANGEL palaces + Of air, our lamps.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORMAN. + + “A name that glitters, like a STAR, amidst + The galaxy of England's loftiest born.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LADY ARUNDEL. + + “And see him princeliest of the lion tribe, + Whose swords and coronals gleam around the throne, + The guardian STARS of the imperial isle.” + </pre> + <p> + The fust spissymen has been going the round of all the papers, as real, + reglar poatry. Those wickid critix! they must have been laffing in their + sleafs when they quoted it. Malody, suckling round and uppards from the + bows, like a happy soul released, hangs in the air, and from invizable + plumes shakes sweetness down. Mighty fine, truly! but let mortial man tell + the meannink of the passidge. Is it MUSICKLE sweetniss that Malody shakes + down from its plumes—its wings, that is, or tail—or some + pekewliar scent that proceeds from happy souls released, and which they + shake down from the trees when they are suckling round and uppards? IS + this poatry, Barnet? Lay your hand on your busm, and speak out boldly: Is + it poatry, or sheer windy humbugg, that sounds a little melojous, and + won't bear the commanest test of comman sence? + </p> + <p> + In passidge number 2, the same bisniss is going on, though in a more + comprehensable way: the air, the leaves, the otion, are fild with emocean + at Capting Norman's happiness. Pore Nature is dragged in to partisapate in + his joys, just as she has been befor. Once in a poem, this universle + simfithy is very well; but once is enuff, my dear Barnet: and that once + should be in some great suckmstans, surely,—such as the meeting of + Adam and Eve, in “Paradice Lost,” or Jewpeter and Jewno, in Hoamer, where + there seems, as it were, a reasn for it. But sea-captings should not be + eternly spowting and invoking gods, hevns, starrs, angels, and other + silestial influences. We can all do it, Barnet; nothing in life is esier. + I can compare my livry buttons to the stars, or the clouds of my backopipe + to the dark vollums that ishew from Mount Hetna; or I can say that angels + are looking down from them, and the tobacco silf, like a happy sole + released, is circling round and upwards, and shaking sweetness down. All + this is as esy as drink; but it's not poatry, Barnet, nor natural. People, + when their mothers reckonize them, don't howl about the suckumambient air, + and paws to think of the happy leaves a-rustling—at least, one + mistrusts them if they do. Take another instans out of your own play. + Capting Norman (with his eternil SLACK-JAW!) meets the gal of his art:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Look up, look up, my Violet—weeping? fie! + And trembling too—yet leaning on my breast. + In truth, thou art too soft for such rude shelter. + Look up! I come to woo thee to the seas, + My sailor's bride! Hast thou no voice but blushes? + Nay—From those roses let me, like the bee, + Drag forth the secret sweetness! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VIOLET. + + “Oh what thoughts + Were kept for SPEECH when we once more should meet, + Now blotted from the PAGE; and all I feel + Is—THOU art with me!” + </pre> + <p> + Very right, Miss Violet—the scentiment is natral, affeckshnit, + pleasing, simple (it might have been in more grammaticle languidge, and no + harm done); but never mind, the feeling is pritty; and I can fancy, my + dear Barnet, a pritty, smiling, weeping lass, looking up in a man's face + and saying it. But the capting!—oh, this capting!—this windy, + spouting captain, with his prittinesses, and conseated apollogies for the + hardness of his busm, and his old, stale, vapid simalies, and his wishes + to be a bee! Pish! Men don't make love in this finniking way. It's the + part of a sentymentle, poeticle taylor, not a galliant gentleman, in + command of one of her Madjisty's vessels of war. + </p> + <p> + Look at the remaining extrac, honored Barnet, and acknollidge that Capting + Norman is eturnly repeating himself, with his endless jabber about stars + and angels. Look at the neat grammaticle twist of Lady Arundel's spitch, + too, who, in the corse of three lines, has made her son a prince, a lion, + with a sword and coronal, and a star. Why jumble and sheak up metafors in + this way? Barnet, one simily is quite enuff in the best of sentenses (and + I preshume I kneedn't tell you that it's as well to have it LIKE, when you + are about it). Take my advise, honrabble sir—listen to a humble + footmin: it's genrally best in poatry to understand puffickly what you + mean yourself, and to ingspress your meaning clearly afterwoods—in + the simpler words the better, praps. You may, for instans, call a coronet + a coronal (an “ancestral coronal,” p. 74) if you like, as you might call a + hat a “swart sombrero,” “a glossy four-and-nine,” “a silken helm, to storm + impermeable, and lightsome as the breezy gossamer;” but, in the long run, + it's as well to call it a hat. It IS a hat; and that name is quite as + poetticle as another. I think it's Playto, or els Harrystottle, who + observes that what we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. + Confess, now, dear Barnet, don't you long to call it a Polyanthus? + </p> + <p> + I never see a play more carelessly written. In such a hurry you seem to + have bean, that you have actially in some sentences forgot to put in the + sence. What is this, for instance?— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “This thrice precious one + Smiled to my eyes—drew being from my breast— + Slept in my arms;—the very tears I shed + Above my treasures were to men and angels + Alike such holy sweetness!” + </pre> + <p> + In the name of all the angels that ever you invoked—Raphael, + Gabriel, Uriel, Zadkiel, Azrael—what does this “holy sweetness” + mean? We're not spinxes to read such durk conandrums. If you knew my state + sins I came upon this passidg—I've neither slep nor eton; I've + neglected my pantry; I've been wandring from house to house with this + riddl in my hand, and nobody can understand it. All Mr. Frazier's men are + wild, looking gloomy at one another, and asking what this may be. All the + cumtributors have been spoak to. The Doctor, who knows every languitch, + has tried and giv'n up; we've sent to Docteur Pettigruel, who reads + horyglifics a deal ezier than my way of spellin'—no anser. Quick! + quick with a fifth edition, honored Barnet, and set us at rest! While your + about it, please, too, to igsplain the two last lines:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “His merry bark with England's flag to crown her.” + </pre> + <p> + See what dellexy of igspreshn, “a flag to crown her!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “His merry bark with England's flag to crown her, + Fame for my hopes, and woman in my cares.” + </pre> + <p> + Likewise the following:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Girl, beware, + THE LOVE THAT TRIFLES ROUND THE CHARMS IT GILDS + OFT RUINS WHILE IT SHINES.” + </pre> + <p> + Igsplane this, men and angels! I've tried every way; backards, forards, + and in all sorts of trancepositions, as thus:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The love that ruins round the charms it shines, + Gilds while it trifles oft; +</pre> + <p> + Or, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The charm that gilds around the love it ruins, + Oft trifles while it shines; +</pre> + <p> + Or, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The ruins that love gilds and shines around, + Oft trifles where it charms; +</pre> + <p> + Or, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love, while it charms, shines round, and ruins oft, + The trifles that it gilds; +</pre> + <p> + Or, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The love that trifles, gilds and ruins oft, + While round the charms it shines. +</pre> + <p> + All which are as sensable as the fust passidge. + </p> + <p> + And with this I'll alow my friend Smith, who has been silent all this + time, to say a few words. He has not written near so much as me (being an + infearor genus, betwigst ourselves), but he says he never had such mortial + difficklty with anything as with the dixcripshn of the plott of your + pease. Here his letter:— + </p> + <p> + To CH-RL-S F-TZR-Y PL-NT-G-N-T Y-LL-WPL-SH, ESQ., &c. &c. + </p> + <p> + 30th Nov. 1839. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR AND HONORED SIR,—I have the pleasure of laying before you + the following description of the plot, and a few remarks upon the style of + the piece called “The Sea Captain.” + </p> + <p> + Five-and-twenty years back, a certain Lord Arundel had a daughter, heiress + of his estates and property; a poor cousin, Sir Maurice Beevor (being next + in succession); and a page, Arthur Le Mesnil by name. + </p> + <p> + The daughter took a fancy for the page, and the young persons were married + unknown to his lordship. + </p> + <p> + Three days before her confinement (thinking, no doubt, that period + favorable for travelling), the young couple had agreed to run away + together, and had reached a chapel near on the sea-coast, from which they + were to embark, when Lord Arundel abruptly put a stop to their proceedings + by causing one Gaussen, a pirate, to murder the page. + </p> + <p> + His daughter was carried back to Arundel House, and, in three days, gave + birth to a son. Whether his lordship knew of this birth I cannot say; the + infant, however, was never acknowledged, but carried by Sir Maurice Beevor + to a priest, Onslow by name, who educated the lad and kept him for twelve + years in profound ignorance of his birth. The boy went by the name of + Norman. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arundel meanwhile married again, again became a widow, but had a + second son, who was the acknowledged heir, and called Lord Ashdale. Old + Lord Arundel died, and her ladyship became countess in her own right. + </p> + <p> + When Norman was about twelve years of age, his mother, who wished to “WAFT + young Arthur to a distant land,” had him sent on board ship. Who should + the captain of the ship be but Gaussen, who received a smart bribe from + Sir Maurice Beevor to kill the lad. Accordingly, Gaussen tied him to a + plank, and pitched him overboard. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + About thirteen years after these circumstances, Violet, an orphan niece of + Lady Arundel's second husband, came to pass a few weeks with her ladyship. + She had just come from a sea-voyage, and had been saved from a wicked + Algerine by an English sea captain. This sea captain was no other than + Norman, who had been picked up off his plank, and fell in love with, and + was loved by, Miss Violet. + </p> + <p> + A short time after Violet's arrival at her aunt's the captain came to pay + her a visit, his ship anchoring off the coast, near Lady Arundel's + residence. By a singular coincidence, that rogue Gaussen's ship anchored + in the harbor too. Gaussen at once knew his man, for he had “tracked” him, + (after drowning him,) and he informed Sir Maurice Beevor that young Norman + was alive. + </p> + <p> + Sir Maurice Beevor informed her ladyship. How should she get rid of him? + In this wise. He was in love with Violet, let him marry her and be off; + for Lord Ashdale was in love with his cousin too; and, of course, could + not marry a young woman in her station of life. “You have a chaplain on + board,” says her ladyship to Captain Norman; “let him attend to-night in + the ruined chapel, marry Violet, and away with you to sea.” By this means + she hoped to be quit of him forever. + </p> + <p> + But unfortunately the conversation had been overheard by Beevor, and + reported to Ashdale. Ashdale determined to be at the chapel and carry off + Violet; as for Beevor, he sent Gaussen to the chapel to kill both Ashdale + and Norman; thus there would only be Lady Arundel between him and the + title. + </p> + <p> + Norman, in the meanwhile, who had been walking near the chapel, had just + seen his worthy old friend, the priest, most barbarously murdered there. + Sir Maurice Beevor had set Gaussen upon him; his reverence was coming with + the papers concerning Norman's birth, which Beevor wanted in order to + extort money from the countess. Gaussen was, however, obliged to run + before he got the papers; and the clergyman had time, before he died, to + tell Norman the story, and give him the documents, with which Norman sped + off to the castle to have an interview with his mother. + </p> + <p> + He lays his white cloak and hat on the table, and begs to be left alone + with her ladyship. Lord Ashdale, who is in the room, surlily quits it; + but, going out, cunningly puts on Norman's cloak. “It will be dark,” says + he, “down at the chapel; Violet won't know me; and, egad! I'll run off + with her!” + </p> + <p> + Norman has his interview. Her ladyship acknowledges him, for she cannot + help it; but will not embrace him, love him, or have anything to do with + him. + </p> + <p> + Away he goes to the chapel. His chaplain was there waiting to marry him to + Violet, his boat was there to carry him on board his ship, and Violet was + there, too. + </p> + <p> + “Norman,” says she, in the dark, “dear Norman, I knew you by your white + cloak; here I am.” And she and the man in a cloak go off to the inner + chapel to be married. + </p> + <p> + There waits Master Gaussen; he has seized the chaplain and the boat's + crew, and is just about to murder the man in the cloak, when— + </p> + <p> + NORMAN rushes in and cuts him down, much to the surprise of Miss, for she + never suspected it was sly Ashdale who had come, as we have seen, + disguised, and very nearly paid for his masquerading. + </p> + <p> + Ashdale is very grateful; but, when Norman persists in marrying Violet, he + says—no, he shan't. He shall fight; he is a coward if he doesn't + fight. Norman flings down his sword, and says he WON'T fight; and— + </p> + <p> + Lady Arundel, who has been at prayers all this time, rushing in, says, + “Hold! this is your brother, Percy—your elder brother!” Here is some + restiveness on Ashdale's part, but he finishes by embracing his brother. + </p> + <p> + Norman burns all the papers; vows he will never peach; reconciles himself + with his mother; says he will go loser; but, having ordered his ship to + “veer” round to the chapel, orders it to veer back again, for he will pass + the honeymoon at Arundel Castle. + </p> + <p> + As you have been pleased to ask my opinion, it strikes me that there are + one or two very good notions in this plot. But the author does not fail, + as he would modestly have us believe, from ignorance of stage-business; he + seems to know too much, rather than too little, about the stage; to be too + anxious to cram in effects, incidents, perplexities. There is the + perplexity concerning Ashdale's murder, and Norman's murder, and the + priest's murder, and the page's murder, and Gaussen's murder. There is the + perplexity about the papers, and that about the hat and cloak, (a silly, + foolish obstacle,) which only tantalize the spectator, and retard the + march of the drama's action: it is as if the author had said, “I must have + a new incident in every act, I must keep tickling the spectator + perpetually, and never let him off until the fall of the curtain.” + </p> + <p> + The same disagreeable bustle and petty complication of intrigue you may + remark in the author's drama of “Richelieu.” “The Lady of Lyons” was a + much simpler and better wrought plot; the incidents following each other + either not too swiftly or startlingly. In “Richelieu,” it always seemed to + me as if one heard doors perpetually clapping and banging; one was puzzled + to follow the train of conversation, in the midst of the perpetual small + noises that distracted one right and left. + </p> + <p> + Nor is the list of characters of “The Sea Captain” to be despised. The + outlines of all of them are good. A mother, for whom one feels a proper + tragic mixture of hatred and pity; a gallant single-hearted son, whom she + disdains, and who conquers her at last by his noble conduct; a dashing + haughty Tybalt of a brother; a wicked poor cousin, a pretty maid, and a + fierce buccaneer. These people might pass three hours very well on the + stage, and interest the audience hugely; but the author fails in filling + up the outlines. His language is absurdly stilted, frequently careless; + the reader or spectator hears a number of loud speeches, but scarce a + dozen lines that seem to belong of nature to the speakers. + </p> + <p> + Nothing can be more fulsome or loathsome to my mind than the continual + sham-religious clap-traps which the author has put into the mouth of his + hero; nothing more unsailor-like than his namby-pamby starlit + descriptions, which my ingenious colleague has, I see, alluded to. “Thy + faith my anchor, and thine eyes my haven,” cries the gallant captain to + his lady. See how loosely the sentence is constructed, like a thousand + others in the book. The captain is to cast anchor with the girl's faith in + her own eyes; either image might pass by itself, but together, like the + quadrupeds of Kilkenny, they devour each other. The captain tells his + lieutenant to BID HIS BARK VEER ROUND to a point in the harbor. Was ever + such language? My lady gives Sir Maurice a thousand pounds to WAFT him + (her son) to some distant shore. Nonsense, sheer nonsense; and what is + worse, affected nonsense! + </p> + <p> + Look at the comedy of the poor cousin. “There is a great deal of game on + the estate—partridges, hares, wild-geese, snipes, and plovers + (SMACKING HIS LIPS)—besides a magnificent preserve of sparrows, + which I can sell TO THE LITTLE BLACKGUARDS in the streets at a penny a + hundred. But I am very poor—a very poor old knight!” + </p> + <p> + Is this wit or nature? It is a kind of sham wit; it reads as if it were + wit, but it is not. What poor, poor stuff, about the little blackguard + boys! what flimsy ecstasies and silly “smacking of lips” about the + plovers. Is this the man who writes for the next age? O fie! Here is + another joke:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sir Maurice. Mice! zounds, how can I + Keep mice! I can't afford it! They were starved + To death an age ago. The last was found + Come Christmas three years, stretched beside a bone + In that same larder, so consumed and worn + By pious fast, 'twas awful to behold it! + I canonized its corpse in spirits of wine, + And set it in the porch—a solemn warning + To thieves and beggars!” + </pre> + <p> + Is not this rare wit? “Zounds! how can I keep mice?” is well enough for a + miser; not too new, or brilliant either; but this miserable dilution of a + thin joke, this wretched hunting down of the poor mouse! It is humiliating + to think of a man of esprit harping so long on such a mean, pitiful + string. A man who aspires to immortality, too! I doubt whether it is to be + gained thus; whether our author's words are not too loosely built to make + “starry pointing pyramids of.” Horace clipped and squared his blocks more + carefully before he laid the monument which imber edax, or aquila + impotens, or fuga temporum might assail in vain. Even old Ovid, when he + raised his stately, shining heathen temple, had placed some columns in it, + and hewn out a statue or two which deserved the immortality that he + prophesied (somewhat arrogantly) for himself. But let not all be looking + forward to a future, and fancying that, “incerti spatium dum finiat aevi,” + our books are to be immortal. Alas! the way to immortality is not so easy, + nor will our “Sea Captain” be permitted such an unconscionable cruise. If + all the immortalities were really to have their wish, what a work would + our descendants have to study them all! + </p> + <p> + Not yet, in my humble opinion, has the honorable baronet achieved this + deathless consummation. There will come a day (may it be long distant!) + when the very best of his novels will be forgotten; and it is reasonable + to suppose that his dramas will pass out of existence, some time or other, + in the lapse of the secula seculorum. In the meantime, my dear Plush, if + you ask me what the great obstacle is towards the dramatic fame and merit + of our friend, I would say that it does not lie so much in hostile critics + or feeble health, as in a careless habit of writing, and a peevish vanity + which causes him to shut his eyes to his faults. The question of original + capacity I will not moot; one may think very highly of the honorable + baronet's talent, without rating it quite so high as he seems disposed to + do. + </p> + <p> + And to conclude: as he has chosen to combat the critics in person, the + critics are surely justified in being allowed to address him directly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With best compliments to Mrs. Yellowplush, + I have the honor to be, dear Sir, + Your most faithful and obliged + humble servant, + JOHN THOMAS SMITH. +</pre> + <p> + And now, Smith having finisht his letter, I think I can't do better than + clothes mine lickwise; for though I should never be tired of talking, + praps the public may of hearing, and therefore it's best to shut up shopp. + </p> + <p> + What I've said, respected Barnit, I hoap you woan't take unkind. A play, + you see, is public property for every one to say his say on; and I think, + if you read your prefez over agin, you'll see that it ax as a direct + incouridgment to us critix to come forrard and notice you. But don't + fansy, I besitch you, that we are actiated by hostillaty; fust write a + good play, and you'll see we'll prays it fast enuff. Waiting which, Agray, + Munseer le Chevaleer, l'ashurance de ma hot cumsideratun. + </p> + <p> + Voter distangy, + </p> + <p> + Y. <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush, by +William Makepeace Thackeray + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF MR. 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